TOUCHING GOD
Sometimes, even the air hungers.
It did then, snapping and growling at Robin as she went, hissing in her ears as she moved. Or, was that the faint ringing that steadily grew? The Craft user wondered how long Leanna's control of time would be sustained, even if she were unconscious. And, if the assassin's hold of the very fabric of the universe wavered, what would happen to her, to the Other Thirteen?
She didn't know; in truth, the teenage witch couldn't have cared less.
Instead, she remained focused on Leanna, battered and beaten. Blood poured from her wings, staining those pure, snowy white feathers and pooling around her. It gushed, quickened and hastened by the young woman's Craft, Robin didn't have to get close to see the gashes, long and deep, running down the other's wings, cutting down to the white bone. Here and there lay chips and breaks, Robin noted and she reached down and grabbed Leanna sharply by the wrist.
"You will not die!"
xxxx
Something felt off.
A tremble of fear quivered through Amon. It was the first time he had felt such a thin in ages, but he didn't know why. There was no reason for it, no honest cause. He gave a quick glance to Nycole, still fuming at the innocent television and the cartoons blaring on it, hoping she hadn't noticed. Fortunately, the empath seemed engrossed in whatever show she so forcefully watched, ignoring Amon almost purposely.
He sighed and went to start up the stairs.
"Amon…"
Sakaki.
The former hunter turned to see his younger companion closing the front door behind himself. Haruto had gone scouting the property and outlying neighborhood for anything unusual, setting up a perimeter and ensuring their security for the moment. It seemed so standard and procedure, that the elder man hadn't thought anything of it until then.
"What is it?" Amon breathed.
"Whatever happens up there," Sakaki paused for a moment, as if unsure of exactly what to say. "Remember who you are." The younger man glanced to Nycole, almost sadly and disappointed. "You may be one of the Thirteen, but you are always Amon before anything else. Nothing can change that. Not if you don't let it."
Amon furrowed his eyebrows. "What?"
Sakaki gave a quick wink. "Magic only holds power over those who give it power."
xxxx
How heavy she was.
Robin hadn't been expecting that as she reached down and hauled Leanna to her feet. Perhaps it was the muscle. Kathain had never been that strong, but she had trained the whole time the Oracle had been with the Thirteen, honing her reflexes and strength. Perhaps it was the fact that Leanna's body hung there like dead weight. Or, it could always just have been the wings.
Robin preferred that thought over any other, that it was the wings and not the looming unconsciousness in Leanna as she bled out all over the bus station floor.
"Stay with me, Leanna," The Craft User order.
The teenager gritted her teeth fiercely as she swung the two of them around, feeling a mild pang of sympathy for the limp form dangling slung over her shoulder. Her own arm felt wrenched and torn, shredding in the socket.
Sierra clapped softly. "A valiant effort, little witch, but all in vain."
A man stepped to the side of this newcomer Oracle. His hair hung long and black, a straight, slick ebony. A loathsome grin plastered his face, spreading from ear to ear with diabolical glee and rapture. His sneer only seemed to widen at Robin's surprise as a hole of shadows pooled beside him. A shadow walker. Another Kristo. The very worst thing she could have ever hoped to never face.
"Little pet," he whistled.
His hand tucked into the shadows, rifling about for a moment before retrieving the long, slender shaft of a gleaming, dark pole arm. Something seemed to crawl about the metal, twisting around it with an almost evil life to the very material of the weapon.
Robin shook her head. "No!"
A burst of flame exploded outward from around Robin, out, towards the other Thirteen. She had never felt the heat of her own Craft so close, so angry, so bitter. It burnt the untold rage of her fears for Amon and her vengeance for Kathain. It flickered within her witch's heart, as if the were awakening. Rage billowed within, a dark, deep volcano erupting to the surface. Liquid fire and molten rock boiled inside of her, begging to be unleashed on these enemies.
"No…"
xxxx
A sickly sweetness hung on the air.
Amon took up the steps with a heavy heart, ascending into darkness. But, somewhere in that void burnt a censer of incense, rich and thick. The curls of smoke twirled around him, mixing with the air and the very aura of his soul. The cloying bouquet perfumed the air with a nauseating strength. Amon's nose twisted at the mixture of smoldering Dragon's Blood and cinnamon.
In the darkness, Brett clapped his hands together swiftly in a faint mockery. Thousands of candles flashed to life, each burning a bright little flame in what had once been darkness. Now, the room became bathed in a pale, orange light, warm and mellow. Amon almost welcomed the scent of a thousand tiny flames over the terrible stench of incense. Vaguely, it reminded him of Robin.
He shook the thought away as his eyes surveyed the room. It was large, the obvious combination of what had been two separate rooms, a dining room and a den, at own point. He could still see the faintest of creases in the old ceiling where the two rooms had been divided. Chairs encircled the room, each of varying size and style, a random assortment collected over the years by god knew who, judging by the changing styles and colors. The others just milled about, talking with a silent language but daring not to speak a real word.
A cast iron cauldron sat on the floor, smoke rising from within. It was that rather innocuous seeming cauldron that had become the most reviled censer to Amon. Its smoke did something to the mind, eased it, yet made it sharp at the same time. He didn't like the effects, blinked, and tried to ignore it in favor of staring at the thousands of randomly assorted candles, long, short, pillar, brick, sculpted, tealight, and votive.
Markus strolled a casual circuit of the seeming baren floor, passing each of the men and giving them a silent regard in turn, before coming to a stop at the head of the room, the Northern point. There, sat two heavy, wooden chairs, old and carved, hand made ages ago by some hand long stilled by the weight of death. Their deep, cherry stain held the burnished glow of crimson under the light, as if fresh blood. It was in the left chair that Marcus sat.
Kristo gave a slight nod and gestured to the seats. He, in turn, took his place at the right hand of Marcus. The right hand man to the man who sat on the seeming throne.
The others found their own places. Amon noted how each seemed to remember so easily where they belong, moving instinctively to their own chairs and leaving the remainder empty for the Thirteen who had not been found yet. Even as Amon thought it, his own feet seemed to be carrying him to a place not more than four places to the left of Marcus, and beside Bear. The man beside him gave a slight nod of approval. Amon had chosen well, albeit a guess.
The others had taken their seats; all eyes fell upon Marcus. The man, however, just sat there for a moment, enjoying the power her held over these men, savoring his sway over the Thirteen.
Then, he spoke, slowly and deliberately. "We all know why you have been gathered here tonight."
Amon't didn't like the sinister tone in his voice.
"You're here to get back the King."
xxxx
The pole arm came at her, plunging through air, directly at Robin's nose. Yet, it did not ever get the opportunity to strike at her. As her flames billowed out, they slammed against something, some impenetrable wall, blocking out the spear head, too.
Robin glared. "Do not play games with me."
There was a deep-seated rage to her voice, low and angry, harsh and biting. It was the pain and suffering of centuries of witches who had been burned alive, drowned, or otherwise tortured to death. Their blood coursed through her veins, singing sweet power and energy. Her nerves flared, alive and itching. Energy, electric and flashing, snapped and popped through her body.
"Do not lay a hand on either of us," Robin ordered sharply.
The man at the end of the pole arm sneered; the swirls on the metal curled tighter, closer together, as if annoyed. "You think that can stop me with foolish, petty threats? Me?"
"No." Robin gasped at Leanna's voice, even and steady as she lifted her head. "But I can."
Time hurtled back into motion, as a sudden wind kicked up. Robin's arm tore as the muscles shredded, but, still her held on to Leanna, feeling the world slip away as time flew with a lightning spread she had never seen before. She was dragged backwards, the wind whistling in her ears, shreadding at her dress.
Behind them, she could hear Sierra cry out, "COWARDS!"
xxxx
They were gone.
And, to Sierra's horror, time had been restarted again, at the normal pace. Her weapons master's grin fell away as he gave a quick, bothered shake of his arm, throwing the spear back into the void. The motion was so swift, no human eye could catch it, but how could they miss the flash of light from Robin's bursts of Craft? They stared wide-eyed and in awe at the Thirteen, looking for the source of the sudden, blinding flash.
Her man ignored their awkward looks, striding up behind Sierra and growling in her ear almost inaudibly, "Should we follow them?"
"No need. We know exactly where they're going."
xxxx
Sorry for the delay. Life got in the way, and you know how that is. My most humble apologies. :bows deeply: