Chapter 6: Defiling the Innocent Brings Blood Vendettas for All.

There was blood on the air this night. It's coppery scent could be sensed for miles around. The demons danced in puddles of offal, their slain Angel counterparts serving as a perverted playground. As they danced, paraded and defiled these holy warriors, new batches of Angels were falling every moment. Demons crammed hungry fang filled jaws into steaming cadavers, devouring holy flesh savagely, yet never sating their appetites for destruction and death. They had taken the Angels by surprise this night. Belial held the Archangel Urial's one wing in his hand, raising it above his head whooping and dancing about the offal with the other demons in victory. It was his own bloodied, defamed trophy. Urial had escaped on foot, to where the demon did not know, or care. Belial had his trophy, his bragging rights, and he would use this victory over the Archangel Urial as his ace in the hole with Satan. Belial was hungry for the Favored Demon position that Mephistopheles current enjoyed. Mephistopheles knew this and stewed over it. He could just kill Belial, he was certainly more powerful then the other demons. Ahh, but that would just make him petty. So Mephistopheles glared at Belial, whilst Belial waved the dismembered wing of white and blood, and Mephistopheles thought. He was still top dog and his plan tonight, while the other demons played, was ingenious. He wondered briefly about his evil Grigori set loose upon the world. Mephistopheles changed his train of thought, he didn't want to be caught smiling too much. He then thought only of the many deaths he would inflict on Belial when he made his first mistake. Revenge would be sweet and he would teach this peon demon his proper place in the underworld. Under Mephistopheles' boot heel.

At "Dark Waters" Kelly kept a watchful eye, but the air felt charged. He knew it, he could feel it. Something was about to happen. Something big, and that something not at all good. The door of "Dark Waters" swung open to reveal and hooded figure. The two guards in the vestibule were laid out on the floor, blood pooling around them. Trouble had blown in, but Kelly was no fighter and no fool. Long hours of training, had taught Kelly to master the art of bending time and bending shadow. He was not strong, or fast. So he bent reality to himself. No one saw him slip towards the mirrored door and through. The new comer moved in slow motion. Kelly was closing the door when he saw the first victim of the stranger hit the table. The vampire was riven apart by the stranger's bare hands, only to be discarded like an old toy. Kelly went cold with fear, shut the door as the screams echoed in his ears. He went to find Hardcore in the kitchen.

Empty eye sockets searched the establishment, any not worth of copulation were destroyed. Then he saw her, she was long, thin and dark. Her breasts called to him and he snaked his tongue out of his mouth and over pasty dead lips. Vampires were throwing themselves at him and he was breaking and slaughtering their bodies and souls. His eyes never left hers. Shadestrike was paralyzed. Her eyes were locked and she watched him destroy everyone. Her voice was gone and her body disobeyed her every command. She felt cold fear grip her, while the stranger approached. He threw off his cloak. He was visually magnificent, and terrifyingly disturbing in the same moment. Flowing golden blond hair waved delicately to his perfectly muscled shoulders. Those shoulders were the base for huge, powerful wings and strong arms. The wings were not like angel wings though. They were leathery and black like the wings of a bat, with small atrophied hands, appearing like claws, at the tips of the wings. Eyeless sockets bored into Shadestrike's soul from his deathly pale face. He had slain most of the patrons who were at "Dark Waters" that night, anyone left had hid.

Shadestrike could do neither, even though she wanted to die, he would not let her. The Grigori placed rough hands on her soft skin and proceeded to bruise every inch of her inside and out. He ran his fat tongue over her lips, and forced it into her mouth. Inside her mind she screamed till her throat was bleeding. In reality she was a puppet with broken strings. The Grigori threw her on the table and tore her leather off without even a hint of effort. He pulled down black leather chaps and sank into her. It was hard, rough and tore her insides apart in a single thrust. Her body finally allowed her to cry out. The Grigori could not focus on both controlling her and raping her. She was still capable of only witnessing her own defiling. The Grigori waste no time, he was designed for one function only, to create the Nephalim. He climaxed quickly and she felt his seed burn inside her like acid on exposed flesh. She screamed until her chest ached.

He removed her from him and threw her to the floor. His job here was done, his orders were to find as many candidates as possible, procreate with them and move own. Sometimes a hundred a night. He was very good. He collected his cloak from the floor after he tucked himself back in his chaps. Suddenly his knees buckled and a searing pain burned in the center of his back. He looked back over his shoulder, kneeling on the floor to see Shadestrike, blood drenched blade above her head. "No one takes anything from me." She said and brought the blade down with blinding speed. The Grigori had no time for thought, his head came off and his body died abruptly. His head looked out of those same eye-less sockets and then was gone. Shadestrike let the blade clatter to the floor as a wave of pain and nausea took her. She wrapped one arm around her stomach to try and hold herself together, and the other hand supported her on the defiled table. Her insides still burned and his seed multiplied at a rate that she could feel. Already her breasts and stomach were swelling. Another wave of pain and nausea took her to the brink of consciousness. As she looked over the edge into the darkness she thought was death, she stepped in and let herself go. She wanted to die, before she could birth any abominations. This was not to be.

Hardcore and Kelly entered the bar as she took the beast's head off. As she fainted away, Hardcore swept in to catch her. He glanced over at the Grigori, it's body had returned to the dust it had been made from. Shadestryke convulsed and Hardcore raced out the door, with Kelly in tow, to take Strike to the Phyrehawk Medical center. Her could see her stomach roiling and tried to wrap what was left of her leather's around her broken and battered body. He tried to not think about the violation she just suffered and tried to sate his impossible desire for vengeance. Strike came first.. Vengeance was a patient thing. Vengeance could wait.

It took 8 hours for Shadestrike to come to full gestation and birth the abomination. There was blood everywhere. Team Darkblayde had not seen Shadestrike since she was admitted, and they all waited outside Strike's room. Her cries rent the night, and broke the team's collective heart. Phyrestar was desperate to avenge Strike. She didn't deserve to be hurt like this. Phyrestar swore a blood vendetta against all Grigori. Her personal mission was now making sure that no other woman would suffer this fate and cause the total extinction of the mythical Grigori. Blood would flow in torrential rivers, and it would be her hand to break the dams. They would all die. Her team backed her up, and swore to assist her in her blood vendetta. Hardcore sat in silence in the corner of the waiting room, silent, brooding. Vengance would be his. The doctor came out saying that Strike would survive, but not to bear anymore children, and that she was in a coma. It was unknown if and when she would come out of it. Hardcore broke the arm of his chair with the crush of his fist.