Of Wolves and Devils: A Dark Angel Fanfiction Story

Episode 4:

Over the ash covered distant land of distant happiness…

The ashes of the dead are plentiful: Too plentiful.

The grass has wilted to black. The burning crucifixes of studded wood give off black fumes in the faintly blackened sky.

The warmish breeze merely waves the flames: They don't just go out.

Some iron enforced bolted together buckets of red tinted sea water are carried by a guy in a red vampire like black and red cape: With a ghostly sheet over him, with creepily painted fangs in dried dark red liquid and no mouth. His sleeves have rifles tucked under them, with trigger wires to have them fire and cable tightly around the pain throbbing arms.

The twenty one members in his group are all wearing the same thing: Except their leader has a bigger cape and bigger fangs. With his arms wide, he calls forth, "praise be to the God and Father of our Klansman Jesus Christ. May this sacrifice of the flesh make certain they come to see true Christianity. Amen."

They are the Iron Knights Klan: The KKK movement that came to this country to spread their Protestant Christian values by any means necessary. The Pulse merely helped speed up their plans.

Echoes of Amen ring creepily among them…and thousands of dragged along longish black and light brown haired fume covered slaves in chains: Heavily abused and heavily breathing children and teens in sickeningly ragged clothes.

Wolves and bears are either dying or desperate for the meat of the bodies of the fallen. A few even walk among the Iron Knights Klan: With some lingering reluctance, after years of being fed well enough to be their animal companions.

The ravens remain untouched by the war that has plagued the wild to endangerment. But…millions of lives have suffered from the flames of hate.

Millions of others have fled or continue to fight: Some in the mystical caves of the Carpathian mountains. Some on the ash covered plains of hard earned labor.

The fume radiated soldiers at the heart of the ashes patrol the scattered factories of all but forgotten times. They mostly carry mostly dark blue silver heavy duty RPK-74M rifles and wear torn and worn mostly pale desert gray uniforms. Some are corporate security officers that had no real choice anymore but to stand with them. The name Observo is across most of their dark brown uniforms: In dark red and shrouded by two white angels, with the arching over subtitle saying "we're watching".

Beyond the factories… Over the Ceahlău National Park, with its hiking trails lined with sheepskin tents and little lead made forts… There is a little lead reinforced tent. It stands on one of the limestone peaks up on the Ceahlău Massif. Most of the flowers and trees have wilted away: Save for a small garden out back.

And within this very same tent… There is a silvery satellite dish, a dusty dark gray TV set, a metal rimmed keyboard with exposed circuits, and a cheap headset with a microphone cobbled together with odds and ends.

A fairly young woman with a full head of long slightly curly white hair and a very dark blue but worn and torn cape like dress is behind the monitor: Putting together the final odds and ends. Her name is Dawn Saril.

Her DVDs from as far back as 2009 of Bathory and The Outsider are on a wooden sideboard to the side, along with a salvaged security camera.

A fairly young medium dark brown haired man in a dark green shirt and a very dark blue worn out jacket is standing near. His name is Crystek Tiralli. He comments, "as much as I hate to összezavar vmit…we don't have a lot of time."

In Hungarian, Dawn sarcastically asks, "well, do you want it done fast or good? I only got 18 hours in the nappal."

In English, Crystek figures, "ok, ok! You're brilliant. I'll go keep watch."

In a know-it-all kind of way, Dawn slightly smiles back, "good man." She sits at the computer: Bringing up a network connection the instant it comes on.

The screen reads like a checkout counter readout, with a scrollable desktop and a dark red number pad. But, with a few numbers punched in by keyboard…the screen starts showing a yellow bar across it.

With a automated German voice, it says, "call for order number 1-202-456-1414. Thank you for shopping at Plus." Dawn impatiently rolls her eyes.

Footsteps come from outside. Some members of the Klan are touching down on archangel styled hang gliders: As cut out dark green wings. One of them points towards Crystek, "there!" A second Klan member nods. He calls forth, "in the name of the Klansman Jesus Christ…identify yourself!"

The automated voice says, "number out of or…der…" The screen suddenly changes to a video bulletin of Eyes Only. Dawn lowly exclaims, "what the…?!"

A automated message in English responds, "do not attempt to adjust your call. This is a automatic Freedom Streaming Video Bulletin. It cannot be traced. It cannot be stopped. Please leave your message at the tone, and I will get back to you." Dawn wastes no time sending a pre-recorded message from the apparently wired in security camera.

Crystek mutters out, "letorve lenni valamiert!"

The first Klan member glares, "what did you say?"

Crystek asks back, "you hard of hearing? I said piss off!"

He shields himself with the lead reinforced tent flap…as a round of bullets bounces off. The impact knocks him over. The Iron Knights Klan is reloading their rifles, while Crystek has just enough time to get back up.

Over the bullets, Dawn calls out, "now?!" Crystek remarks, "now would be plenty good!"

They run out through the back flaps. The Klan is charging in, rifles ready.

Without hesitance, the first Klan member calls out, "fire!" They fire everything. The TV set explodes in flames, setting the rest of the tent aflame.

Dawn and Crystek keep running. The boulder like rocks give them enough cover to get away. But, the second Klan member manages to shoot Crystek.

He clutches his wounded shoulder, trying hard to not think about the pain.

Dawn pauses, "you ok?"

Crystek insists, "it's minor. But, those terrorists sure as fene aren't!" Dawn faintly nods, "right."

They keep running: Leaving the Iron Knights Klan in the dust just as they come around the rocks.

The first Klan member realizes, "they can't have gone far. Find them."

The second Klan member figures, "what about the computer?" The first Klan member turns coldly to him, "there's no way. Find them…before they try again." The second Klan member adds firmly, "yes, sir." They start spreading out.

Not very long after, in the specially marked Eyes Only Rec room…

A little uneasily, Original Cindy figures, "hm hmm. So what did you do?"

She and Max are sitting in the ring of couches, opposite each other. Original Cindy is in her jet black vest and a dark blue T-shirt. Max is in her dark blue collared light blue T-shirt.

Laying back all annoyed sounding, Max recaps, "popped open a bottle and let this bitch wash over me like water. All night."

Original Cindy says, "damn. Didn't think you could be in heat that soon."

Max quickly explains, "oh, god no. But, they were: All night. Completely spaced in their own place."

Original Cindy realizes, "ohh. So, they didn't…?"

Max reasons, "no. I'd kill Walter first. Kendra would get all in my face about it. And next thing I know, I'd be in lock up again."

Original Cindy figures, "right. So, how you holding up?"

Max comments, "well, I haven't killed him yet."

Original Cindy gives her a look.

Max mostly assures her, "I'm kidding. God!" Original Cindy slightly chuckles, "least Original Cindy hears some good in that. But, yeah: He still is a hormone tripping two sided dollar fool."

Max comments, "what else is new?"

Meanwhile, in a reporter's office of KPJK…

Herbal is in a dark blue long sleeved shirt, looking a bit nervous. He's sitting in a metal chair before the Editor-in-Chief Rick Delmos.

He's got greased black hair and a mostly red T-shirt with a mostly jet black McDonalds sign that says "Bite Me: I'm Loving Our American Sectors".

He also has got a jet black flatscreen computer: The only one that's been around in the studio for years. On the computer is a news story by Herbal, with this headline: Wicked Sector Cop Cops Out Of Duty. It goes on to talk about things such as "flees his own Sector for a mansion up in Canada" and "murder of a Beyonce cosplayer from four stories up high".

Rick utters, "are you just asking to get arrested, man? Is that what this is about?! Cause you are this close to being fired on your ass."

Herbal remarks firmly, "no: Just have a problem with wicked things."

Rick faintly chuckles, "you know, I'm beginning to like you. But, if you're going to keep working here…there's something you should understand." With his hands contemplatively across his chest, Herbal says, "all right. Help I with understanding you here."

Rick condescendingly says, "sure. Some of us in the government have sensitive hearing. They help keep the sectors safe. But, lowlife and crapheads keep making things tough on them: Just like on their families and their kids and their friends's kids. So, before you hand me a story with crap about our most respected officers…share your concerns."

Herbal comments, "yes. You can be sure of that now."

Lying back comfortably in his black and white cushioned chair on wheels, Rick figures, "good. I'll arrange a meeting this afternoon so we can get this behind us as soon as possible. That sounds reasonable. No?"

Hurriedly, Herbal slightly nods, "yes. Reasonable. Thanks." Like he could care less, Rick adds, "see you then." Herbal courteously says, "see yah then."

As he steps out of the light blue door, Herbal breathes a sigh of relief: With a copy of the story on CD for Eyes Only intelligence in his front pockets. He's thinking constantly to himself, "all good, all the time. All good, all the time."

Around this time, in a top secret location…

The light blue striped and gold handrail lined movie theater styled hallway is covered with hanging photographs of junk covered beaches and docks.

Down the hall are a few guys in light blue plumber like uniforms, carrying in a battered and torn yellow decades old couch through a wooden pinkish purple door. With tied back braided hair, Sydney gestures, "yeah. Right over there." She wears a somewhat sweaty white sleeveless top. They set the couch down on the wood floor, right before the White House seal in the center of the room: Pre-Pulse.

Coming around the corner is Sketchy: In his light yellow shirt with the griffon on it. He checks a little nervously, "hello. Is this a bad time?" Sydney faintly chuckles, "no. Not at all. Come on in."

Sketchy steps in the room, "doesn't look very comfortable." The couch and a wooden desk are the only things so far in it. That, and a open door to a garage.

Sydney reasons, "oh, it will. Just has a ways to go before that happens."

Sketchy slightly nods, "sure. Moving to a new place. I get it."

Sydney faintly sighs, "yeah. Something like that."

Sketchy asks, "you okay?" Sydney faintly smiles back, "I should hope so. I wouldn't be around if I wasn't. So…you're here for the accounting position?"

Sketchy confirms her conclusion, "that's what I'm here for."

Sydney thinks out loud, "hmm. You see all those boxes in the back room?"

Sketchy answers, "yeah." Sydney explains, "they're all new computers. We're expecting more to come from the factories five days a week."

Sketchy figures, "no way. How do you fit them all?" A little amused, Sydney slightly chuckles, "they don't all stay in one place, Sketchy." Sketchy realizes, "ohh. Okay. That sounds a lot more durable."

Sydney reasons, "I should hope so. You think you can handle cataloguing that many?" Sketchy figures confidently, "say no more. I can take it from here."

He's already on his way over to the office next door. Sydney figures, "sounds good. I'll be around: In case you need any help with the main computer."

Sketchy turns back to face her, "why? What's wrong with it?" Sydney recommends, "not much: Just a bad connection at times. I suggest saving often."

Sketchy reasons, "will do. Thanks." Sydney adds, "you're welcome."

Then, Sketchy heads over to the other office. Sydney faintly chuckles to herself again, before lying on the couch to relax a little.

Back with Max and Original Cindy…

Original Cindy considers, "well, boo…check out the dealio on the screen. Could see something you like." Max faintly smiles back, "okay."

With her cat like eyes, she easily spots which screen she's talking about. She sits down in front of it to get a closer look…finding it to be the prerecorded message from earlier under the Eyes Only database.

Half of it didn't get through before Dawn's computer was shot out. And, the footage is a little fuzzy. But, this is what it says:

Hello, mister President. Or, whoever can hear me. Sigh. We don't know much of what happened. The PRM and the KKK brought fene to Romania. Until the KKK killed them too. We…

Then…nothing but static.

Max sarcastically says, "a mission for me? Oh, you shouldn't have."

Original Cindy highlights, "well, the dealio is that I've just got out of training. And, we're both on for a mission. Nothing like a ass kicking where it's well deserved to feel right with the world: Even with C.R.E.A.M. kicking it back."

Max adds, "I hear that. When do we leave?"

With a slight smile, Original Cindy answers, "in a few minutes."

Max adds, "I'll bring the pitcher of beer." Original Cindy slightly chuckles at that as they start walking over to the floor tiled lift.

A few hours after…

The Eyes Only private plane is circling over the Ceahlău Massif. From the opened back of the plane, Max stands there in her jet black catsuit: Shielding her eyes from the glimmers of sunlight coming up. She's looking down, thinking about how much of a war scorched land Romania has become:

Eleven years ago…there was the PRM. A whole club of guys obsessing over their main ethnicity like it's so much bigger and crap. Most everyone else was just trying to get by. Yet, they had thousands of followers. How sick is that?

I brought some old satellite feed along so I could get up to speed. Faint chuckle. Thank you, Logan. Everything about it is already lining up...that it's real pathetic and humiliating when I really think on it.

The Iron Knights Klan were all too willing to do the PRM's dirty work. And the Pulse made it all too easy to start up a war.

The PRM may have been bastards with a bastardly preacher cause. But, they were Orthodox bastards. And, the Iron Knights Klan likely killed them just for praying differently than them. Cause I sure don't see any sign of their asses.

Nervous sigh. The country has been ravaged, torn, and violated in every bent way conceivable. But…if Logan has taught me anything… It's that the world deserves to be less broken. As much as it can be, anyway. I'm not as "high-minded" as he likes to sometimes think. But, he can be so sweet when he does.

Over comlink, Original Cindy points out, "okay. We've been at this for a whole hour, and still no sign of any girl in all white in trouble."

Max realizes, "wait. I see her." She can faintly see through her cat like eyes a familiar face, along with a second: Both exhausted and stopping to take a breath.

From the co-pilot's seat, Original Cindy checks, "so, you think we should touch down and land?" Max reasons, "not yet. Tell the pilot to hold this position. I'm going down to give the triple K something to be damned about for real."

Original Cindy argues, "Max: It's ten thousand feet over!"

Max insists determinedly, "I can make it as planned. Just need to time this shot right, and I'm good."

Original Cindy remarks, "you may not be all human. But, you're sure not all invincible neither. Now, you sure 'bout this? Cause Original Cindy is down with ass kicking those SOBs. But, Original Cindy also don't wanna be attending your funeral for a damn straight many years." Max faintly smiles, "well, I'm sure as hell not leaving my ass out to die on you like that. Trust me: I know what I'm doing."

Mostly assured, Original Cindy adds, "aiight. Original Cindy just worries about her homegirl." Max faintly chuckles, "I feel you. I won't be long."

She grabs a emergency parachute: Swiftly tying one half of a cable line to the parachute inside and closing it back up. At the same time, she run jumps off the plane: With her crossbow loaded with the cable in one arm, and her other hand on the jet black parachute's release lever.

Blurs of faintly blackened sky and faint sunlight whiz by, through Max's cat like eyes. She free falls for twelve seconds. Then, Max releases the parachute: Twisting her arm quick enough to draw out the crossbow without dropping it. With a side of mountain coming up fast, she shoots the cable from her crossbow: Metal hook and all. It pierces the nearest dead tree wood.

Max swings around the tree wood to tumble overhead…and spin kick tumble down into two Klan members to cushion her fall and stun them off their asses while landing on her feet. Their bones break all over.

Another blur goes by of the other Klan members falling back: Scared shitless like it was all a warning sign from God.

Seconds after…

With a bunch of dark red liquid soaked tissues taped over his shoulder, Crystek comments, "that was quite some timing."

Max commentatively adds, "you're welcome."

A few hours after, after touching down in Transylvania…

A blackish night is out over the land. The stars are very faint.

The red roofed medieval fortresses and fortified towers are all that have withstood the attacks of the Iron Knights Klan: Albeit crumpled in many areas. The Eyes Only plane is parked behind such a fortress.

No Romanian military has made it out here. And, not a lot of them would even if they could. There's been countless skirmishes and thinning of rations over a good several years, just to tend to the wounded and recover as a united people.

And inside…it's not all that far off.

In Hungarian, a medium brownish black haired Hungarian man concludes, "we're impressed you got anywhere at all. But, I'm afraid this isn't going to cut it."

Many medieval styled wooden tables are full of Hungarians, Romanians, and every other European minority imaginable: Most of them with sheepskin beds for tens of thousands of the wounded and the painfully amputated. Things have gotten so bad that they've recently decided to combine forces to end the war: Romanian and Hungarian across the entire nation. Without military support.

Max and Dawn though are in the center of the hall…and of the attention.

Dawn comments, "why the fene not?! You said it yourself, Kelemen: Anything is better than having to kill our own children."

Mumbles of agreement and discontent echo in the hall.

In German, a long sharply dark brown haired Romanian speaks up, "good god! None of us wants it to be! But, we're down to our last month of rations. So is everyone else! What else can we do to have a future again? Let one woman go in and get herself killed for our country for nothing?"

A second Romanian adds, "All we can hope for now is to hope God forgives us for our sins." Romanian and Hungarian voices echo, "here, here!"

Max explains openly, "except I'm not your typical human female: I'm a revved up girl. And, this…was without breaking a sweat."

Crystek drags in the broken and bruised bodies of the two Klan members from earlier for all to see. He faintly laughs, "okay. Everyone satisfied now?"

The hall goes silent.

With some lingering reluctance, Kellemen decides, "all right. We'll try it your way: For our children." Mumbles of mostly hesitant agreement echo about.

Kellemen makes sure to add, "But, if you can't end the war…you can be sure that we will: In blood, if necessary."

Solemnly, Max faintly nods, "I know. You'll see your children come home. That's a promise."

Come sunrise, approximately 904 miles out…

The sun is rising, in a blend of blackish sky and reddish sun light.

The concrete docks of Dobrogea look abandoned. So do the fancy cinder block structured houses and apartments. But, piles of trash, little crude gardens out of flower garden boxes, and crates of imported food tell otherwise.

Max is coming down on a archangel styled hang glider: Taken from one of the Klan members. As she comes over a prison yard styled gathering of warehouses though…the two other Klan members with archangel styled hang gliders come over from overhead. Max turns hard right, as the round of bullets batter down on the backmost concrete roof.

She calls out tauntingly, "gunning down a female in this part of town? Under all those sheets, you must be desperate."

Max glide dives for the roof: Pull bending the wings in for a sudden burst of speed. The hang glider's center wooden pole looks like it's about to snap.

The Klan keeps firing, destroying Max's hang glider.

Max easily swings off, tumbling to her feet on the concrete roof. She gets up with only a slight groan. But…some more Klan members come out to the roof.

Max run charges for the stairs, trying to outrun the bullets all the while. She punches out a third Klan member off the roof to her death. And, she spin kicks a fourth and a fifth into each other in throbbing pain. But then Max sharply realizes something: One of the Klan members on their hang gliders managed to shoot her.

Dark red liquid is dripping from her side…making her hunch over and violently cough some. Max looks up to see the first two Klan members touch down on the roof, laughing with bemusement.

The first Klan member disturbingly says, "that's where you're wrong, girlie: We're not desperate. Our disciples are just "very easy to please"."

Max mutters angrily, "you pervo bastards!" She leap tackles punches down a Klan member before they can shoot fast enough.

He goes straight through the roof: Brief flashes of dark red liquid flying from under his dark red stained ghostly sheet. Max flip kicks off of his violently shaken body, as he collides with the harsh cold metal floor.

She managed to violently kick a piece of debris into the first Klan member in midair: Sending him against a opened stack of splintering imported food crates.

Max lands on her feet. She's a little short on breath. But, she keeps running.

She shouts out, "this is what the real Apocalypse feels like on your ass!" Max grabs a Klan member by the arm and throws him in the line of incoming bullets. He instantly falls over dead.

Max suddenly hears footsteps from downstairs…and a thousand rifles getting loaded. A grim expression of realization comes over her. But, she tries to ignore it in the here and now.

Max shouts out, "and this is for all those guys back in Manticore coming to bite me in the ass!" She jump mid-air split kicks two Klan members in the head, with trails of dark red liquid flying from over their dead cold faces.

Then…she gets a idea. Max high jumps for a window, and swings off of its ledge as a round of bullets goes off. Some of them pierce through the top of a pile of food crates, letting them topple. She kicks a second pile over in midair, and crash tumbles under another. And before they knew it…the whole Klan are toppled over by their own crates.

Most all of them are knocked out. And the few that weren't are easily kicked down the stairs by Max…and consequently knocked out and bruised.

The thousand armed children and teens come cautiously up the stairs: Chains around their ankles. Thousands of others are mostly just waking up in the crowded rows of brown stained bedsheets below. But, not armed either.

A armed young girl with long curly unkempt jet black hair asks shakily, "who are you?" She has a rifle aimed right at Max, along with ten other very young boys and girls and teens.

Max fights the overwhelming urge to cry: For more than a single reason.

She tries to calmly say, "I know you're all scared. But… I'm a girl like you: For real. No real parents that I can remember. Childhood taken away by men with big rifles. Not much of any one but my brothers and sisters in Manticore to kick it with back in the day. Faint chuckle. Before I found out there was more to the world that was worth fighting for."

A stunned silence fills the place…as most of all of them lower their rifles.

One of them asks, "are they…?"

Max figures, "not all of them. But…none of you are my enemy. If you want freedom, it's out there: Waiting for you. No more war." All of them put down their rifles. And, those that don't at first end up standing down before their closest friends before them…before breaking into tears.

A teenage boy with messy medium faint blond hair sniffles. After a bit…he asks, "are they still out there? Our parents?"

Teary eyed herself, Max faintly assures them, "I'm sure some are. But…I don't know how many. Sniffle. I wish I did."

The same teenage boy hesitantly voices, "would they even take us back: After what we've done to them?" Max reasons, "don't overthink it. All of you have got a second chance at life. That's all that matters now."

The eleven girls and boys gather around Max in a group hug. She hugs them back…knowing the worst is over.

Coming home will be far from easy. But, whatever happens…they got each others's backs to see it through. And, that's all that matters.

That night, under the Carpathian mountains…

The Romanian people were prepared for a EMP. And, that preparedness plan involved massive relocation to the caves. They were many special things that they took with them. Anything that could be taken was: Even if it was just to disassemble electrical things for their metal parts. Though, they had no idea the war with the Iron Knight Klan would last seven years: Let alone ten.

For millions to survive…just about every cave became a museum. All the most culturally important and beautiful sights have been given wooden fences. The passages in between have become eating areas doubling as sheepskin beds. But, most all food and water and cattle have come from the farms out in the outskirts of Romania: Both new and old. Remarkably untouched by the Iron Knights Klan.

Yet, younger Romanian generations wanted to stay closer to the cities. And so, they turned to life in the caves.

In turn, they turned to sculpting and painting to pass the time. Sometimes, even iconography: Which was ironically welcomed by the elder Romanians. Because, iconography on stone tablets was the only way they could chronicle historical records without electricity or desecration of their most sacred places.

Across several stone tablets of the official record keepers's tablets… There's a delicately painted icon of Max with archangel wings set to dry: Gliding for the warehouse while two vampiric ghost white demons fly charge for her. And a second delicately painted icon has Max being blessed by little angel children with faintly appearing halos over their heads.

On the plane ride back with Original Cindy, Max thinks to herself:

So now I'm a religious symbol. Faint chuckle. Still not completely sure whether I should be impressed or just not give a damn. Still…I heard somewhere that imitation can be the most awesome form of flattery. Either way…it's a awesome picture of me.

And, I hope they find their way through this bitch. Actually…I know they will. But, it's good to hope anyway: For the kids of the future.