MW: Here it is, ladies and gentlemen, chapter 12-the lead up to the war! The war begins in the next chapter or two, seeing as this one is filled with establishing relationships, character development, plot twists, and ANGST ALL AROUND! Nah, just kidding-at least, about the angst. I am introducing three new characters that become plot relevant later on. For those of you who submitted characters for the sequel story I said I was working on, To Survive in the Wild, I am still working on that, but I don't know when I'll have it out. I am also still taking submissions for that story, so feel free. Again: I AM STILL TAKING SUBMISSIONS FOR TO SURVIVE IN THE WILD.

Before we begin, some pre-chapter questions and notes.

Note: As I see it, the quality of my writing increases with each chapter. Do keep in mind that I am still in school and still learning, so hopefully my story becomes better as the chapters go on. I do plan to rewrite a few of the earlier chapters-at least chapters one through six-later on, but for now, I'll leave them as they are. Please let me know if I have any plot-holes or continuity errors so I can maintain a good story.

This is the longest chapter I've written as of yet, the chapter alone being 18,000 words and the notes, review replies and Q&A being about 5,000 words. Expect future chapters to be about 10-20k words.

Also, as of recently, I've taken a break from Wizard101 because the game has become fairly stagnant for me. Do not fret, I will return eventually, but for the time being I've done what I needed to do-complete the story to Azteca (which is as far as my story will go) and reach a decent level. I feel accomplished enough. You can, however, catch me on Pirate101 and other games like Unreal Tournament: GOTY Edition.

Q: What is the span of the story?

A: Well, the war is meant to span two years, as the team spends roughly six months across four worlds (many subplots and betrayals and whatnot), but it may/can change. I was never really sure of the time myself, which is one reason why I'm rewriting the earlier chapters. If we're talking the whole story, it begins during Talon's teenage years (13-15, or rather, chapters one through seven) and is currently in his adult years (19-21, or rather, chapters 8 and onwards). The story as a whole, with flashbacks included as pieces of time takes place over the course of seven years.

I don't know if I established it clearly enough in previous chapters, but the team meets about once a week. Their first meeting was cut short because Talon felt overwhelmed by Astra's presence, and as such, it was one week and a half later when they met again (this chapter). Talon will compress the training sessions in order to better fit the schedule and be ready for war.

Q: When is the war starting?

A: At the end of the next chapter-that marks the beginning of the war.

Q: What's the importance of Raht? Will Sabrina ever come back?

A: Raht is there simply to antagonize Talon and remind him that-for him, at least-there is no way to let go of his past. Sabrina will come back, for sure! She's very fun to write because of the fact that she represents the lust for power and because she still feels conflicted despite letting go of most of her attachments (save for Hunter).

Q: How do you name your chapters?

A: My chapter names usually come from a general theme of what the chapter is about. For example, the last two chapters were two-part chapters, but they were about how the people you think are beautiful or the people you idolize or are attached to can turn out to be your downfall or your greatest enemy (as is the case of Hunter and Sabrina). Eron mentions this, and will go on to mention it throughout the story since the conflict between ideals and reality is a prevalent theme.

This chapter is named "Bonds, Release" because it's both about letting go of the past, and forging new memories with new people.

I want to give my thanks to Ammaraah01 and James Firecrafter for helping me edit the story and keep it flowing, as well as my reviewers! Thank you for the critique, and I will continue writing!


12 - Bonds, Release

"Sir!" A young, lanky wizard dressed in golden robes stood at attention before Ambrose, her face laced with a reddish hue, as if she were out of breath. Did she run to the office?

Ambrose glanced upwards, from the papers and battle plans scattered about his desk. "Yes?"

"We've received word back from Celestia," the wizard murmured. She handed Ambrose a slightly crumpled scroll marked with a hastily drawn seal representative of Wizard City.

Had his scouts lost their wax? No, more important than that…

"Have the scouts returned?" Ambrose inquired, his eyes lighting up. If they were back, that would be...well, gratifying, to say the least. They may have had information on Morganthe and Celestia-information that, if proven useful, could provide Wizard City with the advantage. The war hadn't begun yet, however, Ambrose knew it was coming. He could feel it: a tingling in his gut, erect hairs on the back of his neck, and Bartleby's premonitions and whispers of nefariousness.

The girl became flustered at this. "Well, no, sir-at least, not all of them...I mean, there were two who made it back, but-we can always send a rescue team for the other-"

Ambrose held his hand up to silence the girl, shaking his head. A long pause. "Who were they?" He asked, his voice cracking. Two scouts, still missing. This did not bode well. Not well at all. Was this the start of something? The missing scouts-was it symbolism? Was this Morganthe's declaration of war? No, she had sent one of her minions to attack Hunter Lioncloud, hadn't she? Could it be that Morganthe had already declared war?

"Tara Nightwood and a...Crowne Soulwalker." The girl responded, her voice soft.

Only two...and for all he knew, the returning scouts could've been traumatized. Could he risk sending them back into battle? How he despised himself for sending children into a war. But he couldn't turn back now.

"Sir-?" The girl began.

Ambrose nodded dismissively. He remembered the smiling faces of his scouts before they departed. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ambrose hung his head. "You're dismissed, Leila," he murmured. "Thank you."

The wizard nodded before turning on her heel and slipping out, closing the door behind her. Almost immediately after she left, Ambrose gave a powerful, heavy sigh in exasperation, pulling off his cap and running his hands through his silver hair. Tiring...this was so tiring. No, it was more than that. The threats just continued to return. They went away and then they resurfaced, worse than before.

The fact that his two scouts were missing spoke volumes about his opponent, though it wasn't like he didn't already know about her. Morganthe was ruthless-she wanted to destroy the Spiral, take revenge on those who she thought wronged her, and rule the galaxy-her ambition was infinite. Ambrose saw no possible way to use her nebulous ambition against her, but had the gall to call that defining trait weaknesses.

That's why he sent children. Well, not children, per se, but a fairly younger generation. They were unknown to her, and maybe...just maybe Morganthe could be stopped by the children. After all, they were more creative than the adults were, and Morganthe did not understand them like she understood Ambrose and the professors. The children were unpredictable, even more so than Morganthe. The children could be underestimated.

Ambrose had learned to never underestimate your enemy. It was unfortunate, sending children out to fight, but the adults...they were obsolete. He had no choice. The children were by no means expendable, but Ambrose had to have faith. He had trained the young wizards of Ravenwood-shaped them into the powerful people they were now-for wars like this. He had to have faith. They may not be the most powerful of individuals, in mind or in body, but together, as a collective, they were strong.

He had to have hope. Ambrose would believe in the Wizards that he had trained and sent into battle, because he trusted them. He was by no means confident that they would be able to take down a being of Morganthe's caliber, but he hoped. He wished for it. Ambrose was aging, and he himself could not fight. The Ravenwood professors were strong, yes, but they were not enough to take on Morganthe...and besides, the prophecy...although he desperately wished to defy the prophecy, he knew what could come were he to do so. He prayed to whatever higher powers that they would return, well, and victorious. It might not have been possible, but as long as shaky breaths still tickled the hairs on his beard and made him squeeze his eyes shut to shield himself from an onslaught of painful emotions, so be it. He would wish.

If the key to this war...no, if victory meant filling himself with false hopes, then so be it.


Mirror opened her mouth wide and yawned, extending her limbs as far as they would go as she stretched, the sheets falling off of her body.

The man-her team leader called Israfel-had notified her-and possibly the entire team-that they were to have another meeting, guaranteeing that there would be no mishaps this time around.

Sure, Mirror thought, the sarcastic comment lingering in her mind momentarily before she decided that she would say it aloud, too. "Sure…" She muttered, trailing off and garnering the attention of her roommate, who poked her head around the corner, piercing Mirror with the sapphire blue eye not covered by silver hair.

"Sure about what, M?" The gray headed girl inquired.

Mirror shook her head. "It's nothing. Nothing really."

The pyromancer's roommate emerged from her shelter behind the corner, gripping the handle of a steaming pot in one hand and a fork in the other. She gave a devilish grin, blowing her bangs out of her face. "M, are you…" After studying Mirror's face for a moment, the girl snapped her fingers. "It's a guy, I bet."

Mirror's face flushed as she struggled to defend herself. "It's-it's not! I mean, we only met twice, and he's kinda cute-but-Scurvy, it doesn't mean I like him-I mean, I keep thinking about him and it would be fun to meet him again, but he just seems a little volatile, y'know?" Mirror concluded, sighing.

The gray haired girl called Scurvy snickered, rounding the corner. "I wonder why girls get so tongue-tied when it comes to this…" She murmured softly.

Scurvy was notorious for being a "girl who didn't exactly act like one". A majority of Scurvy's friends were incredibly masculine males, and Scurvy herself was more like a man than a woman. Externally, at least. She would laugh jovially at attempts to woo her, eat ravenously, complain when instructed to dress more formally than she did normally-which wasn't very formal at all-and would stare blankly when she received lecherous stares while walking around Ravenwood in the evenings in her sleepwear-an oversized gray sweater that hung off of her shoulder in an eye-catching manner. While Mirror and Scurvy were friends, neither knew enough about the other to incriminate, judge or ostracize. It was a...a perfect friendship, almost.

Mirror frowned for a second, her eyes narrowing dangerously, before she decided against a snarky remark, instead throwing herself out of bed, scratching at her head.

How unladylike.

Whatever. She was far from a lady, and she didn't need to be seen as such. Well, maybe...no. Wasn't necessary. She reached into the drawer by her bed, pulling out an undershirt and fresh undergarments to wear underneath her robes. Sighing, Mirror strode to the bathroom, turning the handle of the shower, grabbing a bottle of shampoo from the nearby shelf and undressing, closing the bathroom door behind her.

She slid the shower curtain to the right, stepping into the shower, being sure to tuck the curtain into the shower to avoid flooding before she slid it back to the left.

The searing water ran down her back and her front, cleansing Mirror of her physical impurities and coating her with moisture. The Pyromancer's dark skin glistened as she snatched the bar of soap from the small shelf in the shower, stepping back, away from the water and running the bar of soap along her limbs, the bubbles congregating on her body. The steam subsequently engulfed the girl, and she gave a contented sigh before stepping forwards once more, the water washing the soap from her body. She ran a hand through her hair, sliding the shower curtain right and drying herself with the towel on the bathroom counter.

Mirror slipped into her clothes easily, but paused before she exited the bathroom, staring at her reflection. Her eyes softened and she ran her fingers through her hair again, the only clear memory of her mother flashing in her mind.

"You cut it!? But you looked so beautiful with it long!"

"Shut up!" Mirror had screamed. She was thirteen at the time. "You never let me do what I want!"

Her mother was aghast, a look of absolute shock on her face. "Never let you do what you want..?" The older woman hissed, her voice shaky. "Miranda, I love you…! Isn't that enough?"

Mirror had let out a yell of disgust and left the room, feeling spiteful. But for what? Was there really anything to embitter herself over? If she had known her mother would die the following evening, would she have been as exacerbated as she was now?

The Pyromancer glanced at her reflection, tears sliding down her cheeks. If only...if only she'd said "I love you" before her mother passed. It was too late now, wasn't it? Maybe...no, there wasn't a chance. She couldn't do everything over again.

Mirror wiped the tears from her eyes. She brought this on herself. It was her fault, and she'd deal with it. She could handle herself, couldn't she? Handling herself…that was the decision she made when she came to Ravenwood. That was the decision she made when she begged Ambrose to take an active part in the war and that was the decision she made every second of the day. She was responsible for everything that came her way; everything that revolved around her was her responsibility.

The burden required patience, something Mirror had little of. Despite that, she had managed well so far. Reigning in her challenging side and opting to assist those who needed it relieved some stress. Not enough, though. Mirror so desperately wanted to be herself, but where had that gotten her? The last time she chose to be herself, her mother died.

Was it really worth it?

Throwing on her crimson robes, Mirror exited the bathroom and rounded the corner, nearly bumping into Scurvy, who was focused on a picture hanging on the wall.

"Whoa!" Mirror exclaimed, retreating a few steps. "What are-wait, were you here the whole time?" She inquired.

Scurvy did not reply, instead pointing her fork at a portrait of a woman with an appearance that mirrored the dark-skinned Pyromancer's. "Is that you?" The other girl asked.

Mirror squeezed her eyes shut, inhaled deeply, and clapped herself on the shoulder. "No, that's my...uh, that's my mom."

Scurvy gave a grunt of acknowledgement. "Where is she now?"

Mirror exhaled powerfully. She had just been through this with herself, so why did Scurvy have to ask..? "She's uh...she's…" Mirror chuckles nervously. "Wow, this is hard...she...my mom-look, she's not here, okay? Don't ask anymore, Scurv." Mirror whirled and immediately left her dorm, in fear that she might break down if she thought of her mother any longer. She just had to escape.

Her team-where did they say they would meet? Israfel had suggested that they reunite in front of Briskbreeze, but why? The other team members probably couldn't relate with the area, but he seemed to be attached to it.

Well, what the hell. If meeting with her possibly dysfunctional team distracted and distanced her from her own pain, then she would do it. Besides, maybe Israfel could cheer her up. He seemed nice enough.

It wasn't as if she liked him-she'd only seen him twice-but he was very handsome. Of course, he wasn't tall, or incredibly well sculpted, he seemed incredibly volatile, and his eyes seemed to glow every time he spoke. Those defining traits may have been a turn-off to some, but for some reason these qualities strongly attracted Mirror to him, a small planet revolving around the sun.

Well, maybe not the sun, but she wanted to be near him. Get to know him in a manner that spanned beyond friendship, if at all possible. Mirror had been romantically involved with many young men, but those relationships just toyed with the idea of commitment. Maybe she could finally enter a serious relationship.

Oh, damn. She'd been contemplating-no, fantasizing-about Talon for who knows how long. She was probably late. "Dammit," Mirror hissed, darting towards the stairs. Luckily, she and Scurvy were only located on the second floor of their dorm, so she wouldn't have to deal with any supererogatory trouble. Mirror had awoken earlier than usual, and as such, not many people were ascending or descending the stairs. As such, she was able to fly down the stairs and skid to a halt right before the entrance to the dormitory.

Mirror raised her head proudly. "Maybe I'm not late, after all," she murmured to herself, her voice smug. Alright, then. Briskbreeze. Israfel hadn't suggested that the team mark the location, so it wasn't really mandatory or obligated. Well, the most Mirror currently had at her disposal was a teleport to the Commons, so that would have to do.

Mirror concentrated, focusing her magic on the general gathering area for most wizards and the air around her crackled for a brief moment before she vanished in a puff of red smoke and sulfur.

She wouldn't be late, would she?


"Look who finally decided to show her face," Talon exclaimed in one ragged breath, his fists raised in a defensive position, knees bent and weight shifted slightly to one side. Maximillion stood before the Necromancer, inhaling and exhaling deeply, despite his robes being torn near his upper torso and shoulders, and remnants of a skeletal hand lingering on his ankle. The Conjurer and leader of Team Immortal had broken out into a sweat, but was barely injured, at least compared to Talon, who was covered in bruises, visible now as he had thrown off his robes and was fighting in a simple, sable, long sleeved shirt and dark pants. "We started early…" Talon trailed off, unclenching his left fist and subsequently throwing it upwards into the air. Two more hands shot out from the ground, darting towards Maximillion's ankles. Instead of dodging by throwing his weight backwards, the Conjurer hastened towards Talon, the skeletal hands missing Maximillion and crumbling as a result of having no discernible target. Talon crouched even lower, leaning forwards as Maximillion's fist flew over his head.

"What is it we're doing, exactly?" Mirror's voice.

"I'm doing an assessment. You all are going to fight me, one after another, using your body and your magic." Talon answered, shifting his weight to his back foot as he swept his right leg towards Maximillion's own feet. The leader of Team Immortal leapt into the air, tucking his knees to his chest as to avoid Talon's leg.

"How the hell is beating up our leader gonna help us?" Eron barked. "...Do y'even know how t' lead a team?" Eron asked. His tone sounded serious, but Talon heard only nonexistent jeers.

Don't insult me.

Let's see if you've grown at all, boy. Thalomir murmured, but Talon was too wrapped up in what he was about to say next to hear his ancestor.

Talon felt the anger bubble within him, and he did his best to reign it in, even as he leapt into the air, grabbed Maximillion's shoulders and slammed the Conjurer back into the ground, trying to hold back. Talon's opponent wasn't the target of his wrath. Maximillion gave a yelp of surprise, and Talon stood straight, lending a hand to the other man, who accepted it graciously, giving Talon a nod of approval and stepping to the side as Hunter took his place. Talon had notified his team-save for Mirror-that during the assessment, they would not "lose" so long as they did not fall to the ground. So far, Talon had only fought Maximillion and already he was bruised and feeling drained. Well, he would do his best.

"Listen to me, dragon," Talon answered finally, his tone dipping into the pool of callousness that lay just above his anger. The Necromancer's crimson eyes flashed dangerously, and his keen gaze pierced the draconian's adamant visage. "I may be the shittiest leader you've ever seen, but Ambrose chose me to be the leader. I may not want to do it, but I have to. We're a team-we're the frontline strikers, the heavy assault, the first men-and we stick together, whether we like it or not. Assuming you've crawled out from the rock you're under, there's war right above our heads like a damned tempestuous storm cloud, and asking whether or not I'm fit to lead isn't going to stop the thunder or the lightning."

Absolutely marvelous! Thalomir chuckled. You will continue to amaze me, no?

Eron fell silent, frowning. His reptilian eyes looked as if he wished to say more, but the draconian kept his mouth shut, and for good reason.

Talon turned his attention back to Hunter. "Whenever you're ready, kid," he said.

Hunter nodded pointedly, then inhaled sharply. The air around the younger sibling rippled, shimmering and emitting a dull, black glow before pooling and solidifying, becoming a chiseled piece of metal with the Necromancy symbol emblazoned onto the front. The Death Shield wasn't cloaked, implying that Hunter either had an ulterior motive or simply didn't feel the need to cloak it. Talon had told his teammates to go all out, hadn't he? It would be a hassle to break through, but it was no matter, as Talon had shields of his own, ones that may have been even more sufficient than Hunter's Death Shield. The Necromancer figured the best course of action would be to keep pressure on Hunter. First things first: the shield had to go.

Talon waved his hand towards Hunter, a Whisper rolling off of his tongue like cascading water. An incandescent, fulgid ball of necromantic fire materializing and hurtling towards the Diviner, who crossed his arms in front of his face and leapt through the flames. Hunter's shield shattered, producing a sound akin to that of glass breaking apart. The Diviner's robes were signed slightly, but that did not stop the younger sibling-who had trained for six years to become a protector of Wizard City, to eradicate threats like Malistaire and to prevent the loss of loved ones-from continuing forwards, a Verse forming on his lips. Electricity crackled, arcing across Hunter's fingers, sparkling with a brilliant light.

Hunter had trained hard-maybe harder than Talon ever had-in such a short time. Did that make Talon rustic in comparison? Maybe.

The battle would decide-it was to be a test of strengths. A contest of abilities.

Finally closing the distance between the both of them, Hunter thrust his open palm forward, a violet bolt of electricity soaring towards Talon's chest, the air distorting as a result of the heat from the Wild Bolt. Talon froze, eyes widening as he remembered dueling the masked girl in the hallway. Burning flesh, blonde hair, the astonishingly unique wolf mask and the lightning...the lightning...how it hurt so much. Talon had to shield. He had to. But could he do it in time? Hunter was so close to him, and the Wild Bolt was inching ever closer. Hell, it was practically brushing against his chest.

If you don't want to die, then shield, boy! Thalomir roared, and Talon threw his hands in front of his chest, a Verse spilling forth from his mouth. He was desperate. The air around Talon distorted, emitting a dull, violet glow. The Wild Bolt crashed into the shield with enough force to send Talon flying backwards. The violet glow froze for a moment before exploding, producing a sound-similar to how Hunter's shield broke-akin to glass breaking.

The Necromancer hit the ground, neck first, his legs flying into the air and over his head in a fashion similar to a backwards somersault. The icy cobblestone stung as Talon's skin was torn from his neck and his back as his shirt ripped. He finally managed to roll over onto his stomach, skidding painfully to a halt. Talon lay on the ground, his body limp. His face was bruised and his lip was torn in places it shouldn't have been, blood seeping into his mouth and coating his teeth.

Talon staggered to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Too bad he'd never delved into Theurgy, let alone ask Dworgyn for any help. He glanced at his brother, standing a good seven meters away, frozen in shock. He waved a hand. "I'm...ow. I'm fine. We keep going-all of you-until I can rightfully assess your abilities." Talon paused for a moment, then, "Hunter, why don't you switch with someone else?"

Hunter nodded almost dazedly, walking slowly to stand next to James as someone else replaced the Diviner. Who was Talon to be fighting no-Oh, boy. The draconian stood tall and proud before Talon, massive, green-scaled arms folded across his chest. Eron was by no means huge-only four inches taller than Talon himself, but the way he stood and the way his wings unfolded behind him-butterflies springing eagerly from their cocoons-made Talon feel small.

The Necromancer was not one to shirk away, however, and did his best to stand as straight as possible-something he had difficulty doing now that he was more injured than before. Apparently, sapping some of Eron's life would be his best course of action. Besides, draconians lived longer than humans, right? Shina was almost forty, or fifty-Talon had never listened to her unless they were training-but she had said something about not dying anytime soon, though she may have been boasting about her abilities. Well, no matter, Talon had to take a chance.

First, he needed a diversion.

Inhaling deeply, the Necromancer closed his eyes and raised his arms, drawing on the energy surrounding him. The ground rumbled, resulting in distant Gobblers turning their attention towards the group-the Gobblers were then distracted by another group of wizards babbling about completing their mission-and four skeletal hands burst forth from the ground near his ankles, followed by bony shoulders-no, they were shoulders made of bone-and broken but still functioning skulls.

Eron bent his left knee, drawing an invisible line on the cobblestone with his left foot. He raised his hands so that they were level with his face, relaxed his shoulders and tucked his wings as close to his back as possible. The draconian placed his right foot forwards, and contracted his abs, ultimately relaxed, a stance that reminded Talon of a Grizzleheim gladiator. Eron's reptilian eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on Talon.

The Necromancer raised an eyebrow in confusion as the skeletal warriors erupted from the ground, brandishing partially rusted cutlasses, mouths wide open, frozen in some sort of battle cry. Though the Warriors were undead, they did not lumber, and instead darted towards Eron with the utmost swiftness, circling the draconian, darting outwards and then turning, scuttling inwards in a spiral formation.

"Awesome!" Talon heard William yell from the sidelines. "They can do attack formations!"

The draconian turned his head slightly, every now and then stepping backwards with his right foot, surveying his opponents. Who would attack first? Was the attack linear? One-on-one? Would they all leap at him at once? How well did the skeletal warriors use their swords?

Meanwhile, Eron had turned his full attention to the diversion, and did not notice as Talon squeezed his eyes tightly, slapped his chest in order to temporarily distract himself from the pain and surged forwards towards him, a Whisper having already been spoken.

Well, Talon assumed Eron didn't notice.

That was a mistake. The draconian had acute senses, including his exceptional sense of smell and his incredible perceptiveness. Eron ignored the oncoming undead and whirled towards Talon, crouching slightly, wings unfolding a minute amount. Hell, the Necromancer's footsteps weren't even loud. So how..?

Talon slowed his pace. Was Eron going to run at him? No, if he got hit by Eron, that would be good. It would allow Talon to distract him personally, and may also distract Eron, capturing the draconian's attention long enough for the summoned wraith to act. It would be risky, and if it failed, Talon wouldn't be training with his team any more, but if it worked, he would be healed, and they could continue. Besides, he was too prideful to just...ask for a healer.

Aw, to hell with it. If Talon was going to test Eron's abilities, he'd need to do his best. Well, something close to his best. He wasn't trying to kill anyone after all. "Hrraahh!" Talon gave a guttural roar, taking off towards Eron as fast as he possibly could as the draconian's wings clapped into his back and he practically flew towards the Necromancer. Eron spread his arms wide, folding his elbows and preparing to tackle Talon. The Necromancer was quick, but still slower than Eron. The distance between them would be closed within one second and Eron would shatter his ribs. Talon placed his feet in front of his body, staggering slightly, before he kept backwards as Eron crashed into him.

"Gah!" The Necromancer gave a grunt of pain as the breath was stolen from him. Eron wrapped his arms around Talon's waist as they sailed through the air, planning to pin the smaller boy down and prove his worth.

"Gotch-" Eron began, but paused abruptly, his eyes widening in surprise. The draconian whirled around, releasing Talon from his grip, but by then, he had already fallen into a trap. The Necromancer hit the ground, rolling a few feet away, groaning in pain.

Eron froze, midair, as the wraith leaned closer to him, it's jaw becoming visible beneath the swirling blackness that was its hood. The tattered cloak of the wraith expanded, almost as if the cloak itself were alive as the wraith extended a gaunt, emaciated finger and stroked Eron's chin. The creature's words were inaudible to all but Eron, it's voice not even a whisper. The draconian subsequently coughed, a long, ghastly substance oozing from his mouth. Following the escape from his body, the substance became a translucent version of Eron, which the wraith snatched, cradling it as if it were precious. The horrendous being turned to Talon.

Gasps of-what were they gasps of? Hell, Talon didn't know, but he assumed they were gasps of something negative-terror resounded throughout the fairly secluded area Talon had taken his team to train. Talon glanced over at his comrades. Maximillion looked repulsed, William's jaw hung low, but his eyes sparkled as if he were excited. Astra seemed to think nothing of it. James stared blankly, Vincent nodded approvingly, Hunter appeared confused and Mirror held a hand over her mouth in...what, fear?

"How much..?" The wraith inquired, the words it spoke sounding more like metal scraping against a board.

Disgusting.

Talon rolled onto his stomach. "How...how much does he have?"

"One hundred and seventy three years," the terror answered.

"Give me enough...to fix my major wounds," the Necromancer responded, staggering to his feet. "You won't have all of him. Not yet, anyways." Talon added, thinking back to earlier. Eron had doubted him. Eron had voiced Talon's own view of himself, sure, but...it hurt more to hear it from someone else. Was that the reason he had spawned the wraith? Couldn't he have used a vampire? Couldn't he have the Theurgist of the team heal them?

"...Very well," the wraith's reply was dismissive. Without warning, from Eron's soul-like projection, it plucked a toe, squeezing it tightly until it was crushed, the remnants of the limb becoming a fine powder, which the wraith sprinkled onto his palm. It then took its now free hand and shoved Eron's soul back into his body, the draconian gasping for breath as if he had just been resuscitated. The wraith materialized near Talon, throwing the powder onto the Necromancer before fading away like paper recently lit aflame.

Talon searched for breath as his fractured ribs reset themselves and a majority of his major bruises as well as the small burn left on his chest disappeared almost completely from his body. "I hate wraiths…" He muttered in exasperation.

He shook his head, as if clearing himself of some sort of fog that had nestled over him. Talon knew what wraiths could do-he had summoned one once before-and was no stranger to their abilities. But his pride wouldn't let him ask for help. No. He was strong. He could do it on his own.

Talon stumbled to his feet, stretching casually before he strode over to the draconian and extended a hand. "You win, Eron," Talon spoke listlessly, averting his eyes. Talon's pride wouldn't allow him to give the draconian any more satisfaction. Of course, Talon did just summon a wraith and steal about three or four years from Eron's life, but it was okay, right? Talon only said that the opponent would win if he landed on the ground. There wasn't any limit on any sort of action, save for the fact that none were using their weapons.

Eron accepted the hand and Talon helped the draconian to his feet. Eron stared blankly at Talon before he broke out into a grin and said, "I think I'll get used t' ya." Eron then walked off, positioning himself a great distance away from Talon, next to Maximillion and Hunter.

Talon couldn't help but smile in return. "Okay! Who wants to be next?"

"Me," Astra spoke, stepping out of the lined that had formed and briskly striding up to Talon. They weren't much different in height, though Astra was clearly taller, standing at about 5'9". Talon didn't have to tilt his head to lock eyes with her, but he didn't feel it necessary, simply staring straight ahead.

Could he really fight her? Of course, Talon was still reeling from the events that occurred the previous night, yet Astra seemed to be thinking nothing of it. She spoke as if she remembered nothing. She approached as if she remembered nothing and her body language certainly said, "I don't care about Talon's feelings". He still loved her. It wasn't that easy to let go of someone he had been holding onto for fourteen years. Talon had matured, sure. He was nineteen now, and could handle himself in a manner that didn't give others the impression that he was homeless, but when it came to Astra, he just wanted to cry.

"...Fine." Talon answered simply, retreating a few steps. Talon didn't usually fight with his fists. He was more of an "axe-to-the-face-and spell-to-end-it" guy. The last time he fought Astra, she had beaten him into submission, where he learned a few things about himself both sexually and physically. Aside from that, while Talon was well-built, he wasn't incredibly stocky like his grandfather, nor was he incredibly skinny like he was as a child-he was lean, and could pack a punch-but would his physical strength compare to Astra's? Not to mention that she had her memory wiped and nearly everything enhanced-save for magic, since she hadn't known any at the time-but Talon didn't know the scope of her abilities. As a matter of fact, he didn't know her abilities at all.

Well, he had to try.

Talon clenched his fists, raised them to his face, and exhaled powerfully. He placed his feet shoulder-width apart and twisted his body slightly sideways, in a manner that would allow him to defend from a majority of the attacks Astra might send his way. Talon wasn't really sure what she could throw, but whatever it was, he knew it would hurt.

In stark contrast to Talon, Astra simply stood in a relaxed position, pieces of metal swirling around her, calcifying in a semi-dramatic exhibit, ending with Astra brushing an insect off of the metal plate that rest comfortably on her shoulder and served as a means of holding the form-fitting, one sleeved dress that wrapped around her hourglass figure even more wonderfully than her pajamas, practically flowing to the beginning of the redhead's ankles. The sleeve that was a part of a dress appeared to be more armor than an actual piece of the dress, especially considering the fact that it, too, was made of metal-a gauntlet that protected the wearer from nearly all harm. The dress itself was an elegant violet color, similar to something that should be worn at parties. The garment was cut at Astra's right ankle, the incision riding up to the top of her thigh. A section of Astra's midriff was gone, in a diamond-like shape, displaying her navel and her core muscles. The Conjurer finished her display by placing a hand on her hip. "Are you ready?" She asked, her voice carrying no noticeable emotion.

"Nice," Eron exclaimed, whistling in approval.

To be honest, Astra's outfit threw Talon off guard. He figured she'd just be fighting in her regular clothes-a shirt, some pants-a basic outfit for a...well, not exactly simple training regimen. But instead, she had decided to wear...party clothes..? Not only that, the dress looked good on her. It was sexy.

She's distracting you, boy. Pay attention. Thalomir hissed, causing Talon to wince.

"I'm trying," Talon answered, his eyes scampering up Astra's exposed leg. He wasn't really trying. Should he forfeit? No, that wouldn't be suitable...but could he fight like this? Distracted by Astra's earlier rejection and the dress?

Stop trying, then, Thalomir suggested. Blend with your senses, just like the dragoness taught you. Focus.

Talon gave a sigh of exhaustion. "Okay," he responded. "Okay." He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and relaxing his muscles. Exhaling, Talon made himself the pivot of his own world, taking note of everything he could smell, hear, taste, touch and see, fine-tuning his senses as best he could. He felt his mana pool, swirling within him, still rippling from having been used earlier, but nonetheless active.

He heard Astra's breathing. She wasn't breathing all too heavily, nor was she that distant, but he heard it. He heard the way her feet moved about impatiently, and the way her dress rustled in the slight breeze. How? He didn't know. He wasn't enhanced like she was, he'd just...trained.

You missed something, Thalomir stated simply, and Talon could practically feel the overlord pointing straight ahead.

"What did I-" Talon began, his eyes flitting about Astra's figure and her surroundings. He paused abruptly as he noticed the small dragon crawling near her ankles. It was so...tiny; it looked so harmless, yet Talon felt hesitant as his eyes landed on the dragon's small frame. Four, silver spikes protruded from the dragon's ebony scales, forming what appears to be a crown above the beast's head. Similar to Astra, pieces of metal swirled around the dragon, entering through its underbelly and exiting through its lower back, just above its tail.

Astra gave it a glance, holding out her hand. Talon watched, both confused and somewhat excited as the dragon scaled the Conjurer's arm, settling comfortably on the woman's shoulder, eyes locked on Talon.

"Hey, Thalomir, is it-is that-looking at me?" Talon asked, feeling somewhat intimidated.

Possibly. Why? Thalomir answered blankly.

"I...it makes me feel...uncomfortable. As if it could-no, should-kill me were I to get any closer." Talon responded, retreating a step.

Were you taught to run from a fight, boy?

"I was taught," Talon began sternly, "to survive." He concluded, his voice both firm and dismissive.

Thalomir merely grunted in response as Talon thumped his chest to calm his rapidly beating heart. "Astra," he spoke finally. "I'm ready."

"Took you long enough," Astra muttered in annoyance, leaning forwards slightly before running towards Talon, a feat that should not have been entirely possible in the dress she wore.

Talon frowned, gritting his teeth before he let out a sharp yell, surging forward three steps and leaping into the air. He had the upper hand. From the air, he could maybe take Astra by surprise. If that didn't work, he had a few Whispers primed in his mind as a means of backup. As Talon descended, he preemptively let the first Whisper come to life, the words spilling forth, the air distorting, shimmering around him and emitting a dull blend of green and gold. The green and gold split apart before pooling solidifying, taking on distinct appearances. The golden shield shimmered momentarily, the symbol indicating that it was a Myth shield materializing on the front. The green shield shined as well, the white leaf on the front glinting in the sunlight. The shields began to rotate around Talon's body, two moons circling a planet.

Two? Thalomir sounded confused, maybe even a bit bewildered.

"I don't know what she can do…" Talon hissed back as he fell towards Astra. He reared back, drawing his right fist to his cheek, opening his left palm and extending his left arm, using it as a sort of targeting device. He would start with physical attacks, see how much he could pressure her with brute force.

Unfortunately, rather than strike back with a punch of her own, Astra sidestepped, a Name sliding off of her lips. "Cyclops," she practically snarled. The Name appeared to write itself in bright, golden, elegant letters before Astra, shattering shortly after it materialized. The earth rumbled as Talon hit the ground, rolled forward and assessed his situation.

A cyclops...they weren't difficult to deal with by any means, but they were definitely annoying. The colossal hand burst forth from the ground, the wrist the hand was attached to adorned with a spiked, brown leather bracelet. The cyclops opened its palm wide, forming a fist with its hand; the hole in the icy ground grew wider as the cyclops pushed its arm farther through the gap until its gargantuan shoulder was barely visible underneath the frozen cobblestone. Using its hand as a hook of sorts, the cyclops pulled itself from the ground, its head surfacing first before it leapt from beneath the depths, swinging a crude, stone hammer downwards.

Talon leapt backwards-he wasn't going to waste his Myth Shield on this-as bits of ice, rock and dirt exploded from where he stood, shooting into the air as if someone had just launched a bomb directly into the ground.

He rolled left, in the direction of the creature's hammer, scrolling through the options he could think of.

Talon! Thalomir barked angrily, and Talon glanced up, suddenly aware that the sun-which barely bore down on him through the clouds-was entirely blocked out by some sort of shadow. The cyclops had repositioned itself and the hammer it held was descending at a speed Talon would not have expected it to.

Oh, boy.

Of course, he had the Myth Shield-he could take the brunt of the attack, but it would still hurt, all in all. And the cyclops would still be standing, meaning that Talon had simply leapt around like a rabbit and it was all for naught.

There weren't many options that Talon thought of, and most of them were too...wild for a mere training session. He wasn't exactly fighting for his life, so there wasn't a need to go for Astra's throat, and he had no idea how to seduce anyone, so that was out of the question. Talon could summon a Banshee-that may have been the most effective option-to remove the cyclops from play entirely, but he wanted to at least save enough mana to fight whoever wanted to be next.

Take the Banshee, Thalomir urged. It's the most efficient way. If we are to deal with Astra, you must do so quickly and expertly.

Talon gave a sharp nod. Fair enough. Astra would probably decimate him otherwise. Surprisingly, she stood still, her eyes fixated on Talon, dress rustling in the slight, brisk breeze. What didn't make sense was why she hadn't attacked him yet. Well, she had summoned the cyclops, but...she herself hadn't launched towards him. Had she deemed him unworthy or inadequate? Didn't she usually attack with reckless abandon? So why did Astra think the cyclops was enough? Did-

You still have time. Take the Banshee. Thalomir urged again, his voice stern. Use the Banshee.

"But what about my-" Talon began, but Thalomir interrupted, his voice harsh.

At this point, your mana pool matters little! What matters is your assessment! How in the name of the Titans are you going to lead a team when you can't even train them properly!?

Talon felt inclined to make a smart comment, but he bit his tongue, instead Whispering the Banshee's name and retreating from the cyclops' hammer. The Banshee reared back and shrieked, causing the one-eyed menace to drop its hammer and clutch at its ears in pain.

"I'm learning, Thalomir," Talon said simply, his voice cold and unfeeling. "Deal with it."

The overlord was silent within the Necromancer's mind, and Talon felt triumphant, as if he had achieved a level of greatness, despite knowing very well that he hadn't.

The cyclops shattered, crumbling into gold dust, and Talon's Banshee ceased the incessant screams, vanishing once more into the ground.

"Haha, that's my brother..!" Hunter exclaimed, his voice sounding energetic, reminding Talon-rather painfully-of the time they had spent together six years prior.

The Necromancer felt a nagging sense of fatigue-he just wanted to be done. Was he really capable of leading a team-this team-properly? Could he keep them alive in a war? What if he failed? Was he a good leader? Could he be a good leader? What the hell was he doing, standing here in front of nine wizards when he should've been serving the rest of his life sentence in Briskbreeze?

Why was it that Talon felt his whole life was leading up to this...this war?

Why the hell couldn't he just go home?

He shook his head dismissively. "Alright, that's enough-I already know how you fight, Astra," Talon exclaimed. He didn't want to fight her anymore. She was currently stronger than him-not because he wasn't at his peak magical and physical ability-because he was too...emotional. She had much better control of her emotions than he did. Astra could look at Talon and feel nothing but the drive to win-when Talon looked at Astra, he just wanted to kill himself.

Astra raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, instead striding over to stand by Maximillion, Eron, and Hunter, who all eyes her with a level of respect and...fear?

Talon turned back to the line that had built up before him. He gave a great sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Why the hell was he so tired? Just moment ago he had felt...delighted to be fighting, so why..?

Maybe it was because of Astra and her earlier rejection..? Why was it that Talon felt a sudden sense of...danger and...sluggishness? Was someone tampering with his health? What was going on?

"Um...right," Talon murmured. "How about...you next?" He inquired, pointing towards James, the Thaumaturge's silver-blue armor glinting in the light.

James nodded. "Of course," he answered, relaxing his shoulders. Stepping forwards, the Thaumaturge stood tall and motionless, as if waiting for orders.

Talon cracked his neck, satisfying pops filling his ears. He gave a grunt of slight pain, reached down and touched his toes before springing upwards and arching his back. Talon cracked his knuckles and exhaled powerfully.

The fighting was beginning to tire him. His old wounds-the ones that had been closed and healed by the wraith-still felt open and on fire. Talon was in pain, but he was no flake. No matter how much he wanted to give up, he wouldn't.

He couldn't. He was strong. Thalomir had said so. Talon himself knew that much. So what if he couldn't command the team? He would and could damn well try. If he didn't, then what in the name of the Titans was he doing here?

"I'm ready." James said, emoting about as much as a machine. James was a very confusing man, leaving little room for interpretation when it came to how he felt on...anything, really, but granted, Talon probably hadn't earned the trust of his entire team yet. Maybe James had more to offer than a simple comment or a basic statement that provided no new information.

Maybe.

Careful, child. This is Briskbreeze-a cold environment. We don't know what he can do in the cold.

"I understand," Talon responded. "I'll start things off with a shocker, maybe. See how he reacts." Talon's magic knowledge was limited considering that he was taught by a very eccentric, jailed Necromancy professor, but Shina had taught him a few Divination spells as well as some basic shielding spells. He wasn't at that much of a disadvantage. Besides, Thalomir was an overlord-one who had taken on four enemies singlehandedly and nearly survived. The combat expertise provided from merging with the superior being was useful-though Talon generally enjoyed relying on his own skills.

The Necromancer's hand crackled with electricity, and he threw his palm towards James. It was a basic spell-didn't need a Verse to be activated-and did moderate damage. How would James respond?

To Talon's surprise, James did not dodge, simply deciding to take the attack head-on, his face devoid of any emotion. Hell, the man didn't even flinch! At the last moment, Talon saw the air shimmer, a purple glow fading into minuscule particles and drifting off into the wind.

A cloaked shield.

A cloaked Storm Shield, at that.

Why didn't James put up a Death Shield? He knew Talon was a Necromancer, didn't he? James seemed like the type to act preemptively, yet he had set up a Storm Shield as opposed to a Death Shield...how...how could the Thaumaturge know? Talon wasn't that predictable, was he? Could James...could James hear him talking to Thalomir? No...no, couldn't have been. So why..?

"I guessed," James said, speaking as if he were able to read Talon's thoughts as they rolled out onto his mind, like words on a typewriter. "People have secondary schools of magic, right?" James concluded, waiting for a response to his question.

Talon paused, eyes locked with the Thaumaturge's, trying to process what to say. "...Why would I need a secondary school of magic? I learned only Necromancy."

"That may be what you want others to think, but I read your prison report, Israfel Bloodbane. You're notorious, believe it or not. I'm surprised you haven't heard people talk about you yet. You were visited frequently by a draconian who claimed to be a descendant of Jilak, a dragon known commonly as 'God's Fist', a nickname he received for his exceptional use and knowledge of Divination." James responded, his voice nearing mechanical. "Don't worry, we're close enough to not reveal your information to the others."

How in the hell did James know all this? Was he…

People talked about him? What? How could he not hear this? No, it couldn't be-they didn't know his identity, he went by Israfel-he never revealed his last name, or called himself Talon, and-and if Astra didn't remember, then maybe no one else did, right?

The Necromancer swallowed painfully, feeling suffocated. His eyes flitted about frantically. No, no, no...shit. People couldn't find out-what would they say then? He couldn't lead then, could he? Would they still accept him? If Talon couldn't lead any longer, then why would he stay? He wouldn't be worthy any more.

Talon's eyes narrowed, an action that Talon tried hard to make convincing, a surge of anger filling his every orifice. "Were you...spying on me? Did Ambrose send you?" He practically spat these words out, feeling an enormous distaste for James in one instant. Maybe James didn't do it for Ambrose, but even so, Talon felt inclined to dislike someone like this.

Spying? How...repulsive. Even Thalomir wasn't fond of James.

James held his hands up. "No one sent me, and I wasn't spying. I simply like to know about people before I meet them." The Thaumaturge stared at Talon for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft. "You don't have to believe me, or even trust me. I'm expendable, Talon." He concluded.

Why?

Talon stared at James, eyes narrowed. He wanted to feel…empathy, but he couldn't. It wasn't as if Talon couldn't relate, but...all he felt for James was pity. Talon didn't want to acknowledge the fact that he felt he same-lonely, bitter, destroyed by his own pain and self loathing. Expendable. "I'm sorry for that," Talon's answer came through as aloof and superior.

He was having difficulty maintaining his anger. Maybe James was just misunderstood. He was on the team, after all. Talon was the leader-he had to trust everyone. If he couldn't, then why was he still leading?

"Maybe…" The Necromancer sighed, rubbing his forehead in exasperation and dropping his shoulders. "Maybe you'd realize you aren't so expendable...at least, the more time you spend on this team. And...just...don't be so casual with that information, if...please? It's a bit...frustrating."

You should've handled him differently, Thalomir muttered.

"Shut up," Talon hissed in response.

James shrugged, averting his eyes. Was he...sad? "Maybe. I...I can try." A long pause.

"This is an assessment, right? Let's get back to fighting, then." The Thaumaturge raised his fists, advancing towards the Necromancer slowly and with utmost caution.

Talon in turn, gave a sharp nod, spreading his arms wide and his feet apart, standing tall and wide. This position was generally disadvantageous for Talon, but he needed to see how James would react. Then he could act accordingly.

The Thaumaturge did not respond, simply advancing forwards ever so slowly. Why wasn't he-

At that moment, Talon noticed the small-no, they were growing with every step James took-icicles forming on the Thaumaturge's knuckles, chest plate, hair, boots...nearly every crevice, every area where James could possibly be hit from was now covered in a layer of frost. What kind of spell was that?

"Hey, what kind of spell is this?" Talon hissed, the question directed towards his ancestor.

I have seen something like it before, but a name is not something that I can provide. Unfortunately, it seems that he's...shying away, under the protection of the armor. Maybe the boy plans to bait you, reinforcing the armor every time you whittle away at it. That way, you are tired and off-guard when he launches an attack.

"Bah," Talon answered. "That'll be annoying. Any suggestions? I can't think of anything that can get past it."

How much mana do you have in stock?

Talon inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and feeling around inside himself. His mana was by no means full, but it wasn't empty. At this point, he could pull out one of his more devastating spells, but he ran the risk of emptying his mana pool early-he still had four of his teammates to fight. On the other hand, he could spawn a small group-maybe four-of undead, use them as a means of breaking through parts of James' armor. "Not enough," Talon responded in dismay.

Conserve it. You may need the dragon in a future fight.

"How do you propose I deal with this, then?" Talon inquired, feeling desperate. It wasn't as if he couldn't handle it on his own, but handling a situation that involved an unknown spell and conserving mana didn't seem very appealing to Talon.

Thalomir didn't respond and Talon sighed. To hell with it. He couldn't see any alternative as being any more beneficial, so it was time.

The Necromancer retreated from the slowly advancing Thaumaturge, stopping at a good twenty yards away, a distance that-at his current pace-would take James about...thirty seconds to close. That should be enough. Talon closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, holding his breath and not bothering to exhale.

Feel inside you.

Talon felt his mana pool stir inside him as if excited, responding to his commands. It surged forth like a waterfall, pushing against the walls that confined it, wanting to break free.

You are strong.

Talon focused on himself. He was the center of the world now, the focal point. The universe was his to command, and nature exposed itself to him, allowing him to become dominant and rise above. The Necromancer felt the ground twitch beneath his feet, heard the screams of the fallen, felt their pain, cried with them, embraced their anguish.

Embrace the death.

Talon reached deep into the ground. He had one purpose, one goal. He would have it-he wanted it, and so it would be his. No, not even that-he was the center. It would find him. Talon opened his hand wide, reaching to the core of the earth, distorting everything to find what he wanted. The skull brushed against his hand, and in a split second, he felt as if he could command the world.

The world is yours.

But he couldn't. If Talon allowed the feeling to get the better of him...if he decided to succumb to the depths of his mind and the pull of souls, he would die. There was no doubt about it. He had found what he wanted, and now it was time to withdraw it, to unleash it.

The Necromancer opened his eyes, exhaling slowly. James was near, maybe about five seconds away. Talon shifted his left arm to his side, turning his body and extending his right arm and subsequently his palm as if he were to fire something from it. The creaking of bones was audible now, but there was nothing in sight that could have been producing the sound.

At least, that was before the massive, skeletal wing that was once buried beneath the earth and long decomposed became an actuality and unfolded along Talon's arm and a majority of his back. The tail of the dragon circled Talon's body loosely, the dragon lowering its head and arching its back in a position befitting of a royal beast. The other wing of the dragon snapped into existence, unfolding as quickly as a catapult upon release. The creature's arms clung to its sides; it opened its repulsive maw, producing a shriek befitting of a Banshee.

Talon's crimson eyes flashed dangerously, and as they locked with James', a brief, delightful smile played across the Necromancer's face.

Talon was breathing heavily now, his limbs aching and his mind burning. Did he overexert himself? No, it couldn't be...already? He used a majority of his mana, sure, but he wasn't...he wasn't empty. Was it because he had to maintain the dragon? Well, he summoned it, so he would see this fight through, even if he collapsed. "All right, dragon," he murmured. "Let's rock."

The dragon roared in response, and Talon pointed towards James, identifying a target.

The Necromancer himself stepped forwards towards the Thaumaturge-who happened to be right within close range-reasoning that he would have to use physical attacks since his mana was practically depleted.

James was equipped with some sort of frozen armor-the most Talon could do with his fists wasn't enough. A few chunks from the armor could still protect James from the brunt of the skeletal dragon's attack. Ultimately, since Talon hadn't authorized the use of weapons, a few chunks would have to do. He pounced on the Thaumaturge, fists flying, eyes flashing.

James couldn't fight back.

Or rather, he could. All too well. Talon's fists connected with elbows, forearms, pectoral muscles, shins and any body part he could see as he slammed his fists James' armor. It seems that the Thaumaturge was more calculating than Talon expected. Even so, Talon had to try. He had to try harder.

Letting out an animalistic roar, Talon continued to rain blows down on James, who did his damndest to block as much as he could. A few of Talon's hits got through, knuckles smashing painfully against ice, the Necromancer gritting his teeth and fighting against the numb feeling that encased his hands. "C'mon, c'mon..!" Talon snarled, the feeling of desperation pouring over him again. He had to win! If he didn't, then...then…

Then there wouldn't be a second chance. If he couldn't prove himself now, then he would miss out. There wouldn't be a second chance. Forever a criminal, a fiend, an outcast, driven simply by his pain and hatred, left with nowhere to go and no one to turn to.

Sickening.

"Are you...okay?" James asked suddenly, his eyes fixed on Talon. The Thaumaturge's face was bruised slightly, red marks and slight indents to display where Talon had gotten in some decent strikes. James' frozen armor was relatively intact, though a majority of it was melting.

Just how long had Talon been fighting?

Talon opened his mouth to say something, but closed it immediately upon realizing that his eyes were moist and a tear had rolled down his cheek, another threatening to drop from his eyelid. He averted his gaze. "I'll...I'm fine, thanks." The Necromancer simply straddled his opponent, his head tilted towards the sky.

"Your dragon disappeared while you were hitting me," James said, gaze still locked on Talon.

"How long have we been fighting?" The Necromancer croaked, tilting his head to stare at the man beneath him. Talon's crimson eyes sparkled with tears, and he appeared banal, if anything.

"Since I suggested we start fighting, only about five minutes." James responded listlessly.

"That's not long…" Talon trailed off, not sure where he was going with anything. He raised a hand and wiped his face. "Sorry, you shouldn't have seen that," he muttered, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

"Well, can't change that. I believe we all saw it, if that's what you're leading to." James answered, correctly predicting what Talon was about to say next.

Why didn't the team stop him? Were they...judging him? What did they think of him now?

Aw, hell.

"Oh," the Necromancer murmured. "I guess we should...ah, move on, then…" Talon rose to his feet, extending a hand towards James-one which the man of ice accepted. The Thaumaturge clapped Talon on the shoulder before retreating a distance, taking a position next to those Talon had previously fought.


"Was...was he crying?" Astra asked, her tone incredulous.

James gave a nod. "I don't know why, but yes, he was."

The redhead found a sudden interest in the icy cobblestone that lined all of Colossus Boulevard, her face a mask of indifference.

Eron scoffed. "Maybe he's just sad because he can't command a team." The draconian placed his hands on his hips.

"Talk about my brother like that again, and I'll kill you," Hunter warned, his glare like searchlights, cutting a swath through the thick fog called tension.

Eron held up his hands. "I'm not looking for trouble, I'm just putting it out there," the draconian murmured, trying to defend himself. Too late.

Maximillion cut in, however, before Hunter could provide a smart comment. "My draconian friend, were you not the one who brought this up earlier? I know you may believe that our friend-our leader-Israfel, is too volatile to lead, but when we were fighting, I saw something...something in him that drew me closer. He may be volatile, but he is truly a strong man." The Conjurer folded his arms across his chest.

Eron fell silent, simply staring at Talon as Leif stepped forwards, ready to face the Necromancer. The draconian turned towards Astra, nudging her shoulder and pointing towards Talon. "What do you think about him?"

Astra glanced at Eron in slight confusion. "Me?"

"Yeah, you."

Astra shrugged. "He's my roommate-so far, he drank the last Coffee-Cola I had left, tried to talk me out of scorning him, gave me a damn headache and then tried to talk me about his feelings." She gave another shrug. "All in all, I…" She paused, and for a brief moment, all three men saw sorrow and what appeared to be...sorrow and jealousy...flash through her heterochromatic eyes. "...I don't really think about him."

Hunter frowned in confusion, but said nothing, Eron gave a grunt of acknowledgement, James quirked an eyebrow, making a mental note to look into Talon's relationship with Astra, Maximillion simply closed his eyes and sniffed.

How interesting.


"Man, that was exhausting." The Necromancer sighed, stretching his back and wiping his brow as the rest of his team members lay, sat or doubled over, panting in exhaustion. Talon had dueled all of his team members for just over four hours, and was covered in bruises, singe marks, and gashes. Talon wasn't much of a healer, and chances were that he was hemorrhaging internally. Hell, his ribs felt broken. James, Eron, Leif...no, all of the team had done a number on him; it may have been a mistake to think that he could take them all on by himself. "Damn, it hurts," Talon hissed, rubbing his side, a futile attempt to soothe the pain. Leif had healed him before their battle, and the spell's effects had lasted well into the next two battles, but even so, Talon was still in pain. A portion of his mana had returned, but it wasn't enough to sustain him were he to have another serious fight.

There was distance between almost all of the team, but the closest person to him was Mirror, who Talon continued to glance at, fruitlessly making an attempt to be inconspicuous.

Not like she wasn't physically attractive. Talon had a right to maintain a healthy attraction towards other people, didn't he? And besides, it wasn't like Astra cared, right? She had spurned his advances and destroyed his hopes the night before when she had notified him that she didn't love him any longer. Of course, Talon still loved her with all of his heart, but...he would try to move on. In the end, his feelings for her would just distract him, especially during the advent of an injurious, cataclysmic, deleterious war.

Talon was mid-glance when Mirror turned to look at him. A soft glow spread across her cheeks, but she didn't look away, instead giving Talon a wide grin-a grin that reminded him of-

Aw, hell.

Talon took the liberty instead, looking away from the girl, fixing his attention on a leaf as it fell from the sky, resulting in Talon wondering how it arrived in Briskbreeze, especially considering that Colossus Boulevard was devoid of trees that had the potential to grow anything. "Hm," he muttered to himself, before turning his attention to his team. Talon clapped his hands together, forcing a grin, and exclaimed, "Well, since we took up the whole day training...uh, why don't we...y'know, go out and get something to eat, maybe a few...drinks..?" He suggested, faltering as he neared the end of his sentence.

Leif was the first to speak. "I would like that!" he exclaimed, a smile forming on his face.

Eron stared at the Theurgist for a moment and shrugged. "I'm with Leif."

The three members of Team Immortal had varied reactions; Vincent simply sighed and closed his eyes as if exasperated, William laughed raucously, slapping Maximillion on the back, and the hero responded with a firm, "I believe that would help us bond as a team."

Astra was silent and did not respond, averting her eyes. He knew she ate normal food-she had to survive on nutrition-but why wouldn't she look at him? Talon's face fell, but he regained his composure. He wouldn't let Astra destroy him any more.

James nodded in acknowledgement. "I agree with Maximillion. It would be good for team building."

Hunter yawned. "I could eat," he answered.

Mirror glanced at Talon and shrugged. "If it's cool, I'll be there." She said simply.

Talon grinned. Maybe...maybe Ambrose was right about choosing him. No, couldn't be. He shouldn't be cocky-not after simply being best by all of his teammates and then taking them out to celebrate. Proved nothing. Nevertheless, Talon felt an excitement rising within him-a happiness that he had never felt-a release from the torment that was his existence. "Alright, then! It's about four hours into the evening now, so, yeah, why don't we all rest a bit and then meet in one of the Olde Town restaurants in two hours?"

Although Talon had never been to much of anywhere in any other world besides Marleybone, during his time in Briskbreeze, Dworgyn gave him a lesson on the history of the Spiral. While Talon didn't necessarily remember much of it, he did memorize the names of the worlds, their areas and bits and pieces of how the Spiral came into existence. His knowledge, despite being limited, proved useful thus far, and he wasn't going to doubt it now.

Grunts and nods of acknowledgement from his teammates was all he needed. "Okay, uh...see you guys in two hours at whatever restaurant the majority of you want to go to-just stand in front of the most appealing one, maybe," the Necromancer exclaimed, exhaling.

He closed his eyes and was about to inhale when-

"Hey, great job today, leader," Mirror spoke, giving Talon a soft smile. Her tone, however, was slightly mocking, and Talon took her attitude as an opportunity to make a snarky comment.

"I can't help but be overconfident. When you have abilities like these...you just feel the need to dominate everything, y'know?" He answered, not entirely serious.

As long as he could convince the people around him that he was...stable, then he'd be in the clear. They wouldn't find out about his identity as Talon. Save for the few who knew, at least. To the majority, he was Israfel.

Mirror scoffed. "As if you could dominate anything, Israfel."

Talon nearly shuddered when she said his name. It wasn't that it was a bad name, he just...didn't like it. Astra had made fun of his name when he was a boy, which wasn't much of a problem, but he had gone by his middle name because he didn't want to be laughed at. Lucas had called him by that name, had hissed his name in disgust as his fists fractured a young Talon's body, mind and spirit. The name was not something Talon wanted to hear, but he would endure it.

He didn't want his teammates learning that he had been in prison-in the very prison they trained in front of. Of course, Astra knew-she had nearly killed him in that same prison-but no one else knew-or so he had thought before learning that James had done his research-and Talon would prefer to keep it that way. He had never disclosed his last name to any of his team members as of yet, and his transcripts in prison had only read "Bloodbane, I. T.". If he could keep people from knowing, he would. Talon never killed anyone but Lucas...but who would the public believe? Him? Talon, the equivalent of parasite-infested feces cooking slowly on a cobblestone walkway, avoided by everyone and everything? Laughable.

"You okay?" Mirror inquired, breaking Talon from his thoughts. Her face was unusually close to his. Talon had kissed Astra before, so he should've been used to people placing their faces close to his, but he was fourteen that time, driven mostly by hormones and lacking experience. Now felt no different. Merging with Thalomir taught him enough, but Talon was still...new to certain feelings and situations. And still terrible at handling his emotions.

"I'm good-I'm good," he answered, retreating a few steps.

"That's...good," Mirror stated, seeming to struggle with her words. Talon frowned in slight confusion. "Listen, Israfel..." The Necromancer shuddered as Mirror continued, pausing for an unnaturally long amount of time. "...Sometime-sometime after we train-not today, I mean, but another time!-do you want to go with me to see a show, maybe?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Talon asked, hardly able to process the situation.

There was an upcoming war and this girl was asking him what?

She's asking you to join her somewhere, you idiot. What do you children call it now-?

Thalomir was rudely interrupted by Talon, who gave a small shout of pain as Mirror threw her fist into his shoulder, averting her gaze, her face flushed.

"Fuc-what the hell was that for!?" Talon exclaimed, his surprise turning into anger.

"I'm asking you on a date, asshole!" Mirror nearly shouted. "It's...rude to leave a girl hanging." She concluded, stealing a quick glance at the dark-skinned Necromancer.

"Oh." Talon responded simply.

"So...what do you say..?" Mirror asked, forcing herself to look back at him.

"Well..." Talon gazed longingly at Astra, who seemed to be paying no attention whatsoever, her arms folded across her chest. She rejected him. He still loved her, but- "...I'd like that, yeah." Talon answered finally, giving the Pyromancer a smile.

Even if there was a war, there wasn't a rule that said Talon couldn't enjoy himself. Right?

"Great..!" Mirror exclaimed, her face lighting up. She could've crawled away and Talon would still have been able to tell that she was happy. Maybe he could have a chance with Mirror. At least, if Astra…

No, to hell with Astra. She didn't care, did she? It didn't matter. Talon was an adult. He should've only been thinking of himself. Altruism hadn't gotten him anywhere in life but prison. He was his own man, he could take care of himself.

Talon watched in silence as a majority of his team, including Astra vanished with loud pops and in puffs of smoke, presumably to their dorms, where they would be able to rest and prepare for tonight's dinner. The Necromancer didn't want to head back to his dorm just yet-despite all he'd just thought, he wasn't exactly ready to confront Astra.

Walking home seemed the best course of action. It would take a fair amount of time to reach the dorms from Colossus Boulevard, thus giving Talon time to think and time alone.

"Are you walking home, too?"

...Or not.

Leif popped up beside Talon, a light smile on his face. Talon couldn't help but smile back despite the fact that he wouldn't be alone on his journey home.

"Looks like it," Talon answered simply. "Do you always walk home?"

Leif gave a nod. "Yep. I've always done it. I mean, the route isn't always the safest, but...old habits, I guess." Leif concluded, ending with a sour note in his voice.

"What do you mean? I thought the Ravenwood streets were pretty damn safe." Talon responded, confused. "I thought that guards contained the monsters on each street in Wizard City...wait, am I wrong?"

Leif shook his head, stifling a chuckle. "No, you're not wrong, I just...I'm not very strong, so…" The Theurgist trailed off again, finding a sudden interest in a nearby Gobbler.

"...You get bullied, don't you..?" Talon's question was tentative; it was a question that had a rhetorical answer, but a question that needed to be asked nonetheless. Hell, for all Talon knew, Leif could've been stating an embarrassing fact.

Leif nodded slowly, looking down. He began to play with his hands, fingers tangling and untangling at irregular intervals.

Talon said nothing, simply staring straight ahead. He...he'd been there before, sure, but...what could he say? 'You'll be okay'? 'Don't worry, it stops eventually'? None of it was true. Besides, Talon wasn't exactly the most comforting person, especially considering that he couldn't even comfort himself.

The duo walked in silence, nearing the gate that lead out of Colossus Boulevard and back into the Shopping District. Leif glanced up at the two guards as he and Talon walked by, one of whom gave the Theurgist's acquaintance a sharp glare.

"Thought you were stuck for life, killer," the glaring guard snarled. He was grizzly, his beard shaggy and unkempt, his eyes carrying a ferocity that apparently hadn't been dulled by years of service.

His partner said nothing, simply watching the exchange with cold, indifferent eyes.

Talon knew this man-both men-all too well, as evidenced by the way his lips twitched into a sardonic smile. "Looks like my life ended, then," he hissed, an equal amount of distaste in his voice. Talon turned his attention back towards the gate, pausing abruptly as a spear was thrust in front of his chest. The Necromancer tilted his head towards the bearded guard, his mocking smile fading, eyes narrowing and eyebrows bordering a frown.

The bearded guard gave Talon a sideways stare. "This world will never forget what you've done. You may be out...you may be free, but so long as you breathe, you will never be clean." The older man spat the words out as if the very thought of speaking to Talon was repulsive.

Talon clenched his fists and handheld his teeth, but had no snide remark, and simply said nothing, pushing the spear aside and briskly striding off into the Shopping District, a feeling of fear washing over him. Why? Why couldn't he just...be free? He didn't want to be a killer. He just did what he had to. Why didn't they understand that?

Did they hate him? What would they think of him? The guard-Reinhardt-what did he mean 'you will never be clean'? Was he saying that-

"Are you okay?" Leif inquired, his hand brushing against Talon's shoulder. The Necromancer whirled around in response, gripping Leif's arm as powerfully as he could, his eyes blank. Leif let out a yelp of pain, eyes wide with surprise. A few people stared, and Talon shook his head, releasing the Theurgist's arm and backing away.

"Wow, what a crazy guy. Fighting outside of the arena?"

The Necromancer's eyes flitted about in a panic. He was hearing things he didn't usually hear. Was it because of what the guard had said? Why didn't he hear it before?

"Hey, isn't that the guy who…"

"Don't look, don't look! It's the guy that…"

"Sorry, I'm just...what he said got me...uh, mad." Talon spoke fervently, his voice frantic. "Sorry, sorry…" He muttered, his mind flying through thoughts faster than he could speak. It was becoming painful.

"Oh, his hair's longer now, but isn't he…"

Why couldn't he just go home? Why couldn't he just be done? With all of it? Why couldn't Wizard City just forget what he had done?

"It's okay," Leif murmured softly. "I'm...just a bit surprised." The Theurgist rubbed his arm, and provided Talon with a reassuring smile, but the Necromancer couldn't help but imagine that behind that smile, Leif was nursing the seed of animosity.

Maybe it was just his imagination. Leif wasn't an ass, from what Talon could tell. He was just...hurt.

Like me, Talon thought.

"Sorry…" The Necromancer muttered.

"It's fine, really..!" Leif exclaimed, blushing in embarrassment. "You don't need to apologize any more."

The duo began moving against the crowd, towards the gates that let out of the market area, falling into silence once more. Talon shoved his hands into his pockets, staring at the ground, hoping people didn't see his face.

Why now? Why was it that he hadn't heard the people until then? Was it his imagination? Why? Why, why, why?

Be strong, my boy. You must overcome adversity if you wish to survive. Thalomir consoled.

"I know, but…" Talon began.

"What was that?" Leif asked, assuming Talon was saying something to him.

Talon waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing, nothing."

"So...with the guards...what was that about?" Leif suddenly asked, giving Talon a glance as they rounded the corner, entering the Commons. The sun was nearing the horizon, and the sky was tinged a beautiful orange. Talon was reminded of the flames that licked the White Owl Pirate vessel-the same flames that threatened to devour him if he and Hunter didn't escape-the flames that Raht had utilized as a cover when he decided to betray him.

Talon squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling powerfully. "The guards...uh...they just...don't like me, I guess."

"They called you a killer," Leif responded. "And come to think of it, you look familiar."

Talon stiffened, stopping abruptly. His eyes were wide with surprise, and sweat dripped down his back.

"Israfel?" Leif inquired. "Are you okay? You seem...afraid."

Talon stared at Leif, a look of animalistic instinct in his eyes. "I'm...fine," he grated. "I'm fine."

Leif frowned. "It's okay, man, I don't bite." He gave Talon another reassuring smile. Under any normal circumstance, Talon would have made a feeble attempt to court Leif-especially considering the fact that the boy was just so...cute-but this was no normal circumstance, and currently, Talon didn't feel as if he could trust anyone. He was ostracized.

But he had to know more. Leif just felt...kind. Talon didn't want to trust him-there had to be more behind that smile; there had to be something sinister-but he wanted to. "Leif," Talon hissed. "Then...what were you saying..?" The Necromancer trailed off, hoping Leif would continue. He had to know more.

"Oh, yeah!" Leif exclaimed. "Right, they called you a killer, and...well, you kinda look like that guy who was arrested a few years back." He concluded, nodding fervently.

Talon cocked his head to the side. Come to think of it, how did these people know who he was? There were many a Briskbreeze inmate, and the prison itself was relatively isolated. "Wait-how do you know who was arrested?"

Leif shrugged. "Y'know. Wizard City...they don't necessarily broadcast the arrests, but they...if the person has a high sentence or is to be executed, their name is released to the public. ...I mean, since they're gonna die." He gave Talon a glance. "But-ah, maybe it's not you-! I mean, people can look alike, it's pretty common, you know-"

"Leif," Talon responded, holding up a hand. Could he really do this? No, he could. Leif seemed...Leif was...his teammate.

If you are truly going to lead children into war, then you will do good to trust them. Thalomir said.

Yeah.

Yeah, that's right. Talon was a leader. This was his second chance. He couldn't let his past change his future.

He could let go.

"Leif, I...I'm the guy-I had a life sentence, and they charged me with...with mass murder." Talon concluded, choosing instead to lock eyes with the Theurgist.

Leif, surprisingly enough, did not scramble in fear or shriek and scream for help. "Oh," the Theurgist said, his voice soft. "Well...well, I don't think it matters now. You're out, right? You-you got let out for a reason, so...y'know, don't let anyone down…" The Theurgist trailed off, averting his eyes.

There it was. Leif knew, but he didn't run. He wasn't afraid, just...he accepted Talon. Leif understood that Talon was a murderer, a coward, a spiteful, angry man, and he embraced him with as much kindness as he could muster.

That was why the voices were gone. Only when Talon thought about it-only when he truly believed that he was worthless, hated and misunderstood-the voices would exist.

The Theurgist was right. Talon was let out for a reason. A second chance. A redemption attempt. Ambrose believed in him. Leif believed in him. Thalomir believed in him, so why didn't he believe in himself?

No, he did.

He did, and that was why...that was why Talon was strong. Talon was powerful because he could overcome.

Talon's lips twitched upwards, a smile playing on his face. "I'll try my best for you, then," he said, patting Leif on the shoulder. "I appreciate it."

Leif returned Talon's gesture with a wide grin. "I think people can change," he said simply, and the duo resumed their journey to the dorms.

"Look! It's the guy with the life sentence?"

"No way, how did he get out-?"

"I think he might have-"

"Maybe he-"

"What if-"

"How-"

"W-"

"-"

Talon exhaled as he walked, a slight smile on his face. The voices, the gossip, the hatred...it was still there, sure, but...Leif was truly a kind soul, and because of Leif, Talon was able to remember why he didn't hear the voices in the first place.

Maybe he could do this after all.

Let go.

You are strong, boy. Remember that. Thalomir uttered.

Talon nodded, turning his attention to another matter. "Hey, Leif, since we're almost there-" he gestured to the nearby dorms, "-got any good recommendations for a restaurant?"

Leif turned to face Talon, startled. "Oh, uh...maybe we could try The Abbey? I've only been there once with my sister, and, well, they have food straight from Avalon-feast worthy...you might like it."

Avalon? Where was that? Talon hadn't heard of that world before, though granted, his knowledge was limited. He only knew of Marleybone-his home world-Wizard City, and Celestia, the underwater world.

Huh. Guess there was more he had to do. Of course, seeing as Talon had been released from prison about a week and a half prior and knew little about the advancements, researching and traveling may take longer than he'd like.

Talon nodded approvingly. "Okay, okay, anything else?"

"Uh...there's a Meowiarty's nearby. It's a chain of restaurants that features food from Marleybone, usually things like giant pancakes and lots of fish."

"Marleybone, huh?" Talon wondered aloud. He frowned, feeling homesick yet again. But he couldn't go home. Not yet. He had to redeem himself first. "Alright, fair enough. We'll try out the...uh, The Abbey. Let everyone know, Leif. See you there, then."

"Okay!" Leif exclaimed cheerfully, waving Talon off. "See you later!"


"How about you, Mirror?" William's voice sliced through the rest of the immediate conversation like a well-sharpened blade. "Got anybody at home waitin' for ya?"

Mirror looked up from her plate, eyes wide in surprise, the steak that she had finally lifted with her fork slipping from the utensil and falling back onto the dish with a satisfying slap. "Oh...uh…" Mirror stole a quick glance at Talon, and then thought of her mother. Oh, how she wished her mother was alive and well, back home and happy.

But that wouldn't happen, would it?

"No one, not really," Mirror answered. "What's it to you?"

William shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm getting to know you-all of you-that's all." The Diviner turned his attention to Hunter. "How about you, kiddo? Got anyone at home?"

Hunter jerked his thumb towards Talon, his mouth full of the honey glazed ham he had just finished consuming.

William nodded. "It's always good to have somebody back home." He turned towards Eron and Leif, who sat adjacent from one another. "You two? Anyone for you?"

The Theurgist and his draconian comrade shared a quizzical glance, and then,

"My sister...died." Leif said, his voice somber. He averted his gaze, indicating that the subject may have been too sensitive for him. Before William could press on, however, Eron interrupted.

"I have no family," Eron said simply, wiping his mouth with a napkin. While most of his teammates were finishing their first plates, Eron had completed his third, simply tapping his foot impatiently, ready for dessert.

William quirked an eyebrow. "Wait, what? No, no, everyone had a family, man-even if they're, well, not here, you can still tell us. We're your friends."

"Are you?" Eron interjected quickly. "Inna world where people are quick to judge simply based on your sexuality or your allegiances, how can I trust you? How can I trust any of you, for that matter? For all I know, y' could be asking me these questions so y' can gossip to the next asshole who walks in here." The draconian folded his arms across his chest, not expecting anyone to respond. "That's what I-" he began, but Astra cut him off.

"You can trust us because we're just like you." She gave the draconian a pointed gaze. "Broken. Get over yourself already-there's more to having friends than you realize." She blinked, waiting for a response, but when she was greeted by silence, she turned back to her food, swallowing a large piece of venison.

"Uh...right then," William murmured. "So...ah, how about you, then, James?"

James turned towards William. "Sorry?"

William gave a small smile. "Do you have anyone back at home, James?"

James shrugged. "I had an aunt, but she passed via depression. Right now, I just help where I can."

William frowned. "Why so many deaths…" He trailed off, not willing to finish. Putting a smile on his face, he turned to Talon and Astra. "You two?"

Talon didn't bother to look up, wolfing down food, so Astra spoke first instead. "Cyrus is essentially my father-he adopted me in my time of need. He's all I have, really."

William nodded approvingly. "Good, good-that's good. How about you, captain?"

Talon looked up in surprise. "Wait, I'm a captain?"

Vincent, the Necromancer of Team Immortal who had been silent at every team gathering until now finally spoke, his voice seemingly devoid of emotion but somehow sounding light and friendly. "No, don't worry-William's an idiot."

Talon gave a small chuckle, placing his hand over his mouth as to avoid spewing bits of steak everywhere. "I don't have anyone either," he answered, but his reply went unnoticed. Talon merely shrugged it off and returned to his food until he decided he had a question.

William frowned. "Vince, you hardly even talk! Why am I the idiot!?"

Vincent rolled his eyes, but fell silent.

Talon swallowed a large bite of steak and grilled broccoli then pointed his fork at Vincent. "You're a Necromancer, too?" He asked.

The shorter, white-haired man nodded.

"Hmm." Talon responded. "So...who did you learn from..?" Talon trailed off. He didn't remember the other Necromancer's name, and he wasn't entirely paying attention the last time it was said. Hopefully the other man caught on.

"Vincent Deathwalker is my name," Vincent answered, his voice monotonous. "I learned Necromancy from draconian war generals in Dragonspyre." He closed his eyes after he said this, nodding as if he were an aging sage.

Talon gave a grunt of approval. "What's Dragonspyre like?"

Vincent shrugged. "It's...well, made for war, I'd say."

"Huh. And what're the draconians like?" Talon asked. He had been taught by a draconian, and sure, he had one on his team, but the ones in Dragonspyre might've been different, for all he knew. Hadn't Shina said something about being from an ancient tribe? Well, whatever, Talon never paid attention to what she was saying anyways, mostly because he was focused on the pain her training regimen caused him.

"Helloooo..?" Eron sang mockingly. He stabbed his thumb towards his chest. "Asking about draconians when y'got one here?" Eron waited patiently for a response.

Talon let out a hearty laugh, holding his hand up and waving to the nearby waitress so he could ask for a second plate. Talon knew that if he decided to ask Eron about draconians, he himself would probably become lost in thought and miss a majority of the lecture.

"Really, guys?" Eron exclaimed. "Just gonna ditch the dragon...alright, well, when you have a question about something only I know, I'm not gonna help ya." The draconian said, proceeding to bury his face in a fourth plate of food. "Fluck yoo guysh," Eron concluded, his mouth full of potato.

As other members of the team chuckled at Eron's expense, people began to delve into side conversations, picking people to talk to based on what they'd learned about one another thus far-which wasn't much.

Mirror turned to Talon. She wanted to talk to him. So far, he was pretty...interesting. There was just something about him that drew her in, but she couldn't name it. "So, Talon," Mirror began, before realizing that she didn't actually have a subject of interest to discuss. "Uh, why don't you...hmm...tell me about yourself."

Talon paused, the carrot he had impaled on his fork halfway to his mouth. "Okay...uh...what do you want to know?"

Mirror glanced right to avert her gaze, feeling somewhat embarrassed for not coming up with something more interesting to speak with him about, and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Astra staring blankly at the two. The Conjurer returned to her food when she took note of the Pyromancer's eyes on her. Mirror frowned in confusion, turning back to Talon. "Well, we could...talk about our favorite things," she suggested.

Talon gave an approving nod, chewing on sautéed vegetables. He pointed to Mirror. "You first, then."

Mirror tapped her chin thoughtfully, lancing a piece of the pork pot pie on her plate. "Well...I think my favorite thing to do is...uh, sleep."

Talon stifled a laugh, placing his hand over his mouth.

"What?" Mirror asked, frowning angrily.

"That's...cute, I think," Talon responded. The girl blushed, lowering her head. "My favorite thing to do is…" Talon trailed off. Did he really have a favorite thing to do? He spent a majority of his time alone eating and talking to Thalomir. He read books every now and then, but he preferred literary classics, and there weren't many he could find, even in the library. "...I don't really know." Talon finished. "I mean, I spend most of my free time talking to Thal-I mean, uh, myself."

Mirror shrugged, looking up. "That's okay, I guess. But...that seems pretty boring. Why don't you go outside or hang out with friends?"

I'm used to being in confined spaces, Talon wanted to say. I was in prison before and I'm not really comfortable with the outdoors.

Instead, Talon said, "You know, I don't have many friends," he scratched his forehead.

Mirror frowned. "That's why you gotta make some!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air.

"I'm not very good at talking to people," Talon responded. "And I don't think people would want to be my friend…" He trailed off. He was a killer. What kind of people wanted to befriend a killer?

"Why?" Mirror asked, and Talon stiffened.

Should he tell her? He told Leif, didn't he? Yeah, but he could trust Leif. Or at least, he wanted to. Talon felt that Leif wouldn't...betray him. But what about Mirror? This was his first time really talking to her, and she seemed pretty nice. Granted, Talon wasn't very good at talking to girls or people in general, and he probably hadn't come off as very sociable or charming.

To hell with it.

"Uh...well, my public image has been pretty trashed ever since I came here, 'cause...well, y'know, I was in prison."

"What!?" Mirror practically yelped, dropping her fork. "Shit, dude!" The Pyromancer looked afraid, and Talon suddenly felt in the wrong.

Her noise garnered the attention of Astra-wait, she was already watching-James and Hunter, who all turned to stare at Mirror and Talon as they continued to talk. Neither of the three onlookers said anything, simply staring at the duo as they spoke.

Talon wanted to run his fork through his eye. First-no, one of many mistakes-of the day. "Oops," he murmured.

"W...What'd you get locked up for?" Mirror asked, her voice shaky.

"I...uh, I don't think I should tell you." Talon answered blatantly. "Not after how you reacted to me mentioning that I was in prison."

Mirror's eyes were downcast as she spoke. "Well, I mean...it doesn't really bother me, y'know, because I still like you and all-" she stopped herself abruptly, eyes widening at the nonchalant admission of her feelings.

Talon raised an eyebrow, confused. "You what?" He inquired incredulously.

Mirror turned red, the blush surprisingly visible on her dark skin. "I...uh...y'know. I like you."

The Necromancer frowned, feeling like he had to consult Thalomir. 'Like' him? What did that mean? Did she consider them friends? What?

I do believe she's trying to say that she's interested in you as a partner of sorts. Look, look at how she acts when you look at her.

Talon stared at Mirror blankly, and the Pyromancer averted her eyes, fidgeting with her fingers. The dark-skinned Necromancer nodded to himself, finally settling on a question. "Why?"

Mirror glanced back at Talon. "Huh?"

"Why? Why are you interested in me? Why me? Why not someone like Hunter or Leif or Maximillion..?" Talon urged, curious to know what she would say.

Mirror tapped her chin. "I can't explain it, really, but, um, there's something about you...that I find attractive, I mean."

Well, that was an unsatisfactory answer.

Not like Talon could really do much to change it, though. He stole a glance at Astra. At least someone wanted him, even if it wasn't the girl he'd sought after consistently for years. Talon nodded in response to Mirror's question. "Okay," he said simply, returning to his food.

"Well-who do you l-I mean, who are you interested in?" Mirror asked quickly, and Talon froze again.

Aaaaaaaand that wasn't something he wanted to answer.

There were two girls Talon had been in love with-one was Astra, his childhood friend-the girl who had taught him the most about herself, himself and the world around him-the girl who made him feel uninhibited and free, and the other was Valkyrie, a red headed prison volunteer who had eaten with him and made him feel human again. Alas, Valkyrie had left, and Talon clung to the feelings he had for Astra as tight as he possibly could like a koala hugging a tree. But...maybe it was time to let go.

Maybe he'd be better off that way.

"I don't know," Talon answered. He paused, and gave Mirror a small smile. "Maybe we can...change that." He concluded, chuckling slightly as she turned red and lowered her gaze.

The Necromancer yawned, leaning back and stretching his arms. The day had made a ragdoll out of him, especially considering that he was essentially thrashed consecutively by each one of his teammates. His body ached, but Talon hadn't planned on getting much sleep. Not to say he didn't sleep, he just spent a majority of his time...thinking...thinking about anything, really. Wondering how he fucked up this time, or what detrimental actions he could've avoided in the past. Sometimes Talon dreamt of a world where he was at peace. Not necessarily happy, but satisfied. Would he ever really be happy? What was happiness, anyways? And could he ever truly be at peace? Maybe to be at peace was to be at war. Maybe...maybe-

"Alright," Hunter exclaimed, pushing his chair away from the table and rising to his feet. "I'm clocking in. Gotta wake up early tomorrow so I can do some things before we train. ...We are training tomorrow, right?" Hunter asked.

Talon shrugged. It seems as if he'd done something good today. And besides, the first...real...training session had gone relatively well, so why not have another? "Sure, why not?"

The Diviner dusted himself off, sighed, gave the group a small smile and waved. "See you guys tomorrow."

Eron rose to his feet as well. "Yeah, Leif and I are gonna head out. He said he'd make dessert, so I'm holding him to that." Eron exclaimed. He walked over to Talon, placing his hand on the Necromancer's shoulder. "Keep it up, kid," the draconian muttered to the team leader before he turned and exited the restaurant, Leif following closely behind.

Maximillion wiped his mouth with his napkin, giving Talon a nod. "Thank you for the meal. I'd like to do this again, if there's ever...some time…" Maximillion trailed off. Would there be time?

It hadn't been long since he'd fought in the Immortal Games with Vincent and William, seeing as he had begun and returned on the same day Talon was released from prison, a week and a half earlier. To think that Ambrose was sending them out in four and a half weeks.

Talon gave Maximillion a small smile. "Let's just hope we win four weeks from now."

The Conjurer returned the smile with one of his own. "You're a good man, Israfel. Best of luck to you, buddy."

"You too. And your team," Talon replied, gesturing to Vincent, who gave a small huff in response, and William, who reached out to bump fists with the younger, black haired Necromancer.

Team Immortal exited the restaurant after bidding their farewells, and a sudden, harrowing thought crossed Talon's mind. In four weeks, the team was scheduled to go to war. Would they even be ready in four weeks? What if Morganthe took the fight to Wizard City? Was she at ease with involving innocents?

He would have to ask Ambrose. As soon as possible.

He rose to his feet, sliding out of his chair. Rummaging through his training slacks, Talon produced a bag of gold, one full of enough money to pay for the meal. He placed it on the table, nudging it until it rest in the center of the maple wood surface, between plates, bowls, mugs and silverware. He sighed and then bid his goodbyes to Mirror and Astra.

"I'm heading out, you two. Uh...I guess...don't kill one another while I'm gone…" He trailed off, laughing nervously. Thinking that his joke had flown over the girls' heads-or hadn't had the effect he'd wanted-Talon cleared his throat and made his exit, hurrying to Ambrose's office.

That dinner was interesting. Talon was able to learn more about his teammates than he could've possibly learned in one training session. This one had went well, and as such, he decided he would host another session tomorrow. But what could he teach his team? Not like he really had anything to teach them.

After his assessment earlier, Talon managed to deduce that the strongest of the group-or at least, the "heavy hitters"-consisted of Astra, Eron, Hunter, and Maximillion, though Talon wasn't sure if Maximillion could function efficiently without the rest of his friends, seeing as Talon had defeated the Spirit of Zeus with negligible difficulty. He figured he could designate more supportive roles to Leif, Mirror, and James, especially considering the fact that Mirror had potential but for the time being was relatively background in terms of power. He could reassign her later. Vincent could fit anywhere in Talon's opinion, though Vincent wasn't very talkative, and his lack of communication could cause problems. James was incredibly blunt, on the contrary, and his tendency to do his research on his opponents and his allies could prove useful, though Talon wasn't too keen on being researched, by a comrade no less. Talon wasn't entirely sure where William stood-one moment, the Diviner was serious and focused, the next, he lacked the attention span to complete even the simplest of tasks. William could be an asset, Talon just had yet to utilize him.

So far, he had four heavy hitters, three supports, and three wizards who could be placed just about anywhere. Hopefully he'd be able to use that to his advantage, though situations could change.

The Necromancer glanced up. He had reached the headmaster's office rather quickly. Well, being lost in thought could do that to you. Thalomir was silent in his subconscious. Nothing to comment on, it seemed.

Oh, I have things to comment on, Thalomir assured his host. I don't think you'd be willing to hear them, however.

"Don't say it," Talon grated in response as he raised his fist and rapped thrice on the oaken surface. The door was unlocked, but Talon knocked anyways. It wasn't as if he didn't have manners, he just didn't really find any need for them. Of course, he felt inclined to be polite now, but that was beside the point. The raven-haired man tried to peek through the window, but the glass was frosted, rewarding Talon with the most murky, clouded view he'd ever received upon looking into a room.

"Come in." Ambrose's voice was soft and distant.

"Hey, Ambrose, it's me," Talon responded as he opened the door and slid into the room. "I just had a few questions."

"Ah, Talon," the headmaster greeted, looking up from a book he was engaged in. Now that Talon was near enough to hear and see Ambrose clearly, he noticed that the headmaster's eyes hung low, depressions on the bridge of his nose where his spectacles sat. "What do you need, my boy?"

What happened to him?

Talon frowned. "Uh...I...wait, are you okay?" He began, deciding to change his question. Talon wasn't usually one to meddle in the affairs of others, but Ambrose's state was so...saddening that Talon simply had to know what had happened.

Ambrose have a heavy sigh. "I'm...I'll live, child. It's simply the news from our scouts that leaves me unsettled."

"What's the news?"

"Well, to start, I sent five scouts to Celestia to gather as much information as they could on Morganthe and her forces. They were to return immediately, but unfortunately, only two returned." The headmaster paused, sniffing. Ambrose slid off his cap, running a hand through his silver-grey hair. "I interviewed the two earlier today. Tara Nightwood and Crowne Soulwalker…" Ambrose paused. "Tara is relatively alright, generally stable save for the dreams she has been experiencing since the death of her comrades, and Crowne...he thinks he is dead."

Talon's eyes widened. "W-Wait, how can Tara be having reoccurring dreams? Didn't they just return today? And the Soultalker guy, he thinks he's what?"

Ambrose winced. He would rather not discuss it, seeing as he blamed himself and would rather not relive the emotions he experienced upon seeing the shattered states of his children, but he swallowed his pain and continued. "Tara and Crowne fled, but were forced to go into hiding for two days until Morganthe's henchmen cleared away from the World Gate. And yes, Mr. Soulwalker thinks he is dead," Ambrose added, placing emphasis on the pronunciation of Crowne's last name.

"Wait, how can this Souleater think-"

Ambrose waved his hand dismissively. "Enough, Talon. I believe we've talked enough about me." Talon opened his mouth to protest. "No more, please. ...How was your session with your team today?" Ambrose finished.

Talon wanted to ask more about Ambrose. There is no way any sane person could be okay after listening to two people talk about their suffering. On that note, just how many troubled teens and adults did Ambrose talk to? The Necromancer pushed any further thoughts of the previous conversation from his mind. "It was...pretty good, actually. I fought them all so I could judge their abilities, and I think I've got it. There may...or may not have been some crying and some distrust, but I think I cleared it out when I took them all out for dinner."

The headmaster's eyes crinkled at the corners as he gave a warm smile. "That's...relieving." He said.

Talon shrugged. "But it's not the point. The point is...in four weeks, we're going to war, right? But...I don't think we'll be ready in four weeks. I could compress the training schedule, but that's not enough time for rest, and I sort of...fucked it up the first time." The Necromancer's thoughts shifted back to the first training session he'd had with his team, when Astra's presence became overwhelming and he teleported out in a haze of intense emotions.

Ambrose's smile faded quickly, his face becoming mordant.

"And-and I was thinking about the war, right-but what if the steps we're taking aren't enough? I mean, what if Morganthe takes the fight to us? Are we even prepared to make a stand here?" Talon continued. It was worrying. He had so many questions, but could they even be answered? Ambrose...he was stressed, Talon could tell. But...hell, would the headmaster even live through a war? He was strong, sure, but he was also succumbing to the vice-like grip of age. If Morganthe brought the fight to them, would Ambrose survive?

Ambrose was calm as he spoke, his face maintaining a grim expression. "My child...I don't know. There is only so much we can do, and I cannot know if it is enough. If Morganthe takes the fight to us, then she does so. The most we can do is prepare as many wizards as possible. In the end, I don't know. I can't be sure. All I can do is hope." The headmaster responded, his voice creaking like the floorboards in his office.

Talon's gaze softened, his lips turning downwards into a sour expression. "Ambrose...what-what is my team really doing?"

"You-your team-is the primary fighting force. I gathered the most...compatible wizards I knew, and that is your team. You...you'll be moving in and fighting Morganthe's forces. I hope it does not come to this before I can send reinforcements, but you may have to fight Morganthe herself."

Talon nodded, feeling...numb. "I...okay. Thanks." He whispered, backing away, reaching behind him for the door handle. He stumbled outside, closing the door behind him with shaking hands. His breath quickened.

Something was wrong.

Help.

Stay calm, boy. You must stay calm.

"I-" Talon choked out, placing a hand on his chest. "I'm trying-!" His throat began to burn. Talon was anxious, but he was never one to have a panic attack or an anxiety ambush of sorts. This was new. It couldn't be a panic attack, could it? He wasn't all too afraid-he'd been expecting this, or at least, he should've been-but he just felt...numb...no, it wasn't that. He felt...endangered.

Danger.

Try harder! Thalomir hissed.

Dangerdangerdanger-

Talon squeezed his eyes shut, digging a claw into his side.

Helphelphelphelphelp-

The pain would calm him. It would draw his attention away from the-

Help-

"Ow!" Talon yelped, his mind sliding from the feeling of constriction to the newfound pain that plagued his hip. The Necromancer let out a sigh of relief. He was okay, right? Talon panted, patting his chest. It felt...sore, but there was no more tightening. "I'm okay," he reassured himself. "I'm okay. I was expecting that news. I'm okay."

What was that about? Thalomir muttered in confusion. He had been inside Talon for nineteen years, and the boy had never had an...episode like that. It was new, and yet unsurprising.

"I don't know…" Talon exclaimed. "But...didn't it feel…normal? Like it's happened before? Something...doesn't feel right."

Yes.

"Weird," Talon murmured, shaking his head dismissively. "I think I just need to rest."

Maybe your senses are reacting to something..? Or perhaps it's nothing. Sleep is often a useful remedy for most-

"Thalomir," Talon murmured. "The senses-you might be right. I can...feel someone." Thalomir paused abruptly as Talon slowly rotated on his heel, turning back towards the door to Ambrose's office. No one behind him. His eyes flitted left and right. Then...where was the person?

Talon heard a sharp crack, smelled the smoke, and heard the small rock as it was kicked towards him, entering his field of vision before it bounced to a stop at the edge of the steps leading to Ambrose's office.

It came from behind, and would've blended in nicely with the beige cobblestone, were it not for the fact that the rock was no longer a rock, but a small ball of ice.

It was frozen.

Dangerdangerdangerdangerdanger

The Necromancer's throat began to burn again, his chest constricting. His breath quickened, escaping his lips in ragged, short gasps. Talon placed a hand over his heart, clutching at his chest tightly.

Talon! Thalomir roared, the sound of warning filling the Necromancer's ears.

DANGERDANGERDANGERDANGERDANGER

He whirled around, eyes wide with surprise. He was rewarded with a feminine face, one that looked so familiar, yet so anonymous. Three, small blue stars wrapped around the underside of the woman's eyes, fading out of existence behind her cheekbones. Her white hair hung in a messy manner over her face, her eyes were nearly translucent, almost blending in with her white sclera and a haunting grin was plastered onto her face.

Run.

"Boo," she whispered.

Talon wanted to run. He wanted to turn tail and flee, because he just knew...he just knew. If he stared into this woman's pupiless eyes, if he traced the outlines of the blue stars beneath her eyes, if he whispered to her, if he tried to fight her, if he tried to reason with her, he knew that he would die.


MW: And that's that. Wow, I can't believe I said the exact same words last chapter. Anyways, this chapter was the most material I've put into a chapter thus far. Chapters will be long like this one, seeing as they focus more on characters and the upcoming war. Alright, onto questions.

Q: What is Eron's sexuality? And why does he have so many apostrophes in his speech?

A: Eron is gay. He slurs because it's a natural, rough sort of speech, and a slight exaggeration as well as a blatant view of his character. He is loud, rude and brash. There are moments throughout the story where Eron will tense and relax around his teammates, and by the story's end, he speaks much more formally and is much more welcoming. The slurring is a part of his character that will slowly vanish throughout the story, as will a majority of his current demeanor.

Q: How old is everyone?

A: I casually slip in age numbers every now and then. So, to keep you updated, the story spans over seven years, the first five being chapters 1-7 as the childhood/adolescent years, and the later two being chapters 8 and up as the adult/war years. Talon is nineteen currently, Astra is twenty, Mirror is seventeen, Leif is seventeen, Hunter is eighteen, Maximillion is twenty four, Vincent and William are both twenty three, Eron's age is never actually stated, but it is presumed he is between seventeen and twenty two-I didn't view draconian ages any different from humans, just had them live longer. Other characters like Crowne, Tara Nightwood and Scurvy are currently sixteen, twenty, and eighteen respectively.

Q: How volatile is Talon?

A: About as volatile as a normal human male with suicidal tendencies, an identity crisis, full of self-loathing, driven by pain, hatred, and recently rejected by the woman he loves as well as suffering from a future shock-like effect due to the fact that he knows nearly nothing about any world outside of Marleybone, Wizard City, and Celestia and has been in prison for six years. Sorry if that sounded condescending.

Q: In the previous chapter, where did that peachy smell come from when Hunter fought Sabrina?

A: The smell of peaches came from Sabrina herself. For instance, if you've ever been in a fight, you'll notice that people generally telegraph their attacks, even if it's just the slight twitch of a muscle or the complete shift of the body. I was trying to imagine a way to give Sabrina an interesting "tell", and I decided that there would be an overwhelming smell of peaches everytime she attacked.

Q: Is Sabrina the only person with a tell? What are the other character's tells?

A: No, she isn't. Talon's tell is that his eyes will glow, Eron has various stances to deal with different opponents, but his wings twitch right before he attacks-and it's very noticeable-James doesn't really have a visible tell as the air around him freezes when he feels he needs to take an opponent seriously, Valkyrie will lick her lips, Mirror will look around frantically, Leif runs a hand through his hair, Maximillion is almost always predictable because he needs everything to be orderly (yet somehow works with a team of people who are against everything organized), William doesn't always pay attention in fights, Vincent will retreat and put distance between himself and his opponents before he attacks, Astra pops her joints or cracks her knuckles, and Hunter sniffs before he attacks. As for future characters, a few have tells-I'm not spoiling their roles or when they appear, by the way-Crowne Soulwalker stiffens noticeably before he feels ready to attack, Tara Nightwood twirls her spear and Scurvy grins.

Q: How does Necromancy work? Are the effects permanent?

A: Yes. I didn't realize how destructive I made Necromancy until recently, but I plan to keep it that way-it's how I imagine Necromancy would work, were it real and entirely possible. I saw creatures who siphoned health like wraiths and vampires as stealing years off of the person's life-I mean, it's too easy to just...take some health which they can recover from, right-and that being impossible to recover from. I had meant to edit this in before I sent it over, but I forgot-the drawback with Necromancy is that-while useful-takes life from the opponent and gives it to the user as a means of HEALING and not survival, and simultaneously shortening the user's life. Unfortunately, we don't see this with Talon-he is conscious of his life shortening, though-but we see this more with Vincent, he Necromancer of Team Immortal-especially in the next chapter-who has frequent dreams of numbers counting down, almost like a clock, and bells tolling every time the clock hits five to twenty numbers lower. Alright, onto the most important question-how is Theurgy affected? Well, to be honest, since I gave Necromancy two impossible drawbacks-stealing years of someone's life and shortening the user's life-I decided I should give Theurgy two improvements. In-game, I see Theurgy as healing, but I also see it as a means of recovering "the soul", or in this case, what the wraith pulls out of Eron. It cannot restore years, but when I think of life and death-Theurgy and Necromancy-I think Yin and Yang and restoration juxtaposed with irreparability. In the story, I see Theurgy as being able to heal injuries-generally major-severe injuried, but not fatal injuries, since that would be a cop-out-as well as being able to temporarily restore "the soul". Theurgy doesn't give back the years stolen by Necromancy, but it serves as a prosthetic limb, essentially simulating those stolen years for as long as the heal is active.

Q: Is Mirror already in love with Talon?

A: Nah, she's just attracted to him at the moment. Most of it is physical-at least, initially-but you'll learn later that she is also attracted to Talon because both of them are searching for something inside themselves-their identities.

Q: Will Astra ever take Talon back?

A: Yes. Yes, she will. It will take more than five chapters, though, so you'll have time.

Q: Why is everyone so miserable and full of angst? I definitely don't feel like that.

A: You probably do or have. There are many moments when people in general simply feel miserable and decide to contemplate their lives or the world surrounding them as a whole, but these are adults, put through extreme situations that should have had considerable effects on their mental states. I mean, honestly, if I were Talon, I would try taking my own life.

Q: Are the scouts Ambrose mentioned in the beginning important?

A: For future events, yes. Right now, no.

Q: None of these relationships seem very realistic, especially Talon and Astra's.

A: Actually, despite what you may think, the relationships are very realistic. When people say they want a certain kind of person in a relationship, that's usually not true, because the person they want is an ideal, and ultimately, the choices they're presented with defy the ideal but they are attracted to what defies the ideal anyways. For example, the relationship between Talon and Astra is not a normal relationship, mainly because both characters are extremely volatile and very broken, yet that is the exact reason why they are attracted to one another. Talon would say that he enjoys women that are intelligent and dominant, while Astra will say that she enjoys men that are sure of themselves and can challenge her. Of course, Talon can challenge her, but he's not necessarily sure of himself and doesn't fit what Astra says she wants. In reality, both are drawn to one another because they're alike-both are broken and are still plagued by their inner demons, but they understand one another which is why their relationship is so...abnormal.

Q: What is Talon's sexuality? And what did you mean when you said "he learned something about himself both physically and sexually"?

A: Talon is bisexual, but prefers women simply because most of the men he meets remind him of his brother. I was talking BDSM terms there-he's a "switch" who generally prefers submissive roles and is also interested in bondage.

Review Replies

Hunter: I'm a Marvel fan-I do read DC now and then, but I'm not an avid reader-so I don't entirely understand what you mean by "becoming like Batman and Catwoman's relationship". If you mean destructive in the sense that Hunter feels for her but Sabrina attempts to sever her bonds with him by killing him because she craves power, then yes.

Ammaraah01: Yep, Astra is tormented all the time. I do feel sorry for her, but she's a strong girl. Haha, Hunter's belief in aliens was my way of adding light humor to a serious story. Talon doesn't believe in aliens, but he does believe in ghosts.

James Firecrafter: Hahah, I am smuggling Coca-Cola into the story. Mainly because Coke is my favorite soda and mainly because I wanted to give the characters something fun to drink. You'll notice that the food and beverages consumed are mostly things I like (steak, various kinds of pasta, jerky, etc.), but some of it will be exotic foods that I want to try. Thanks! I'll try my best.