Release the
Hounds
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk
Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me!
Dedicated to Storyseeker as he gave me a few ideas for the saga although I doubt he might like this particular chapter very much.
The Macbeth Estate
Malibu looked over the plan of action Brooklyn had drawn up to use against Demona; he looked over at his friend and gave him a quizzical look.
"Are you sure this will work Brooklyn?"
The blood red gargoyle looked up from sharpening a sword he had become obsessively fond of over the past four days. He had been sitting on the couch while Mal sat on the floor after several failed attempts at trying to get comfortable in one of the living room chairs. He smiled patiently at his friend before replying.
"Out of all the places I know of that she goes in her daily routine, her office at Night Stone Ltd is the least heavily defended, it takes up the entire top floor and has floor to ceiling windows made of bullet-proof glass."
"And how exactly are we supposed to get in?" asked Fang, entering the living room, he was in his mutate form, but like all of them, he was wearing human clothes. Fang wore a black Ozzie Osborne T-shirt, with tears on the back to accommodate his wings, as well as a pair of blue jeans that had a cut in the rear end so he could fit his tail in. Brooklyn wore black chinos and a black long sleeve shirt with the same "modifications" which Fang had made to his own clothes. Mal, on the other hand, was wearing sand coloured shorts and a light-weight, white Hawaiian short sleeve shirt with, yes, palm trees, coconuts and other awful crap you find on those terrible shirts. They had all been given a room with a wardrobe by Macbeth for when they used the spell he had given them so they could become human whenever they wanted. When Mal had come out of his room dressed as he was, Brooklyn and Fang had given each other very concerned looks. They silently agreed they would have to sit Mal down and discuss the finer points of fashion with him as soon as they had dealt with Demona.
"You're the master criminal Fang, why don't you give us your professional opinion on the matter?" replied Brooklyn.
"Couldn't we just use that glass breaking device we used to rescue Fang?" said the clone, as he rose to get a drink from the bar.
"Maybe," said the Mutate, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"What about an armour piercing round from one of Macbeth's portable rocket launchers?" inquired Brooklyn, sheathing the sword and resting it on the coffee table. He then picked up the next item on the table, a .50 Desert Eagle pistol, taking the magazine out and checking it the way Macbeth had shown him.
"I thought we were being paid to bring her here alive and in one piece?" replied Fang.
"One, she's immortal Fang, which takes care of the "alive" part. Two, Macbeth never said anything about how many pieces we bring her back in. And three, you are getting paid, I on the other hand, am doing this to protect my clan from her as she is obviously using Angela to get close to Goliath so she can kill him and assume command of the clan again."
"I'm getting paid," said Malibu as he poured himself a glass of wine.
"WHAT?" yelled Brooklyn, staring at his clone as if he had just grown an extra head.
"Good for you buddy!" cheered Fang.
"How much?" asked Brooklyn, getting the feeling that he may have missed something very important about his clone's personality.
"Two million, same as Fang," replied Mal, sticking a straw in his glass and taking a long suck, "Why? Don't tell me you didn't even think about asking for something for your troubles?"
"I'm not some damn mercenary!"
"That's a pity," said Fang, "I think you'd be quite good at it, that is if you ever decide to wake up and realise that if you're going to risk your life, then you'd better be getting paid for it."
"Just what the Hell were you before Sevarius changed you Fang?"
"Just some damn mercenary," replied the cougar mutate, "Sevarius said he would make me stronger. Although I didn't really count on the fur and wings," he rubbed his cheek before smiling, "But now thanks to Macbeth, I don't have to hide in the shadows. I can work again, this time with a very big advantage," he flapped his wings to demonstrate his point, "Now that I think of it, I think I haven't done that badly considering all the shit that's happened over the past several years."
"I'm so happy for you," replied Brooklyn rather sarcastically.
"Oh, go get a girlfriend," sneered Fang. Brooklyn gave him a look full of venom, before putting his pistol on the table and reaching for the sword.
"Now children, play nice," interrupted Malibu quickly, bringing a tray with drinks for them all, "We all promised to put our differences aside and work together on this thing remember?"
Fang and Brooklyn seemed to stare at each other for a long time before finally reaching for the wine Malibu had poured them.
"So when should we make our move?" asked Fang, not breaking his stare with the Gargoyle.
"Friday night," replied Brooklyn, staring right back, "She works late in her office on Fridays."
"How the Hell do you know that?" asked Malibu, sounding puzzled. Brooklyn turned to him and smiled knowingly, before sitting back down and picking up a Tanto dagger to sharpen it.
-Just great- thought Fang. -My partners consist of a Gargoyle stalker and a fashion unconscious clone.-
He looked out the window while sipping his drink.
-I wonder if Talon would consider letting me back in my cage.-
Friday, Night Stone Ltd, Dominique Destine's office floor
Demona rubbed her eyes as she filed through the mountain of paperwork she had to do before she could spend her weekend free of fuss, and more importantly, with her daughter.
Goliath had reluctantly agreed to let Angela spend the weekend with her mother, provided that Broadway came with her to make sure she didn't try any funny stuff. She smiled at this thought. It would be the first time anyone stayed in her manor without the aid of chains or drugs.
She liked Broadway, although she doubted the feeling was mutual, in her opinion, out of the three hopeless prats that Angela had to choose from, he was best as he made Angela happy, was neither short or had an obsession with hurting her.
She sighed as she remembered the party Angela had invited her to. She had gone, both to see her daughter and to rub it in Goliath and Brooklyn's faces, but then Brooklyn had disappeared. The clan was still searching, despite the fact he had sent them an e-mail telling them not to worry.
It had been a little over a week though since he had sent it. In that time Goliath had gone almost out of his mind with worry at the fate of his second, Talon's clan's search for Malibu and Fang had ended after it was painfully obvious that they weren't going to find them, no matter how hard they looked, while Margot Yale had been found dead in her apartment with her throat slit, the police declared it was suicide and moved on to the next case (A guy can dream can't he?). She herself had suspected a little foul play there, as her husband, Brendan, had no alibi and was found in the next room laughing hysterically, singing "Whose Laughing Now?" to himself. She let that pass though, just one more human she didn't have to worry about.
Yes, it was true; she still hated humans, but not enough to wipe them off the face of the planet anymore. Angela had worked hard to show her that not all humans were totally evil, she didn't even hate that accursed detective Maza any longer, and she was willing to tolerate the existence of humanity, as long as they left her, her daughter and her clan alone.
However, she would never be allowed back into the clan as long as the second-in-command had a voodoo doll of her in his room. Angela had told her that last year; she had seen Brooklyn trying to perform the ritual to bind her body to a teddy with wings sown on and a picture of her plastered over the face, while she looked on through the keyhole. In her own words, Brooklyn then produced the biggest knife he could find in the kitchen and began to stab it like a lunatic.
Angela had considered telling Goliath about this but decided not to as Brooklyn never returned the knife to the kitchen.
Obviously he had done it wrong, as Demona would probably have noticed the sudden feeling that she was being stabbed repeatedly.
But still.
There was only one thing for it, she was going to have to apologise to Brooklyn as soon as possible, before he got the procedure right or found a more reliable way to inflict pain upon her.
It had been a definite mistake using him to betray Goliath. Even when he was young, he had shown an amazing capacity for hate, now; it seemed to have grown to something like an obsession. But she was willing to do anything to be allowed back in the clan to be with Angela.
Anything that is, except going out to look for someone who wanted her dead. She would wait for him to return from wherever he was hiding, or until the clan found him and brought him home. Then, she would apologise, while in front of the clan.
She hadn't survived over nine hundred years of people trying like Hell to kill her by being stupid.
Two Blocks away on a skyscraper roof
"Why the Hell do all these big companies have to have all these really tall buildings anyway?" asked Malibu as he watched the top floor room where Demona was currently working with a lot of papers on her desk through a pair of binoculars.
"Real estate in Manhattan is extremely expensive," replied Fang, taking in the tremendous view of the city below him, "It would be just too expensive to buy up a lot of land and build a complex here."
"Then why don't they just build outside of the city where the land might be cheaper?"
"Um.bugger if I know."
"One word, Environmentalists," said Brooklyn. Up until now he had been watching the top floor of Night Stone Ltd through a pair of binoculars, humming the "Harlem Globetrotters" theme tune to himself.
"Nice of you to join the conversation," said Fang, "I hate that damn theme tune."
Brooklyn smiled pleasantly at him, before returning to his binoculars and humming the "Harlem Globetrotters" theme tune just a little louder.
"Asshole," muttered Fang under his breath.
"Guys, are we going to kick her ass tonight or not?" asked Malibu, quickly losing his patience with his "partners-in-crime" so to speak. "Brooklyn, shouldn't you be using that book of lesser magic to change your appearance before we go get her?"
"Yes Mommy," muttered the red gargoyle as he fumbled in his backpack for the book. After he found it, he slung the backpack over his shoulder and walked around a small structure so Mal and Fang couldn't see him.
"Are you two sure you don't want me to use the spell to make you two look different?"
"No thanks, I have no intention of going back to my clan after this is over," replied Mal.
"What about you Fang?"
"Nope."
"Okay, remember no peeking. I know exactly what I want to look like!"
They heard what sounded like Brooklyn undressing himself, followed by almost five minutes of chanting. They both jumped when they heard a few screams of pain, but they didn't move to investigate as Brooklyn had explained it would be quite painful but it wouldn't last long. After the screams, they heard a little panting, followed by some fumbling around the backpack. Twenty minutes after it had started, the new Brooklyn appeared around the structure, in new clothes and a new body. He smiled at them. They stared back in total shock.
"You're sick," said Fang after several minutes. Malibu nodded his head in agreement.
"I know," said the new Brooklyn.
Ten minutes later
They had finally decided on their course of action two days before, it was very simple. Fang would load and arm an armour piercing rocket into the launcher they had taken from Macbeth's armoury, Malibu and "Brooklyn" would then glide across and wait on the roof of a nearby building, when they were ready, Fang would fire the launcher into whatever room Demona happened to be in and when it broke through the glass and exploded, he would then glide towards the building as quickly as possible to aid "Brooklyn" and Malibu in her capture. Simple.
"Like breaking a walnut with a sledgehammer," Fang mumbled to himself as he prepped the launcher and took aim.
-This is overkill,- the voice in his head kept saying over and over again.
-There is no way in Hell she warrants this kind of attack. I've met her for God's sake! A machine gun would definitely be necessary, not a damn rocket launcher!-
But Brooklyn had planned the attack and had insisted they cause as much physical misery on her as possible. Fang knew Demona had done something to Brooklyn that he had refused to talk about with either him or Mal, but he couldn't for the life of him guess what it was that earned such incredible loathing from him.
Shaking his head one last time, he took aim at the office Demona was in and waited for Mal and "Brooklyn" to get into position.
Mal looked over at his friend as they glided into position and sighed. He was going to have to make Brooklyn tell him what Demona had done to him to earn he was about to give her. He knew the gargoyle Brooklyn had changed into, and he knew for a fact that if Demona was conscious when they got to her, there was going to be one Hell of a ruckus.
"Any particular reason you chose that form Brook?"
"I want her to get pissed," replied the gargoyle.
"Why the Hell would you want Demona pissed at you?"
"People who are blinded by rage make mistakes," replied Brooklyn coolly, "I know that from personal experience."
"Well, you seem pretty calm tonight."
"That is because I know tonight is the night I will finally have revenge."
"I thought you were doing this for the good of your clan?"
"Well.yes, of course I am! Well.maybe not totally for the good of the clan." his eyes suddenly flared, "Okay! Okay! I'm doing this mainly for revenge! You happy now Mal? I said it! In fact I'll say it again! I AM DOING THIS OUT OF REVENGE! THE FACT THAT IT WILL BENEFIT THE CLAN GREATLY IS A COINCIDENCE!"
Malibu looked shocked as they moved to land on a skyscraper roof. He had never seen Brooklyn explode into mad roaring before, it was frightening. Whatever Demona had done to him, it was making him seethe with an utter hatred that Mal hoped would end after Demona was finally in a wooden box. He wasn't entirely sure if Brooklyn's sanity would have held if Demona were allowed back in his clan.
He sighed as they landed and Brooklyn gave the signal to Fang that he could fire at will. The mutate acknowledged them, aimed the launcher and fired.
The rocket, one meter long with black and yellow strips painted across its white hull was released with a small, muffled explosion. It tore across the sky, its speed continuously accelerating. It flew over Mal and Brooklyn's heads and crashed through the bulletproof glass windows of Dominique Destine's top floor office. One tenth of a second after penetrating, it blew. The noise was deafening to the two gargoyles' sensitive ears, they had been actually been forced to cover them. God himself only knew what it would have been like inside the office. God and Demona that is.
Every window on the top floor, and six beneath it, shattered, the deadly shrapnel plummeting onto the empty streets below. Brooklyn, to his credit, had postponed his revenge until almost half three in the morning, reducing the likelihood of any innocents being hurt, although this did only leave several hours to capture Demona for Macbeth.
Mal shot Brooklyn a glance, still keeping his hands pressed tightly against his ears. Brooklyn was doing the same, although he had a maniacal grin on his face. He looked up at the headquarters of Night Stone Ltd; the top floor was a blazing waste. Most of the roof had collapsed upon the top floor, stopping the blaze in places while the fires raged in other areas.
It was a horrifying, yet strangely beautiful sight, a beacon, lighting up the night sky, declaring that the Angel of Vengeance had finally come for Demona Wyvern.
Mal shook his head.
-No, that's probably how Brooklyn sees it,- he thought to himself, -To everybody else, it looks like a terrorist attack. Which means we'll have to act quickly, before the cops and F.B.I arrive.-
Brooklyn seemed to have read his thoughts. He had been wearing that sword, a silver and black katana, on a belt at his waist, he had drawn it and was holding it in his right hand, the tanto dagger and Desert Eagle pistol, along with several spare clips, hung on his belt.
Mal had also seen the wisdom of arming himself; he wore a pair of short- barrelled revolvers in holsters below his shoulders, as well as a pair of duelling daggers on his belt, two pouches also rested on his belt, which contained extra bullets for his pistols.
"Shall we?" roared Brooklyn, in his new form.
"Lets!" replied Mal, drawing his pistols. The two gargoyles rushed to the edge of the roof and jumped, unfurling their wings to catch an updraft, they headed towards the ruined top floor. Mal shot a glance behind them, Fang was airborne, and gliding as quickly as he could to assist them if the needed it.
Inside what's left of Night Stone Ltd's top floor
Demona stirred, she couldn't hear anything, her eyes were only registering bright blurs across her vision, she felt like everything, herself included, was going in slow motion. She had felt like this before, a long, long time ago, what was the word for it? "Shell Shock," that was it.
How the Devil could you get shell shock in an office?
One by one, her senses eventually began to come back into sync with her body. She began to register things.
Fire; there was fire literally everywhere, on the floor, the walls, in cracks in the rubble.
Rubble?
Her smell returned next, although wished it hadn't. She could smell, smoke, things burning as well as.
.as well as cooked meat. No, no wait, that wasn't cooked meat she could smell. It was burning flesh.
Her flesh.
She didn't wait for her other senses to come back, she willed herself, forced herself to move. She had no idea what the Hell had happened, but in her own experience, shit like this only happened when someone wearing a black outfit and a black hood with red streaks across it came to visit.
She had no idea what kind of damage her body was in, she didn't really care, as long as her wings could get her to her mansion, she would be safe, the defence network in her home could knock out a bomber squadron.
At the moment, her body didn't register any pain, which meant she was in shock; she hoped it wouldn't wear off any time soon. She wasn't really looking forward to it; she had already gathered from the smell she had quite a few third degree burns upon her body. She looked down at herself and cringed.
Her clothes were mostly burned off and torn; a bit of her desk was protruding from her right thigh in the form of a rather large splinter, not an inch of her body wasn't covered in huge lacerations or third degree burns, her head was swimming, she was still as deaf as a post, she had a nasty feeling that what little probably remained of her hair was on fire, or at least smouldering, she could taste blood in her mouth, which meant she her fangs had clamped down on her tongue when whatever the Hell just happened happened, she wasn't walking, she was half staggering, half limping her way towards the edge that had once been two inch thick bullet proof glass.
-Fat lot of good that did me,- she thought bitterly to herself. It occurred to her that she should watch her step in case her feet landed on any shards of glass, she scanned the floor and noticed none, that at least confirmed the glass hadn't been blown in.
-Which is why I haven't been shredded,- she thought, almost smiling to herself. That meant the explosion had come from the inside. She tried to scour her memory for anything odd she may have noticed before finding herself in the middle of Hell. A sound flickered in her memory, a sound of some sort, a crack, something had cracked violently near.near.her window, that was it, she had been turning her head to see what it was when she had blacked out and woken up with injuries that would have killed absolutely anyone else. That only told her one thing. She was only alive because Macbeth hadn't done this, which just reduced the list of people who probably didn't want her breathing anymore by a single person, which was not extremely helpful as the list was a about the same length as her wingspan.
Men wanted her dead, gargoyles wanted her dead, the Hunter wanted her dead, the Quarrymen wanted her dead, several European and Middle Eastern governments knew of her existence and wanted it to end, not to mention the Yakuza, the Triads, the I.R.A, the Italian Mafia, and several less powerful and well known organisations who didn't particularly like her that much.
One thing about immortality that particularly sucked was the fact it gave you plenty of time to make an awful lot of enemies.
And these were just the ones she could pick off the top of her head.
She looked back at her wings and her heart plummeted. They were wrecked; holes littered the membrane while other parts had been burned off completely. Even with her quick healing abilities, she wasn't going anywhere soon, she would have to climb down all one hundred and four storeys of her skyscraper and try and get into one of her safe houses that she had littered around the city, she could stay there and recover, contact her daughter to let her know she was fine and stay there until the heat was down. The press would probably want a press conference with her, but they could go get stuffed for all she cared, she despised the Media. She began to look around the city beneath her, trying to get her bearings; she was still stone deaf from the explosion, which was why she didn't hear the battle cries of the two gargoyles that landed behind her.
They both regarded her, as she staggered around what was left of her very big office, looking out over the Manhattan skyline.
"Ah, Brooklyn, what the Hell's wrong with her?"
"I think Fang's little fireworks display damaged her hearing a little," replied Brooklyn, he stared a moment longer, "Maybe her sanity as well."
"How can she even stand after that? I mean look at her! She moving like one those fucked up zombies from "Night of the Living Dead!" She shouldn't have survived that!"
"Like I keep telling you Mal, she is immortal, she can survive a fucking nuclear bomb as long as it isn't Macbeth who triggers it."
"Cool!"
"I doubt it. Over a thousand years of life has driven her mad. She can't be allowed to hurt anyone else ever again."
Brooklyn, in his new form strode up to the badly injured and slightly shell shocked Demona, grabbed her by the shoulder, spun her around roughly with one hand to face her and smiled evilly at her.
Her eyes widened in terror as see saw who stood before her, she thought he was dead, maybe he was, maybe she was just seeing things, maybe he was a ghost, maybe she really was dead, maybe this really was Hell.
"Hello Demona," said the gargoyle, as he stretched out his left hand, open palmed, and placed it against her burned chest.
"Thailog!" whispered Demona, as the gargoyle pushed hard against her chest, sending her over the edge and falling one hundred and four storeys to the ground.
The gargoyle she believed to be Thailog, but which was in fact Brooklyn looked over the edge in a casual manner, a nasty grin on his face. Mal came up beside him and looked down at the still plummeting and desperately flailing Demona, as she tried vainly to use her ruined wings to slow her descent, or to try and get her near the wall so she could sink her talons into it to stop altogether. But her wings were too badly damaged, many nerves having been fried during the explosion, making them utterly useless to her.
Mal stared at her in horror as she had now gone halfway down, gaining speed with every second.
"You know, she looked a bit far gone there."
"What's your point?"
"You could have just punched her Brook, it didn't really look as if she needed much prompting to black out again."
"Maybe.but this is more fun."
"I think you're very sick."
"Maybe, maybe not."
"Hey guys! Where is she?" asked Fang as he landed beside them and looked over the edge just in time to see Demona impact with the road. Both he and Mal cringed at the sight while Brooklyn rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Mal! Find a hardware store. I fear we may need a bag and some shovels."
Mal was about to throw up, but he held it back.
-I do it later,- he promised himself.
"Do you think Macbeth felt that?" asked Fang, not being able to take his eyes from the tiny, yet horrific sight below him.
"Considering he is in Bahia Blanca in Argentina I kinda doubt it," replied Brooklyn. "Now the police will be here any minute, let's go and collect our target."
He jumped down and headed towards the mess below him, his two companions following reluctantly at a fair distance.
One hour later a hotel in Bahia Blanca, Argentina
"The terrorist attack on the headquarters of Night Stone Ltd has been the worst in Manhattan's history since the World Trade Centre bombing," said the reporter, "Although the only suspected casualty thus far is Dominique Destine, CEO of Night Stone, whose entire top floor office was taken out by what experts are calling a missile for taking out tanks." the report suddenly ended as the television was switched off.
"Well, at least I know what caused that headache now," said Macbeth as he rose from his chair.
"Definitely an interesting way of apprehending her," said Jezebel Tibbs from the built in bathroom as she tried unsuccessfully to wash out bloodstains in her white blouse, "No body will search for her if they think she was vaporised in the explosion like anyone else may have been."
"That's we have a problem Jezebel."
"How so?"
"Well, several other news channels have reported a dent in the road and a huge amount of blood a little in front of the building."
"Oh dear. You don't think she fell off do you?"
"Probably with the kind assistance from a certain red skinned gentleman we know."
"Does he really hate her that much?"
"Almost as much as I do I suspect."
"Now that we are done here sir. Shall I go to the airport in the morning and purchase two plane tickets to New York?"
"No Jezebel, tomorrow you and I are going to hire a boat in the harbour. We are then going to sail two hundred miles out, and then I am going to dump that damn book overboard." He looked over at the iron box he had placed it in; its pages were still stained with blood. Lopez hadn't given it up without a fight. Almost two-dozen more people had died because of the Malus Codicium. Tomorrow, he was going to ensure that they were the last to ever die because of this damn copy. Dumping it in the sea was the only option, any direct attempts to destroy it left him writhing in agony until he had achieved a safe distance from it.
When this one was gone, there would only be his copy left, it would remain hidden forever in his estate, away from prying eyes and those who sought power at any price.
He would have to entrust the codes to the locks and other devices, which kept the Codicium safe and despite the incident at Night Stone, Brooklyn was still the most trustworthy of the trio and least likely to be corrupted if the person he hated most on earth was dead already.
He smiled and closed his eyes at the thought of never having to worry about that damn book again. It felt like a great weight was being lifted from his shoulders, now only one real weight remained.
Demona.
In less than a week's time, she would be dead, and so would he. The wretched tale of misery and revenge was finally entering its last chapter. Finally he could see Grouarch again, he could see his son again, and all those he had loved dearly over the ages. In less than a week's time, he would finally be free.
-I finally beat you,- he thought happily to himself, -I finally beat you three underhanded, scheming little bitches.-
He lounged back happily as, unbeknownst to him, three owls, one white, one black, and one a golden yellow, were watching him through his room's window from a tree outside. They appeared very, very pissed.
To be continued.
A bit of a crappy ending I know but I was having trouble figuring out how to end it. Flames, questions, ideas are greatly welcome, you know my e-mail address. Until the next time!
Darkness
Author: Darkness. Address: darknessdescending2000@yahoo.co.uk
Author's Note: Once again, I don't own the Malus Codicium, it was created by sci-fi author Dan Abnett (who rocks!), now that that's cleared up, don't sue me!
Dedicated to Storyseeker as he gave me a few ideas for the saga although I doubt he might like this particular chapter very much.
The Macbeth Estate
Malibu looked over the plan of action Brooklyn had drawn up to use against Demona; he looked over at his friend and gave him a quizzical look.
"Are you sure this will work Brooklyn?"
The blood red gargoyle looked up from sharpening a sword he had become obsessively fond of over the past four days. He had been sitting on the couch while Mal sat on the floor after several failed attempts at trying to get comfortable in one of the living room chairs. He smiled patiently at his friend before replying.
"Out of all the places I know of that she goes in her daily routine, her office at Night Stone Ltd is the least heavily defended, it takes up the entire top floor and has floor to ceiling windows made of bullet-proof glass."
"And how exactly are we supposed to get in?" asked Fang, entering the living room, he was in his mutate form, but like all of them, he was wearing human clothes. Fang wore a black Ozzie Osborne T-shirt, with tears on the back to accommodate his wings, as well as a pair of blue jeans that had a cut in the rear end so he could fit his tail in. Brooklyn wore black chinos and a black long sleeve shirt with the same "modifications" which Fang had made to his own clothes. Mal, on the other hand, was wearing sand coloured shorts and a light-weight, white Hawaiian short sleeve shirt with, yes, palm trees, coconuts and other awful crap you find on those terrible shirts. They had all been given a room with a wardrobe by Macbeth for when they used the spell he had given them so they could become human whenever they wanted. When Mal had come out of his room dressed as he was, Brooklyn and Fang had given each other very concerned looks. They silently agreed they would have to sit Mal down and discuss the finer points of fashion with him as soon as they had dealt with Demona.
"You're the master criminal Fang, why don't you give us your professional opinion on the matter?" replied Brooklyn.
"Couldn't we just use that glass breaking device we used to rescue Fang?" said the clone, as he rose to get a drink from the bar.
"Maybe," said the Mutate, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"What about an armour piercing round from one of Macbeth's portable rocket launchers?" inquired Brooklyn, sheathing the sword and resting it on the coffee table. He then picked up the next item on the table, a .50 Desert Eagle pistol, taking the magazine out and checking it the way Macbeth had shown him.
"I thought we were being paid to bring her here alive and in one piece?" replied Fang.
"One, she's immortal Fang, which takes care of the "alive" part. Two, Macbeth never said anything about how many pieces we bring her back in. And three, you are getting paid, I on the other hand, am doing this to protect my clan from her as she is obviously using Angela to get close to Goliath so she can kill him and assume command of the clan again."
"I'm getting paid," said Malibu as he poured himself a glass of wine.
"WHAT?" yelled Brooklyn, staring at his clone as if he had just grown an extra head.
"Good for you buddy!" cheered Fang.
"How much?" asked Brooklyn, getting the feeling that he may have missed something very important about his clone's personality.
"Two million, same as Fang," replied Mal, sticking a straw in his glass and taking a long suck, "Why? Don't tell me you didn't even think about asking for something for your troubles?"
"I'm not some damn mercenary!"
"That's a pity," said Fang, "I think you'd be quite good at it, that is if you ever decide to wake up and realise that if you're going to risk your life, then you'd better be getting paid for it."
"Just what the Hell were you before Sevarius changed you Fang?"
"Just some damn mercenary," replied the cougar mutate, "Sevarius said he would make me stronger. Although I didn't really count on the fur and wings," he rubbed his cheek before smiling, "But now thanks to Macbeth, I don't have to hide in the shadows. I can work again, this time with a very big advantage," he flapped his wings to demonstrate his point, "Now that I think of it, I think I haven't done that badly considering all the shit that's happened over the past several years."
"I'm so happy for you," replied Brooklyn rather sarcastically.
"Oh, go get a girlfriend," sneered Fang. Brooklyn gave him a look full of venom, before putting his pistol on the table and reaching for the sword.
"Now children, play nice," interrupted Malibu quickly, bringing a tray with drinks for them all, "We all promised to put our differences aside and work together on this thing remember?"
Fang and Brooklyn seemed to stare at each other for a long time before finally reaching for the wine Malibu had poured them.
"So when should we make our move?" asked Fang, not breaking his stare with the Gargoyle.
"Friday night," replied Brooklyn, staring right back, "She works late in her office on Fridays."
"How the Hell do you know that?" asked Malibu, sounding puzzled. Brooklyn turned to him and smiled knowingly, before sitting back down and picking up a Tanto dagger to sharpen it.
-Just great- thought Fang. -My partners consist of a Gargoyle stalker and a fashion unconscious clone.-
He looked out the window while sipping his drink.
-I wonder if Talon would consider letting me back in my cage.-
Friday, Night Stone Ltd, Dominique Destine's office floor
Demona rubbed her eyes as she filed through the mountain of paperwork she had to do before she could spend her weekend free of fuss, and more importantly, with her daughter.
Goliath had reluctantly agreed to let Angela spend the weekend with her mother, provided that Broadway came with her to make sure she didn't try any funny stuff. She smiled at this thought. It would be the first time anyone stayed in her manor without the aid of chains or drugs.
She liked Broadway, although she doubted the feeling was mutual, in her opinion, out of the three hopeless prats that Angela had to choose from, he was best as he made Angela happy, was neither short or had an obsession with hurting her.
She sighed as she remembered the party Angela had invited her to. She had gone, both to see her daughter and to rub it in Goliath and Brooklyn's faces, but then Brooklyn had disappeared. The clan was still searching, despite the fact he had sent them an e-mail telling them not to worry.
It had been a little over a week though since he had sent it. In that time Goliath had gone almost out of his mind with worry at the fate of his second, Talon's clan's search for Malibu and Fang had ended after it was painfully obvious that they weren't going to find them, no matter how hard they looked, while Margot Yale had been found dead in her apartment with her throat slit, the police declared it was suicide and moved on to the next case (A guy can dream can't he?). She herself had suspected a little foul play there, as her husband, Brendan, had no alibi and was found in the next room laughing hysterically, singing "Whose Laughing Now?" to himself. She let that pass though, just one more human she didn't have to worry about.
Yes, it was true; she still hated humans, but not enough to wipe them off the face of the planet anymore. Angela had worked hard to show her that not all humans were totally evil, she didn't even hate that accursed detective Maza any longer, and she was willing to tolerate the existence of humanity, as long as they left her, her daughter and her clan alone.
However, she would never be allowed back into the clan as long as the second-in-command had a voodoo doll of her in his room. Angela had told her that last year; she had seen Brooklyn trying to perform the ritual to bind her body to a teddy with wings sown on and a picture of her plastered over the face, while she looked on through the keyhole. In her own words, Brooklyn then produced the biggest knife he could find in the kitchen and began to stab it like a lunatic.
Angela had considered telling Goliath about this but decided not to as Brooklyn never returned the knife to the kitchen.
Obviously he had done it wrong, as Demona would probably have noticed the sudden feeling that she was being stabbed repeatedly.
But still.
There was only one thing for it, she was going to have to apologise to Brooklyn as soon as possible, before he got the procedure right or found a more reliable way to inflict pain upon her.
It had been a definite mistake using him to betray Goliath. Even when he was young, he had shown an amazing capacity for hate, now; it seemed to have grown to something like an obsession. But she was willing to do anything to be allowed back in the clan to be with Angela.
Anything that is, except going out to look for someone who wanted her dead. She would wait for him to return from wherever he was hiding, or until the clan found him and brought him home. Then, she would apologise, while in front of the clan.
She hadn't survived over nine hundred years of people trying like Hell to kill her by being stupid.
Two Blocks away on a skyscraper roof
"Why the Hell do all these big companies have to have all these really tall buildings anyway?" asked Malibu as he watched the top floor room where Demona was currently working with a lot of papers on her desk through a pair of binoculars.
"Real estate in Manhattan is extremely expensive," replied Fang, taking in the tremendous view of the city below him, "It would be just too expensive to buy up a lot of land and build a complex here."
"Then why don't they just build outside of the city where the land might be cheaper?"
"Um.bugger if I know."
"One word, Environmentalists," said Brooklyn. Up until now he had been watching the top floor of Night Stone Ltd through a pair of binoculars, humming the "Harlem Globetrotters" theme tune to himself.
"Nice of you to join the conversation," said Fang, "I hate that damn theme tune."
Brooklyn smiled pleasantly at him, before returning to his binoculars and humming the "Harlem Globetrotters" theme tune just a little louder.
"Asshole," muttered Fang under his breath.
"Guys, are we going to kick her ass tonight or not?" asked Malibu, quickly losing his patience with his "partners-in-crime" so to speak. "Brooklyn, shouldn't you be using that book of lesser magic to change your appearance before we go get her?"
"Yes Mommy," muttered the red gargoyle as he fumbled in his backpack for the book. After he found it, he slung the backpack over his shoulder and walked around a small structure so Mal and Fang couldn't see him.
"Are you two sure you don't want me to use the spell to make you two look different?"
"No thanks, I have no intention of going back to my clan after this is over," replied Mal.
"What about you Fang?"
"Nope."
"Okay, remember no peeking. I know exactly what I want to look like!"
They heard what sounded like Brooklyn undressing himself, followed by almost five minutes of chanting. They both jumped when they heard a few screams of pain, but they didn't move to investigate as Brooklyn had explained it would be quite painful but it wouldn't last long. After the screams, they heard a little panting, followed by some fumbling around the backpack. Twenty minutes after it had started, the new Brooklyn appeared around the structure, in new clothes and a new body. He smiled at them. They stared back in total shock.
"You're sick," said Fang after several minutes. Malibu nodded his head in agreement.
"I know," said the new Brooklyn.
Ten minutes later
They had finally decided on their course of action two days before, it was very simple. Fang would load and arm an armour piercing rocket into the launcher they had taken from Macbeth's armoury, Malibu and "Brooklyn" would then glide across and wait on the roof of a nearby building, when they were ready, Fang would fire the launcher into whatever room Demona happened to be in and when it broke through the glass and exploded, he would then glide towards the building as quickly as possible to aid "Brooklyn" and Malibu in her capture. Simple.
"Like breaking a walnut with a sledgehammer," Fang mumbled to himself as he prepped the launcher and took aim.
-This is overkill,- the voice in his head kept saying over and over again.
-There is no way in Hell she warrants this kind of attack. I've met her for God's sake! A machine gun would definitely be necessary, not a damn rocket launcher!-
But Brooklyn had planned the attack and had insisted they cause as much physical misery on her as possible. Fang knew Demona had done something to Brooklyn that he had refused to talk about with either him or Mal, but he couldn't for the life of him guess what it was that earned such incredible loathing from him.
Shaking his head one last time, he took aim at the office Demona was in and waited for Mal and "Brooklyn" to get into position.
Mal looked over at his friend as they glided into position and sighed. He was going to have to make Brooklyn tell him what Demona had done to him to earn he was about to give her. He knew the gargoyle Brooklyn had changed into, and he knew for a fact that if Demona was conscious when they got to her, there was going to be one Hell of a ruckus.
"Any particular reason you chose that form Brook?"
"I want her to get pissed," replied the gargoyle.
"Why the Hell would you want Demona pissed at you?"
"People who are blinded by rage make mistakes," replied Brooklyn coolly, "I know that from personal experience."
"Well, you seem pretty calm tonight."
"That is because I know tonight is the night I will finally have revenge."
"I thought you were doing this for the good of your clan?"
"Well.yes, of course I am! Well.maybe not totally for the good of the clan." his eyes suddenly flared, "Okay! Okay! I'm doing this mainly for revenge! You happy now Mal? I said it! In fact I'll say it again! I AM DOING THIS OUT OF REVENGE! THE FACT THAT IT WILL BENEFIT THE CLAN GREATLY IS A COINCIDENCE!"
Malibu looked shocked as they moved to land on a skyscraper roof. He had never seen Brooklyn explode into mad roaring before, it was frightening. Whatever Demona had done to him, it was making him seethe with an utter hatred that Mal hoped would end after Demona was finally in a wooden box. He wasn't entirely sure if Brooklyn's sanity would have held if Demona were allowed back in his clan.
He sighed as they landed and Brooklyn gave the signal to Fang that he could fire at will. The mutate acknowledged them, aimed the launcher and fired.
The rocket, one meter long with black and yellow strips painted across its white hull was released with a small, muffled explosion. It tore across the sky, its speed continuously accelerating. It flew over Mal and Brooklyn's heads and crashed through the bulletproof glass windows of Dominique Destine's top floor office. One tenth of a second after penetrating, it blew. The noise was deafening to the two gargoyles' sensitive ears, they had been actually been forced to cover them. God himself only knew what it would have been like inside the office. God and Demona that is.
Every window on the top floor, and six beneath it, shattered, the deadly shrapnel plummeting onto the empty streets below. Brooklyn, to his credit, had postponed his revenge until almost half three in the morning, reducing the likelihood of any innocents being hurt, although this did only leave several hours to capture Demona for Macbeth.
Mal shot Brooklyn a glance, still keeping his hands pressed tightly against his ears. Brooklyn was doing the same, although he had a maniacal grin on his face. He looked up at the headquarters of Night Stone Ltd; the top floor was a blazing waste. Most of the roof had collapsed upon the top floor, stopping the blaze in places while the fires raged in other areas.
It was a horrifying, yet strangely beautiful sight, a beacon, lighting up the night sky, declaring that the Angel of Vengeance had finally come for Demona Wyvern.
Mal shook his head.
-No, that's probably how Brooklyn sees it,- he thought to himself, -To everybody else, it looks like a terrorist attack. Which means we'll have to act quickly, before the cops and F.B.I arrive.-
Brooklyn seemed to have read his thoughts. He had been wearing that sword, a silver and black katana, on a belt at his waist, he had drawn it and was holding it in his right hand, the tanto dagger and Desert Eagle pistol, along with several spare clips, hung on his belt.
Mal had also seen the wisdom of arming himself; he wore a pair of short- barrelled revolvers in holsters below his shoulders, as well as a pair of duelling daggers on his belt, two pouches also rested on his belt, which contained extra bullets for his pistols.
"Shall we?" roared Brooklyn, in his new form.
"Lets!" replied Mal, drawing his pistols. The two gargoyles rushed to the edge of the roof and jumped, unfurling their wings to catch an updraft, they headed towards the ruined top floor. Mal shot a glance behind them, Fang was airborne, and gliding as quickly as he could to assist them if the needed it.
Inside what's left of Night Stone Ltd's top floor
Demona stirred, she couldn't hear anything, her eyes were only registering bright blurs across her vision, she felt like everything, herself included, was going in slow motion. She had felt like this before, a long, long time ago, what was the word for it? "Shell Shock," that was it.
How the Devil could you get shell shock in an office?
One by one, her senses eventually began to come back into sync with her body. She began to register things.
Fire; there was fire literally everywhere, on the floor, the walls, in cracks in the rubble.
Rubble?
Her smell returned next, although wished it hadn't. She could smell, smoke, things burning as well as.
.as well as cooked meat. No, no wait, that wasn't cooked meat she could smell. It was burning flesh.
Her flesh.
She didn't wait for her other senses to come back, she willed herself, forced herself to move. She had no idea what the Hell had happened, but in her own experience, shit like this only happened when someone wearing a black outfit and a black hood with red streaks across it came to visit.
She had no idea what kind of damage her body was in, she didn't really care, as long as her wings could get her to her mansion, she would be safe, the defence network in her home could knock out a bomber squadron.
At the moment, her body didn't register any pain, which meant she was in shock; she hoped it wouldn't wear off any time soon. She wasn't really looking forward to it; she had already gathered from the smell she had quite a few third degree burns upon her body. She looked down at herself and cringed.
Her clothes were mostly burned off and torn; a bit of her desk was protruding from her right thigh in the form of a rather large splinter, not an inch of her body wasn't covered in huge lacerations or third degree burns, her head was swimming, she was still as deaf as a post, she had a nasty feeling that what little probably remained of her hair was on fire, or at least smouldering, she could taste blood in her mouth, which meant she her fangs had clamped down on her tongue when whatever the Hell just happened happened, she wasn't walking, she was half staggering, half limping her way towards the edge that had once been two inch thick bullet proof glass.
-Fat lot of good that did me,- she thought bitterly to herself. It occurred to her that she should watch her step in case her feet landed on any shards of glass, she scanned the floor and noticed none, that at least confirmed the glass hadn't been blown in.
-Which is why I haven't been shredded,- she thought, almost smiling to herself. That meant the explosion had come from the inside. She tried to scour her memory for anything odd she may have noticed before finding herself in the middle of Hell. A sound flickered in her memory, a sound of some sort, a crack, something had cracked violently near.near.her window, that was it, she had been turning her head to see what it was when she had blacked out and woken up with injuries that would have killed absolutely anyone else. That only told her one thing. She was only alive because Macbeth hadn't done this, which just reduced the list of people who probably didn't want her breathing anymore by a single person, which was not extremely helpful as the list was a about the same length as her wingspan.
Men wanted her dead, gargoyles wanted her dead, the Hunter wanted her dead, the Quarrymen wanted her dead, several European and Middle Eastern governments knew of her existence and wanted it to end, not to mention the Yakuza, the Triads, the I.R.A, the Italian Mafia, and several less powerful and well known organisations who didn't particularly like her that much.
One thing about immortality that particularly sucked was the fact it gave you plenty of time to make an awful lot of enemies.
And these were just the ones she could pick off the top of her head.
She looked back at her wings and her heart plummeted. They were wrecked; holes littered the membrane while other parts had been burned off completely. Even with her quick healing abilities, she wasn't going anywhere soon, she would have to climb down all one hundred and four storeys of her skyscraper and try and get into one of her safe houses that she had littered around the city, she could stay there and recover, contact her daughter to let her know she was fine and stay there until the heat was down. The press would probably want a press conference with her, but they could go get stuffed for all she cared, she despised the Media. She began to look around the city beneath her, trying to get her bearings; she was still stone deaf from the explosion, which was why she didn't hear the battle cries of the two gargoyles that landed behind her.
They both regarded her, as she staggered around what was left of her very big office, looking out over the Manhattan skyline.
"Ah, Brooklyn, what the Hell's wrong with her?"
"I think Fang's little fireworks display damaged her hearing a little," replied Brooklyn, he stared a moment longer, "Maybe her sanity as well."
"How can she even stand after that? I mean look at her! She moving like one those fucked up zombies from "Night of the Living Dead!" She shouldn't have survived that!"
"Like I keep telling you Mal, she is immortal, she can survive a fucking nuclear bomb as long as it isn't Macbeth who triggers it."
"Cool!"
"I doubt it. Over a thousand years of life has driven her mad. She can't be allowed to hurt anyone else ever again."
Brooklyn, in his new form strode up to the badly injured and slightly shell shocked Demona, grabbed her by the shoulder, spun her around roughly with one hand to face her and smiled evilly at her.
Her eyes widened in terror as see saw who stood before her, she thought he was dead, maybe he was, maybe she was just seeing things, maybe he was a ghost, maybe she really was dead, maybe this really was Hell.
"Hello Demona," said the gargoyle, as he stretched out his left hand, open palmed, and placed it against her burned chest.
"Thailog!" whispered Demona, as the gargoyle pushed hard against her chest, sending her over the edge and falling one hundred and four storeys to the ground.
The gargoyle she believed to be Thailog, but which was in fact Brooklyn looked over the edge in a casual manner, a nasty grin on his face. Mal came up beside him and looked down at the still plummeting and desperately flailing Demona, as she tried vainly to use her ruined wings to slow her descent, or to try and get her near the wall so she could sink her talons into it to stop altogether. But her wings were too badly damaged, many nerves having been fried during the explosion, making them utterly useless to her.
Mal stared at her in horror as she had now gone halfway down, gaining speed with every second.
"You know, she looked a bit far gone there."
"What's your point?"
"You could have just punched her Brook, it didn't really look as if she needed much prompting to black out again."
"Maybe.but this is more fun."
"I think you're very sick."
"Maybe, maybe not."
"Hey guys! Where is she?" asked Fang as he landed beside them and looked over the edge just in time to see Demona impact with the road. Both he and Mal cringed at the sight while Brooklyn rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"Mal! Find a hardware store. I fear we may need a bag and some shovels."
Mal was about to throw up, but he held it back.
-I do it later,- he promised himself.
"Do you think Macbeth felt that?" asked Fang, not being able to take his eyes from the tiny, yet horrific sight below him.
"Considering he is in Bahia Blanca in Argentina I kinda doubt it," replied Brooklyn. "Now the police will be here any minute, let's go and collect our target."
He jumped down and headed towards the mess below him, his two companions following reluctantly at a fair distance.
One hour later a hotel in Bahia Blanca, Argentina
"The terrorist attack on the headquarters of Night Stone Ltd has been the worst in Manhattan's history since the World Trade Centre bombing," said the reporter, "Although the only suspected casualty thus far is Dominique Destine, CEO of Night Stone, whose entire top floor office was taken out by what experts are calling a missile for taking out tanks." the report suddenly ended as the television was switched off.
"Well, at least I know what caused that headache now," said Macbeth as he rose from his chair.
"Definitely an interesting way of apprehending her," said Jezebel Tibbs from the built in bathroom as she tried unsuccessfully to wash out bloodstains in her white blouse, "No body will search for her if they think she was vaporised in the explosion like anyone else may have been."
"That's we have a problem Jezebel."
"How so?"
"Well, several other news channels have reported a dent in the road and a huge amount of blood a little in front of the building."
"Oh dear. You don't think she fell off do you?"
"Probably with the kind assistance from a certain red skinned gentleman we know."
"Does he really hate her that much?"
"Almost as much as I do I suspect."
"Now that we are done here sir. Shall I go to the airport in the morning and purchase two plane tickets to New York?"
"No Jezebel, tomorrow you and I are going to hire a boat in the harbour. We are then going to sail two hundred miles out, and then I am going to dump that damn book overboard." He looked over at the iron box he had placed it in; its pages were still stained with blood. Lopez hadn't given it up without a fight. Almost two-dozen more people had died because of the Malus Codicium. Tomorrow, he was going to ensure that they were the last to ever die because of this damn copy. Dumping it in the sea was the only option, any direct attempts to destroy it left him writhing in agony until he had achieved a safe distance from it.
When this one was gone, there would only be his copy left, it would remain hidden forever in his estate, away from prying eyes and those who sought power at any price.
He would have to entrust the codes to the locks and other devices, which kept the Codicium safe and despite the incident at Night Stone, Brooklyn was still the most trustworthy of the trio and least likely to be corrupted if the person he hated most on earth was dead already.
He smiled and closed his eyes at the thought of never having to worry about that damn book again. It felt like a great weight was being lifted from his shoulders, now only one real weight remained.
Demona.
In less than a week's time, she would be dead, and so would he. The wretched tale of misery and revenge was finally entering its last chapter. Finally he could see Grouarch again, he could see his son again, and all those he had loved dearly over the ages. In less than a week's time, he would finally be free.
-I finally beat you,- he thought happily to himself, -I finally beat you three underhanded, scheming little bitches.-
He lounged back happily as, unbeknownst to him, three owls, one white, one black, and one a golden yellow, were watching him through his room's window from a tree outside. They appeared very, very pissed.
To be continued.
A bit of a crappy ending I know but I was having trouble figuring out how to end it. Flames, questions, ideas are greatly welcome, you know my e-mail address. Until the next time!
Darkness