Disclaimer: Some characters are mine, some are not. Universe is RR's. I have permission to use all characters used.

Author's Note: Chapter III is written in the third person perspective of Blake Courtenay, legacy of Zeus and Apollo.

III

BLAKE

Blake whispered to his friend, nodding towards the ladder that extended from the roof to about 12 feet off the ground.

"Quick, Wyatt, give me a boost up."

Wyatt did as Blake told him, putting his hands together at about thigh level, squatting towards the ground. Blake took a running start towards his best friend, stepping on his hands, leaping as Wyatt launched him into the air. Blake wrapped his hands around the lowest bar of the ladder, clinging on to it. He began to climb, glancing back down.

"Spread out. Wait in the shadows. I'll give you a signal."

Alex looked up to his son, filled with emotion. If Blake wasn't mistaken, his father seemed proud of him. Possibly for taking the lead in such a dangerous and high-risk situation. Or something along those lines. His father spoke to him as Blake continued to climb.

"What kind of signal?"

Blake grinned back at him, his white teeth shining brilliantly. "Wait and see. You won't be able to miss it."

Wyatt shook his head, muttering. "Why was I afraid you would say something like that…?"

Blake laughed and pulled himself to the roof of the building, which was thankfully flat and not slanted at all. Much easier to maneuver on. Blake began to advance, jumping from roof to roof with perfect execution, avoiding all detection. Well, except that of the red haired boy, who now had a gun pointed to his head. Blake quickened his pace, eventually coming to a spot with a perfect line of sight to the large man, obviously the commanding officer for the army that was present.

Blake reached back and drew an arrow from his quiver, setting his sights on the military leader. He eyed the arrow. A blue head. A Zeus bolt. He and his mother had spent quite a long time making special arrows, enchanting them, cursing them to do incredible things. He made eye contact with the boy, and winked at him. The boy started to laugh, and after getting kicked, pointed to the man's chest. Blake got the message, and aimed his arrow directly at the heart of the man. Blake took a deep breath and steadied his arm. The man lifted his arm to shoot at the boy, but Blake had other ideas. He released the arrow, a missile moving at terrifying velocity and it hit its target directly.

The man staggered back and Blake smiled cockily, closing his eyes. Yet another perfect shot. He couldn't think of anyone who could shoot as well as he could, but he didn't want to miss the best part! He quickly opened his eyes, his body awakened by the lightning crackling above him. He felt invigorated by its presence, its electricity running through his veins. The lightning seemed called to the arrow, which was exactly why it had been summoned in the first place. That was the function of Blake's Zeus bolt. To summon lightning, and literally fry whatever it was that had been targeted.

The electric missile streaked from the sky, launching itself towards the military man at blinding speeds. The boy jumped out of the way just in time as the man was fried alive by the extreme heat of the lightning. The boy didn't look to have been hurt by the blast. Well, that would've sucked.

Blake scanned the scene. His signal was placed perfectly and he looked around, noticing the dark figures of his team now advancing from the shadows. They'd spread out exactly how he'd told them, and were converging on the hostiles from all directions. Blake knocked three normal arrows at once, and fired at a trio of confused soldiers who had begun to fire at the boy again. With a quick release, Blake silenced them. Blake cracked a smile. He had never had such easy target practice. The men moved so slowly, so clumsily. Blake would've felt bad had it not been for the fact that these men wouldn't hesitate to execute Blake at the first chance they got. Mortals, always so judgmental and discriminatory. It made Blake sick.

Blake fired another arrow at a man, and he let out a scream before falling. Five kills. This could get very interesting.

Blake saw a man running for his life, trying to escape into the building that Blake was now using as his post. Blake grabbed his weapons and leaped off of the roof, landing on the fleeing soldier's shoulders. The man stumbled in surprise, and bucked as a bronco would. Blake grabbed a tight hold of his collar with one hand, reaching back and drawing one of his steel knives with the other. He lifted the dagger, and stabbed downwards, quickly ending the mortal's miserable life. A man fired at him and Blake drew another arrow. He noticed the black etching on the side of the shaft. It read, σέρνω, the Greek word for drag. He fired the arrow at his attacker, and a long cord extended with the arrow as it flew towards him. The arrow hit his calf, and the cord wrapped around his leg, before beginning to drag him back to Blake. After a few moments of intense screaming as the man was dragged across the hard pavement, Blake lowered his knives and finished the man off in the same fashion as his previous combatant.

The scene was quickly becoming filled with blood and bodies as Blake and his partners tore the army to shreds. Wyatt stabbed his trident into a large man, almost severing his body in two. His father and Dennis fought side by side, twisting and stabbing as a perfect team. Blake smiled as they downed their final enemy. So much easier than I had been expecting, Blake thought. Only four of the soldiers remained, screaming in terror as they fled to the south of the group. Wyatt nodded to Blake, who smiled. My pleasure.

Blake drew four arrows, knocking them all at once. He raised his bow in the air, and fired the arrows. The arrows soared high into the air, above the low clouds that tugged at the increasingly damp ground. After a moment of silence, a series of pained yelps came from the other side of the courtyard, about two hundred yards from where Blake was standing. Bull's-eye.

Blake lifted the arm of one of his nearby victims, wiping the blood off of his blades onto the man's shirt. He began to whistle an old tune his mother had sung to him and Wyatt as young children, some legend about a large snake and great hero who slew it. Blake strolled over to his best friend, gripping his hand tightly in greeting. Blake bowed in mock admiration. "Saw that last kill. Nice one! Almost cut him clean in half!"

Wyatt grinned at Blake excitedly. "Yes, but that is nothing compared to a quadruple kill from two hundred meters away!" The boys began to talk of the fun they had had, going over the different things they had pulled off. Most people would see the pair as sadistic and cruel, but the mortals and their oppression has caused Blake and his family nothing but grief for years. In Blake's eyes, the mortals had it coming to them. And making it into a game made it a lot easier to live with the guilt of taking another life. They should just be glad that they chose to kill them quickly. The boys approached the red haired kid, their fathers already on their way to greet him.

Dennis had already begun to converse with the kid when Blake and Wyatt arrived, still chatting away about the skilled kills they had performed with ease. The boys silenced as they reached their fathers, with Dennis raising his hands in submission. Dennis calmed the boy down, asking for his name. Cautiously, the boy asked for theirs first, and then a series of introductions ensued. When the greetings ceased, the boy, Scott, thanked him for saving him. Blake laughed and began to tell a story about the time he and Wyatt had broken into a mortal police station and helped to break out friends of theirs, Gwen and Joanna. The twin girls had gotten in a bit of trouble and Blake and Wyatt took down every mortal in their path, eventually getting to the girls and bringing them home to their parents, Darrien Peake and Arabella Matthews. But before he could even get started, his father cut him off, and Blake stuck his tongue out at him.

More boring conversation proceeded, and Blake began to daze, his thoughts going elsewhere. He thought of his night of action, the gorgeous new girl, the "secret" meeting in the War Room. Anything but the monotonous conversation before him. His trance was broken by a pair of gunshots sounding loudly in the air, jerking the heads of all five group members towards the location of the noise.

The ginger boy took off running first, vaulting himself over a low brick wall. Blake looked at Wyatt and shrugged, and the best friends followed him, their fathers right behind them. As Blake leaped over the wall, caught the sight of blood. He landed silently on the other side, and quickly understood what happened. A small girl, probably half of Blake's age, with flowing auburn hair and startling hazel eyes, stood above the dead bodies of two mortal policemen. She had a gun in her hands, a golden pistol, still smoking.

Scott was practically screaming at the girl, and Blake could easily tell immediately that she was the boy's sister. They had very similar faces, and even a similar accent to their words, even though the girl's were very confused and rambling. Blake's concentration was restored when Wyatt spoke next to him.

"So you shot them. I like this girl already!" Blake smacked him on the back of the head, and leaned over, whispering into his ear.

"What are you, stupid? She is like nine or ten years old. Show some respect bro. She isn't like us."

Wyatt's back straightened in apology. "Oh...right. Sorry."

More conversation passed on, and again Blake's attention began to slip. His father and Dennis seemed pretty happy about something, but Blake felt quite the opposite. Something was very wrong. The scene, it felt too familiar. More than simple déjà vu...something was really off. Blake felt the whole world slow down, a cold chill running up his spine. The sun no longer shined upon the courtyard, covered by a thick, inauspicious fog. He knew what was coming, but he couldn't stop it. There was a loud clap, and a deep voice spoke in the weird language he had heard in his dreams. A hooded figure emerged from the shadows, but Blake couldn't get a good lock on his face.

His hand instinctively reached for his bow, freezing as a loud buzz filled the air. Blake's eyes shot to a large flying disc, speeding across the morning sky. A shield. Blake cursed as it zipped across the courtyard, his prophetic dream becoming a full-fledged reality. The coal black weapon soared straight towards Scott, colliding with his temple as he fell to the blood soaked concrete in an unconscious heap. Blake found his hand wrapping around the compound bow, a steel arrow easily finding its way into the teen's ready hands. He knew that if he was to stop his own imminent death, which would no doubt be a result of the battle that would ensue, he would need to take out these threats before they could attack. He fired an arrow directly into the darkness, and just as in his dream, it was dodged. The man, who Blake could see more clearly now, was wearing some sort of black armor, and a shaggy beard grew on his chin. He spouted out orders as the dream has dictated, and Blake knew this was when he would get skewered. Sure enough, the trio of teens emerged from the shadows, one launching a solid black javelin in Blake's direction. He urged his body to move, to collapse, anything. Just to get out of the way of the large missile. But no luck. He was meant to die here. His body would not disobey Fate that was not its place. Blake closed his eyes and waited for the pain.

The pain came, but not in the sense that Blake had been expecting. There was a sharp impact to his calves and he felt his body leave the ground. His eyes shot open just in time to see the ashen grey cement blocks make contact with his face, releasing any oxygen he had left. Blake glanced up, realizing just what had happened. Wyatt stood there, grinning like the Devil himself, his trident tip suspiciously pointing towards the ground, as if he had just made a quick sweeping motion with it.

"Well Pretty Boy," Wyatt said, "You gunna get up, or not?"

Blake scowled, pushing himself up from the ground, but he was glad that Wyatt had the sense to save his life. Blake the brave, Blake the brilliant, would soon come to be known as Blake the Bonehead if he didn't make up for his little panic fit quickly. Blake could deal with defeat, or even obliteration. But one thing Blake couldn't handle? Humiliation. It terrified him. Would they have been laughing at his funeral, as his father gave a great speech of how brave and bold he was, knowing just how helpless he had been at his death? He couldn't bear the thought. It was too degrading. Anger seeped into the archer's body, filling him with such uncontrollable rage that the fog around the courtyard began to clear.

The pair who Blake guessed would be twins looked around hesitantly, scared by his sudden burst of power. "What?!" Blake called out to them. "Scared of a little light?" The blonde pair glared at him, drawing their weapons. The taller one, who wasn't taller by much at all, drew a long sword, over 4 feet long. It was incredible he could even handle the length of it. The second, who seemed to be handling the situation a bit better, drew a pair of long daggers, very similar to Blake's aside from one factor. The kid, who Blake had figured out, must be either Dwayne or Dev, stood before Blake with a pair of sickly curved, pitch black knives, twirling them with such skill you'd have thought he was born with them at his waist. His emotionless coal-black eyes stared at Blake, nodding to his brother to initiate the fighting.

Blake looked to his father for confirmation, but he was already locked into combat with the bearded man, who was swinging two jet black swords, stabbing and thrusting at Blake's dad. Dennis was fighting the hooded figure, who he seemed to know somehow. Of course, Blake didn't know this, but there was just something about the way he glared at him, as if they were old enemies and Dennis couldn't wait to finish him off. Blake whirled around to face his new opponent, who was a few inches taller than he was, and his long blonde hair flipped menacingly around in the wind that cycloned around the pair. Blake drew his own knives, not his preferred weapon, and strode in on the offensive, slashing towards the boy's left side.

The boy quickly dodged Blake's strike, returning a stab of his own. Blake's instincts were good, but his opponent was better. Blake, even fighting Wyatt, had never fought someone so fast. Strike after strike, soon Blake was wearing down. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on to fight this kid, but it wouldn't be very long. A few more minutes, at best. Blake was bred for archery, electrokinesis, light manipulation, that sort of thing. Not hand to hand combat. Definitely not his forte. Wait, light….that was it! If there was one thing his dad had taught him about the spawn of Hades, it was that light definitely was not their friend. Blake spun as he dodged a downward strike from whichever Coll twin he was facing, and came up with a quick kick, landing it directly on the boy's jaw. He staggered, giving Blake just the opening that he needed. Blake drew up his power. This time, it wasn't just basic instinct like with archery. To use light as a weapon, that took a lot of skill, and training that his mother had provided him. Her brother, Gary, also trained him whenever he was around. He hadn't been to the house in recent years though…most of the others wondered if he was even alive anymore. If so, he was doing a good job of hiding it. But there was one thing about Uncle Gary that Blake always remembered. That man knew his light.

In one of their lessons, when Blake was 11, Uncle Gary tried to show him just how important light could be during a battle. They fought, with Gary having the upper hand at almost all times. He kept shifting the sunlight into Blake's eyes, and he would cry out in an instance of sharp pain, and then find a bronze sword to his throat. Quickly, Blake caught on. While Gary moved the sunlight to glare into Blake's eyes, Blake tried to control the light, and do the same. It didn't work at first, and he ended up passing out a few times from the strain, but eventually he was able to force Uncle Gary into a corner, and then use light to gain the advantage. Blake had always been proud of his accomplishments that day, but it wasn't his accomplishments or the skills that he mastered that would help him here. It was a cool trick his Uncle had taught him, using the little light particles around in the air, and moving them at such a high velocity towards an object, that on impact, there was actually a burst of light. Uncle Gary liked to call this the Photon Blast. Blake had never mastered it, not in all of his years of training.

But it was that maneuver, the Photon Blast, which Blake would need to use now. All his confidence in his abilities, all his skill at archery, it would all mean nothing if he couldn't take down someone at the same skill level as he. What skill did it take to kill a mortal? Not a lot. These mortals, they provided Blake and Wyatt with practice, to keep their blood pumping, keep their instincts fresh. But if they couldn't best some other children of the gods, all the years of hard work and training would have been a huge waste. Blake wasn't going to let that happen.

Blake felt a lump rise in his throat. This was his chance, his opportunity to prove that he could survive. Blake felt the small amount of light particles moving, migrating straight to his left hand, just glowing, throbbing in the cold summer air. Blake strained, willing the light to move, and move it did. The light shot forward so fast, no one but Blake even knew it happened. There was a loud bang, and huge flash of light.

The Coll twin found himself on his back, and Blake surged forward landing so that his legs locked the boy's arms into place, leaving his neck and chest completely vulnerable to a strike. Blake had to do it. He had to kill him, to prove to himself, and everyone else that he belonged. The demigod raised his knives, lifting them to just over his head, and looked into the boy's eyes as he prepared to give the final blow. But something stopped Blake. He saw fear in the boy's eyes. For the first time since the battle had begun, the Coll boy didn't bear emotionless, black stones within his sockets. His eyes were filled with fear of death, something that most children of Hades don't have. It didn't add up. Blake loosened his grip on the daggers, his arms falling to his side.

He let his guard down. He never let his guard down. He didn't show mercy. He didn't spare undeserving lives. It was weakness. How could he just let this other kid walk away, moments after he would have taken Blake's life without notice? He shouldn't have shown mercy. He should've just taken those knives deep into the chest of his enemy and be done with it. He should walk away, blood on his hands and murder tainting his soul. But he didn't. Blake found himself placing the daggers back into their sheaths, and releasing the boy from his hold. Blake stood, wiping the blood from his face and turned to walk away. He realized just what was happening much too late. He broke the #1 rule in war. Do not turn your back on your enemy. Do so, and you'll end up in a ditch. How could he be so stupid?! He turned quickly, to find the teen disappearing into the shadows, but Blake was not alone. Not by a long shot.

Standing before Blake was a large skeletal horse, with burning red eyes, a wiry black mane sprouting from its skinless neck. The horse was larger than any that Blake had ever seen, towering over him, snorting its hot breath into his face. But it was not the horse that frightened Blake, but its rider.

Upon the skeletal horse sat, mounted, a Union general from the American Civil War. Sadly, he must have forgotten his skin back in the Underworld, Blake laughed. The skeleton man grinned at him angrily, drawing a large sabre. The shine of the blade glinted off of the soldier's uniform buttons, part of the man's impeccable blue fabric uniform, coming from the Union state of Pennsylvania. The horse reared back as the skeleton lifted the sabre for a killing strike…

Blake drew his daggers, but he moved too slowly. The horse, man, and sword all came down rapidly, and the demigod's hands were still behind his back, pulling the knives from their sheathes. It slashed downward, opening a deep gash across Blake's left cheek, and causing him to fall backwards in pain. He clutched his face, blood spouting every which way. He heard a loud cry, and squinted through the blood, using his fingers to shield the remainder of his face. Wyatt, the idiot that he was, had jumped onto the back of the bone horse, and got himself thrown off.

Blake forced himself to stand. His friend needed him, and he couldn't just give up now. He'd already messed up once that day…that would not happen again. He stood, and drew his bow, taking aim on the skeletal monster that was now attacking his best friend. The huge horse stomped on Wyatt once, twice, three times. Blake cringed, and then fired an arrow, with a Greek fire lit on the end, directly at the skeleton man. It struck right between its eyes, and it turned toward Blake. It threw its head back and laughed a garbled, demonic laugh. Its throat rumbled in some sort of language that Blake couldn't understand, and then it charged directly at him, sabre ready. Blake fired a second arrow, this one in its chest. Another failure. He was running out of ideas. He had saved Wyatt from being squashed, but now he was about to take the one way train to hell. Desperate, Blake ripped his necklace off, wishing, praying that the charm would save him. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He rolled out of the way of the horse, buying a few precious seconds. The demigod threw the charm down in disgust and frustration, and then turned back to the undead cavalryman. He drew his knives, and readied himself for death. Would it be painful? Probably. Would it be quick? Hopefully. All Blake hoped was that his family survived this ordeal. He wouldn't, but if they got away safely, he could rest in peace. To ensure that they had a chance at getting out, Blake planned to send any and all of these undead bastards that came at him back to where they belong. Hell. Suddenly, a low growl erupted from the ground just behind Blake.

Blake whirled around, almost toppling over in the process, finding something he had not expected to see. Before him was the most majestic panther he had ever seen. Great, another enemy. The fierce feline stood, or rather, crouched, in a low position, her razor sharp fangs bared, a rumbling sound resonating from her throat. He could tell she was female, but that didn't make her any less powerful. He knew that much just by staring into her deep black eyes. There was something about this panther that irked Blake. She was just mysterious. Yeah, mysterious was the word he was looking for. There was just something about this cat that scared him, and Blake didn't get scared. Startled, maybe. And that was pushing it. He had trained for every and any situation that could be thrown his way, but now he had to fight this undead horseman, and worry about the giant cat that looked like she was going to tear his head off.

Blake's first instinct was to attack the cat, gripping his knives tightly. The cat seemed to notice his intentions, and crouched slightly lower, ready to pounce at any moment. Blake took a step forward, and the cat leapt…

… vaulting straight over Blake and right at the skeletal demon on horseback. The colossal skeleton man fell off of his mighty steed, trying desperately to free itself from the hold that the panther had on it. His arm came up, his sword waving wildly as he tried to gain some space and any sort of advantage in the fight. The panther made a sound that was almost like laughter, and started to scratch, claw, bite, and smash the skeleton. The horse reared back in outrage, charging forward to kill Blake's savior. The panther paid it no mind, finishing its job, pulling the skull from the rest of the undead warrior. As the horse reached it, the panther sidestepped its attacker and stomped away from the undead warrior defiantly. Or, what was left of him anyway. All that remained where the soldier had been only moments before was a splintered pile of assorted bones, a set of rags that probably had been his uniform, and a sword, which would no longer do him any good. Blake chuckled, freezing when the panther gave him a glare. Apparently, she didn't like him. She turned back to the horse, and after a few moments of hissing and groaning, another pile of bones surfaced from the scuffle. "Well then." Blake snorted at the giant cat, turning away, trying to focus on the task at hand. Sure, the cat was already annoying him, but heck, it saved his life, could he really complain? She eyed him suspiciously before bounding over to Wyatt, nuzzling up against him.

Suuuuure. Like him, but screw me right?

Blake took a shaky breathe, sheathing his knives, trying to gain some sort of composure. Dwayne, or Devin, or whoever the hell he was, was gone.

Blood still poured from his cheek wound, and his vision blurred slightly as the loss of blood overwhelmed him. Blake luckily had some experience in healing and was pulled one of his fire arrows from his quiver. The used the enduring flame of the arrow to cauterize his wound, biting back the pain as it crept down his neck and locked up his throat. His skin smoldered, but soon the wound was closed and the bleeding stopped. Blake winced, gathering his bearings and scanning the foggy landscape that surrounded him.

Wyatt was still crumpled into a heap on the ground, barely moving. His chest rose and fell at an irregular beat, but at least he was breathing. The enigmatic panther continued to nuzzle up against Blake's best friend, and Blake was tinged with guilt. It was his fault that this happened.

Looking at the crumpled body of his best friend, Blake struggled to hold it together. He rushed to Wyatt's side, tears welling in his eyes. He grabbed a hold of his friend's hand and the panther didn't even seem to mind him being there. Wyatt groaned softly, his eyes barely open.

"Blake…it's…okay. Go. Get the boy and girl out. Enigma here can take care of me for a while."

"Wyatt no, I can't just leave you here!"

Wyatt gripped Blake's hand hard. "GO!"

Blake tore himself away from Wyatt's side. If something happened to him, he'd never be able to live with himself. Never.

Blake looked desperately around for the two redhead children. Scott was still in heap over near the brick wall, but his sister was nowhere to be found. Blake ran towards the boy, checking his pulse. His heart beat slow, but steadily. He'd live.

Blake closed his eyes for a moment and focused, listening close through all the commotion of steel clanging against steel and screams as the adults went head on towards each other. Blake listened for any anomalies in the sound waves, just listening hard. His head turned sharply towards an out of place sound. Gunfire. Jerking to the west, Blake opened his eyes to find Cindy Ward fighting against the youngest member of the Coll family.

She fired wildly at the boy, who approached her with his pitch black weapon in hand. Tears streamed down her face as she missed each and every time, her hand shaking violently. Soon her clip emptied and she screamed in frustration, throwing the pistol at the boy, which caught him by surprise. It hit him square in the nose, and he grunted, staggering back.

Blake took his chance, running towards the action. The Coll boy rammed into Cindy, sending her crunching into a stone wall surrounding the courtyard. She slumped to the floor, and the Coll boy raised his knife to kill Cindy. But he hesitated, looking down hard at her lifeless body.

Something in his eyes said that he couldn't do it. The boy couldn't have been older than 11 or 12 years old, and killing people was a nasty business. Blake sometimes hated having to take the lives of others, especially the pathetic mortals that the Enemy had set upon them, but his hatred for those who'd hurt his family overrode his compassion. On any other day, Blake might have felt bad for the little Coll boy, but not today. His best friend lie in a heap at the hands of some demonic skeleton summoned by one of the elder Colls. His cousin, if that is what Blake could consider Scott, lay bleeding in the middle of the courtyard, quite possibly dead. Now Cindy too was laying there, breathe barely escaping her.

Blake had seen it all, and couldn't stop it. The darkness that fell over the courtyard crept into Blake's heart. The Colls and their mysterious superior were winning. Rage roared to Blake, filling his heart, his face, his eyes. The youngest Coll seemingly overcame his guilt over killing another human being, and gripped the knife for the kill.

As he lifted his hands for the strike, Blake nocked a barbed-head arrow, and fired it straight at Nathan with precision. It struck the boy directly in the hand, piercing it, and latching into the wall. The boy yowled in a high pitched scream of pain, tugging at his hands.

Blake took the moment he had to run to Cindy's side, picking her up and running back towards Scott's bloody heap of a body. Blake turned back to find both Devin and Dwayne, though Blake still could not tell the pair apart, helping their brother from his little complication. Blake placed Cindy neatly on the ground, reared back, and fired two arrows at the twins. They looked up just in time to retreat into the shadows, dragging their crying brother along with them. The arrows sunk into the brick wall of the building, missing their targets.

Blake swore, turning to focus on Cindy. She was breathing, barely. Blake pulled out a bit of nectar from his sidepack, dripping a few drops of the divine liquid into her lips. The nectar, which was a drink of the gods, could heal injuries of demigods and legacies if applied correctly. But the demigods and legacies also had to be careful, because a drop too much of the nectar and the mortal side of them would burn right up, frying the godly child from the inside out.

The few drops seemed to do just the trick for Cindy and she gasped for breathe, her eyes shooting open. A few moments later, she was sitting up and looking over at her brother. She crawled over to him as swords clanged to our left. Blake's eyes left her and Scott for a moment, glancing back at the action.

Uncle Dennis deflected the man's sword, and then threw his head back in hysterical laughter. The man, infuriated, lunged forward, trying to stab him through the gut. Dennis deflected again, and landed a hard head-butt to the man's forehead. The man groaned, slumping to the ground, and Dennis turned and smirked at me, throwing in a quick wink. His eyes widened as he saw Scott's still unconscious form, sprawled out on the floor, Cindy muttering incoherently over him.

"Scott. Wake up…please wake up. Scott. I can't lose you too. Not like we lost Mommy and Daddy. Scott. I need you." Cindy's tears rolled down her cheeks, creating a small puddle on Scott's now blood-drenched shirt. "Scott…I love you. Please…please Scott. Please wake up!" Cindy cried for what seemed like hours, and already physically exhausted, fainted, laying on Scott's chest, asleep, tears and blood speckling her face.

Dennis' opponent returned to his feet and muttered a few curses at my uncle.

"We'll return Ward. We will return. And next time, you won't be so lucky."

"We'll see, traitor. We will see. But by the end of this, I promise you, this sword will bury itself into your gut. That is a promise."

The man backed up into the shadows, the Colls boys grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him in.

Even whilst the rest of the fighting seemed to calm, Dad and Mark Coll whirled in a cyclone of blade, wind, and shadow. Blake's father called upon the heavens, casting lightning strike after lightning strike on the man, who narrowly dodged each one. He wanted to help him, but he was too busy tending to Scott's injuries, wrapping his head and stopping the bleeding. The fight raged on and Uncle Dennis ran over to Blake's side.

"I have these two Blake, go check on Wyatt." He proceeded to lift the pair off their feet and swiftly strode towards the alleyway from which we entered.

Blake ran to Wyatt's side, and Enigma backed off. He gripped his friend's hand tightly and lifted him up onto his shoulders, distributing his weight on them. The large cat purred and ran after Blake, who took off into a full run.

"Dad! We gotta go!" Blake's father didn't respond, but brought down a fury of lightning down onto Mr. Coll and rode a wave of wind over to Blake's side, grabbing him from him and quickly throwing him onto his own shoulders.

"Run Blake, go!" Mr. Coll roared in outrage and started to turn a sickly gray color, seemingly growing. Blake's eyes widened in fear, as did his father's, but more out of surprise than fear. The hooded figure emerged from the shadows.

"Not now Coll. We have other matters to attend to," he shouted to his brute of a henchman

Mark Coll only grunted. "See you soon Courtenay. And next time, I'll have your head."

The pair slipped into shadows and Blake and his father ran to the SUV placing Wyatt in the back seat with Scott and Cindy. Uncle Dennis sat in the driver's seat.

"Hop in quick. Thea just called. They've got trouble back at the house."