Ethan laid within a foliage of burning trees, his wings and torso and talons scarred, bruised and badly cut… He felt nothing but pain. And he deserved it.

The ground beneath him was mercilessly hot and coated with ashes and sparks falling from the trees above, which were slowly consumed in fire.

He tried to sit up, tried to move, tried to scrape together what little magic he had left. But he had nothing, not even an ounce.

Ethan turned his head, the movement making a gasp of pain escape him, and he looked to his sword—The Imagination Sword—which was imbedded into the ground, the blade gleaming beautifully in the raging flames.

He'd lost.

The thought rang through his mind, his very being, mocking him, reminding him that he deserved this… All of it. The pain. The self-loathing.

Despite him having so much power, power that he swore to himself to use for the protection of his family, and everyone he loved, he'd lost the battle—badly.

And when Diablo had smirked at his transformation, at his angel-white feathers and the other-worldly fire enveloping him in an aura, when that demon had unleashed its full power, when it sent out a wave of darkness and flames, which charged across the island like a tsunami, destroying everything in its path, the battle was over in an instant.

The sheer strength in that explosion… The amount of power Diablo possessed… It had completely overshadowed his.

He'd barely shielded himself from that eruption of darkness and flame, had barely survived. But Blu, Siax and Skyler… For all he knew, their bodies had been reduced to nothing. Wiped off the face of the earth in mere seconds. Dead.

His brother, dead—

Something within Ethan's chest shattered at the thought of losing his brother, of losing Skyler and Siax. Letting them all die.

If Jewel were to become a widow… If Carla, Bia, and Tiago had to live the rest of their lives without a father… If Skyler and Alex's chick had to grow up never knowing his/her parents, because of him, because of his own weakness—

It was what Ethan saw through the burning trees and toxic smoke that had him abandoning his train of thought.

Diablo's figure was barely visible within the dark, heavy storm clouds above. But lightening cut across the sky, and thunder roared. And for a single second, Ethan saw him. He saw those blood, red eyes that glowed with murderous lust and the unholy grin cracked across his beak… And the midnight-blue feathers, tail-feathers, two of them, he held in one talon. Both of them stained in blood.

Blu. Blu's blood.

Ethan's beak trembled, tears clawing at his eyes. "No." He mused, his voice barely a whisper. "No, please. No."

One moment, Diablo was still floating in the sky.

The next, he was standing right over Ethan, that sinister grin widening. He then ambled circles around him, scanning his ruined body, like a predator preparing to finish off its prey.

The demon continued to circle Ethan for a moment more, but stopped when he was at Ethan's tail-feathers.

And Ethan glared at him.

But as Diablo put Blu's tail-feathers to his beak, Ethan's glare turned into a look of horror and disgust as the demon licked the parts tipped with blood, slowly, gently.

Sick, fucking bastard.

Ethan almost vomited at the display, almost sobbed, even, and would've. But he willed himself to remain neutral, because if he was going to die here, he wasn't going to give Diablo the pleasure of seeing his weakness, and despair.

Diablo blew on the tail-feathers, lightly, like blowing the seeds off a dandelion—

The feathers bursted into flames, the fire incinerating through them instantly.

The sparks smoothly drifting into the blazing jungle-fire were all that was left of them.

Ethan's dark, brown eyes followed those sparks as they vanished into the burning hell surrounding him, crawling toward him, slowly, with every plant it consumed, closing in on him. And maybe it was Diablo controlling it, the fire, as if he had used that dark power to transform it into an actually living beast which stalked around its master, growling lowly, bearing its teeth, waiting for orders, orders to kill.

Despite the unbearable heat, a chill crawled down Ethan's sore spine.

Diablo placed a talon on Ethan's chest, caressing it, feeling the broadness and strength in it. A smile curved on his beak when he felt the rapid pumping of Ethan's heart, the panic, the despair. His blood, red eyes widened with an evil that was… Unstable. And that smile grew, stretching so far that it looked as if it would tear his face in two.

Diablo gave Ethan a long stare, then whispered, softly, with such loving care, like a mother speaking to her child. "Don't worry, Ethan—you're brother is still alive. Although, just… barely."

Anger, hatred, agony, sorrow.

His magic flared—roared.

His wing twitched, white light dazzling right at the tips.

He was going to kill that demon. He was going to kill him for what he'd did to Blu, his brother—

Diablo stomped down on his chest—

And a loud crack sliced through his body.

Ethan screamed—screamed—in pain—

And his raw, ash-filled throat screamed with him.

"None of that," Diablo said, pressing down harder on Ethan's already-broken ribs.

Ethan opened his beak as if he would scream again, but it was a low rasp that came out instead.

For he had completely shredded his vocal cords.

Diablo chuckled, his slit eyes filled with delight. "Pity I can't hear you scream any more."

Diablo lowered his face to Ethan's, their beaks only inches apart. He asked, "but tell me something, Ethan, are you willing to give your power to me for your brother's life?"

The question tore Ethan in two, had fear striking him right in his core.

But…

With the heated air and his ruined throat, speaking had Ethan tasting blood. "Let… Me… Bargain…"

Those slit, other-worldly eyes sparked with interest. "I'd like to hear this."

A few hours earlier: The Amazon

Nightfly, wielder of darkness, and guardian of the Spix Macaw Tribe, stared out to the night sky and gleaming stars from the porthole of his hollow, anxiety beating on his chest.

For the past hours, he'd felt dull pulses of power he thought were just of couple of drunk, late-night-partying birds having some pointless brawl nearby. It happened commonly, and most of the time, if it became too loud and violent, he would have to fly over and make them 'quiet' down.

He'd tried asking them to stop kindly, once. But had just came back to his hollow with a black eye and a pissy attitude.

A strong, sharp wave of demonic power—that was what had Nightfly springing up from his nest with a gasp at the middle of the night, his senses on high alert. He contemplated whether that murderous intent was aiming straight for the tribe or no, and had nearly flown to Roberto's hollow to alert him of the danger, to have him get the tribe warriors ready.

But it was when he felt Ethan, Jewel, Carla, Bia, and Tiago's energy just… Appear that stopped him right in his tracks. Blu's energy, though, was nowhere to be found. That was when Nightfly knew something was wrong, something had happened.

Ethan had teleported Jewel and kids to the Amazon to keep them safe from something, or someone.

Ethan's energy once again just teleported into Eduardo's hollow for a few moments, then vanish.

A new trick Ethan had learned to do with his magic, Nightfly guessed. But Blu's abscess still gnawed at his conscious. It was what drove him to fly to Eduardo's hollow—which was planted near the edge of the plunge pool, right across from his—shortly after Ethan had… Left, to ask what exactly was going on.

We'll talk about it later, was all Eduardo said, his expression and tone a wall of cold marble.

Nightfly would've argued, but it was the anger and sadness and worry dancing within the old, Tribe leader's cold-green eyes that had him leaving without another word.

Hours. It had been hours since Eduardo had sent him back to his hollow, clueless. And for hours he continued to feel clashes of power, and each one making his own power flare with frustration.

There were five in total, and two of them he recognized to be Skyler's and Ethan's. But the other two were unknown to him, yet, they seemed familiar somehow.

The fifth power though… It was evil, different compared to the one he had felt hours ago, but—stronger. It made Nightfly want to fly over to Eduardo's hollow and bellow at the old bird for answers.

He hated it, ignoring his instincts to protect the ones he loved, ignoring his will to find Blu and make sure that he was alive.

But… Jewel…

There was a blackness of emotions radiating from her hollow—despair, sorrow, hatred, and something else, something unknown, strange, deadly. It only took Nightfly seconds to realize what, exactly, was lurking through the humid air of the Amazon.

Jewel's power.

Nightfly, Eduardo, and Jewel herself were the only ones who'd known of it—and they did not dare tell another soul, not even Blu, not even the kids. For the fact that her powers had came from and were born from destruction and death.

Black Magic—Eduardo had called it, was all the Tribe Leader would tell him of Jewel's power when he had asked cautiously.

He was the only one who'd sensed it, the only one who could sense it—with him also having Black Magic—back then, when Blu and Jewel had got into an argument a couple months ago. It was whenever her emotions got the better of her is when he felt that death-kissed power snarl, and reach out for his own power. It, honestly, scared him.

And as Jewel's power began to grow more aggressive and unresting, Nightfly wondered if he was the only one sensing her magic then. He contemplated wether he should take the kids a safe distance from their mother in case she were to loose control, and kill every living thing within close range.

But… Perhaps he could use his own Black Magic, his own darkness, to soothe her, to reassure her that everything was going to be alright—

A boom of sound roared across the Amazon.

A blast of heavy wind tore through the humid air and trees like a blood thirsty predator.

Nightfly was knocked from the porthole of his hollow, crashing to the smooth, wooden surface in agony. The impact was hard, skull-rattling.

"Shit." He blurted, shielding his face with his wing.

He could feel the swaying and cracking of his tree, feel the stern roots reaching miles and miles into the soil strain against the unbreakable wall of wind.

It was pure instinct that had Nightfly's magic snapping out and steadying every inhabited tree in the tribe—including his.

The monstrous winds continued to howl for what seemed like an eternity, his magic trembling as he struggled to balance the multiple trees—

The jolt of terror that surged through his veins… It was the reason why he lost his grip on his magic, then.

Because the shadow of power he felt, it struck him so deep it was as if a spear had went straight through his heart.

There you are, the darkness within him purred, extending a black, wrinkly, sharp-clawed hand for that malicious power—

Nightfly sealed his magic away before it tried to give itself away to that cunning power—and enslave him.

He didn't dare use his magic, not as that invisible blanket of whispers and laughter enveloped him, smothered him, running its lethal claws down the iron shield he had over his own power.

His shield cracked when that Black Magic chuckled pushed harder, reaching inside for his mind and soul…

It ended as fast as it began—the wind, the sound, and the nightmarish power, all of it just… Vanished. Stopped—unnaturally so. Not a trace of it left.

If it were possible for birds to sweat, he would've been drenched in it.

Legs wobbling, and broad chest pumping, Nightfly slowly got to his feet.

"What the…—he swallowed a lump in his throat—what the hell was that?" He mused.

He took in a breath, calming himself, letting his magic flow through him and out of him.

His golden, brown eyes stared out to nothing but everything for a few moments, then flicked down to the smooth, wooden flooring of his hallow—a flooring he had made with his magic.

That burst of wind and sound and power… It had came from that monster Skyler and Ethan were fighting. He knew for a fact that was the case, would've bet everything he had on it.

But if what he perceived to be that demon's magic had really been that strong, that evil, the question to wether Skyler and Ethan had survived that attacked loomed in his mind.

He'd felt what that hell-born magic could do, had felt it reach into him and try to strangle his magic, to take control of him, to make him a slave of its owner. It was what had him sealing his magic away then, it was what still had him keeping a safe grip on his magic now.

And if Skyler and Ethan were in close range of it…

The tribe, something within him whispered.

For now, the battle wasn't his concern, with him leaving the tribe trees defenseless against winds so powerful not even Mother Nature could rival it, there was no telling how much damage had been done, how many lives were lost.

The tribe would have to come first, and his friends second.

Nightfly was just about to walk to the porthole of his hallow and leap out into the humid, midnight air when his body suddenly went stiff, his warrior senses going on full alert.

… Because there was a presence in his hallow…

The humid temperature suddenly dropped, and his breath was clouding in his face. It was cold, freezing, with chills running up and down his spine.

And smokey mist danced across his feet and the hollow floor in a calm, deadly way.

Nightfly. The voice sounded so near it was as if someone had their beak next to his ear-hole, and yet it was so far.

Turn around, he thought to himself. Turn around, he mouthed it out this time, but his body was a block of ice, resistant against his command. It was that same power that had tried to enslave him only moments ago, he realized, now inside his hollow. As if it had came to life and morphed into something of bone and flesh.

Turn around.

Turn around.

Nightfly, that voice called again. The feathers on his back stood up, and he clamped his beak, trying to suppress the trembling their.

Nightfly. The voice, it was soothing, a mother singing her child to sleep.

Turn around!

His body answered by doing just that, in one swift moment, he turned around.

Black, lifeless eyes were what greeted him first.

Its white, dry, scaly skin gleamed in the moonlight pouring into the hallow, and the body structure of the creature was… Human.

It grinned at him, flashing rows and rows of sharp, bloodied teeth. "I've come for you, Nightfly." It was a feminine that said those words, with a tone so innocent and sweet.

It was why Nightfly took one step back from the demonic creature, a creature that towered over him by five feet, it's human-shaped head nearly touching the roof of his hollow.

"I've come for your soul, your power, so my king may grow stronger." With its taloned feet, the creature, the monster, the thing took a couple steps toward him, and it was then, when it stood directly in the soft rays of the moonlight, that Nightfly noticed the tightly tucked in bat-like wings peeking over its broad shoulders, wings that were now slowly sprawling out…

There were large, the length of them touching both sides of his hollow, and with the black leatheriness of them, a matching set to those death-filled eyes… It was like staring into a black space full of the most horrific of nightmares.

Nightfly quickly tore apart the fear running through his veins, tensing his muscled body, darkness crawling beneath his skin, ready to kill on the first strike.

But he knew there was still terror there, gleaming in his own golden-brown eyes, because the demon had seen that terror, with that mocking grin it gave him, he knew it had seen it. The creature said, "I'm going to make sure every living thing in the jungle hears your screams."

It lunged—too fast, so fast that not even he could track its movements—

Nightfly was suddenly clawing at his throat, falling to the wooden floor, trying desperately to breath, breath, breath—

But he couldn't, because the creature had slit his throat.

He squirmed on the smooth wooden surface like a fish ripped from the water, his magic pulsing through the lethal wound, healing it.

But not fast enough.

His lungs shrieked as they were filled with his own blood, drowning in it.

He needed air—oh God he needed air.

He tried to focus his magic, to heal the wound quicker. But with his entire body practically clawing for air, focus was impossible

A large, scaly, too-human hand pinned his head to the ground, rattling his skull, and his already-aching brain.

He couldn't see, with that monstrous hand practically clenching his head in its palm, he was completely blind.

Panic spread through his mind.

He wings flung out, punching in every direction, trying to land a hit on the monster, to stun it, to do anything that would create some distance between him and it.

But his attempts were futile.

He could only inwardly cry in agony as the creature opened his belly with one swiped of its iron-sharp talon, and feasted on his insides.

Blood pooled from his beaks as the creature teared through his digestive organs, slurping them up as if they were noodles.

His lungs endeavors to draw air were nothing but drowning gurgles.

Consciousness slowly drained from his mind, his movements nearly going still.

Blood—he was losing too much blood, way too much. He was laying in it, a huge puddle of it—that only grew larger with every organ the demon tore from his body.

He couldn't die here.

His magic began to dull, fade, like a dying candle flame, the healing in his throat becoming sluggish.

He couldn't die here. I can't die here.

…The creature, if it attacks… Jewel, The Tribe… I have to protect them…

For that moment, it seemed death had came to claim his soul.

Then, the gash in his throat fully healed.

Golden, brown eyes shot open…

And darkness exploded through the hollow, consuming everything in it.

Flesh was shredded and bones crunched.

The demon let out a blood-chilling scream—a feminine scream.

Nightfly could feel his power mincing the beast—a slow, painful death. But for the first time in his life, he didn't have any sympathy for his enemy, he didn't feel any emotions. It was his protective instincts that told him to survive, to kill, because he knew if he allowed this thing to live, the lives of his loved ones would be at stake.

When that mist of darkness vanished, as fast as it appeared, the monster was nothing but a splatter of blood and gore on the wooden walls.

His breathing heavy, Nightfly tried to stand to his feet, but he fell on his knees instead. His torso swayed dizzily and he was on his wings too, staring down at the floor, at the—

He vomited blood—his blood—into the already-small puddle of crimson beneath him, not even trying to contain the sounds of his retching.

He'd almost drowned in his own blood only moments ago, and now he was covered in it. He didn't have to look into a mirror to know that his whole backside, a little bit of his belly, face, tail feathers, and wings were stained in it.

He could feel it drying on his feathers, crusting them—

Nightfly retched, and vomited again.

He'd killed many times before as a warrior, as a guardian of his tribe, and strongly hated doing it, too—only when it was necessary, though, when there was no other option—but never had he done it so… Gruesomely, Violently.

He took a quick glance at that splatter of organs and blood and bone on the wall—the creature's remains. The sight of it made him sick, and especially since he had been responsible for it… He retched, nearly vomiting for the third time.

Nightfly stood to his feet this time, albeit slow, his body slightly shaken from nearly dying, and from what he'd done: butcher a demon.

The bone-chilling temperatures, the dancing mist, which had mysteriously materialized the moment that monster made its presence known, shifting from Black Magic to flesh and bone, was gone—as if it had never existed.

Golden, brown eyes flicked to the porthole of the hollow, horror gleaming within them.

There were more of them, the demons, he felt more of them.

The mist, the coldness… it must've been apart of forcefield, he realized. The demon that had attacked him, it must've been the strongest of the pack, because they knew he was the strongest bird in the tribe.

And that forcefield… So he wouldn't sense the other, weaker demons attacking the Tribe.

But he sensed them now, all ten of them, and compared to his own power… Frail, feeble, that's what those demons were compared to him.

And one of them were inside Blu and Jewel's hollow.

He sprawled out his long wingspan, his face a mask of killing calm.

He didn't remember flying through the thick, evergreen canopy, he didn't even bother to either.

He only knew that he was standing on the broad branch leading into Blu and Jewel's hollow, sprinting, his heart in his throat.

And as he neared porthole with every running step, a sob rang through his head, his mind.

Then there was whimper.

He stopped mid-step.

"Tiago… please, baby. Wake up." Jewel begged. She didn't want to believe it—she didn't want to believe it—

Malicious snickering—one of those demons.

He could hear Bia and Carla weeping and low pleas.

"Tiago… Tiago…" Bia's voice cracked.

"Snapping his neck was too easy, almost disappointing, but the fear in his eyes, his pathetic screaming, it made that kill worth while." The obscured creature let out a low chuckle. "Don't you want to avenge your beloved son, little bird."

Nightfly took one step toward the hollow, then another, his magic blazing.

Jewel seemed to ignore the thing as she continued to bawl over her dead son. "Please, baby. Please, please." Another sob. "Please. Tiago."

"Don't you get it, bird." The demon said bleakly. "You're son is dead."

Silence.

Jewel let out a cry of rage.

And power exploded through the star-lit sky.

It's been so long since I've posted a chapter for this story, but I've been very busy. And I hate the fact that it's so short. Sorry guys. Tell me what you think of the chapter?