Father Abel Nightroad was in a back alley not far from the escalating chaos at the hotel. He hadn't needed the radio to find Tres. When he had almost finished relaying the events of meeting with the Albion Colonel to Captain Kate Scott she'd cut him off abruptly, then signaled through a closed channel that their previous conversation had been monitored. Within the hour the Department of Inquisition had assembled a number of combat units on Albion soil. When Department had the seedier part of Londinium in near lockdown, a steady stream of shady characters had crawled out of the woodwork to offer some rather helpful information. To find Father Tres, all Abel had to do was follow the huge mobilization of combat teams to the hotel.
There was a strange humming energy in his body. He felt, no - he knew, that the Albion lieutenant was near. He'd felt a charge of energy tear through him in the Colonel's office but at the time he wasn't aware it was because of her. After the lieutenant's hurried exit, Abel had moved to the window and watched her sprint across the palace courtyard. He had felt a buzzing numbness in his body - the same numbness he felt now.
THWAK!
Abel nearly missed being hit by a large falling object. In the darkness he saw a heap on the ground. He approached with caution, nervously pushing his glasses up.
"Oh my...Lieutenant?"
He knelt down by her side.
"Lieutenant, did you fall from..." Abel looked up. The buildings on either side of them were 3 stories high. There were no open windows, no fire escapes; she must have fallen from the roof. The uniformed heap twitched slightly. She was alive - but in bad condition. She did not rebuff his attempt at helping her to her feet. Because she was too weak, or too stunned, to stand on her own, Abel was left holding her up, gripping her small waist. The lieutenant looked awful. Small reddish shards of glass were stuck into her pale skin and blood dripped down from her ear down onto her shoulder, leaving a blackish, crimson edged stain. An empty shell-shocked look hung upon her dirt streaked face.
In the distance Abel could hear the faint rumble of Vatican motorcycles.
There were a few side doors in the alley but none of them looked like they would give way easily. He considered shooting through one of the locks, to hide her before the Department's soldiers found them, but it was a big risk; the sound of the gunshot would likely give away their location.
"Miss, let's find you a safe place to rest."
The lieutenant's head whipped around to Abel - she only just now realized that she was leaning on a person.
"Dubris," she said weakly. "I...need to get to Dubris."
Suddenly there was a thunderous bang. The brick walls around them were lit by a fireball shooting up into the sky.
They both stared at the roof line of what had been the top floor of the hotel. Half of it still remained.
"Oh god," the lieutenant choked. "Father Tres."
"I wouldn't worry about Father Tres, my dear." said Abel with a comforting smile. "He's very good at extricating himself from these situations."
Crackling red-orange flames licked the starry night sky, throwing a hellish glow onto the conjoined figures.
Under the flickering glow of the burning hotel, Arienne wrapped her arms around the priest and lay her head on his shoulder. She let her body release; she hung limp in his arms, staring blankly. She didn't have the energy to get to Dubris anymore; she couldn't even stand.
Arienne recalled Tres's words whispered in her ear before he had thrown her through the hotel window.
Find Nightroad.
"I know who you are," she whispered dully to the priest. "I know... I was in Marseille 900 years ago. My unit was supposed to disable your satellite link, and we...I thought we'd done it. But..."
Tears slipped from her eyes.
"The missiles came down on us, on the entire city, and they wouldn't stop. Even after there was nothing left to bomb. I lost track of time and..." her voice dropped, "...the missiles still won't stop."
The priest's right arm moved stealthily, unsnapping his holster.
"No one remembers what it was like. The whole world has moved on, but I can't leave Marseille."
He pulled her closer. A gloved hand tightly gripped the back of her neck.
She spoke into the shoulder of his coat. "Every day, I wake up. And every day, I wish I was dead."
She heard the hollow click of the safety on his gun.
The angel of death has come to release me. Of course. Father Tres sent me to him because I've no right being here; I should have departed this earth long ago.
With teeth clenched, she steeled herself for the fatal impact. "Do it."
The gun exploded and everything became a blur...
Death is strange, thought Arienne. It's like being spun around in the arms of a priest until you're pinned to a cold wall.
Oh...crap.
Arienne's senses returned in a hyper-realistic blaze of color and sound. A monstrous black motorcycle screamed past on it's side, spitting out white-orange sparks. The former rider was rolling at an alarming speed towards them. When he finally stopped by a nearby dumpster, he clutched at his right shoulder, arching and writhing in pain. Muffled howls emanated from his helmet.
Searing white light flooded the long alleyway. The alternating roar of revving motorcycle engines echoed off the walls, creating a sonic force that shook Arienne's insides.
Huge crystal blue eyes were only inches from her own. The priest was screaming something, but she couldn't understand. Nothing was making any sense. Gradually she realized what he was trying to tell her.
"Dubris," she mouthed.
She tore off the wall, running full speed towards the upturned motorcycle...
Father Abel Nightroad walked swiftly towards the faceless riders, knowing that agents of The Department of Inquisition would never back down, but also knowing that this confrontation would not end well for them.
Without breaking his stride he leveled his revolver at the agents. He saw one of them nod.
Both crouched down, revved their engines and took off.
Department of Inquisition Agents Crowley and Fascher were primed and ready for vehicular combat. They knew with some certainty that anyone in Father Abel's position would only have time for one decent shot, leaving the other rider a good chance of escaping to pursue the suspect. It was possible, even probable, that one of them would be severely wounded if not killed outright but sacrifice was all part of the job.
Through the com in their helmets, their brief exchange had been this:
"Pass 'n Smash?"
"Yup."
As they bore down hard on the priest, Crowley, the slightly junior agent, shifted into the line of fire. He leaned forward and in a smooth flick of his wrist, extended his combat baton. He rose up even higher in this seat, giving Father Abel a good clean shot.
The "Pass 'n Smash" was a simple but effective maneuver. Given the limited space to pass, the target would instinctively shoot the larger threat, in this case Crowley, and then try to evade the speeding motorcycles. Any target who still had their wits about them could then try to get a shot off at the second motorcyclist but even the most skilled shooter would probably miss.
It was unfortunate for Agents Crowley and Fascher that there was not a single thing in their combat playbook that could possibly help them face this particular target.
Abel Nightroad held his gun steady as the oncoming headlights grew brighter and brighter. He waited for the last possible moment, until he was sure they would not change course, then dropped his gun and leapt gracefully into the air.
Crusnik 02, Nanomachine activate - 05%
Abel's wings opened with a solid thump, allowing him to hover just above the two oncoming motorcyclists. Grabbing the front of their armoured jackets he held them up in the air. Abel's dark robes whipped about as both motorcycles sped out from underneath them.
Abel touched down, still holding the two men up high. Their feet scraped the ground, but just barely. He let them struggle, uselessly claw at his hands. After awhile they hung limp with exhaustion.
He let them crumple to the ground.
"I would turn around and go back to the hotel now," said Abel in an even, neutral voice.
In sync the two men pulled out their guns and emptied their rounds into the priest.
When they were out of ammo they gaped open-mouthed, for it was only then that they saw his eyes: jet black irises with glowing red, almost pulsating, pupils. In horror they watched as his body seemed to eat the gashes left by their bullets. Flesh crawled over the gaping wounds until only pale, smooth skin showed through his ripped robes.
"Holy mother of -" said Crowley.
"What the hell?" said Fascher.
Crusnik 02, Nanomachine activate - 30%.
Abel's silvery hair began to float about his face and a huge blood red scythe shot out of his hand.
Massive black wings spread out behind him, stretching out nearly the width of the alley. They shimmered slightly in the glow of the fire from the LeFountain Bleu Hotel.
"You're right," he growled with a wicked smile, revealing needle sharp fangs. "We should absolutely do this the hard way."
Crowley and Fascher looked each other. Without uttering another word, they scrambled to their feet and fled back down the alley towards the burning hotel.
The agent who had been shot off his motorcycle, pulled off his helmet. He'd missed being crushed Fascher's motorcycle by a only few feet. It had clipped the dumpster near him, spinning it away until he was completely exposed. While the priest had been busy with Fascher and Crowley, he managed to grip his gun and pull it out of the holster. He winced when trying to aim it, his right shoulder burned with a searing pain. Before he could get a bead on the priest, gunshots rang out, startling him so much he reactively pulled into a fetal position, covering his head with his arms.
When he finally uncurled, Crowley and Fascher were nowhere to be seen. The priest, who previously had his back to him, turned and calmly began to approach him. His robes were in tatters, black fabric fluttered all about him. The thing that terrified the young agent the most was the expression on the priest's face - it was one of absolute serenity.
The agent crawled to the edge of the alley, leaning his back against the wall. He pulled up his arm and using his left hand to steady his right, shot twice. The looming figure continued without so much as a flinch.
Upon reaching him, the priest bent down and plucked the gun out of his hands.
Abel flipped the safety on and offered the gun, handle first, back to the terrified young man.
"Careful where you point this," he chided, not unkindly. "Someone could get hurt." The priest spoke in a low, almost sweet, voice.
The agent stared up at him with a look of disbelief. He accepted the gun back, letting it drop down to his side with a small whimper of pain.
Abel took out his spectacles and, after peeling off his gloves, examined the wound in the agent's shoulder.
"I think you'll be fine Agent..."
"Cross. Evan Cross"
"You'll be fine Agent Cross. It's a through and through." He began ripping swaths of fabric from his robe and wrapping them around the wound. "Not a lot of blood loss, though I wouldn't exert yourself quite yet. Hold here." Abel brought Cross's left hand to his right shoulder.
Agent Cross watched as the dark ribbons of fabric were bound around his shoulder and he felt a strange calm wash over him.
His head rolled off to the side where he saw two Vatican motorcycles on their sides. He'd temporarily forgotten about the other two agents.
"Oh god, Crowley and Fascher - what happened?"
"Ah, your fellow agents? I didn't catch their names. Probably rallying the troops as we speak."
A lock of silver hair fell into his face and he swiped his forehead with the back of his blood stained hand to move it.
He's just a man, thought Cross. His eyes fell to the small embroidered gold insignia on Abel's sleeve.
"You're...you're an agent with the Vatican. Why are you aiding that terrorist?" Cross did not ask this as an accusation, he asked this out of innocence.
"Terrorist? Hmm, I don't know about that."
Cross was confused. "But didn't she kidnap a member of your team, that android, to turn him into a weapon of terrorism against His Holiness and the people?"
Abel bristled. "The Department of Inquisition has assembled a team in Albion against the government's wishes, destroyed a building, put dozens, even hundreds of Albion citizen in danger and you think..." Abel stopped himself, struggling to quell his rising anger.
When he got a grip on his emotions he continued. "Agent Cross, I'm not sure what you've been told by your superiors at the Vatican. It is true that a few weeks ago, Professor Wadsworth was alerted to a data pull of Father Tres' programming, as well as...some rather unusual ancient data. Although I'm still unsure of what's going on, nothing indicated an imminent attack on the Vatican or the wider population. Please, hold still."
Able tore off the end of the fabric, causing Agent Cross to wince slightly.
"Father Wadsworth installed a hidden tracking system on Father Tres. If the Department of Inquisition had not intercepted one of my transmissions, I think a good deal of this," Abel's eyes drifted for a moment towards the hotel, "could have been avoided."
"But..." started Agent Cross, timidly. "You don't know for sure, do you Father? That she isn't planning something dangerous."
Abel considered this for a minute. "No, you're right. I helped her. I helped her without any guarantee that she was not the criminal the Department thinks she is." He gave a deep sigh. "But sometimes, Agent Cross, you just have to trust..." he trailed off.
"In God?" asked Agent Cross helpfully.
Father Abel smiled quietly at this. "I was going to say 'in people.'"
"There." He tied off the bandage and stood back. Pushing up his spectacles he nodded approvingly. "That should do it for now. Keep pressure on your shoulder until the medics arrive."
In the distance they could hear sirens drawing close.
"I am truly sorry about your shoulder, Agent Cross," said Abel with palpable regret.
He put his white gloves back on and was heading to one of the Vatican motorcycles when he heard Agent Cross call out to him.
"Father..."
When he turned back, something rolled to a stop at his feet - a black motorcycle helmet. He looked at the agent who still sat on the ground, holding his shoulder.
Evan Cross simply shrugged at Father Abel.
"I wouldn't want anyone to get hurt."