The Vastness of Man

Nike couldn’t contain her joy. She was rapturous and it bubbled through her being. For the first time she laughed without hesitation. Her body shook, her lips parted and she raised a skeletal hand to cover the wide expanse of her mouth. One may not have noticed with her long, plump lips always closed, but Nike had a rather large mouth filled with straight, white teeth. The ringing tones sounded through the minds of those in the room and even penetrated the psyches of some of the others beyond that. It took her quite a bit to calm herself and at one point, Machai almost dropped his cup of coffee for fear that she would grow weak and pass out. But the laughter was a welcome exercise. It brought her blood back to life and put some color in her cheeks. This only added to the angelic shimmer to her skin.

Her body soon stopped moving and the laughter faded away but the electricity in the air around her never disappeared.

I had forgotten how much I enjoyed the company of you all. Taking a deep mental breath, she maintained the wide smile. The Clan of the Serpents always had a sharp tongue. Not afraid of confrontation. It is what I certainly loved most.

Machai was able to relax again and he even smiled. He’d never seen Mother so alive before. It gave him a newer, stronger hope for the future of their people. Taking a sip of his coffee he looked over the descendants, only able to see the backs of their heads, but still observing their body language. It was in his nature to learn of other people. He couldn’t help but memorize their movements.

I am not the one who controls your cycles, though it would make sense for that to be so. No, that occupation is left to your body and the Moon. Just as she controls the tides of the oceans, so she controls the tides of the female form. I have never had the privilege of having one, but I do hear they can be quite cumbersome. The smile, contagious and mirthful, soon turned down a bit as she figured out how to tell them what they were here for. It had been long since Nike had been met full on with doubt, besides her few conversations with the Father. That was an entirely different kind of doubt, however. A concentrated, hateful and vindictive kind of emotion. One she could no longer compete with alone.

I called you all here because I need your help. For centuries I have been quarreling with a beast that I cannot beat. This quarrel is even, however, for he cannot beat me either… Until recently. As you can tell, I am not of the greatest health. I was once spry and of a very sound mind, but he is filling the world with darkness and doubt. Hope is seeping out of the ground and away from Man’s reach. This is causing me great pain and causing me to become weak. Much too weak to fight him. This is also causing Mankind to grow timid, easily manipulated by his lies. The crime and the violence around the world is all because of his grip tightening every day around my throat. I am not the one who truly needs you… Humanity is in need of you and your strength.

Nike chose not to explain any further for fear of scaring them off. She would soon tell them why they were chosen, what made them special in the eyes of their people, but she wanted to answer all their questions first. Nike wanted nothing more than to gain their trust and the only way she knew how to do that was by giving them as much as she could in the way of information. Whatever they wanted to know, she would tell them. Nike owed it to them for the sacrifices their clans had made so very long ago.

Noah’s direct response was a rather intelligible “Eh?” It seemed the bird had collided against the waves with no plan in mind; in the mischievous gaze of the seafarer, he saw oceans vast and dark; he smelled the salt that clung to her as he clung to rusted gears and worthless trinkets, and, standing there, a burning sense of realization washed over him. This was embarrassing. Yanking his wrist from her clutches only proved this petite woman to clearly match him in strength, possibly even more so. Had the others been watching, his verbal reactions would have been less idle. The confounding, archaic ways in her speech shut him up proper, though whether this was him being amused or dumbfounded, he could not say. It all happened too fast, he reasoned.

It was the wallet theft that had him earthbound again. Any outbursts that threatened to spill out of him were suppressed by a heave of his shoulders. “Fuck’s sake, woman!” was the one exception, hidden by muttered breath. Noah clenched and unclenched his fists. Whatever. He deserved that, didn’t he? For all he cared, she could have the damn thing for a keepsake.

Chill, ya halfwit. Answers, answers—it was a matter of answers. Hesitant steps turned into willing strides. The rest of this bunch had to carry some ounce of logic in those heads of theirs. Tightening the scarf round his neck, he followed, and with some inner admittance to himself, he followed willingly.

His pride had already been mauled by the bastard child of Blackbeard. It couldn’t get any worse.

So he went. Trailing at the rear with Machai at the lead, gloved hands were pocketed, slightly less tense from their former poise. Strained relaxation became his forte. The neon walkways that illuminated darkened souls in its wake, once a source of great wonder to him as a boy, held little relevance now, and any fleeting image of pasts gone by left a furrow in his brow. He was not as adaptive as Miss Lalita, who wore her native assets of the city as she might have worn an overpriced rock. A myriad of sounds assaulted him on all fronts, a chorus that had been rendered foreign to him for months at a time. The air here drew chilled breaths from him very unlike the nightly air in Queensland country, where stillness was laced with the grit of earth rather than the wastes of human passersby. Few instances on the station did he consider how he took those open expanses for granted. How ironic that thousands of miles apart could he find himself longing for the sight of ruddy sands, though the sheep and the preening black birds he could readily do without.

He would be lying if he denied his heightened sense of curiosity as their trek ended at the desolate rink. Words danced near his tongue, never quite formulating enough to puncture the silence. For the life of him, Noah couldn’t recall the towering metal door being there during his failed trips round the ice, but its presence was undeniably intimidating. They filed in, and the foreigner that had arrived with multiple chips on his shoulders became, at least momentarily, a tourist of endless awe. The grandiose palace of an underground hideaway, ridiculous as it seemed—the things he could say, the pulp-era novels he could allude to—pure science fiction. Part of him loved it.

But it wasn’t merely a case of the cat finally emerging from its nap; emerging, too, was the urgency of their summoner’s plea, the realness in the maid who was the first to greet Machai, in the moment he laid eyes on the feathered totem, in the brief interval of anticipation before the doors were slid open. Looking upward at the ethereal ghost induced an epiphany that shrunk him beneath the proportions of his ego. So fragile, this woman. So clearly lost of her senses. So how in the hell was it that she spoke?

Noah fancied this experience to be akin to having the petty universe in his mind implode on itself. Said universe was being invaded by telepathy. Was he high? Possibly. But, startling as this revelation was, he tried hurdling over this initial shock by settling in the chair that had been offered to him, though he had an inkling that further questioning would knock him out of his seat. Katarina took care of the obvious. He kept as quiet as he had been as they walked, sipping his coffee raw. His face was a mask of stoicism, a serious visage that clearly differed from the one he wore during their park meeting. He was genuinely interested, respectful even. Entranced by this being of a higher plane. Because she was greater than him—greater than all of them.

“I am Mother Nature of a different kind.”

Damn right you are.

Optimism was worth giving a go, wasn’t it? After all, any proof he sought would more than likely not surpass the voice channeling through each of them. And Lalita’s inquiry… well, she was a nutter. Her blunt approach caught him off guard, and the drink he had taken mid sip spluttered from his mouth. A mirthful rise escaped him, and he was pleased to see this Nike, this Mother, share the same sentiment. It was beautiful, in a way. In the midst of covering her bum with heel fixing, she had done the impossible—the ancient woman had briefly surpassed her grievances. Now that deserved a cawfee.

Clearing his throat, however, he listened intently to her next message. All this talk of mankind, humanity—subjects that seemed so far out of her reach to confront, subjects that, should she be true, visibly tore her apart. The cynic in him imagined a fearsome terror, like a… a politician of some sort. They could throw hope out of any window, couldn’t they? But then, thinking in someone else’s perspective for once, he recalled the events on the station before he departed, how he never took them at face value. They were what drove him to speak.

“Ma’am, if I may,” he started, lowering the cup. His voice was even, but firm. “This foe… to what extent has he corrupted you—corrupted us as a whole? Where I come from, we had a handful of our stock killed, but I reckon it wasn’t done by your average predator. Pretty gruesome stuff, I tell ya.”

He paused, fearing the lack of cohesion in his anecdote. “Anyways, what really got me was like, afterward, these crows start comin’ in, see, lots of ‘em like ya wouldn’t believe. And we don’t usually see flocks on the property, right? But they just keep comin’, and pretty soon I’m sure I’m either seein’ things, or them birds are tryin’a tell me a thing or two.” Noah made a brief gesture towards Machai. “The letters Machai here sent us? Crow hopped near me as I read it. Tell me that ain’t cause for concern.”

God, even Lalita and her feminine horror stories had more eloquence than this. Abruptly, he rose from his seat, as if standing would bring him closer to the point. “I guess I’m askin’ what makes us—” and it took all of his power to refer to the lot of them “—special. I’m sure you guys had odd things happen in your lives prior to this, yeh? And what’s with all the animal metaphors? This ain’t one big environmental campaign, is it?”

Nike had to pause for a moment. She didn't know where Noah stood in regards to her physical position, so looking at him was practically impossible. Instead, she focused in on his mind, her brow quizzical and very pleased. The Mother could feel Machai's tension when the Avian heir began speaking. The rivalry he felt was not needed. Perhaps something had happened when they'd first met? This was a notion that would require further investigation once she and her adopted son were left alone. The idea of it made her giggle only to herself. It wasn't that she felt Machai had no equal but simply that he felt threatened by another. They were all family here, no matter the bloodline, the capacity for good character, or even who favored whom. Nothing could break their bond now that it was being made. Noah's question was indeed the one she'd been waiting for and the one she was most prepared for. In fact, Nike had been prepared for the question for centuries now. Since she'd had them mercilessly split from their homes, their families... their heritage; all Nike could ever think of was how to explain who, and how important, they all were.

You have made quite a point, Noah Hughes. I have been waiting several hundred years to explain your histories, your ancestors, to you all, but suddenly, I found myself speechless. She let her fingers, demure and practically see through, fall against her pale lips. How to start this out? They weren't some kind of Green Peace organization, though the elements and the care of the Earth did hang in the balance as the Cruzzola continued to destroy everything. Without Humanity, Mankind felt no need to care for the grounds or the waters. They burned and tortured the forests; polluted and used up the seas. Mankind was relentless in their destruction of what the Earth had worked so hard to maintain. Everything stemmed back to him. His reach was ever prosperous and Nike felt a wave of hopelessness in her.

When I came into being, it was obvious that I alone could not maintain balance with the Father. Mankind has many weak points and he is adept at taking control of them. All I can do is rely on the natural goodness of Man. At first, this was an easy thing. All people wanted was to be happy. But soon, as he has always done, the Father corrupted only a few souls, who spread the corruption themselves. Today, the same thing is beginning again. As hard as I have tried, I still cannot do this alone. His malefesance in the world shows physically through me, with sickness, loss of my Human senses, and now my mind has begun to break. Machai lowered his head, unable to look at anything but the floor. It was bad, dealing with the weakness, the coughing fits, even her inability to help herself with some of the most menial tasks, but the worst were her bipolar fits of depression or rage. It was a sign that the fall of Man was too close. He hoped she could not feel his self-hatred for not being able to protect her better.

The Father was suppose to help continue the balance of good and evil. Instead his own power corrupted him as well. His greed is strong and he wants everything for himself. This is spreading through the world again. Demons, monsters, beasts, whatever you choose to call them, all serve him in the hopes they will get a taste of his victory. I would not put it past them to slaughter an entire stock. What you may be missing now is some mysterious, seemingly philanthropic, group offering the owner of the livestock a great sum of money for something in return. If money doesn't suit the owner, than perhaps new animals. Whatever it takes to exploit them.

Your ancestors were members of clans made to help me in the battle against the demoralization of Earth and Man. There were four clans at first: the Avian, the Shark, the Serpent, and the Dragon clans. When you speak of the environment, you are mostly correct. They all do, in fact, embrace one of the four elements of the Earth. Air, water, earth, and fire. It wasn't a coincidence that all those birds appeared at that slaughter with you, Noah. And there is certainly no need for you to be concerned by it. Softly, a smile started to form on her face. A look and a great feeling of pride swept through her and she felt like for a moment, she could sit up straight. Nike could appear tall and graceful and once again the great being she knew she was. With all these delightful people around her, anything was possible.

All of you are descendant from these clans. With each clan comes a gift, a talent I suppose, to help you help me. You also get certain privileges. Noah, those birds are your eyes in the world. You enjoy flying, the wind against your skin. You are the heir to the Avian clan, the embodiment of the element of air. Yani... She paused, smiling fondly at the pirate-looking child. I believe it is most obvious to everyone that you embrace your inheritance of the Shark clan, the physical form of the element of water.

Katarina, with a fiery heart and passionate personality, you are gifted the throne of the Dragon clan and the ability to maintain and control the element of fire.

Lalita, your tongue and your wit have already given up the clan that you rule. The Serpent clan, the handler of the element of earth, and a grounded one at that.

It gives me great joy and pride to see you all here with me. But I am saddened by the circumstances in which we all must meet. The clans were seperated from their heirs many thousands of years ago, in order to save them from existinction, and I fear now that I must call you back only to fight once more. She lowered her face into her palm, saddened by her words, but even more forlorn that she could no longer feel her own skin. These signs were more and more noticeable as the days went on and she felt like her heart would just stop beating at any moment. Holding her breath, lifting a finger to keep Machai from rushing over to her, Nike worked diligently within her mind to compose herself. Her protector and adopted son had half-risen in his chair to sprint to her side, but with her gentle command he slowly sat back down. Having been so enraptured by her words, his coffee had gone cold. The young man no longer felt the need to drink it though and place his half empty cup on the table. Machai could only imagine what was going on in their minds. Noah had acted rather on the opposite end of the spectrum than what Machai had predicted. In fact, they were all taking to this rather well. Still, Yani had not asked her question. As unpredictable as the oceans, she was, there was no way of knowing exactly what she would say.

As quick as a sailing manta ray, Yani absorbed Noah's discomfort as if it were a small victory. With a gap-toothed smile, she wriggled her fingers at the nape of her neck and shot him a wry wink, leather wallet still trapped between her hands. In the moments she'd been staring him in the eyes, she thought she smelt the freedom the winds offered; the strong beats of wings flapping in unison; the sublime sky that stretched for miles, offering everything and nothing. Embarrassment held no true meaning to the surefooted woman, only opportunities to tease further. She had allowed the man the small mercy of yanking his fallible wrist from her solid grasp, a small jingling laugh provoking his already deflated ego. It wasn't her fault, naturally, it was in her nature to prove to men that women were just as strong—if not stronger, mentally and physically—as they were. Noah's reaction was more or less amusing, his mouth immediately closed; opening and closing, as if he floundered over her speech. What else could one say when they were being yelled at by Blackbeard's bastard child? Nothing. Only further humiliation would come of it.

She watched the bush-billy from the corner of her eyes, beaming at her sleight-of-hand performance. It hadn't been the first time, nor the last, that she would shimmy a mans' wallet from the comforts of his pants—they deserved it, she reasoned. Fuck's sake, woman! Cursory words had always been her favourite means of communication; she wasn't the queen of tact, nor a woman of etiquette and manners. It was something she could appreciate about the bush pilot, though she wouldn't admit it. Noah's shoulders heaved, expelling whatever suppressed anger she was sure she'd see in the future, leaving him fuming at the rear of the troupe. She stomped along without a care in the world, flipping the empty wallet between her fingers as if it were a gold Aztec coin. A keepsake for the time being, mayhaps she'd give it back. Mayhaps not. It wasn't as if it would sell for anything. Noah didn't seem bothered by her theft, not that she could judge anything about the rugged man. She knew nothing of anyone in their present group; nothing besides their names and the strange fortunes told by the equally outlandish leader, Machai. But, he'd been primarily right about her. What else did he know about them? Curiosity stirred her legs into action, she followed along like a sheep to a slaughter, or to greener pastures. Whichever came first, naturally. Everyone else seemed calm enough. Yani couldn't help but admire Kat's wide-eyed admiration of the sights, though she couldn't share the same enthusiasm.

New York held no place for her, it's beauty was reserved for those who prettied themselves up. It's bright lights and solemnly dragging business-men left her feeling as empty as they did. She avoided the streets as best she could, and so she only gazed upon the looming lamp lights and neon window signs with temperate wariness. Who could understand a pirate-clad woman, anyhow? No one understood her terrifying passion towards the milky waves, lapping against the shore, as she did. How could they? She moved as the sea moved, and they moved amongst themselves; never true, and never opening their eyes wide enough to understand the agonizing sense of something calling to you. Cities reminded her of the taste of dirt in her teeth, mingled with unhappiness and poverty. Her memory was a monster; she forgot—it never did. It simply filed things away. It kept things for her, or hid things away from her—and summons them to her recall with a will of its own. She always thought she had a memory; but it has her. There was no love in New York; only greed and repetitive vicious cycles. Beauty was the taste of salt on your lips as you faced the horizon, wind sweeping the hair from your bleary eyes. Beauty was soft grass and mud between your wriggling toes, consorted with the sound of chirruping birds.

A song found its' way on the tip of her tongue, she hummed it softly under her breath as she continued her swaggering gait. “We just might catch a breeze,” and then, “Know now he was not a captain, and because of all my actions, I grow alone with the sea.” An old sailor wife's song sung at the docks, for her lost love at sea. How she knew, she wasn't sure. Each monumental area passed her by without much notice. Small details, she did notice. A skating rink. A metal door. A digit pad, with buttons. Yani stepped into the small elevator, pushing her back against the steel-frame wall. Honestly, the metal deathtraps always left her quivering in her boots—not that she'd show them that, not ever. The only indication that she was offset was a thin-lipped frown. It was the cultural vases and paintings that held her captivated, she nearly cooed her excitement as she trailed behind Machai, eyeing each and every carefully crafted statue. They meant something, she was sure. Said oceanic painting anchored her in place, she reached out to touch it, until she realized her how absurd it looked. Her idle fingers drew back from it, rested at the bright sash wound around her waist. A small, elderly woman took hold of Machai's arm and she was surprised to see him pull away from her. “M'aam, please do,” She thanked, nodding her head as the old woman hurried away. Though she wasn't the most serene creature in the world, she believed that respecting her elders held the pillars of filial duty.

Honestly, she wasn't expecting the woman in the next room. The doors slid open, one by one, and revealed a hauntingly beautiful creature that looked as if she'd stepped down from the heavens. It wouldn't have surprised her if she had introduced herself as an angel, sent to them by some magical force. But no, Yani knew this woman was something that surpassed such splendorous things. It was in the way she pulled her in, like a magnetic force, much like the ocean did. A song soared in her belly, crying to be heard. She was taken aback by how frail she appeared, her fingers folded onto her lap like small stems. Mother. Had she been the one consuming her dreams? Had she been the one softly calling to her whenever she sat on the docks? The longer she stood there, the more she believed. Oh, how I've missed you all so much—, a soft voice intruded into Yani's thoughts, though it wasn't unwelcome. It felt like the gentle caress of a mother, the words reserved for her daughters and sons.

She hadn't even noticed that she'd involuntarily taken a step forward, watching the woman's face. Searching for meaning. Searching for something. And they were offered answers. Yani thanked Machai when he offered coffee, and held it cupped in her hands like a beggar. She drank hers raw, black as night. The Shark Descendant crooked her neck forward as Kat asked her question—something she thought everyone had been thinking—and nodded curtly, taking a small sip of her hot beverage. Lalita's next question caught her off guard, and she laughed; a laugh as rich and dark as her cawfee. The contents in her cup sloshed dangerously, though it never spilled. Her eyes twinkled with barely contained merriment. Perhaps, perhaps she hadn't been mistaken in coming.

Humanity needed them? When had humanity given Yani anything that she was grateful for? Truthfully, she had Nike to thank for everything she cherished. Humanity poisoned the very waters she loved, left the creatures that called it home dying and floundering in the oils that were dumped there. Few things could drive her to tears, but humanity did it often. For now, she said nothing and waited. Noah finally spoke his mind. A small frown eased its' way on her features as he lead to his conclusion. Sure enough, she'd been thinking along the same lines. What made them so special? Yani witnessed a great thing standing in that room. Nike seemed to burst with life, growing taller and more resoundingly ethereal with each question and answer—it was as if she were witnessing a garden growing before her, twining itself through them with happiness. It was infectious, contagious and catching. When Nike swung her gaze towards her, she took a breath and knit her eyebrows in wonderment. As much as she wished to not trouble the woman, her mouth twitched and drew into another tight frown.

“When has...” the Shark Descendant began lamely, faltering in her once strong, heady words. “When's humanity ever done anythin' for us?” She shook her head, staring hard at the ground, then to Nike. “Poison our waters, they kill everything. If we—.” Again, she fell silent. Her eyes glistened. “If we get rid of this, this Father, what's to say anything will change?” Humans were prone to making the same mistakes over and over again. What made this any different?

Nike forgot her plight, forgot the plight of anything, when Yani spoke. Her words spilled over the shadows in her mind, washing away any thoughts of despair and filled her chest with a warm light. Her face, neutral in expression, lifted from her palm and turned slightly. Once again, there was no way of knowing where Yani stood, but she could have guessed. Her achromatic eyes fell on the woman, studying her aura and her thoughts. It was this kind of attitude that drew a thin line between what Nike needed for Mankind and what the Father wanted for Mankind, for himself. Nike had to know where her heart lay, where she felt most at ease.

She almost laughed when she discovered the truth. Though it was not to tease, nor to condescend. Once again an heir had brought her fantastic joy. Yani, the only surviving soul of the Shark clan, cared only for her oceans and the creatures within them. She lived there. She drank in the salt-crusted winds and flew over the vast sapphire waters. Her ship was her heart and the sea her body. Looking into her, Nike felt like a fish forever guided by her shepherd. She was silent for a few more moments, choosing her words carefully. Though Yani loved her oceans she was still teetering on that line between hope and despair.

The Father stifles our dreams, dampens our spirits and gives Humanity no other way out. They must fight, kill, and manipulate in order to survive when all Man ever had to do was follow their dreams. With the Father banished and tending to his original purpose, keeping the balance, than Man has every chance of becoming good again. They have the chance to hope, be happy to their heart’s content, and thrive with nature rather than opposed to it. We can never stop the Father entirely. There will always be those weaker beings that choose to live in his darkness rather than in the light of the Sun, but we can keep on trying, and hoping, that one day the world will all be harmonious again.

It is not about what Humanity has or hasn’t done for us that matters. It is how we can help keep Humanity thriving in the light and stop them from retreating back into the darkness. We are nothing without our Humanity. We are base creatures, left to scrounge in filth and chaos. If not for our Humanity, we would be no better than the demons that serve the Father now.

To hope is what will keep Mankind alive forever. Without hope, the Father will win any war and the Earth will become his playground... And everything will die.

Nike knew her words were final, knew the weight of them. She bore that weight presently and had since the beginning of her time. Even as much as she loved them all, Nike knew it was wrong to not tell them the absolutes of this task. Their decisions would alter everything. If they chose to stay there was the promise that Mankind would live on without the threat of eternal shadow. If their choices were against what Nike hoped for… Only bad would come of it. She had nothing else to say, but her eyes, blank as a new sheet of paper, stared at Yani, tears threatening to fall over her pale eyelashes. It wasn’t that Yani had caused her to cry but the very idea of losing them all again rent her heart asunder.

Machai sat with his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers entwined together, his eyes turned to the ground. He’d been watching them all, having no need to watch Nike. When she was becoming ill he could sense it. But he barely knew these newcomers; he still had to observe them all to get an understanding of who and what they were. His hands would intermittently squeeze together causing his knuckles to turn white. He was worried. Worried they were acting too slowly. Worried these people would call them all crazy and leave them. It was a selfish feeling, he knew, but if he lost Nike… Just the notion of it made his stomach do flips. With Nike’s last statement, one he repeated in his own mind every morning, afternoon, and night, Machai could no longer sit still and he stood up, leaving the room and taking long strides toward his own chambers. He needed time to think. He wanted to be alone, away from Nike, away from the descendants, away from her red…

Scowling he threw his door open, removed his bowie knife and tossed it as hard as he could. With strength and purpose, the blade sank into the far wall. At least something felt concrete around him.

Nike winced a little when she felt Machai’s energies spike suddenly then fall after he exited the room. This wasn’t the first time he’d done this, it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Taking another moment of pause, the Mother finally spoke.

This is a lot of information and I would not force you all to make a decision now. You must forgive Machai… He has lived with the knowledge of this for all his life and he sometimes becomes a bit... dramatic. Curling her twig-like fingers back into her lap she waited as four servants, all varying in weights, age, gender, and ethnicity, entered the room from a door just behind her chair.

These lovely people will show you to your rooms. I would at least ask you to stay with us for the night. It would be my honor to have you all. After a moment, she added gently, If you feel the need to come and speak with me, I am always here. It is safest for me to stay inside these walls and I never sleep. You are always welcome to join me and keep an old lady company… If the need persuades you. With a small gesture of her head, one strand of clear hair falling into her unwrinkled face, Nike let the servants walk to the doors and all beckoned them to follow.

It wasn’t that Nike wanted them gone from her presence so quickly. In fact, she would have preferred for them to stay. But He was coming.

Katarina sipped distractedly at her- how had Lalita said it? Cawfee? Yes, cawfee; she rather liked that. It brought a smile to her face to think of it like that. Maybe it was because everyone where she came from liked to assert their cultural supremacy by pronouncing everything in a pretentious version of its native accent. “Cawfee” was just so much more… fun.

She had to stifle a laugh at the question about menstruation, though, and it wound up escaping as a rather inelegant snort-chuckle. Kat winced slightly, but in the end she figured that all the others did such a spectacular job of coming off nonchalant that they wouldn’t care how stupid she sounded. Which, in its own bizarre sort of way, was reassuring.

She studied the cup in front of her- no cream, no sugar, thank you- and contemplated each answer as it came. The entire conversation had a peculiar sort of cadence to it, she thought. Call, response, rest, call, response. Each assertion was placed forward in its own way- one with some legato hesitance, the next with an undertone of the brassy confidence trumpets had, even if Noah might be playing with his mute at the moment, the next with the gravelly challenge of a cellist’s solo, a moment in the sun for an instrument content for the most part to take what was its own and be better at it than any other instrument in the damned world.

The responses were uniform, lyrical, the beautiful trills of flute music underlaid with a quiet, strong vibrato that had Katarina entranced from the first word Nike spoke. She had never known what true maternal love was, and so the sensation was as foreign to her as everything else about this situation, a static through her airwaves, a stoking of the fire in her heart that had never managed to accept defeat and be quenched, no matter the difficulty.

This, the sensation of standing in the presence of this woman, was more important than any of the information she was taking in. Katarina was not an unintelligent person by any means, but she didn’t see the point of letting yourself be ruled by what was true in your head if it wasn’t also true in your heart. And her heart was a-tremble with the might of that vibrato, that subtle shaking of her foundations, the removal of the inhibitions to her ears. It was like she had been deaf for the longest time, and now she could finally hear the music that echoed through the world itself.

The strains of it were so beautiful she almost wanted to cry. But she couldn’t, not now, because she almost… she could almost hear a discordance in it, as though some part of herself had already succumbed to the corruption. The feeling was distanced, strange. It was herself and someone else at the same time, as a humming known only through the taut vibrations of a wire, attached somewhere else she could not see. Discord, atonality… they tugged at the fabric of Nike’s symphony, and Kat wanted nothing more than to hear it play out with such interference. But… if she were really connected to some part of its corruption, did that mean she would be unable to? Was she the wrong person to ask to help in this matter? Had she perhaps been confused for someone else, someone better, someone who could hear unimpeded?

She was drawn abruptly from her thoughts when Machai stood suddenly and exited. Kat’s brow furrowed, and she looked back to Nike herself for an explanation, tilting her head to one side as the woman explained. To live with this knowledge for a lifetime… she was hardly surprised being reminded of it was frustrating, then. The group of them were dismissed then, and Kat turned to go, but stopped herself for a moment, looking straight at Nike.

She knew the woman-who-was-Nature could not see her as such, but she was hoping that her resolution could be sensed. What she was about to say might be considered foolish, or leaping before looking, but that was Kat’s identity. If she felt something strongly enough, she needed no further assurance that it was right. Who always wanted to know what lay below before they made the leap, anyway? It took the mystery out of life, and with the mystery went the sense of discovery, the joy.

When she spoke, she was glad that her voice did not waver, but rather dropped heavily into the silence. “I’m in,” she said simply. And that was all there was to it.

Feeling just a bit embarrassed and maybe overdramatic, she ducked her head and followed the woman who beckoned her outside. She wasn’t exactly sure what awaited her, but made the decision to see as much of this odd place as possible. Eventually, she was navigated down a bunch of hallways and to a room she was told she could stay in. Violet eyes flew wide as she opened the door. The room was decorated in red and gold, primarily, and the obvious dragon motifs made her giggle. Sure, she understood, but it all felt a bit silly, like the inside of one of those souvenir shops in Chinatown. Of course, it was nowhere near as gaudy, and she felt a bit out-of-place in the elegance of the gigantic four-poster bed and lush carpets. It was all a bit too much for someone living as simply as her.

She plopped onto the bed and promptly managed to slide right off and onto the floor, which just had her in further gales of laughter. The covers were silk? Really? She’d hit them at an angle and the complete lack of friction had defeated the entire purpose of sitting. Kat now lay on the floor, door still ajar, laughing like some kind of merry buffoon. Oh, she wasn’t sure she wanted anyone to pass by right now, but… for some reason, despite the grim news, she felt inexplicably uplifted. Maybe it was Nike’s doing, maybe she was just finally going nuts.

That thought seemed even more absurd, and she clutched futilely at her sides, at last managing to calm her breaths. Just like everything else, her happiness was exercised freely, always at full steam. Sighing softly (but without melancholy), she shook her head at herself and decided to find one of the others. Maybe they could use some company. Of course, she had not quite counted on becoming so lost, but even this did not dent her smile. She’d come upon someone eventually… maybe this place even had a piano. She had an itch to try to put to keys the song she’d heard in her head…

Nike's laugh reminded her of a thousand chimes ringing together—it was neither teasing, nor condescending—, but held something of the utmost important. It was the reason why Yani didn't react with anything but unadulterated curiosity, because she wanted to know the answer. Humanity hadn't done anything good for her, it had stripped her seas of its' bountiful creatures and poisoned its' waters with man made materials. Honestly, she disliked the very idea of saving selfish people from themselves, but she knew... she knew that if Nike, the Mother of Earth, asked her to bend her knees and swear allegiance to the cause, she would. Even if her heart twinned inwardly, much like Machai's fingers were. Already, the Shark Descendant was comparing the incandescence of her smile to the morning sun shine, offering warmth and truth and hope. She was finding it hard to find anything short of cloudy skies overseas when she was so distant from Humanity. If she could choose, she would be the soaring sea hawks hunting flying fish, free of any responsibility besides to: hunt, sleep, and fly. She could be the finned sharks swaddling through the icy depths; top of the food chain, and as graceful as a tigress.

She was composed of hard lines and useless tangents as Nike played the charade of not missing the signs of her heart—of all of their hearts, she'd plunged her fingers into their thickets and pulled out something completely new. Honestly, Yani was never given any reason to care about anything beyond her seas and its' creatures. Only one bedraggled man had offered his hand to her, and taught her everything she knew. One of the many things he'd taught her was: stand for what you are, nothing else. Yani was the very embodiment of freedom, sleeping among the waves and breathing salt until it bled through her lungs, skin and being. It was easy to forget that their were other creatures like her out there. Everything would die? Her expression sunk for a moment; the wry smirk eased into a thoughtful frown, before she nodded. Suddenly, Yani raised her head, and caught sight of Nike's sweltering eyes. Her hands immediately drew up, and she hastily spat, “Ah, ah, don't be—.” Her words were cut off as soon as Machai stalked from the large chamber, leaving her clambering for words she could no longer fine. Anything to console the fragile woman, offering so much and leaving her questioning.

Discord might've been a good word to describe the present feeling, it surrounded the room with the weight of Nike's words. It left little to be desired, and far too many questions left unanswered. Yani didn't want to press the matter, she had things to think about. She needed to mull over Nike's words as much as any of the others did, though she was surprised when Kat stepped forward, acknowledging her role as readily as a professional actor. Her strong voice didn't waver, and she found herself feeling inadequate. She allowed herself a small smile before patting Kat on the shoulder, watching the servants dwindle at the mouth of the chamber. As hushed as she could manage, the scabrous woman whispered, “To save the sea, to save the music,” and hurried alongside the tall servant, not once looking behind her. She didn't need to. Hope pulsed through her veins as surely as alcohol might've, it was a strong feeling that invaded her thoughts; left her breathless, sucking in deep breaths between the gaps of her teeth.

“Thanks,” Yani murmured to the man, offering a lopsided grin, before slipping unceremoniously into her chambers. Her chambers. She had to mouth the words a few times, as she stepped around the room, poking around her new desk and polished wardrobe. Never in her days had she seen a room that—that... beautiful, or ornately decorated. The interior of her tourist ship resembled more of a drizzled shack, barely held up with ageing woods and crooked nails. She found herself laying flat on the detailed rug splayed in front of the wardrobe, fingers entwined behind her head. The silk bed was tempting enough, but she couldn't get past the smooth material.

Music—“If you'll be my boat, I'll be your sea; the depth of pure blue just to proke curiosity, ebbing and flowing, and pushed by a breeze. I live to make you free, I live to make you free”—was everything.
_____________

Each member had been successfully secured from their individual missions, and the Father sat in resolute silence, leaning his chin into his soft hand. His mismatched eyes were shuttered closed against the dreamy gleam the moon offered. Lights flickered beneath his eyelids, proposing that their were large lamps looming above them, reminding him of New York's squalid pubs and perhaps even dazzling fireworks, the lesser of evils. Anywhere in New York where alcohol was served provided them the perfect cesspool of corruption; a few cheap drinks, a couple of wads of cash and you had people begging at your feet, kissing your shoes just to drink in a more glamourous dream. Humans were pathetic. Unlike those who served the Father's every whim, they were polished and scintillating, an entirely different breed that championed lesser bourgeois, if you will. They sat in respective silence as the Father drummed his fingers, in vexing patterns, against his leg. Suddenly, a deep darkness offered solace from the bright lamps and he opened his eyes, staring out into the metal bridge they bustled beneath. Rust blistered the steel like a terminal case of skin cancer. A small twitch of his mouth, and he indicated that the driver needed to take the next exit, then turn left—as if he didn't know where he was going. Honestly, sometimes the Father just needed to hear his own voice. Just to be sure that he hadn't been rendered completely mute. What a shame that would be...

The whistle of wind whipping past struts and pillars. A few cars might've passed, but they went unnoticed. The Father's focus was primarily on the building they'd arrived t, her abode: Nike. He often wondered whether or not Nike knew her true name or not; often wondered whether or not he knew his own. It was a mystery, for sure. The Father signalled them to follow him inside, and instead of taking Sofia's needy hand, he took Delaney's. There was something dastardly and purely malevolent about the child that he dearly adored. He might've been lying if he said he treated the others as he treated his prodigy, his weapon, his vision. No, no, the little girl suffered no tormenting sessions at his hands, but rather fatherly teachings that gently led her onto an unbridled, wicked path. The agony and strenuous brainwashing Vincent suffered was necessary, and successful. If the Father had a choice of reversing his cruel treatments, he wouldn't have—it was necessary, and it proved itself repeatedly. True fealty came with the lack of feelings and remorse; without fear, joy, or happiness, one could become the perfect vessel. The Father did not know whether or not Vincent had his own ambitions or thoughts, their conversation was as business-like as it came. They shared a mutual respect of powers, often through glances.

With a smooth whizz, the elevator doors opened and he stepped inside, holding the hydraulic-working door for the rest of the Cruzzola's—as a gentleman would. The metallic hum offered him little refuge of what was to come, he could hardly contain his excitement. To anyone else, his passive smile revealed little. His head craned to watch the numbers rise as the elevator followed suit, shortly after: bing! The doors screeched as they opened at the floor belonging to the suites, and as the Father started through, began to jerk shut like a the metal jaws of a monster attempting to procure a leg or two for its midday meal. The thought amused him, though he didn't laugh. He looked down at Delaney, twirling her in a small circle before clopping closer to Nike's chambers. She wouldn't be alone with him, that much, he understood. Perhaps servant would squander around her, fussing with her hair as a mother hen might? Perhaps, the Father would see the brooding Machai, staring daggers and swords and bullets into his head? If only he could be so lucky. “I'd like us all to be as polite as we can to our dearest Mother,” He rasped quietly, pressing his fingers over the puckered scar marring his throat. It didn't ease the roughness of his voice, but it felt better.

“After all, she is our host.” He wished he could singe his words to her body; if he could only wound her, split her ivory skin and write into the ice-scabs run elastic through the seams. Every time they'd gathered, The Father had witnessed Nike shrivelling into less of a woman, more of a corpse. Nothing else could bring him more joy. Her translucent fingers could be broken; her frail body could be bent; her face... how he wanted to slap whatever hope she had clear off, he wanted her terrified. As of yet, he hadn't been given that satisfaction. He wanted her: I can't do this any more. Here lie the deep-seated sins of the hollow-hearted youth, the Father would say, of the kids who lie alone with clammy hands and half-mast eyes, gripped by a feeling so deep that they couldn't resist the plunge. That was what he truly was: sin. Details were insignificant. Smooth as a night's caress, the Father led them towards the ornately designed archway and door, tugged against the metal clasp and pushed the great doors open.

“Nike, you're looking dazzling as usual.”

Lalita remained transfixed on Nike. Not only her look, but her words. They sounded like a song of a desperation; like all country music. Lalita watched Nike closely as she spoke of the Father and his intentions. It broke her a heart a little for she wondered if she had ever sunken into the darkness that he offers because it was much easier. as she thought of it now, she knew that being consumed by darkness was easier than fighting it.

After all, darkness was sweet. It was enticing. The danger that was held with in it was amazing. The mystery made you want more like when you eat out a bag of chips, you can never have just one. You keep coming back over and over like a drug addict of sorts. She shivered, wondering how she would be able to help get rid of such a delicious thing. She wondered if she even could.

Lalita was so confused by her own thoughts that she completely ignored Machai's outburst. In fact, if Nike hadn't said anything about it, she wouldn't have noticed that he had left at all. Lalita did that, often. She would consumed by thought and pursed her lips while he wheels in her heads slowly turned. She turned to glance at the people going to take her to her room and she nodded. She needed time to mull over what was going on.

Did she really want to risk her life, practically, for a race that basically doomed? You can't fight the monsters because the monsters are often inside of you. That's why people fall, that's why the Father is probably winning. Personal monsters eat people from the inside, out. She heard Kat agree and wondered how she could have so much courage as to say that. The whole world seemed to follow things on blind faith and that alone.

Lalita didn't say anything because she was still trying to process exactly what she wanted to do. No, instead, she turned to one of the servants and followed them down a hall. She was silent as the walked, only hearing the sound of shoes against the floor. She felt like they had only been walking a few seconds before they stopped abruptly and she was left alone in front of a door. Lalita walked in.

She had never seen such an amazing room. It was bigger than her whole apartment and it was solely a bedroom. In fact, the whole room was probably more money than her entire building. Artists lofts in Greenwich were not expensive. Mainly because Greenwich consisted of Adult Stories, Tattoo shops and then another Adult Store. It didn't have the best real estate considering those factors.

Lalita slipped off her heels feeling instant relief. She moved her toes through the carpet that was so soft it felt like velvet. She walked slowly over to the bed that was rich purple and dark green. The headboard and other stuff was embroidered with snakes, similar to cobras. She flopped onto the silk sheets and smiled. They were so soft and welcoming. After such a long day, and so little cawfee to feed a caffeine addiction, it was nice to lay down and just relax.



"You don't want to help me?" Delaney whimpered to her current victim. "I just need a little help then I can be out of your hair like Momma asked me to do. I'll be gone, poof like..." she cut off by a familiar figure coming to her. "Or I'll be leaving now," she muttered to the person she was begging for help from. She walked away with her fellow Cruzzola leaving her victim dazed and confused.

She smoothed her hair out quickly and was glad that she was already wearing one of her nice dresses. She cleaned her face so it was devoid of dirt and blood and then slipped into the car. It seemed everyone else had already been retrieved and now she was the only one holding up their visit to see Nike. Delaney watched the Father with eyes that gleamed with wonder. She always wanted to know what he was thinking, but the silence was not to be disturbed.

Delaney couldn't help but allow herself to submit to the part of her that was actually six and she grew antsy sitting in the silence. She starred out the window watching the lights whiz by her. She was always fascinated by the lights while she was in a car. It was unclear why, but she loved the way they looked. She, like the Father, drummed her fingers against her little legs. Whether it was because of her boredom or because she was imitating the Father was unsure, even to her.

Finally, they arrived at where they needed to be. Delaney always felt so small around all the other members and she often had to remind herself that she was small but powerful. She was forty-five inches of kick ass or pure evil or both. She was a little nervous because she had never seen Nike before. She had heard of her, been taught to want to conspire against her and often wondered if she were to hate her. To be honest, a part of the six year old was frightened of her. But, she refused to show that she was frightened for the Father didn't admire any emotions that showed weakness. She simply wanted to make Daddy happy.

However, Delaney's nerves were calmed when the Father wrapped his larger hand around her own. She was reminded of all the time he had spent teaching her, training her, molding her to do his whim. She followed him like a lost puppy and looked around with curiosity at the elevator and the hallway as they walked in silence towards Nike. They moved in one form, perfectly in sync.

She nodded silently at the Father's request because, for once, she bit her tongue. She probably drew blood from holding back what she really wanted to say. Something along the lines of 'Nike is weak, let us break her. Let us destroy her, set this place on fire and rule.'

But, she knew better. She simply bit her tongue harder and let the rusty iron taste of blood fill her mouth. The great doors opened and Delaney's eyes settled on Nike. Dazzling? Had the Father said dazzling? Delaney let out a small giggle, that was the Father just being polite. She quickly clamped her free hand over her mouth. Bite down harder, Delaney. Silence is key.

Something cold washed over her skin. Darkness invaded her chest. For a split second, there was hatred within the angelic white being. Was it toward him? It was unclear anymore. She’d never enjoyed his presence since his creation. The hollows of her cheeks seemed to darken, her lips practically disappeared from her pressing them together so harshly. The depths of her eye sockets grew black with shadow and for a moment, her very being grew. Nike was no longer the deathly woman in a chair, but something beautifully powerful. A being with a purpose and hope. However, the feeling was tainted within her. Whenever he was near she felt a coldness, an overwhelming sadness, wash over her. It was the only way she could protect herself from his words and the way his eyes would gleam into hers. Even with no sight, he was the only being she could truly see. If she were to ever die, his face would be the last thing she ever set eyes upon. It was a thought that made her muscles tense and her bones quiver. The power she’d called upon gave her the ability to stand, to gain her sight only a bit. Her white eyes filled with the darkness of a pupil and around it the palest of blues. Nike could make out the shapes and sizes of the people surrounding him. One of them was new, a smaller being. A child? Were there no depths to which he would sink?

The next aura she felt was one that gave her an even greater sadness than the man she’d once called… Nike demanded that her mind stay on the blond hair boy standing just behind the Father. Thankfully Katarina had left the room. Knowing she was standing alongside Nike in this fight for Humanity, she did not wish to throw so many things at the poor girl. And as always, Sofia was present. Nike felt a tinge of... something at realizing her presence. The ancient being wished she didn't appear so weak and powerless. Standing up with great tension in her legs, Nike narrowed her obscured eyes. Keeping her hand at her sides, the Mother maintained an air of strength and distance. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel the stems of flowers in her palm. A memory. An old memory filled with a different kind of happiness she had long forgotten but secretly yearned to feel one more time.

“I see you still enter without invite.” She spoke softly. It was a voice that had not been used in a few years, but she retrieved it with little trouble. Calling upon her power was not something she chose to do often but it was necessary when in his company. It lost its former bell-like tone, replaced by something flat, unearthly and sorely unhappy.

“I would know your reason for being here, then I would ask you to leave.”

****

With a tiny stroke of his pencil, the drawing was complete. Machai peered at it under the bright lamp light on his desk. The shading was all correct and no line seemed to be out of place. It was finally finished and he leaned back in the heavy wooden chair to gaze at it from a distance. Perched upon a small branch covered in cherry blossoms, sat a rather dull looking sparrow. Its feather were all gray and black from being drawn with only a pencil, but something about how it stood out against the lightly shaded blooms gave it a noble air. The way its beak was pointed toward the sky a bit and its one bright black eye gleamed at the artist. The flowers framed its plain plumage and gave it something like a crown of jewels. No matter how boring or insignificant, for that one moment in time, Machai had captured its glory and importance in the world. He smiled at the bird, almost waiting for it to smile back.

A tingling sounded down the hallway from his opened door and Machai leaned forward a bit to see. There was no one there, but strangely, the door to the Dragon room was ajar. He lifted a silver eyebrow and stood up, opening his own bedroom door fully and poking a head out. In this one hallway was his room, the Avian room, and the Dragon room. The hallway wasn’t a long one, and just around the corner were the other two descendant rooms. Seeing that door open made Machai’s fingers twitch a little. Moving slowly from his door frame, he waded through the floor toward her room. The tingling sound became more like laughter the closer he got and for one second, he felt like standing just out of sight to listen to her. A smile twitched at his lips and he closed his eyes for a just a few more seconds.

His heart was thrust into his throat, though, when he heard her footsteps suddenly at the door. The hinges hissed and he was met with Katarina’s violently purple eyes and her uninhibited smile. Something twinkled on her hair like firelight. Pushing himself off the wall he bowed to her politely, the way he’d been taught, and then stumbled around his mouth for words to say. Why was he so flustered? He could feel heat rising in the back of his neck and his ears felt like they would burst into flames at any second.

“I, uh, Well…” He cleared his throat after squeaking a few times and finally looked Katarina in the eye. That scared him a little too. “It seems Nike has decided to show you all your rooms?” That had to be the dumbest thing he’d ever said. Why couldn’t he keep his cool? His frustration was running rampant in his chest and head, but Machai deemed a clumsy and less irritated air with Katarina standing right in front of him.

Nike. Mother Nature. Whatever the Father’s nemesis chose to call herself, Sofia would never know her as anything other than a withering harpy.

The blond beauty felt her glistening, crimson eyes roll involuntarily as the Cruzzola’s made their way into the building Nike and her pathetic entourage chose to cower in. This explained her lover’s contemplative mood earlier that day as they sat alone in the car. Sofia could not help but be slightly annoyed at Nike’s seeming refusal to be defeated. She was withering away. This was obvious. But it was happening too slowly for Sofia’s tastes. Nike held on to the hope that humanity could still be saved from the darker side of their nature like a ninety-year-old who clings to life though he would be much better off in his grave. God, how she hated the underdog.

If Sofia were being honest with herself, she had another reason for hating Nike. It was the excitement in the Father’s voice and manner when he spoke of her. It was the greedy, ravenous look in his eyes now as they inched ever closer and the promise of her dangled in front of him like bait. It was only his need to break her, of course, to devastate his arch-enemy so utterly that no one would ever question who the victor in this age-old struggle was. At least that’s what she told herself. Whether or not she believed it was irrelevant, because the truth was of little comfort, and she refused to be enticed to seek it. Especially if admitting the truth meant admitting she felt threatened by that flimsy excuse for a woman.

Needless to say, Sofia was not in the greatest of moods.

Her mood darkened even more when her slender, perfectly manicured fingers reached for the Father’s, only to find that they were already encircled around the tiny, adorably dimpled hand of the youngest member of the Cruzzola family. Her eyes narrowed menacingly in Delaney’s direction. That little brat was dancing cheerfully on her last nerve. Sofia put up with her. She had no other choice. Openly showing her hatred for the Father’s pet was playing a dangerous game. One that Sofia was unsure she could win. That damned child was deceptively devious, and Sofia was sure there was no end to the tricks she had up her sleeve. So, the Mistress put up with her lover’s favorite. . . for now, hoping he would one day tire of her, and she passed the time by fantasizing about ways to destroy her.

The group entered the elevator, and Sofia leaned with her back to the wall, her body arched seductively as the delicate black fabric she wore hung effortlessly around her form. Her mouth formed a subtle pout as she turned her irritated eyes from the Father and Delaney to the other Cruzzola in the elevator. But, Vincent’s cool, detached façade did little to ease her irritation. It was a compulsion for her: to be desired by the men who surrounded her. When she looked at Vincent, she saw only her own failure. There had been times when she had tried, in vain, to probe the recesses of his mind in search of his secret desires. She had always come away frustrated. These times became more frequent, and always ended in failure, until the day she realized the hold he had over her. His indifference to her was driving her crazy, and she could not allow any man to have that kind of power. So she withdrew. She gave up trying to entice him as she did others, and she’d kept her distance from him when possible ever since. It wasn’t worth it to seek intimacy with someone she was unable to manipulate.

After an eternity, the elevator doors opened, and she was able to leave that suffocating space. Now, they were in her presence. Sofia fumbled through her clothing to run her fingers along one of the many knives concealed on her person. The father asked them to be polite, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to fantasize about all the things she could do to the frail, slip of a woman before them . . . right?

The limousine made its smooth stop in front of the ice rink, and Vincent was the first out. Truthfully, he didn’t really enjoy the company of the other Cruzzola; he had no desire to pass time with those that delighted in what he saw as pure necessity. He was the Father’s left hand, Death itself if the occasion called for it, but it was not something he relished in. The cold perfection of his efficiency was nothing more than the result of a constant honing, the chilled calculation designed for the objective achievement of supremacy. The Father had made it so, and Vincent would not disappoint.

He knew that he was different from the other Cruzzola, in the methods of his training if nothing else. For they, the Father was the gentle hand of sin, the persuasive, honeyed words of temptation, a gentle urging along one’s path to complete submission to the darkness that lingered in all hearts, however virtuous… however young. For him, it was a fist, coercion, red strength, rage, compulsion. He scarcely remembered the boy he had been, during his initiation, only that he had been younger then Delaney when it started. Occasionally, he thought he had vague flashes of what might have been before, in the youngest formative years of his childhood, but it was never enough to yield anything useful, and the studied indifference that he had cultivated would not allow him to pursue them further than strictly necessary.

In the elevator, he tucked himself into a corner, back to only the wall. Never to any of his ‘family.’ He knew that the moment he exposed his back to any of them, there would be a knife in it. Some of them would do it out of jealousy, others from hatred, and still others because they would enjoy it, making prey out of the predator. The Father would do it because to become so reckless would mean that he had failed.

Sofia’s eyes met his for the briefest of moments, and he could sense her irritation at being here. Were he a more compassionate man, he might have cared. But he was not, and he did not, so he simply watched, blank-faced, as he looked away again. The child was clutching the father’s hand in a sick parody of filial piety and familial affection, but Vincent cared no more for this than he did for the blonde woman’s feelings. This was the coping mechanism he had developed, the impenetrable persona of complete blankness that had formed under the unendurable pressure of constant pain. He had become desensitized to pain, to manipulations of the mind, by wiping away everything that made him resemble a human being in anything but appearance.

Nothing was perfect, but Vincent was nothing. In this, he found his twisted solace. ‘Twas not to say he lacked the capacity to feel, not completely, but he was capable of wholly disregarding what most people would have termed ‘conscience’ or ‘humanity.’ This was what the Father had made him, this was the shape of his psyche.

And he did not care. For what use had Death itself for any of it? This was his constant reminder to himself, that he might continue to drown in indifference when something inside him begged him to swim, to struggle against the all-pervading apathy.

She made it worse, that hollow shell of a woman who saw with blind eyes and heard with deaf ears. He was… uncomfortable in her presence, though none would know it. It was nearer to her that the proddings of the little boy that the Father had killed became tangible in his mind, whispering to him in the genderless voice of a child, telling him that there was something he was missing, something that would make all the difference in the world. As though anything were capable of making him anything other than what he was, as though the Father’s work had been something less than perfect, as though the shape of his mold had some flaw he could not see.

There was something about her wilting strength that made him feel weak. Perhaps it was simply the aura of utter helplessness that clung to her like a shroud no matter how hard she fought against it. Maybe it was rather the fact that she continued to fight at all where he had long since ceased. He became the perfect tool, she refused to break. It was an imperfect resistance, but that was what made it all the more important. If she was a paragon of oppositional strength, he could dismiss her and the effect she had on him. But she was not- she was weak, and still she fought. It made no sense, and for that reason alone, he could not shake it from his mind.

That and the music. He could hear it, faint and agonized, but no matter how dim it grew, in her presence he knew it to be there. He could not deafen himself to it, and that foolish, irrational boy somewhere rejoiced in it. Still he stood by impassively, waiting for the Father to conclude his business.

---

“Hello, Machai,” Kat greeted without missing a beat, though she was rather surprised to find him just standing there. Perhaps his room was nearby? She supposed they were all in this hall somewhere, after all. She idly wondered if everyone’s space was as thematically-decorated as hers. She might have to knock on some doors and check.

Their guide here bowed, though, with a flourish of loose clothes and strangely pale hair, and Kat giggled. Such an archaic gesture; she certainly wasn’t used to it. “Oh dear,” she confessed aloud, “I hope this doesn’t mean I have to curtsy. I’m awful at it, you know.” Still, with a lighthearted grin, she dipped into a wobbly counterpart to his practiced formality, though without any skirts to grasp she could not help but think she probably looked some silly, leggy bird. A crane, perhaps?

For some reason, he was turning red, a flush on dark-hued skin being a rather peculiar thing, at least for one who regularly seemed so calm, and she remembered that he had left the room earlier rather suddenly. He wasn’t ill, was he? Kat was tempted to lift the back of her own pale hand to his forehead, just to be sure, but stopped herself when she remembered that this gesture was not one of casual acquaintance, even if they were to save the world together with the others. She was about to ask the corresponding question when he spoke, and she nodded cheerfully, temporarily assuaged or at the very least distracted. If there was awkwardness to his cadence, she was not accustomed enough to interacting with people to notice it. “Yes; they’re quite lovely, though…” she trailed off for a second, trying to figure out some way to phrase what she wanted to without sounding like she was complaining (because she wasn’t, really) “I can’t say I’m used to it- I slid right off the silk,” she admitted with a self-effacing grin.

“But… Nike, she seemed kind of… distracted there for a second. I mean, she was fine, at least as far as I could tell, but-” Kat cut herself off and fidgeted somewhat nervously. She didn’t want to concern him for no reason; it was obvious how devoted Machai was to his mother, and she questioned the wisdom of even saying anything, but Katarina was never one to ignore her gut feelings, and something told her that Nike had been worried. Over what, she could not say, but it only seemed right to tell someone who might have a better idea.

With one more comforting squeeze to Delaney's small hand, the Father released her and swept into the grandiose room, surveying the peculiar artifacts—obviously, belonging to each of the Descendants. How long had it been since he'd seen their forefathers and foremothers fall? Decades, centuries; time had little meaning when one lived so terribly long. He glanced towards his fellow companions, if one could call them such. He knew well enough that the Cruzzola's lingering at the doorway wouldn't speak unless spoken to; he knew that Delaney's sharp tongue would only provoke a response unless he demanded of it, and he knew that Sofia's fingers would only gently caress the gleaming hilt of her blades. Without his instructions, they would remain still. Trying to forget his patchwork pulse hammering deadly rhythms against his ribcage and life organs, the Father advanced a few more steps so he could fully appreciate Nike's decaying form. A greedy warmth slept in his belly, begging for violent release. It was only within his power to control himself, though his sickly-sweet words could be as poisonous as he pleased.

The Father's calculating eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed; it seemed there was still a little fight in the ethereal woman, and for that, he was glad. If Nike rolled on her back, what challenge would that pose? He nearly smirked when Nike found it within herself to rise from her bereaving chair, her entire being vibrating against his. He swore he could hear the faint hum growing into its' accustomed resonance, the most beautiful cellos colliding into higher instrumentals, amplifying to meet the terrible tune he whispered.

How she changed whenever the Father sauntered into the room! He tilted his head slightly, meeting her milky blue eyes with his own; assaulting her with his very presence, with the threat he carried on his slender shoulders. Hope was the epitome of human fragility, no such thing existed in the Father. There had once been a time where he wouldn't have so easily discarded the lives of children, pregnant women, or begging men—such times were in the past, and nothing was below him. No one held a steadfast position at his side, it was the cause of such anxiety within the Cruzzola family.

When I'm older, I'll burn down houses, He remembered a younger version of him proclaiming to an equally youthful adaptation of Nike, Teach the world to take me seriously. When the Father was stripped of his birth name and chosen to be Nike's opposition, the world had wept under the weight of his inner turmoil. In those days, he might've regretted his cruel decisions; mayhap, he might've even felt guilty. Those petty feelings had long been lost in the winds, only ash sifting in the ocean. Emotions were materials to make a human, so what was he? A shell of who he'd once been, it was a wonder that he and Vincent didn't get along; if you forget about all of the torture he'd inflicted on the poor prodigy. Both men had lost the ability to feel remorse. The absence of feeling drove their hands to slaughter innocent lives, both were driven by some invisible force that told that was what they were created to do. The only difference between Vincent and the Father was that he'd accepted his role in the matter, twisted it to suit his purpose. What purpose did he even have any more? Vengeance ran hot in his blood, he wanted the world to kneel at his feet and beg him forgiveness for stealing his life; reasons for a youngster forlorn in his grief. What was the entire point to his tyranny? Not that he would admit it, but his reasons had blanched over the years.

Kneeling at Delaney's side, the Father took her small hand from her mouth and allowed her to laugh. Such things were pleasant. And then he drew away, stepping closer to the woman who plagued his dreams. Unfortunately, because Nike was his other half, she intruded into his thoughts, dreams, and nightmares. Tormenting any comfort he might find from his slumbers. It was her name that echoed through his skull; over and over again. The Father watched as Nike stood, imagining the shaky pain thrumming through her tired legs, and slithered to her right. Even in Nike's weakened state, he could feel the strength thundering from her very essence; as loud as ever. How someone could possess such determined strength with such weakness? It astounded him. A tight-lipped frown eased its' way onto his handsome features as he advanced another cautious step, idling just in front of her.

“Old friends need no invitations, do they?” He grated sourly, not bothering to disguise his bothersome injury. Machai's father had caused the puckered scar at his throat in an attempt to kill him. He wasn't sure whether or not he was thankful to live; with the dreadful loss of his once charismatic voice. It dampened any attempt to sweet-talk the locals, most seemed frightened by such menial things. Trust was shallow.

Finally, the Father closed his eyes, and the apathetic smile appeared once more. Nike's voice disturbed him to no end, with it came memories that were better left buried. They meant nothing to him now, so why couldn't they be left alone? His smooth fingers grazed across Nike's cheek, resting beneath her chin. “I seek submission; a chance, if you will,” The Father finally entreated, brushing strands of ivory hair from her striking eyes. “A chance to give up before any more lives are lost. An opportunity to redeem yourself among God's, to let them go. Humans aren't sheep to be shepherded, anymore.” A small chuckle escaped his throat; amused or pained, one wasn't to be sure. “And, I know that you've sought help from the Descendants.” His gentile fingers retreated and he feigned interest, looking about the room. “Are they here now? Perhaps, an introduction is in order.”

Whether he was speaking for himself, or for another, was an entirely different matter.

Nike couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off him. He drew people in, even beings like herself. Mother Nature couldn’t help but stare at him in awe of his manipulation and the way his spiny fingers moved around as they touched her skin and brushed at her hair. Her heart gave way, she closed her lids and a single tear fell slowly down each silky cheek. The past was an ugly beast that always reared its viscous head when she least expected it. The Mother had felt so strong now, ready for anything he put against her. Keeping her footing, Nike only let that small bit of weakness show. With damp lashes, the woman turned her face to the Father, her brows furrowed in concern. Where had he gone? Why had he consented to this horrific task?

How could he have left her?

None of these questions mattered, however. Keeping his face firm in her angst-ridden gaze, Nike saw nothing of what he had been. He was merely the shell of the man she’d once cherished. The dearest of friends… Now a monster she was forever driven to capture and stowaway in the dark. Like a terrible doll with a hollow gaze you just can’t throw out but can’t keep looking at it either. That’s what he was to her. Precious but hideous. His disease was wracking her body and she had to fight back. With knowledge of the Descendants, Nike was able to find a cure for his infection. The Father may never change, but she could at least change her children.

“You know,” she whispered to only him, “that I will never stop fighting you.” Her eyes were hard, her brow still furrowed in a deeply rooted and ancient concern. “Until the world ends by those who created us, I will oppose you in all things. The lives lost on this plane are your doing and not my own, for I fight and protect what I can whenever I have the ability.” He was like a gentle lover, caressing the pale flesh at her chin. They were speaking to each other as they once had before… But the meaning behind the words was different. Inside of Nike there was the sick feeling that she hated him. Inside of the Father was his need to control her, own her like one owned an animal.

This thought made something click within the Mother. Her lips curled just a bit into a sad smile. They were glistening with the tears that had fallen into them. She lifted her cold, tiny hand to the scar on his neck and cupped it over the deformity. Letting it rest there, Nike remembered that day. How heroic Norea had been. Lashing out at a thing far stronger than he could ever have been all for her sake. Machai was no different. It would take everything in her power to keep Machai away from the Father. She quietly thanked the Heavens that he was not here with her.

“The only time,” she spoke, a bit louder this time, “you will ever see the Descendants, is when they are locking the doors and gates of your eternal prison.” The utterance was said with a trembling sadness. The idea gave her a well of hope to drink from but they also sent the overwhelming realization through her that her once dearest friend was forever lost to her. The way she let her fingers lay against his skin was the last time she would ever touch him because once they were strong enough, the heirs to the Four Great Tribes would end his suffering over the world. That was a promise secretly spoken over the words that spilled from her lips.



The way she moved and spoke made Machai smile without even thinking about it. Katarina was clumsy in her curtsy and he lifted his hands to try and stop her from doing it. He couldn’t help his strange idea of manners. His father had been very old fashioned and it had come off onto Machai in a strong way. He had been his pillar of knowledge, strength, and loyalty and so the Chief’s son had embraced them with great purpose. Katarina still tried and Machai couldn’t help but chuckle, something rare but not impossible. Things were going to start to change now. Light was going to fill the halls; hope was going to flow freely between hearts and minds. Though Machai had no idea if they were all going to stay, just having them here, mulling it over, was enough.

He was very glad she enjoyed her chambers and clasped his hands behind his back as she mentioned the silk sheets. Nike always wished that when they came, they were comfortable. Having never slept in a bed herself, she assumed silk was what people most wanted to feel, even though it wasn’t always a practical choice. One couldn’t help but just smile at her need to comfort all near her. That she slid off caused Machai to picture her sliding right off the side of the bed, much in the same manner that she’d curtsied at him and he laughed a bit more this time. It was an absurd picture, but he couldn’t help it. Katarina was a fiery young woman, not anything he was used to, and he welcomed the change. He could only imagine how she and Yani would get along. In fact, all three women seemed rather outspoken. Noah… Machai was still trying to figure him out. His attitude at their meeting had thrown Machai off but then the way he’d spoken with Nike… Machai needed to observe him more closely to figure out what kind of a man he was.

All thoughts of anything else were thrown aside when Katarina mentioned Nike acting distracted. Machai was impressed that she had noticed for not many people could. Then again, she was the Heir to the Dragon clan. The Heirs had a stronger bond to Nike than any normal human. Katarina did not finish her sentence and had a look of regret in her eyes. Machai sighed and put his hands on her shoulders, smiling down at her. The concern for Nike was whirling inside him and he would go and see her immediately, but there was no need to let Katarina feel badly for telling him.

“Thank you, for telling me. If you ever sense anything like that, I would very much appreciate you letting me know. Nike is frail and I just wish for her safety.” Taking his hands away, Machai began to walk passed her, toward Nike’s room when he stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Would you like to come with me?”

Katarina suppressed a sigh of relief when Machai laughed. She didn’t mind being laughed at; she was simply glad to discover that he could. His constant seriousness, if not intimidating exactly, was certainly a bit depressing. It all felt a little less like the worst odds ever if even he was smiling. It was… nice.

All of that vanished, though, when she mentioned Nike. His face became grave, that momentary spark of mirth died out, and she instantaneously felt horrible for bringing it up in the first place. Still, he seemed grateful that she had, and she wondered just how long he had spent as Nike’s self-appointed guardian. She could practically feel the concern radiating off of him, and she hoped that nothing was actually wrong. She hated to imagine what it would do to someone who clearly felt that strongly that it was his job to prevent such a thing.

Kat felt hands on her shoulders and blinked, coloring slightly. She wasn’t exactly accustomed to human contact, per se. Mostly, it was just she and Lester (her cat) and everyone else was at arms’ length. But then, she supposed, one did not have to help everyone else deal with a mysterious organization apparently bent on controlling mankind. A little friendliness would help them all work together, she was sure.

The fact that she still had no idea how any of this was supposed to be done was something she shoved into a shadowed corner of her mind and locked away, at least for the moment. There would be time to consider how once they knew who. It was an easy commitment for her to make, but she knew that people who bothered to think through their decisions a little more carefully than she did might take a while to reach the same conclusion. The idea that any of them would refuse something so clearly important was so absurd it never crossed her mind.

She nodded firmly, dislodging a few more strands from her mess of a ponytail. “I’ll come.” If Nike really was that frail (and Katarina had little doubt that she was) then she wanted to know if there was anything she could do, full stop. There probably wasn’t, and Kat had to admit inwardly that she was also partially motivated by the selfish desire to simply see Nike again, to perhaps hear that song again. There was something about the woman’s presence that the girl could not remember having experienced at any point in her life. Something intrinsically soothing, calming… accepting. That must have been it. Nike just gave off the impression that she was happy with them as they were, not like they had some invisible standard to live up to.

Were she the demure sort, she would have politely followed Machai to where Nike was, but instead, Kat walked at his shoulder, unable to hide the slight spring in her step. She had always been a cheerful person, and somehow something as abstract as the threat of evil people couldn’t really dent it, at least not excessively. Perhaps it made her seem careless, or crass, but she did not desire to depress herself, so she chose to seize the joy of the moment. She was in an interesting place with positively fascinating people. And someone, someone she cared about already, needed her help. That part didn’t make her happy, exactly, but she could not deny that it was something unusual for her to feel needed, as though she were somehow important. Odd indeed.

Delaney watched the Father kneel towards her and when he took her hand from her mouth, her small giggle escaped as if it had been held captive for too many years. It rang around the room and then silence followed. Delaney's eyes followed the Father with his air of mystery and grace. She was starstruck. The Father was Delaney's Justin Bieber.

When he spoke, she studied the woman known as Nike. She looked so weak and powerless. But, somehow, she had managed to stand on her two feet and her voice was strong. Delaney was also shocked by this woman because she was suppose to be losing, but she looked like she was still ready to fight.

Delaney listened to the Father speak of humans and she rolled her eyes. She still thought they were sheep, indeed. They didn't need to be shepherd because their shepherd had clearly failed. Most of her flock had fallen to the wolves, so why was she even trying? Delaney bit her tongue harder.

At mention of the descendants, Delaney was confused. She was sure that all the clans had been killed and that nothing was left of them. Descendants? When did they come into the picture? Who were they? Were they strong and powerful? Or will they be easily defeated? Delaney looked around the room searching for them with childlike curiosity.


Delaney couldn't keep her mouth shut. No, her words came spilling out like word vomit. "Oh, yes! I want to meet them, ma'am. Can't we meet them!?! Oh please!!" Delaney coated her voice with sugar and batted her little eyelashes. She jutted her lower lip out in a beg. The picture of innocence. How can anyone say no?

Every blight asserted some kind of allure. The Father was a barbarous example of the most seductive corruption; the slightest brush of adrenaline that keeps you coming, because you're terrified you'll never feel otherwise. Humans were especially weak to the webs he weaved. People sought purpose, and he gave them a place in the world. In exchange, he asked them to do as they pleased against neighbouring nations; rape, pillage, murder, slander, lie, violence, war, and all for the greater good of the world. Feeding such ridiculous notions worked. Sometimes, the Father would have to tell them that said nations were already planning to wage war on them; planning to slaughter their children nestled quietly in their beds; planning to mount their wives, share them with hungry-eyed troops; planning to steal their crops; planning to burn their houses and leave them dangling from crooked posts. Where fear is present, wisdom cannot be. The Father fed off of every negative emotion humans suffered; fear stunk the worst, tasted like bile swilling in his throat. As he looked down at Nike, he felt no fear sifting through her being—only an impenetrable, ceaseless sadness.

He made no movement to step away from her. Instead, the Father craned his head closer, observing the single tear that feathered down her shallow cheeks. She was crying?! He wanted to feverishly scream in her face, cause her to weep into her skeletal fingers—anything to make her stop with her pitiful display, anything to make her look away from him. The Father's nonchalant expression tightened, twitched into a solemn scowl that betrayed his thoughts. His fingers flexed at his sides, twitching with all of the negative energy engulfing the chamber; tightening and tightening, flowing with whatever positive emotions that stirred from Nike. Any mortal man would have bowed his head in shame at making Mother Nature cry so grievously. However, he felt nothing. Guilt was the hilt of the knife that we use on ourselves, and love is often the blade; but it’s worry that keeps the knife sharp; and worry that gets most of us, in the end. The knife had already penetrated the Father's heart long ago, leaving an empty crater he decidedly filled with empty purposes and ill intentions.

Nike was nothing like Sofia. She didn't drive him to the edge of insanity. She didn't howl or blubber whenever he hissed his complaints. She didn't doubt his abilities, nor did she question his hefty decisions. Together, they were a murder of crows, a sharp-eyed woman with frost-bitten hearts; an empty vessel with black tattoos dripping like feathers down silver-hatched skin. With her, he felt nothing. Floating on the dead sea of his world, there was no sense of pain, no regret or shame, no feelings of guilt or grief, no depression and no desire. His sleeping universe entered and enveloped every atom of existence; drowning everything that dared oppose him. How could she not see how they'd ruined him, by choosing him? How did she not blame them? So when Nike opened her eyes to regard him, concern melting beneath long lashes, the Father's eyes narrowed. She had done nothing.

Nike's look was less misery, and more unadulterated conviction. The Father was only another disease to be purged from the planet because he threatened everything that inhabited it. A spiteful anger begged for release, though he only exhaled a huffed breath from his nose to compose himself. He often wondered if Machai—her gallant, chivalrous guardian—understood that in killing him, Nike's life would end a few moments after. They were forever tied into an eternal dance, connected in ways no one could understand. How could they? Humans truly didn't have another half, though they might've proclaimed it with love as evidence. Soul mates were not true halves. Mates were not true halves. Married couples were laughable, inconsistent things. Yin and yang; Nike and the Father, without one, the other would surely perish. His infection would thrive as long as Nike did, and he had no intentions of kneeling to her will. Unless they severed the snakes' head, the Father would continue onwards with vicious condemnation; his justice sublime.

The Father strained to hear Nike's whispered words, closing the distance between them. Curiosity was a strange phenomena, it caused him to edge closer. His head hovered across her shoulder, and he offered his ear to hear what she might say. Soft as heated feathers, her challenging words thundered quietly. You know, that I will never stop fighting you. The Father recoiled from his position, and laughed. It wasn't a laugh full of mirth; it was a pained, chortled noise that divulged arrogance. His probing fingers released her chin, dragged softly across her bare neck and rested against her hollow collarbone. Conversations like this were reserved for those who were friends. His words were painted with poison while Nike's flowered around him; offering kindness, peace and redemption. In silence, the Father vowed the next time they met like this, she'd be weeping against the asphalt.

Nike smiled. Not her sweet, little smile that exploded sunshine throughout the lengthy corridors. A sad, benevolent smile that cried: I pity you, I pity you. The Father's posture straightened, a stray muscle jumping in his usually lax jaw. He felt the icy fingers of life cupping his deformity; comfortable and cool, gnarled roots threatening to ensnare him. Pity pity pity. He frowned, unease settling within his stomach. Finally, the Father snatched her offending wrist away from his hideousness, secure fingers tightening. He did not release her. “Do not touch me,” He began coolly, glowering beneath his feminine features. Norea was a fool for opposing him that day, and he'd paid dearly for it. A life for a mere injury; fitting. Nike's next words caused him to tighten his grip on her wrist, his visual facade remaining disturbingly the same. “Again, you will be alone,” He added bitterly, continuing his harsh tirade, “I will bury them next to their mothers and fathers; and you, with all of your sadness, will visit them.”

His fingers loosened, then finally dropped her hand away. The Father swept away from her, realizing that this would be the last time they'd see each other until the end, and slowly turned to face her. “I see there won't be any cooperation, then,” the dispassionate man rasped, rubbing his fingers absently where Nike's hand had rested. “I will not wait until they are ready. The Cruzzola's will slaughter your dear Descendants, and I will send you their heads on pikes.” The Father nodded demurely, as if acknowledging an inappropriate jest between good friends. They'd been living against each other for decades, each decade bringing different means of death. Anything involving pikes would be a fitting end, for when it all began.

When Delaney expressed her desire to meet the Descendants, the Father took a few steps towards the Cruzzola group, then faced Nike. “Would you deny a sweet child her wishes?” He crooned softly, his once honey-sweet words coming out raw and forced. He circled around Vincent and placed his hand on one strong shoulder, surveying the ever-present expression. As they'd first entered, the Father noticed a certain disturbance coming from the silent killer. Not from any visible facial adjustment; but he felt it. Everyone was touched by Nike as soon as they'd met her, she instilled an irresistible awe. She sang her songs quietly, whereas everyone could hear it strumming loudly in their minds. No doubt, Nike had some kind of effect on the boy.

Machai was absently smiling as Katarina walked next to him. It made him feel proud to be standing side by side with a comrade. Someone like him. Someone with the same ideals and felt the need to pursue them, even without fully understanding what they were. Katarina knew what was right and she gripped it in her fists with vigor. His smile grew with every happy thought, his teeth almost bared completely. His heart was jumping and dancing and he could actually hear some kind of sweet music in the air around the two of them. A melody he felt the need to dance to. Machai kept his feet still, save for walking, because he would only feel foolish dancing down the hallway. Now, if only he could get Yani, Noah, and Lalita to be as ready and willing to fight in Mother Nature’s honor. It was easy to see on their faces that they wanted to but their human minds, the part that was easiest for the Father to gain control over, would create doubt and hesitation. They were Descendants, though. They were the heart and soul of their clans. The power they contained within their hearts was one that could not be conquered easily by darkness. Machai had a strong faith in the other three.

The thought, the idea, even the hypothetical situation of the Cruzzola actually daring to set foot in their peaceful abode had never once entered Machai’s mind. Sure, the Father could find Nike anytime he wanted. Everyone knew of the bond they shared. It was unbreakable in a way that she would always choose him over Machai. Sometimes, nightmares would haunt the Wolf Clan Chief’s sleep. Nightmares of Nike falling into the sickly feminine man’s arms, nestling her pale skin against his arm. Then she would turn to dust, never seen again. And that smile. That nasty, toothy grin that would spread across the Father’s face. Machai would wake in a sweat and run to Nike’s side. She would always be safe there, still solid and soft. But those were only dreams. Machai could have never imagined that he would be here again, setting foot on the very ground where his father, Norea, the once Chief of the Wolf Clan, had marred his cold flesh forever.

And yet, he was there. Standing before her with a smug arm wrapped around a man Machai wished he knew nothing about.

The air around them all was cold, unfeeling, slimy, and evil. It made Machai’s stomach turned and blotted out the sweet smells of Nike’s very presence. She was being suffocated by them all. A small white thing, standing tall beneath the shadow of a great beast. Her face had taken a strange form and Machai felt his heart crack, almost near to breaking. She was darker looking, more powerful than she’d shown in a long time. He knew this to be only a necessity in the attendance of the Father of all the evil and sadness in the world, but he also knew it would turn her into something she wasn’t as soon as he was gone. That power was ancient, from somewhere deep within her being that brought up a well of memories. He’d only seen it once before, when he was barely three, when his father had fallen under the Father’s gaze. That was when she had started to grow weaker. When it was decided that the Descendants would be brought back to her.

When he’d separated twins from each other.

Though Machai wanted to save Katarina the pain and heartache, she would learn soon enough. Looking at her, only a few inches taller, he chewed on his lower lip. His mind was telling him to make her go with him but his sense of compassion was wanting to keep her safe from the grief. In the end, both came to a compromise and he just walked away, letting Katarina make the decision whether or not to follow.

Walking up behind them, Machai stepped as far from them as possible to walk passed and up to Nike. She had been crying, her wrist was already bruised and he turned a snarling look at the Father. For a moment, a whispering growl could be heard all through the halls of their home. Servants stopped what they were doing to shiver at the sound, and the Descendants, no matter what they were doing, would hear it loudest. Nike lifted the injured hand to Machai’s shoulder, calming the beast within him.

The Father had indeed harmed the woman when he’d grabbed her but she had expected nothing less. His pride was breathable and he wouldn’t stand for the Mother to touch him. It pained her, for she had once touched him like that many times. Now all was lost for the two. She remained as strong as possible, her face neutral once more as he slinked away from her side. A weight lifted from her when she could no longer feel his breath on her skin. Machai, thankfully, had not heard his tenacious threats to her and the Descendants. He was wrong, though. The Father had no idea the power they held. He’d only defeated them before because they had no other choice. This was a new era, a new generation, and determination that could not be defeated. Now they all had something else to fight for, to live for other than just Mother Nature. Yani had her seas, Kat her music, Lalita her culture, and Noah his sense of adventure. Though all seemed abstract or pointless to some, Nike saw what it all meant to them as human beings, as people. It would help them become more powerful than they could ever have imagined.

Nike stood firm but almost faltered when she saw standing down the hallways a bit, sweet, red-haired Katarina, only feet from her brother. The thread of soul that bonded the two was visible to the Mother and the way it wavered constantly made her sick. She turned narrowed eyes on the Father. She would not have Katarina distressed now.

“Leave.” Her tiny hands balled up into physically weak fists. “I will not grant the wishes of you or your brood. It is none of my concern what they want.” For a moment, her voice echoed through the room and their minds. She could speak no longer for her voice would only fail her. Nike prayed heavily in her heart that Katarina would stay put, but something within her knew the passionate young woman would only come into the room. The thought made Nike reach out and grip the thick, calloused hand of her protector. He was a great pillar of strength to her and she would need it for whatever wave of emotion came her way when this was all over with.

Though she hadn't wanted to worry him at all, Katarina was still inexplicably relieved that they were heading back to where Nike was. She couldn't explain it in words that made any sense to herself or probably anyone else, but she felt some kind of... pull. A desire to be there, specifically, and at this very moment. She had heart the phrase "heartstrings" before, but always she had thought of them as she did everything else: in terms of music first, and so she had thought it more metaphorical. But no, now it was almost as though something was literally tugging her by some strand of rope inextricably bound up in her soul.

She was amused by Machai's strange happiness, and she thought to tell him that he should smile more; that it was contagious and fun and, well, rather handsome, too, if she were being honest with herself. And if there was one thing Kat considered herself to be above all others, it was straightforward. The thought was just uncomfortable enough that she didn't give voice to it, and instead they walked in companionable silence for a time until they arrived outside Nike's door. There was something just beyond it that there had not been before, and she wondered what it could possibly be.

All she knew was that it didn't feel right, that it introduced a grating, stark atonality to the melody that had been spinning in her head for some time now, and she frowned. Machai looked at her, his smile vanished, and she knew he could feel it too. The question was on the tip of her tongue, but like so many things, it receded into silence, this time because he left, entering without so much as a word to her, and she wondered if she should follow. The girl spent a precious moment in indecision, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. What of this was some private matter that she was not welcome to? The thought made her hesitate, but only for a brief second.

A low bass rumble resounded in not just her ears, but her head, and it shattered the thin veneer of hesitance, bringing Katarina with sure steps into the room. It held many more people than she would have thought, but her eyes were drawn first to a thin, drawn man with pale hair and paler skin. He radiated some kind of malevolence, and her vision swam for a moment. There was darkness, choking, freezing darkness, and she remembered with sudden, vivid clarity the blackness that restrained her in her dreams, prevented her from running to the aid of the fragile white woman, Nike. She knew, inexplicably but without doubt, that this man was the evil the Mother had spoken about.

Katarina swallowed thickly, but she would not let her gaze waver until she was certain she moved it not from fear, but a conscious choice. She moved, slowly, deliberately, to stand closer to Nike, as if to confirm to herself that what had happened in her nightmares could not impede her in reality. Her gaze flicked briefly over two other individuals; a woman who oozed seduction and grace very different than the sort Nike possessed, and a little girl, who by some strange twist of juxtaposition seemed almost more sinister than the woman.

But as soon as her eyes landed on the last figure, the tall man in the dark coat, it could go nowhere else, and for a long moment, Katarina was completely frozen. Red, red; all she saw was red. Blood, but whose? It was vivid and distinct the way a dream could never be but memory was by necessity. It was everywhere: it stained her white Sunday dress, the dress of a little girl, younger even than the one in the room now, and it stained the silky blond hair of a boy, a boy with a face that looked-

When the music had faded, stopped, she did not know, but Kat would not hesitate to guess that it had been as soon as she noticed him. It was gone, replaced by nothing but the pounding of drums in her head, playing a ricochet in her skull so fiercely that she wanted to clutch at her hair and double over with the sheer agony of it. It was right there- the answer was right there, and she could not see it! She knew she knew this man, and it frightened her that she could not remember how. She had known him as a boy, even, so well that she knew that the eyes behind those glasses were gray-violet, and she knew also that this was because his father's were gray and his mother's were the same shade as her own, and she remembered his mother's voice and his father's music so well because she knew that he was-

Pain lanced through her head, but Katarina was completely transfixed as the contest between her will and whatever caused her to see the pretty red lie instead of the truth of the matter played out in her cranium like the crash of so many colliding armies, and with all the noise. She had not realized it, but the symptoms of it were beginning to show on the outside; though she remained standing, her limbs started to quake fiercely, and her breathing grew dangerously shallow. But she did not know, because she could not care. There was an answer to be found, a truth she must remember, and she would have it if it took everything from her. The girl knew not what stopped her from seeing it, from peering past the red veil, only that it was wrong, and that it did not belong on her mind and she wanted it gone- now!

And inside her mind, Kat wailed and screamed and slammed her fists against the barrier, and slowly, slowly, she felt it begin to crack. It was painful, but she knew it had to come undone, that she had to see what was behind it all, and even as her unseeing eyes spilled salty tears and the skin on her knuckles inexplicably split open and bled onto the floor of Nike's chamber, still she knew of none of it.

And finally, under the determined assault of the girl who could give nothing less than everything she had, the wall of red shattered like so many pieces of glass, and Katarina knew.

"...Vincent," she whispered, and then she collapsed.

The air in the room was thick and stuffy, but not with the usual humidity that was generally the cause of a stuffy room. No. The substance in the air was something much less tangible than any amount of water vapor; still, it hung in the air and swilled in her lungs with substantiality, refusing to be ignored. It was what happened when two, immensely strong presences stood together in one room, vying for the right to be the stronger of the two.

The Father’s darkness surrounded everything and everyone, but even his will threatened to be overshadowed by the oxymoron that was Nike. She exuded timidity and strength all at once, as she refused to back down. She refused to let her light be extinguished. Their two wills collided, and Sofia could hardly breathe from the raw power that crushed everything less substantial in the room, including oxygen, it seemed.

With tense muscles, her crimsons eyes flickered from one to the other as the confrontation ensued. But, with every low word uttered, every brush of flesh against flesh, Sofia felt her muscles tense even more, and she winced almost imperceptibly. A person would have to be completely unobservant not to perceive the history between Nike and the Father. Whatever that history was, it was embedded deep in ever word, ever look, ever gesture they exchanged. Sofia would probably never know their story, for she dare not ask the Father, even when they were alone, and yet, a story shadowed in mystery still managed to make her skin crawl.

She hated knowing that Nike was a part of the Father’s past, and she hated that, for the briefest of seconds, Sofia could have sworn she saw the Father look at Nike in a way he’d never looked at her. It caused her to tighten her fingers around her blade until she could smell the sharp tang of blood under her nostrils. At that moment, she found herself wishing she was defiant enough to ignore the Father’s orders and cut the sickeningly perfect skin of the frail woman opposite him. One little cut would be all it took to render Nike immobile from the pain of the poison pulsing through her veins along with her blood.

Or, perhaps Sofia just wished that she, herself was not immune to the poison. Pain would be a much pleasanter alternative to what she was feeling now.

Sofia sighed, and wiped the blood from her fingertips on the thin fabric of her dress. Neither of her wishes were coming true today.

Then the Father stepped away from Nike and back to the Cruzzola side of the room. A few more words were exchanged, and it seemed like the meeting was coming to it’s end until Machai entered the room, followed by a girl Sofia did not know. If it were possible, the tension in the room seemed to build even more, until it reached it’s crescendo in a strange and intriguing way. The girl, who Sofia assumed was one of the Descendants, looked as if she were growing ill. Perhaps she had second thoughts after seeing what she was up against. The Father’s presence had a habit of doing that to people. Sure enough, the girl fainted, but not before uttering a word that Sofia had a hard time making out. No, it wasn’t a word, it was a name: a name that caused her crimson eyes to move to her side as she stared at the mane of shaggy blonde hair and eyes hidden behind dark purple sunglasses.

Sofia cocked her eyebrow. The name had unmistakably been Vincent, and the red-headed Descendant had looked at him with what was unmistakably recognition. Sofia looked at Vincent, waiting for his calm façade to break, to show any sign of any feeling he might have toward this girl who seemed to know him.

“A fan of yours, Vincent?” she asked, her melodious voice filling the space for the first time since she’d entered it. She couldn’t help it.

This turn of events was certainly interesting.

It was even worse. The way her body had started to move toward them. The way her face had dropped at her eyes fell on his face. Nike had known something would happen, something great and terrible. With a bond like theirs, one that had been shred down to the finest, weakest thread possible, a person couldn’t believe the first meeting would go well. But how the color drained from her face, the way her fingers had trembled at her side. Nike could feel all her heartstrings snapping in broken chords. Her own hand, though weak in appearance, reached out to grip Katarina’s, hoping to allow her a moment of peace. She had to know she had people who cared for her, no matter how long they’d physically met. Nike would do anything to protect these children. But the simple holding of a hand trembling with hard memories wasn’t enough. Her fingers just slipped through Kat’s as she slumped to the floor.

Nike didn’t dare enter the girl’s mind. They were her memories to unfold. She looked into Machai’s face and saw something there that she’d never seen before. Of course, the young man had always been concerned with her well being. She could see the unconditional loyalty every time he knelt before her. His perseverance in her world was unmatchable and she sometimes felt ashamed that she was his only world. But now, the look in his eyes, the crease of his forehead under the wild, uneven bangs of his white hair, were something she’d only hoped to see. It was not her wish to see this side of him when one of her children was in so much pain, but it gave her hope that they would, in fact, succeed in this fight.

When she began to pound away at her feelings, at her remembrances, Machai went next to her and was able to grab her as she fell over to the side, whispering the name of the only person left in her family. Machai held her, checking her pulse and moving her face so he could get a better look at it. When he was certain she was physically stable, his slate eyes turned up slowly to meet with Vincent’s. Once again, the echoing growl filled the halls.

“Leave.” Her words were whispered but the power within them meant she was through with this meeting. Nike would say nothing else. She had nothing else to say. Machai picked up Kat, showing no strain against it for she was light as a feather to him. Keep a heavy glare on the entire group of Cruzzola, he made it very well known that they were the last creatures in the world that frightened him.

When he was finally away from them, down the hall, Machai looked at Katarina, wishing she would open her eyes soon. Laura came bursting out of the laundry room and rushed up to him.

“I heard your call.” Machai nodded and continued walking, Laura stayed where she’d met him.

“Go to her in about five minutes.” She nodded and remained, chewing on her wrinkled knuckled. Machai walked briskly the rest of the length of the hall and turned into her room. He prayed the others were still within the confines of their rooms. It was bad enough that one of the Descendants had fallen ill because of the Cruzzola darkness, he wouldn’t risk all of them doing so. Laying her down gently on the bed, he brushed the hair off her tear-streaked cheek and checked her pulse one last time. It was strong, frantic, like she was still fighting whatever demon had reared. Machai moved to the door, looking down the hall. He could feel Laura just around the corner, waiting for her chance to go to Nike’s side. If there was one human that lived in this place that Machai trusted to help Nike as well as he, it was Laura.

She would need him though. It was only a matter of time before he’d be forced to leave Kat’s side and the thought… It sent a strange nervousness through him. Sighing, Machai turned around to lean against the wall, looking over at Katarina. That reunion had been intense. Was there anyone who could share that pain with her? Resting his forehead in his hand, he would wait for as long as he could, just as he would for any of his companions.

To start, to rile. To stand lingering in the tension of dire words. It was heavy shit, quite frankly, this sudden well of curiosity (or gracelessness—whichever was more appropriate) that came springing out of him like an unwelcome visitor. Even as the others dispersed, as the wolflike Machai had stormed away under pressure, he had been rooted before the ancient Mother. Even as they accepted fate, hope, and obscurity, he was grounded between the cynicism that had prepped him for an early departure and the genuine, newfound interest that kept him in place. And still, even as his mind grew silent, his ears rang with impact. It was more than he, or any of them, could fathom. It was enough to make a crass man speak volumes of poetry—or, in this case, speak little at all, leave the stanzas and sonnets to those better fit to pen them, turn to be lead away, and throw her a peace-sign salute.

To save… the world?

Fuck me.

Pick any daft bastard of a kid off the streets. Give him a ring capable of sinking Tasmania. Replace childlike fanfare with subtle indifference. This is a Noah, who graced the Avian quarters with his presence, shutting the door in the face of his guide. Oh, he was sure the room was simply a marvel to look at if one were focused—the matters of Humanity and Mankind and its epic cock-ups weighed upon him in a tumult of second thoughts and second guesses, was all. His eyes cast downward, and he did not move from the door.

There was little doubt in his senses that her fragility, her purity would allow her to deceive them. What reason would she have to thread tales? Gradually, he lifted his head. Hands loosened, tension gone. If the whole lineage gig had sounded heavy-handed before, he was now encompassed in it, all pastel walls and faded clouds, wispy marks and feathery things, winged beasties and airy breezes. For all its spectacle and novelty, it was the darling bed that tempted him, and, suddenly caught up with a weary notion, he fell out on silken sheets, sprawled across them like some nancy street walker. Any further caring would be left for the morning. He could lose himself in here.

To be passionate, ambitious. Nike’s message had not dimmed in volume, unwavering. It repeated within him, going, going, and going still, like a renegade metronome. Those brief glimpses of sleep were punctuated by warnings foretold. In spite of definite fatigue, Noah found that he could not outrun the limbs of bother that dragged him from a proper rest. So, naturally, he shot up, the scarf and goggles flung from their place. His jacket was hastily discarded as he exited the thematic room, searching for something and for nothing at once.

Creeping from his door, he noted Kat and Machai undoubtedly conversing in awkward quips as they walked the length of the hall. An odd smirk crossed Noah’s lips—how amusing. He may not have gathered much observational time of the ragtag bunch, but whether they would mesh well was a risky gamble indeed. Realizing this, his smirk faded. Surely these people would often be his company from now on. And surely they couldn’t be ignored as he had dismissed trainees and graziers on the station. It was a harrowing thought only intensified as he stalked the chambers, seeking the gap-toothed gremlin whom he could readily live without.

Just a quick visit, he assured himself, stumbling upon the rooms of the Avian and the Serpent. Surprisingly enough, choosing between a pirate’s brogue and a Brooklyn shuffle party was not terribly difficult. Life would be worlds easier if he could skip to cawfee. But he needed what was his and, damn it to Hell, he was desperate to get it back.

A true gentleman, he burst through the door without warning. As predicted, she lay there, cares drifted to wayward tides. Fucking shark.

“I need my wallet back.” No conviction, just a demand stripped of its power. Arms outstretched, palms settled against the entranceway, he looked strangely limp. Intruding privacy, tainting spaces—politeness was overrated. “It’d be of little use to you or your kind, so I suggest ya hand it over before I come over there.”

And do… horrible things. Because his mind, not to mention his dignity, was at a loss.

Somewhere, he felt as if he could sense the tension rising once more, and it certainly was not idling here in the doorway. He felt as if he were needed.

To believe.

—in what, exactly?

Rarely the introspective sort, he left it at that.

Weaving his solemn thread of melancholy, the Father's fingers trailed across Vincent's shoulders as he habituated his attention towards Nike; each and every touch pulsed with negativity, bred violent, aggressive thoughts. A small smile toyed on his lips and as if prompted, Katrina and Machai entered the chamber. It seemed with each presence being added to the room it grew smaller and smaller, just how he liked it. He wanted to impress his figure further, thread his calamity into these pure beings like gnarled roots entangling snared rabbits. Machai seemed to at least acknowledge he had such powers, as he pressed himself as far as he could to reach the shaking Nike and avoid his prying eyes. The man's eyes glimmered, and as quickly as he'd swept behind his dearest Vincent, he slipped away and stood at the entrance-way. With one hand on his hip, he was clearly sizing the Machai up. “My, my, little wolf,” He cooed harshly, drumming his fingers once again. When had been the last time they'd met eyes? Years ago, surely. Now, he'd blossomed into a strong young man—Mother Nature's sword, her guardian striding into the light with his Descendants as followers. How ironic that they would meet again on these terms. “How you've grown.”

If the Father was intimidated by Machai's outlandish snarl, he showed no signs. While Machai bristled with barely contained anger, the Father's eyes fell back onto the redheaded girl dwindling in the hallway. An intense stillness fell upon the grounds, save the laboured hissing sounds escaping his throat. Everyone feared a standoff between he and the little wolf, though he knew nothing would come of it. Nike feared dreadfully for her sons safety, and as he suspected, raised her hand to still the restless beast. The man merely smirked. He folded his arms across his chest and tossed back his ivory hair. His eyes rolled thoughtfully towards the ceiling, as if he were considering something of a lesser urgency. Heart; he lacked the blessed, cursed thing. So where a passionate man would have shivered in his boots, he stood poised with the lackadaisical attitude a rich man possessed; unaware that the little wolf would have been happy to tear his throat out. Just as his father had tried, and failed, to do. “Dear sweet Katrina,” the Father mouthed softly, tapping his chin with his index finger. How things were shaping up to be! Excitement already ebbed its' way into his belly, retreating and returning with an even stronger current.

With another graceful step forward, the Father faced Sofia and feathered his fingers across her cheek in what may have looked like an amorous gesture. And then he whispered something only she could hear, leaning forward so that his lips rested on her jawline. Another time, my love. His deft fingers lingered against her hand, stilling her fingers from holding her daggers so hatefully. Someday, she would allow Sofia the pleasure to witness Nike writhe in pain—if only to sate her hunger—and share his secrets with her. For now, his thoughts and dreams were Nike's only; he would have been fibbing if he said that they hadn't share many dreams together, it was a place where they both drew together, and clashed. It was the reason he spent many nights awake, staring at the ceiling or pleasuring Sofia. He drew away from her, just as Katrina crossed the room and stood closer to Nike.

His eyes narrowed with renewed curiosity, and he watched her gaze drift from each of the Cruzzola's, until they stopped on Vincent. A moment later, Katrina's eyes rolled back, tear stained, and she was falling; her small knuckles bled and dribbled onto the floor. Time seemed to freeze as she fell, and he swore he could smell the mingling scent of metallic blood and salt. He couldn't help but lick his lips. Machai, gallant as ever, caught her before she bounced off the waxed floor. Fitting. The conversation was at its' end and he knew that Nike would say no more. Not with one of the Descendants laying placid on the floor, disturbed from her brief brush with familiarity. It would not end there. He would make sure of it.

His eyes locked back onto Nike's, and he was pleased with her concern. “I shall take my leave, then. I've no wishes to upset you further.” Even though she was physically frail, the tone of her voice vibrated with an untraceable power and he bowed his head in feigned obedience. “Curious matters. I wonder what you'll tell her,” He hissed demurely, placing his hand on Vincent's shoulder to steer him in the opposite direction. His tenuous fingers squeezed; a silent answer to his questions. “All will be discussed in due time, Vincent.”

See, they don't give a fuck about you, like I do. I do.

____________

Curled against the vibrant carpet, Yani's hands were tangled through her ruddy hair as drifted off. The silken bed laden with fluffy pillows was forgotten, it was easy enough to sleep when all of those heavy words weighed on her shoulders. It felt like an ugly joke taking a poverty ridden rat from the streets and throwing words like humanity and saviour at her; what help could she offer? It was easy enough to dream of happier places, though everything felt wrong. She dreamt of a large ship drifting among humdrum doldrums, rocking silently through nighttime fire, as the void hunger lapped tenaciously at her sides. She saw silhouettes and seized the shadows. She wore the beautiful sea like a second skin; a secret spine that held her as straight as the mast did. A great beast seized the front of her ship, shaking tremors through her as she scrambled for some kind of foothold. The rowdy woman clung onto the chipped rails, clambering for balance and staring into the gaping maw that dripped gasoline, pollution and sickness. And then she was capsized, thrashing desperately to reach the surface. Reaching, and reaching, and finding nothing.

Reaching for Humanity?

Everything was suddenly dark, and buried deep, anticipating proper oxygen. As much as she'd liked to deny it, Mother Nature had already staked her claim to the sharks' heart. In the midst of her untimely demise, she could admit that Nike carved beauty into her eyes. She felt like she'd been branded a fool by not standing beside Katrina, professing her allegiance. Because damn it all, she was in, too. She would be down in the echoes of the evening. She would add all of her blistering fury to the cause, and she would strike down any landlubber that denied the ocean, who denied Nike. Still in her dream state, sea shells and seaweed pressed to her lips, unknown fingers and hands washing over her. Something louder and much more aggressive rang in her ears, and frantic music caught in her drifting hair. It felt like the water thrashed around her, then ended with a Stygian snarl; whose snarl? Fingers tightened around her arms and she choked for air, gasping at the name caught in her throat. Nike—Nike—Nike! “Mother!” She gasped harshly, partway between a breath of air and a fish floundering on shore. Instead of facing any astral sea creatures, her blurry eyes adjusted to the mysterious figure with outstretched arms, asking for something she might've missed.

“Whuh?” Yani finally blurted, rubbing the corners of her eyes with her knuckles. Wallet? The word seemed foreign in her disoriented mind; still dallying from her frightening, deep sleep. She looked past him for a moment. It was as if her entire being was begging her to return to Nike, to see if she was okay and lay her worries to rest. A forbidding feeling settled uneasily over the Shark Descendant, like a sheet of worry cast across grey skies, promising stormy weather. Her fingers tightened against the soft carpet, threading the material through her knuckles. “My kind—pah!” She suddenly laughed, though without its' usual mirth. As quick as a stripped eel, Yani was on her feet and facing Noah, who seemed oddly deflated. “And ye'll do what, exactly?” Yani challenged, taking a few steps forward.

Her challenge lacked conviction, and it was obvious. Yani was needed to do... something, right? Nike was calling her back, like the ocean did. She could hear her broken voice arresting on the rocks, unable to retreat. That wasn't all. She didn't know any of these people, not at all, but she could feel a great unrest; a great sadness between two siblings sharing blood. And even though she could never understand how that felt, she could feel her. Without a mother or father, without siblings and without any real likeness to family; she couldn't understand. She still felt that nagging loneliness, though. She understood that much. The woman's hands slipped behind her back as she advanced, and she stopped an uncomfortable distance away from Noah. Even she couldn't understand what kind of sensuality she exuded in every confident step, it wasn't the same as the Serpent Descendant; not even close. How alluring was a shark wadding up to swallow her prey? “And ye'll do what?” She repeated, slyly. A moment later, she was pushing Noah's leather wallet into his chest and slipping by him, arching her eyebrows at the small victory. Yani looked back over her shoulder, and smiled toothily at the Avian Descendant. A small victory, it was.

“Ye' gonna stay there, or find out what's causing the ruckus?”

He must've felt it too.

Delaney stood in a room so silent you could hear a pin drop or maybe even a toothpick. She stood in a room so full of tension that she dare not move or speak a word. She stood there, staring and analyzing Nike. Trying to find her weak points, but the only one she saw was her love. Delaney wrinkled her nose in disdain.

The familiar scent of blood wafted towards her, but it tainted; it was evil. It was Sofia's. Delaney wrinkled her nose even more. Not due to the smell, but due to the source. Delaney shifted her eyes back to the Father and then the tension grew even more as two people walked in. One was a boy and the other a woman with striking red hair. Delaney caught the woman's eyes as she scanned over the crowd and followed them to Vincent.

She watched as the woman's face changed slowly. She looked like she was going to be ill and all the pain that warped her face was pain that Delaney wished she had caused. To unleash that on her victim's would be something that no one but a descendant could bare. Then, she whispered Vincent's name and Delaney cocked a brow, turning slightly.

He looked unaffected, almost bored. But, Vincent always looked like that. Delaney wondered how long he could hold up such a facade. Sofia asked what was on everyone's mind and, for once, Delaney agreed with the woman.Then, the booming word of Nike interrupted her thoughts.

Leave? So soon, but it was just starting to get fun. "Oh fiddlesticks," she muttered under her breath, turning as Father turned Vincent. She would follow them out as the moved in a collective group away from Nike and her chambers. She wished to stay to watch Nike finally give up and crumble like Delaney knew she would do once they left, but she followed the group silently.




Lalita hadn't realized she was drifting asleep as her thoughts slowly cradled her, but she was. To save the world from impending doom? How can she do that? The most action she ever got was late night and it always left her alone in the morning. It seemed that the whole world was literally resting on her shoulders, and the others of course.

The others, Lalita bit her lip. Everyone was so different and she was curious to see how their differences would mesh together. Would they make a huge family or just fall apart at the seams like a book after its submerged in water? In her heart she didn't want to believe it because her heart wanted nothing but to stand up and be strong.

Lalita had always told herself and others that she was strong. But when a situation arises that she must be, she feels like shrinking away. She wants just to simply hide under her covers, leaving the monsters just outside of her blanketed shelter. No, she refuses to cower in fear. She thought of Nike. The beautiful woman had barely an ounce of life yet, but she still managed to smile and tell them everything. She still had hope. Hope, something that had evaded Lalita for so long. Finally, it seemed to be returning. Yes, it seemed she was in.

Her thoughts were disturbing her, making her stomach turn as if she was on the Tower of Terror in MGM... or, excuse me, Hollywood Studios. She shook her head, to herself, knowing that it wasn't just her thoughts that were causing such a ruckus. She took a deep breath before slipping her feet back into her heels.

She opened her door, hearing muddled conversation from the room across from her. Something was happening just down the hall, but she couldn't bring herself to go alone. She fixed her hair and walked across the hall. Her heels made the familiar clink-clank that she loved so much. For heels, no matter what size, were her best accessory for the spoke for themselves. Clink-sex. Clink-allure. Clink-power.

"Excuse me," Lalita said to the Avian and Shark Clan descendants whose names she was not yet familiar with. "If us'guys don't mind, I think it'd be smart for us to go by Nike and see what's going on." She turned, leaving her finger on the light-switch. "You already closed the light, so let's go." She said, tapping her foot.

It was a sadness that filled her up. It grew and grew to capacity every time they were together. Nike held her forehead in her hands, eyes closed, losing their sight as she let go of the power that made her tall, strong, filled with hope. It had been years before when they’d met in almost this same way. She hadn’t been nearly as weak and far fallen. He’d torn her apart inside.

No.

The Father never touched her. He would never lay a metaphorical hand on her. His darkness stayed at bay from her heart, keeping to his own sick and twisted psyche. No, the man she spoke of had been her closest and dearest friend. He’d been her best friend, confidant, and now every time she saw him, he was killing her. Hurting her. Filling her up with lost hopes and dreams. What kind of Mother was she? Who was she to her children if not their hope? How could Nike let her past fill her up this way? Her chest ached, her mind reeled and whirled.

Katarina was in the worst kind of pain. The pain of not knowing. The pain of confusion coupled with a horrible loss and separation. Nike sighed, and fell into her chair.

Vincent… She whispered to he and only he. The string that tied them together was so weak she was almost afraid confronting him would snap it clear in two. But Nike had to take this chance. She had to know for herself if all was lost. Vincent, you must do one thing and that is all. Whatever you feel inside, in the farthest piece of you, far from your mind; in the deep darkness where there is but a tiny light trying to hold strong… that is someone you know, someone you can trust. No matter what you are told, I will never judge you or hold your past against you. You are my child, Vincent. I will protect you, no matter what. And she let him go. Tears wouldn’t stop running from her lashes. Her hand did nothing to hide the way her insides were churning and filling up with a darkness she fought every day. A personal darkness. It was in these wretched moments that the Mother found herself unsure if it was her own personal tragedies that were weakening her or if it was in fact the plight of Humanity. A delicate mind, plagued with confusion couldn’t decipher her surroundings. Everything was turning a deep shade of crimson. Nike covered her face with both hands, trying to breathe through this moment of complete weakness.

It was no good. She was breaking again. Just like she had started to do so many times before. All senses lost. Physical… her sense of touch was empty. She felt nothing but the beating of her human-like heart. It pounded through her skin, into her head. Consistently screaming at her that she was weak and that she had to grow stronger! Nike wanted to scream out, but her voice was lost.

Laura came rushing into the room, her eyes following the brood of darkness entering the elevator. She visibly trembled and then ran to her mistress, dropping on her knees and throwing her hands into the lap of the woman she served.

“Mother?” She whispered, watching the tears fall from behind her rice paper hands. There was no reply from the doll in the chair. “Mother?” This call was desperate, her hands reaching up to grab the hands that hid the plight.

This loneliness fills me up. I am a weak paper cup with no bearings. I cannot handle this wild shaking… Laura couldn’t make sense of her words. Her brows furrowed together, concern rippling through her. He left me with nothing. I couldn’t save him. He wouldn’t save himself. I’m alone… Filled up with shock at these words, Laura couldn’t do anything but kneel there, holding Nike’s hands. What was she talking about? What were these exclamations? Of whom was she speaking?

Vincent watched the promenade of showmanship that passed in the small, solitary chamber, ever the impassive audience. It was as though this were some grand, sweeping play, enacted for the benefit of none but the actors, and each moment was so soaked in drama and tension that he could almost see it running in scarlet rivulets down their bodies, from their eyes, dripping from tapered fingertips onto the tile beneath and pooling there like so much life-essence.

The Father had once remarked to him that he alone of all the Cruzzola had never once returned to headquarters covered in blood. It was an idle observation, perhaps, but nothing that the Father said was ever without some kind of hidden meaning, and Vincent had by necessity grown adept at deciphering them. Of course, he understood on some level why this was the case. He did not revel in torture and suffering as his fellows did. He did not savor the contact worth some shred of innocence, and then delight in breaking it into so many unfathomable pieces. His was not a will bent upon destruction for any particular reason. There was no joy to be found in it for him, no half-seductive allure, no escape from a constant struggle with his own nature. Not even, as he had come to suspect was the case for their patriarch, was such destruction his nature.

No, he was far more wicked than they, for he had no compelling reason to act, and still he did. Still, he maimed, killed, and tore apart, for no other reason than because he had been told to, and saw no reason to disagree. People were nothing to him, much the same as ants or dust or anyone in this room.

A feral snarl brought him back to the immediate happenings of the room. It would seem that Machai, Nike's self-sworn guardian, had returned, and this was greeted with the same indifference as anything else. The wolf was not a threat, not here in a room where it was only himself, his paper-thin Mother, and four of the inner circle of Cruzzola. Any resistance that might be offered here would be the howling of wind against unbending mountain. Loud, but useless.

He was followed by a girl, who seemed arrested at the sight of them. This in itself was not unusual; nothing tasted sweeter than sin to a human being, after all; one need only look at the Cruzzola as a group to understand that such allure was painfully prevalent in all of them, if in different ways. But... it was not that sort of look, and indeed, her eyes locked on his almost immediately.

Violet. Brilliant, vibrant violet intruded upon his visions of crimson oceans, and he was... unsettled by this. His tinted lenses hid it from view, but Vincent's own eyes narrowed, and he scrutinized her face more closely. There was something almost... familiar about it, as though he may have seen that particular angle of cheekbone or the particular upsweep of jaw before. This genuinely did bother him; he was unused to such recognitions. Most people's faces blended together, and why would they not when he had so little care for any of them?

She seemed to recognize him as well, but something was going on that he could not see. He averted his eyes when the tears began to spill down her face, but he could still acutely smell the metallic tang of her bleeding knuckles. "Vincent." The Cruzzola's eyes snapped back to the girl's face even as she collapsed, caught by the Wolf and transported away.

For a moment, there was nothing. Not the normal sort of nothing for himself, but a sheer absence of not simply emotion, but thought as well. It was a literal pause in his function as whatever he was, an empty space in which for just an instant all of those processes, all of those machinations that had gone so meticulously into shaping him simply ceased to exist. The enormity of it was vast and overwhelming, and it might have become a moment in which he realized something important, but it did not, because his senses were still working, and he seized on the first opportunity to bring it all down upon himself like a shroud once again. "Fan of yours?"

Vincent arched a perfect blond eyebrow. "I'm sure I would not know," was the flat reply, and then everything was back to the way it had been. The Mother demanded that they leave, the Father's hand steered him towards the door, and Vincent turned obediently, perfectly content to do just that. Nike's voice broke into his mind, but Vincent pretended to ignore her and continue to move. He gave her no discernible response inside his head either, and eventually she withdrew.

She would know that he had heard, but even he could not say if he had understood or not.

---

Her dreams, short as they were, could only be called fitful, and images played across her mindscape in combinations that she had not expected. She saw the faces of her parents, of course, but now, they were joined by a bright, blond boy, and she knew who it was without having to guess. As she watched, her usually-dignified musician father carried a large picnic basket up the crest of a hill, followed by her mother, all sun-kissed golden hair and bright smiles, who clasped the hand of the boy- Vincent, her brother- in one of her own.

Vinent's eyes were directed back down the hill, though, and he kept gesturing with his free hand for someone to follow. Unable to tear her gaze away, Kat watched as he pulled away from their mother, who shook her head and followed her husband up the hill. Vincent ran back down, but his foot caught on a stone and it was not long before he was tumbling, head over feet, down the slope. On the way down, he smacked right into a four-year-old Katarina, decked in ribbons and what she instinctively knew was a pristine, just-purchased white Sunday dress, and the both of them rolled the rest of the way down, giggling like the tiny little hellions they had been.

They landed, hand in hand, with her feet near his head, sprawled out on their backs on the green turf of the park, and still the childish laughter did not cease. Their clothes were ruined, muddied by the ground still damp from early-spring rain, but neither of them cared about that. With the energy and durability that only young children could possess, they were on their feet again, pulling each other up the hill towards their parents. One of Katarina's ribbons had come off and blown away, and the corresponding braid was unraveling, and Vincent's face was covered in mud. their father shook his head, but their mother's chuckle brought the same out of him, and even as her childhood self settled onto the plaid blanket, the watching Kat could not help but wonder how she could possibly have forgotten this.

She woke with a throbbing pain in her skull, and her hand immediately went to her forehead, a small pained groan issuing from the half-awake young woman. "Mmph... what happened to me..?" Her eyes cracked open, and she caught sight of the cracking dried blood on her knuckles. "Oh... right." Kat sighed and pushed herself upright, blinking to clear her vision. Looking around, she noticed Machai leaning against the wall and offered a wan smile. "I guess I really know how to mess things up, don't I?" She averted her eyes, looking back down at her hands before sighing again and pulling her knees to her chest before she abruptly remembered something. "Oh no! How long have I been out? where's Nike? Is she okay?"

The fact that he was here and not there was both puzzling and also somewhat warming to her, and she took it as a sign that Nike was probably not in immediate danger, but she still did not know what might have transpired since then, and her natural reaction to this was overflowing concern. Kat immediately tried to stand, but wound up falling back to sit on the bed when the suddenness of her motion brought on a powerful vertigo. "Ow..." She frowned somewhat.

Deciding that standing would be impossible for the next couple minutes at least, she folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them hard for a few seconds, gathering her courage. "Machai, do you... did you know that my brother was a Cruzzola?" There was no accusation in the words, just curiosity, but she couldn't meet his eyes and hated herself for it.