Chapter Sixty Three

"You little fucktard!" Lucifer bellows, his scythed wings looming over his head, growing wider and wider with each stalking step towards the Prince. "You're going to abandon your own kind for them? For those filthy, good-for-nothing bastards?"

"Your kind is not my kind," the boy spits angrily, baring white, needlike teeth dripping with black venom at his father, "and you've called me a filthy, good-for-nothing bastard before, if my memory serves correctly. So maybe you should be thanking the humans for scraping me off your plate!"

Lucifer roars with fury, jabbing an angry finger at his boy. "You dare disrespect our family like this! Think of your brother, of me! You've made fools of us all!"

"It's not as if you weren't expecting this!" Lucius snarls, raking a hand through his hair. "I've not been exactly the poster-child for an obedient son!"

"But siding with the monkeys!?" Lucifer roars, his eyes bugging with rage. "By God, you're the worst piece of shit demon to ever roam this world, but you are a demon! You are no monkey!"

"The worst demon?" Lucius's demeanor changes entirely, going from petty rage to ice-cold impassiveness. The shadows warp his face into something spectral, something dark. "Oh, Daddy Dearest, you don't know the even know the definition of demon. Do you think you're the perfect one, hmm? That because of a few Satanists in the midst, you have the right to call yourself the best? Because you've been around longer…"

Raffe jumps as Lucius quite literally disappears, fading like a shadow in noonday sun. Unease prickles over his skin.

"…it makes you the best?"

Isolating Lucifer, the angels group together, facing outwards and drawing weapons. The light peeking through the windows mutes in color, but whether that can be credited to the setting sun or the demon is unknown. Lucifer whips around, slowly drawing his sword, baring his teeth.

"Do you even know what it's like, hmm?"

An icy wind stirs the curtains and toys with Raffe's hair.

"To be feared as much as I am?"

His chilling cackle echoes off the ceiling, infusing a sense of dread in Raffe's stomach, causing his hand to tighten around the hilt of his sword. Where is the demon hiding?

"Obviously… not. Shall I show you terror?"

"Penryn!" Bryon strides powerfully towards me, his face one of firm disapproval and tender worry. "Penryn, what are you doing out here? Running around? You're not well enough for this."

"No, she's not," Emilio agrees with an exasperated sigh from beside me. "Did you hear, she's running a fever? She's also running around. I'm sorry, your niece wouldn't see reason."

"Well, you weren't exactly putting up a huge fight," I mutter darkly, slapping him across the arm. Ignoring his scalding glare, I ask in a louder voice, "Bryon, what's going on? Why did the Devil head over to the she-aerie? Isn't that a disaster waiting to happen?"

"Maybe." His eyes betray his hidden storm of conflicting emotions, despite the handsomely contented mask he wears over his expression. "We shall have to see. However, I'm urging everyone to stay calm. Please, please don't go around spreading panic. It only ever worsens the situation."

"Sorry," mumbles Bay, plodding up like a scolded puppy, his eyes downcast.

"Don't be downhearted, friend," Bryon says, nudging Bay softly with his staff. "You got two kids out of harm's way, and gave them a warning. That's hardly spreading a panic."

Glancing around at everyone amassed, I count heads – the only one of the boys missing is Hugo. Before I can ask where the little bugger lost himself too, Emilio elbows me gently and interrupts my train of thought.

"You should get back inside," he insists, placing his palm back over my forehead and frowning. "Your fever's not as bad, but that doesn't mean it won't get worse."

"I don't want to go in, not quite yet." I shrug his hand off and sidestep around his next attempt to rein me in, feeling a bit like a stubborn six-year-old. "Bryon, what happened at the meeting? Is there some peace treaty? I mean, obviously not, but… what happened?"

He sighs heavily, layering his hands at the top of his staff, then resting his chin upon them. "Nothing I had hoped. Luther apparently had business to attend to elsewhere, leaving Lucifer with Lucius alone. That should be all I have to say."

Bay winces, rubbing his hands together. "Ah, ah, Ogden."

"Yes," Bryon rumbles, closing his eyes, "that was extremely awkward… and excruciatingly painful."

"I'm sure it was, but, ah, Ogden." Bay points to somewhere in the distance, towards the shooting ranges. "Isn't he supposed to be leaving?"

I squint, and sure enough, there he hobbles, heading steadily towards the woods. True, my vision isn't the best, but he seems to be slower than usual, his gait more hobbling than usual – maybe the meeting was excruciatingly painful for him, too. It doesn't make much sense to feel pity for the man that's accordingly out for my head, but I do.

"It looks like he is." Emilio frowns, looking dissatisfied with such an answer. "He's probably got a wolf out in the woods somewhere. I wonder why he came alone – it's not like we were planning anything, but it's rather stupid." He sighs, rolling his eyes. "More reason for me to oppose that party, I suppose."

Bryon shrugs indifferently. "Honestly, if I were him, I would've done the same thing. He's independent, and he doesn't like feeling weighed down by ceremony. That's not a bad thing. If you're going to hold a grudge against someone, Emilio, at least make it in a manner I can respect."

Bowing his head, the Spaniard responds with a quiet, only slightly sarcastic apology.

"I hate to break in, but Penryn, you are pale." Bay cocks his head to one side, his face one of extreme concern. "Are you sure it's only a fever that ails you?"

"Last time I checked," Hugo calls from behind me somewhere, "it was a bit more than that, Baymobile. Pretty sure you were the one that diagnosed her broken bones, actually."

The boy strides up upon a silly, grinning dog I haven't seen in some time – Scruffy. Hugo's leaning back in the saddle and allowing the wolf steer primarily, a lazy sort of content shining in the boy's eyes. Scruffy tosses his head and whines with each steady step he takes towards us, his ears perked, his eyes bright and sparkling. His tongue laps futilely at the air, as if he's trying to lick us all from a twenty feet away.

"So, the mutt's healed?" Emilio asks, patting Scruffy's shoulder as he passes.

"The mutt is healed," Hugo confirms, grinning. "Back and ready for action.

"Oh, hello," I mutter as the wolf slathers me in drool, his tongue lapping excitedly from chin to forehead. "Hey, I've missed you, too, man."

I attempt to shove his muzzle away, but that only seems to encourage him. Overjoyed yips and playful growls bubble up from his throat, but my laughter is always muffled by his kisses. No matter how much I try to back away or swat him aside, he always manages to keep licking.

Emilio whistles beside me, clucking his tongue appetizingly. "Oi, mutt, come lick someone that's not mortally maimed, eh?"

Yelping in glee, his eyes lighting up, Scruffy switches targets. The delight in Scruffy's expression is absolutely adorable, and the frown on Emilio's lips less so. With a pained grunt, the Spaniard is thrown flat on his back, pinned beneath the wolf's paws as he lavishes every inch of Emilio's face using his great, slobbering tongue.

"Oh, my," Bay muses, his eyes flicking between my attempts to wipe my slobbery face on my sleeves and Emilio kicking up at Scruffy's long, long legs in an attempt to free himself. "Hugo, control your dog."

"Why?" The boy flexes, groaning as he does so. "It won't do anything, he's too much of a licking machine. You can't teach a stupid dog manners. But hey, there's someone on the way here. They kind of hid for a while in the wheat after Thing One and Thing Two took a nice little flight test, but they've continued their journey. Call me an idiot, the wolf they were riding, but it looked like Cara. On a totally different note, I'm going to set up a livestream video."

"What are you even talking about?" Bryon chuckles, shaking his head slowly. "You work on a different frequency than the rest of us, Hugo."

"Bah, I'm just delightfully original," Hugo scolds, pulling his laptop from Scruffy's saddlebag and clicking eccentrically at the keys. A howl pierces over the rooftops, sounding significantly more angry than usual. Hugo grins wolfishly, lifting his head and staring down the main street. "And that, good sir, is an Audiat on stampede.

A wolf comes into my line of sight, bucking its shoulders violently like a horse trying to be rid of a rider. Initially, the same sort of stunned amusement seems to be shared with everyone else – we watch silently as the wolf rams into the sides of buildings, trying to through the little tiny woman brave enough to enter the saddle.

The animal lowers its head with a snarl, and the little woman yanks back on the reins, pulling its mouth backwards in a manner that can't be comfortable. Her petite voice through the square as she furiously orders the beast back, trying to get it under control.

"Oh, God, Audiat," Bryon whispers, dismayed, "what the hell are you doing?"

Evidently, the wolf dislikes her methods, too, throwing down its head, bracing its paws, and flaring its nostrils.

With a noise that sounds more like a roar than a growl, the wolf throws all of its effort into a headlong charge.

My heart thrusts into full-throttle. The wolf is charging straight toward us, white fangs bared in a terrible, enraged grimace. Its paws drive into the skin of the earth like daggers as it pounds closer.

Before the wolf reaches us, it halts in its tracks, throwing Audiat forward and unsettling her balance. In the blink of an eye, it's moving again, rearing up on its hind paws and towering above for a few teetering seconds. With a growl of hatred, slams its body weight onto its back, the goal without a doubt to crush its rider beneath pounds of muscle.

I gasp in horror as Audiat momentarily disappears beneath the fur. Emilio unsheathes his swords.

Scrambling back to its feet, the wolf charges again, leaving a battered Audiat leaning forward in the saddle to recapture the reins in her hands. She pitches forward slightly too much, and the wolf rises onto its hind legs again, not wasting an opportunity. An angry howl escapes its lips, and it begins to thrust itself downwards again.

Snarling, Bryon leaps forward, ripping the reins from Audiat's hands and nearly causing her to fly off the saddle. He yanks down at the wolf's bridle brutally, causing its front legs to slam with painful crunches back to the ground. Halted in its rampage, the creature howls, whipping its head back and forth, trying to get Bryon's grip to loosen.

The wolf puffs and rears up. Bryon snarls and yanks down on his rope. There they stand, an impasse, staring into each other's eyes. Both seem exhausted, chests heaving, with foam leaking from the mouth of one and sweat caking the forehead of the other.

Audiat launches herself from the saddle at the first chance she receives. She hits the ground awkwardly and crawls like a lizard away from the wolf, casting nauseous glances back towards the nightmare ride. Her face is slightly green, and, though I can't understand the tongue she speaks in, I'm pretty sure she's not praising the Lord.

Seeing her safely off the wolf in the corner of his eye, Bryon refocuses on the problem at hand. He releases Cara's reins, allowing her to charge off into the woods and lose herself amongst the brambles.

Caring little for the wolf, he stands frozen, shocked, for a few moments. His mouth falls open as Audiat rises to her feet. His eyes water when Audiat coughs softly, glaring after the wolf reproachfully.

"Dogs!" she huffs, balling her fists. "I don't like dogs! Why can't we just ride horses?"

Scruffy whines poutingly in the otherwise quiet.

Audiat meets Bryon's eyes.

My heart swells to the size of a balloon at her reaction to him. Bay and Hugo exchange knowing glances, and the Fallen angel drapes a wing over the boy's shoulders, hugging him close. Even bitter old Emilio smiles, leaning against the trunk of a tree, his face half-hidden by the overhanging leaves.

Making a soft noise in his throat, Bryon surges forward.

"Are you hurt?" he insists, freaking out over Audiat, gently turning her around and looking her over. "Did she hurt you? Is anything wrong? You didn't break any bones, did you?" He takes one of her arms into his hands, gently probing for fractures. "Oh, God, are you going into shock? Audiat, my Audiat, please –"

She claps a hand against the side of his face, her thumb softly gliding over the skin just beneath his eye.

He freezes under her touch, looking down into her soft gaze. Like a block of ice melting before a hearth's warmth, his worry trickles off, and a wry smile twists at his lips.

"You're perfectly fine, aren't you?" he chuckles, rising back up to his full height – with any other pair, their difference in size would be alarming, but with them, it's just adorable.

She beams up at him, eyes twinkling like rubies. "Yes, I am. Thanks for that. Without you, I wouldn't be."

Bryon laughs quietly. "Silly Audiat. You should've known better." For a long time, he doesn't say anything more. Expression as soft as velvet, Bryon gives Audiat all his attention, tracing every contour of her face. His thumb massages against her cheekbone, a simple, tiny caress.

Their eyes seem not to move from each other – I suppose it's because, though the face may age and hair may grow and people may change, the eyes always remain the same.

Those eyes seem strangely right with each other, too. One a cherry red blemished with maroon, pink, and dusky brown, the other a bright, gleaming bronze, catching the light like a cat's.

Breaking the moment, Audiat giggles abruptly, reaching up towards the sky, standing on her tippy toes and stroking at his chin.

"I can't reach you," she says with a flippant laugh hiding deeper, throatier emotion. "I would stroke your face, too. It's the thought that counts, right, though?"

"It is." Bryon ducks his head and bends his knees slightly, allowing her fingers to gently slide up his face. "There we go, that's better, isn't it?" He leans into her hand, half-shuttering his eyes, and sighing with deep, wistful pleasure. "Mmm. How have you been doing, Audiat?"

"Okay." She strokes at his cheek as if it's a most grave matter, an important job she mustn't screw up. "I mean, considering. They're going to be a lot better now that you're back."

Bryon laughs hollowly, shutting his eyes and nuzzling against Audiat's hand. Her eyes grow softer and her mouth opens with unspoken words. Slowly, his laughter degrades, losing its cheerful, bouncing melody, sounding more and more like tearless sobs with each one. Shoulders shaking, he kisses the palm of her hand.

"I've missed you, Ah-ch'at," he whispers. "I've missed you… so much."

A tear slips down Audiat's cheek. "I love you. Oh, God, Bryon, I love you." She snorts in the midst of her tears. "Bryon. Your name sounds so ugly now. Bree-aw' was so much more… elegant. Much more you."

His lips twitch into a smile, and he peeks those bronze eyes open. "Oh, really? I hadn't put much thought into it."

"Well, I have." Audiat scowls stormily at the ground. "Everything is so ugly in this language. Say your name, real slow – Bryyyyyon. Bryon. It's just not good. No – no elegance. You are the Nephilim King, and stories have been told about your magnificence for centuries. Bryon does not sound like the name of that man. Bree-aw' was just perfect."

"Well, Audiat isn't bad," he says with a optimistic chortle. "At least we've got that working for us. I think it's cute, actually, that extra syllable. Doesn't have the same charm as Ah-ch'at, but it's really not all that different, eh?"

"Hmph." She looks like she wants to cross her arms over her chest. "If you say so. I'm not sure why our names had to be changed, anyway – it's stupid! I loved our names!"

"There are more trying things to be focused on, Ah-ch'at," Bryon chuckles, holding her face gingerly in both hands. "Although I'll see what I can do about our names later. Uh, I see – I see you've met Penryn."

Audiat glances towards me, and I return her grin happily, enthralled by their lack of lustful emotions, by their simple adoration of one another. The platonic bond they share is incredible – they're not pressing their bodies together, not meeting each other with one untidy kiss after the other. It seems strange, from another universe, almost. Though it's weird, I can see why Hugo's waited so anxiously for this moment.

"Is that all you see?" Audiat stands on the tips of her toes, wiggling with her lack of balance, and brushes back a lock of hair that'd fallen into his eyes. "That better?"

"Much," Bryon chuckles, gently nudging a clump of her ringlets out of her face. "I thought you were beautiful before, little angel. I can't wait to have you back by my side, fighting together again, like the good old days. Now, answer honestly: you haven't watched Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron yet, have you?"

"You nerd," Hugo mutters quietly.

Grinning at Hugo, Audiat shakes her head. "Negative. I'm clean. Why are you so obsessed with that movie, anyway? I mean, I'm sure it's great, but I never took you to be very into horses."

"I find the horse, who is nameless and not actually Spirit" – he taps the end of her nose with a lecturing finger – "to be a very relatable character. He gave up everything for his family and was enslaved by a bunch of evil people invading his homeland so they could escape, until he learned that not all the people were evil, and fell in love. It's a great story."

Audiat pretends to muse for a second, furrowing her eyebrow. "Now, who does that sound like?" She jabs him once playfully in the stomach. "That's some extreme narcissism, seeing a movie that was made in your honor."

Bryon's face is beyond amused. "Are you saying that I made a movie about me as a yellow pony?"

"Well, you tell me."

"I did not make a movie about me as a yellow pony." Bryon rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. "What do you think I am? The entire reason I love it so much is because it had nothing to do with me or any Nephilim. It was an epic, emotional story told from the same studio that made train-wrecks like Shrek."

"Shrek was good," Hugo defends, looking up from his laptop's livestream of the event. "Don't you be ripping on Shrek."

Sighing with depression, Bryon drops the subject, looking quite disappointed with Hugo. "So, according to rumor, you've been jumping down a bunch of angels' throats. I take it your job as a political advisor and diplomat worked out."

"It most certainly did." She grins beatifically. "The he-angels quiver at the name of Audiat. Okay, well, maybe they don't quiver physically, but their minds do. Short and saucy has never been so feared. I love it – it's the best thing ever, getting respect. Plus, no one can tell you're short when you're up on a stage! It's like, everything I ever wanted!"

"There are worse things in the world than being short, Audiat," Bryon chuckles with a roll of his eyes.

"Well, says the Jolly Green Giant!" she grumps. "People look right over me in a crowd! And you know what? The human race has gotten even taller! I don't want to bore you to death with one of my rants, but… it's unfair!"

"I'm so sorry that you're just a lil' angel." Hunching his back Bryon leans down and rests his forehead on Audiat's, touching their noses together. His eyes close, and his hums contentedly. "You're my lil' angel, you know that? I wouldn't have it any other way – besides, you'd be rather intimidating if you were tall."

"Well, yeah…." Audiat's demeanor had changed after "his lil' angel", and awkwardness replaces the tender affection in their aura. "Uh, Bree-aw'?"

He leans into her hand, breathing in her scent. "Hmm?"

Something is stressing her out, I know it is. She glances down bitterly, her lips pursing and her brow furrowing. "I hate to ask, but I have to know…" She takes a deep breath. "Bryon, have you been faithful to me? Please, please, be honest, I'll forgive you for anything, no matter how terrible."

His eyes widen, then warm endearingly. Squaring his shoulders, Bryon straightens his spine, smiling beatifically down at her – the childish pride in his eyes is soft and malleable, thick enough to drown in.

"I didn't do anything remotely unfaithful. I refused to kiss people even when it was a cultural taboo." He takes her hands in his, holding them tight. "I've been the best husband you could ever ask for, Audiat. I'm almost worthy of you."

That little boy shines through his wise old façade. He's adorably proud of being a perfect husband. Audiat couldn't have been destined for a more perfect man.

But, instead of giggling and throwing her arms around him as I'd expected, the little she-angel bows her head. The emotion swimming in her eyes doesn't ever lead to anything positive, especially since she avoids his gaze. Her wings tremble, and, slowly, she slips her hands out of his. Her expression is one of hatred and guilt.

Slow, slow comprehension dawns upon my uncle. Bryon's happiness crumbles to disbelief, like a window pane being shattered. He mouths something beneath his breath, shaking his head slowly. They sit there, frozen, as they wait for one to make a move, to speak.

"Oh, Ah-ch'at," Bryon sighs sorrowfully, wrapping her up in an embrace, kissing at the top of her head. "It's okay. It's alright. Don't you dare cry. Don't you dare."

"I'm so sorry," Audiat weeps against his chest. "I'm so, so sorry. I couldn't – I'm sorry, I didn't want to, he made me. Oh, God, Bryon, I'm sorry."

"He forced himself on you?" The rage in his eyes isn't the type that's quenched, but merely, set aside for a better time. "Well, that hardly counts, then. Audiat. I don't care." He kisses at her hair, gently rocking her from side to side, looking out at the world with glassy eyes. "You're my girl, Audiat. My little star. Lil' angel. I don't care."

"It was awful," she croaks, rubbing off her tears with a fold of Bryon's cloak. "I love you, Bryon, so much. I'm so sorry. If I could go back…"

"Audiat, it's okay," Bryon soothes, pulling at one of her curls, watching it bounce back into place. "Hey, hey, hey. You need to be distracted. Hmm. I saw the stained glass windows. What do you think you were doing there, eh?"

Audiat giggles weakly against him. "I knew I'd get scolded for that. You can't tell me how to live my life. If I'm going to make art out of sharp, dangerous pointy things, you can't stop me."

"Did you sweep up all the little fragments?" Bryon preens her hair, grooming each of her curls individually. "You didn't do it on a rug, did you? Because if you did, I need to get rid of that rug, this instant. The shards will cling to the fabric, and there's no way to get rid of them."

"Overprotective, much?" Emilio chuckles, emotions of approval soft in his gaze.

"I agree with the fluffy-kitten-Spaniard; stop being such a worry-wart," Audiat chides, wriggling out of his arms to grin up at her husband.

Bryon sticks out a pouting lip teasingly, a grin threatening to ruin his imitation of her. "But then you'll crack your head open doing something stupid. If I don't worry about you, who will?"

"Bree-aw'," she groans gigglingly, "I love you so much. …I've missed having you worrying about me, truth be told. I've missed you more than new paints or new cloths or whatever else. I've missed your laugh more than anything in the world."

That, of course, stirs a laugh from Bryon. "Well, I'll be sure to giggle at every remark you make to compensate for lost time. I hate to go off subject, but I noticed something when I was in your room – I remember putting some awful holes in your ceiling. But the painting up there was brilliant. I have to know – how did you manage that?"

Audiat bounces up and down happily. "No one's asked about that yet! It took a lot of effort, too. See, originally, I was going to paint this picture of the sky, with clouds and birds and maybe a rainbow, because I sleep better without a roof over my head. I knew you did, too. And so I painted it this pretty powder blue color – it was gorgeous. But it's hard to paint and fly, so the paint was all uneven, and so it clumped and dripped down. It was a mess. But once it was all dried and spots were left behind on the ceiling where the drops were, I thought it looked an awful lot like stars, you see. And then I realize: if I'm falling asleep to this sky, why the blazes do I want a sunny day?"

On and on, she chatters, nestling herself beneath Bryon's arms as she does – and, unlike a lot of the guys that I've unfortunately come in contact with, he actually seems to care about what she's saying. Occasionally, he breaks in through the babbling with comments like, "Oh! I hadn't thought of that! I was thinking of using the blue tint and mixing it with the grey, but that's cleverer."

Audiat prattles a bit about deciding to put flowers in the ceiling mural, too – she talks about how she had to break out a secret store of blooming flowers that's apparently kept in her closest to study them as they float upwards. Excitedly, she explains her discovery in that all the blossoms she'd collected when Bryon had created the glow spun clockwise, and Sariel's spun counter-clockwise.

"…and that's how that happened." Audiat snuggles up against Bryon's chest, all thoughts of her unfaithfulness put at ease. "Say, Hugo, did your old man encourage you along the path of the arts, or was that just personal preference?"

"Honestly?" Hugo sniggers, glancing devilishly over the screen of his laptop. "He almost sort of forced me. I was no good at writing, and music instruments and me…"

Bay shudders and clears his throat awkwardly.

"Oh, thanks, man." Hugo swats at Bay's head. "I'm not that bad."

Bay looks at the ground and clears his throat, eyebrows arched skeptically.

"Fine, maybe I was." Hugo playfully tousles Bay's hair, something he's probably only ever able to do when astride Scruffy. "But he got me into art, with a bit of effort. I admit, I'm glad you did, Bryon. Haven't been able to put a pencil down since."

Audiat squeals softly. "I've seen some of your work, you know, on that Rumbler site. You're very good at it – especially your expressions. Expressions are my worst field, so, ha, it's kind of amazing, seeing that you've gotten so, so amazing at them."

"Me?" Bryon massages Audiat's shoulder, shrugging flippantly. "Couldn't draw a stick man with a ruler. But I've got an appreciation for art, and that's what I've been telling him. He didn't believe me when I said he was excellent. Never has."

"That is not true," Hugo scoffs. "You have no appreciation for art. You think fucking Picasso is a genius."

"This is what I'm talking about," Bryon says, sighing and shaking his head, looking smug to finally have someone to back him up in his argument.

"No, I'm with him on this one." Audiat glances up at him, seeming confused, and as if she's trying to keep from bursting into laughter. "You think Picasso is a genius?"

"And Van Gogh," Hugo adds, his face one of disgust.

"Really?" Audiat snickers quietly, hiding her face from him. "Bryon, you're adorable."

He lifts his hands into the air, his face slightly confused, slightly pissed. "Picasso and Van Gogh are both revolutionary painters of this era that completely changed the way people thought of art. You two are just crazy nutballs that need to go to a museum."

"Hear that?" I nudge Emilio and grin. "Our first uncomfortable Young family outing! How fun!"

"Oh, speaking of family." Audiat beams at Bay, the corners of her eyes crinkling adorably. "I consider you my son-in-law now, even though you haven't proposed yet. You're mine and I love you. There's no escape, my little chick. You, too, Emilio. Don't even try to protest."

Over her head, Bryon mouths an urgent agreement, motioning for them both to just go with it.

"And you, Penryn." Her happy-go-lucky smile turns upon me, and only then do I see the intensity in her eyes. "I could pretend that I respect your rights as a full-grown woman, but let's cut to the chase: you're also my little chicklet. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, either."

"Audiat," Bryon sighs, elbowing her with a roll of his eyes.

"What?" She shakes a finger at me scoldingly. "You're a smart girl and you probably know the drill. Don't do drugs. Don't have sex. Don't drink. I will find you and I will show you just how terrifying a mother can be."

Emilio clears his throat loudly, catching Audiat's attention. His eyes scream a hasty retreat from the subject of mothers – and, though maybe he tries to hide it from me, he shakes his head.

"Looking forward to it." I smile tensely at Audiat, pretending to ignore her newfound curiosity. "Really, I am."

"You're too kind to me, Mrs. Young," Bay flatters genteelly, bowing his head respectfully and bringing the attention off me. "I truly do not deserve your gracious kindness."

Audiat bounces once on the balls of her feet. "You know, no one's actually ever called me 'Mrs. Young' before. Thank you, Bay, I love you."

"Well, I guess this is our botched sort of family, then," Bryon chuckles. He rubs at Audiat's arm, his eyes warm with affection as he glances down at her, then out at his family.

It looks to me as if he's still fighting tears – and why shouldn't he? After all these years, he's got a missing piece back. After all these years of people he loved dying on him, left and right, one's finally come back. And she's immortal, too, so she'll never die on him. She'll always return.

And not only that. He's got a family now. A closed, happy family. Slightly dysfunctional and probably doomed with a future of arguments and feuds, but that's to be expected. Even with Paige missing, it does sort of feel like a family, all of us.

I smile around at everyone, a cheesy, warm glow enveloping my heart. Emilio's lips are curled back in a half-smile, and Bay obviously fights a grin of his own. Bryon's gentle, steady gaze is a perfect balm after Audiat's hyperly excited gaze of sugary adoration. Even the sarcastic little shit that's Hugo seems to be enjoying the moment, grinning as he livestreams.

I'm smiling too, I realize. I'm smiling like idiots. We're all smiling like idiots. We're a family full of idiots.

"Okay, so, lovebirds, want to say something to close off the livestream?" Hugo grins sharkishly. "Maybe something cute, or a kiss from the camera?"

Bryon smiles, his eyes aglow with – as cheesy as it sounds – adoration. "A kiss sounds good to me, Ah-ch'at. And you?"

She steps on the very tips of her toes and frames his face with her pale little hands, running one thumb over his lips while the other awkwardly sort of dances at his chin. But before a word of endearment can be said, before a kiss can be exchanged, before their reunion can be settled, a series of shadows sweeps into the valley.

It's almost like watching those crappy YouTube videos of the Air Force display when you've got extra time in History class. They're crisp, precise. Unlike other flocks I've seen, where they flap individually and soar at separate heights, they move as one, almost eerily so. An awful trickle of dread slowly begins to flow into my stomach.

"Angels," Bryon murmurs, lifting his head, gently freeing himself from Audiat. His eyes rove intelligently over their crisp, clean ranks. "Good Lord, those are Michael's finest. Don't we have an archangel planted to tell us when things like this are going to happen? Two, actually?"

"I heard something about this," Audiat whispers, stepping away from Bryon, watching them go without his massive body to hinder her vision. "Something about – oh, Jesus, we've got to evacuate this place."

"Hear that?" cries someone. "They're going to come for us!"

"I thought we were safe!" wails a man that looks like he's been sneaking food. Frightened by the sudden turn in conversation, I reach out and grab Emilio's arm, clutching it tightly.

"She's already broken through!" shouts another. "She's their leader!"

Bryon roars like a monster. He charges forward, grabbing Audiat by the waist and throwing her behind him, forming a barrier with his own body. His bellow quiets the frightened human voices, and, for a moment, only silence sings.

My uncle's chest heaves. People stare, stunned, at the monster protecting the maiden.

Then the silent moment ends with the piercing shout of a bullet being spat from the barrel of a gun.

Scruffy yelps in terror, bolting off into the distance, Hugo only just managing to roll off in time. Humans cry out and rush for cover, many hitting the deck. It's done redundantly – I, with my gaze locked upon my aunt and uncle, see who the bullet hits. Bryon jerks his head back in agony, anguish burning in his bronze eyes as he takes the brunt of the blow for Audiat. A fiery exhale leads to pants and wheezes. He wraps his arms around his abdomen, shuttering his eyes and clearing his throat.

As the tension leaves the moment, I realize I'm squeezing Emilio's arm to death – he seems to notice in the same moment that I do. His amused smile makes me feel slightly unease. Then again, I'm not used to supermen that can get up and walk around after taking a bullet to the gut.

"Well, that wasn't very nice," Audiat sighs, unfolding herself from the ground. She stretches out a wing briskly, as if it'd gotten shoved into a position of discomfort during his haste to protect her. "Thank you, darling, but you know I could've taken the bullet. Now, do you want me to dig hand into your bloody flesh, just like old times?"

I relax, the air leaving my lungs in a burning exhale – I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath, either. My sense of security returns in a warm flourish.

Bryon smiles brittly, rising slowly to his feet. His eyes are somewhat dry of emotion, perhaps an after-effect of the pain he'd experienced. "If you think that'd help, sure thing."

"I captured that," Hugo chuckles, dusting his laptop off after diving off of his wolf's back. "Still filming, actually. You bastards got any last words?"

"Shut that off, Hugo," Bryon orders darkly, rolling his eyes slowly. Hugo sticks out his tongue and continues to film it, evidently searching for the perfect ending words.

"Wonder who shot that," Emilio boredly sighs. "Bastard should know ordinary bullets won't hurt you."

And to this, Bryon remains quiet. His eyes trail the horizon, finding the bloody orange sun and staring at it without comment. The beautiful reflection of the orange on the bronze is a sight I doubt I'll ever forget – it makes him seem so fiery, so alive.

Evidently, some aren't as convinced with his brilliant display of life.

"Bryon, that was an ordinary bullet, wasn't it?" Bay inquires, seeming slightly frightened to know the answer. His eyes are wide, his wings constantly caught in either furling or unfurling. "It was, right? Ordinary?"

Bryon smiles his true, Bryon-smile, but that's not the reason I begin to think something else is wrong. No, my stomach plummets because that seems to be sad, too – not concerned, not warm and loving, not that steady, secure source of comfort I know it to be. He looks slightly sad. Almost like a man going off to fight in a doomed war, knowing that he won't come back.

"Answer him," Audiat orders, walking back to Bryon's side. Gently, she unbuttons his shirt to expose the bloody wound in his abdomen – again, it doesn't look good, but I've seen him go through worse. Thinking along the same lines, Audiat says quickly, "See, that's got to hurt, but it can't be that bad, can it? I mean, that right there is the equivalent of a period cramp. You can deal with that, can't you?"

Bryon chuckles softly. "Oh, Audiat –" He takes half a step forward, as if to caress her face, or perhaps to finally deliver their long-awaited kiss.

But his meager half-step falters. He sends one of his hands flailing to catch his balance. At the last moment before he hits the ground, he stabs downwards with his staff, propping himself upright with the length of wood. Blood waterfalls down his stomach with each panted breath, dripping down from his stomach in long, spindly stalagmites.

Horror grips my heart with an icy fist as he struggles to keep himself standing. His knees buckle beneath him, but he keeps trying to force his weight on them. The only thing keeping him upright is that loyal staff of his.

Emilio begins to surge forward, but my uncle flails out a hand to keep him from coming. Prideful tenacity gleams in his bronze eyes.

Growling beneath his breath, Bryon grasps the staff in both hands. His face contorts in a silent snarl of determination. I watch, frozen in fright, as he pulls himself up, relying only on the help of the staff and his will of iron. He pops one knee into place, and, though it quivers violently beneath his weight, it seems to hold. Bryon puffs out a breath in relief, leaning his forehead against one of his hands.

Then his staff snaps in two beneath him.

The Nephilim King falls to the ground, his blood soaking the soil.

Raffe braces himself for a blow from Lucius – he clutches his sword tightly, his head whipping about, prepared for anything the Prince of Hell may throw. Everyone around him does the same. As their impatience for the blow to just hit already grows stronger, they clump together, each equipping a war face.

They wait in vain.

A small cry of alarm is passed around as the demon appears in the middle of the room. He's not attacking. Not even moving, just staring towards the window, towards the setting sun. Raffe doesn't like it. He doesn't like the demons stillness. And his expression –

Raffe represses the urge to shiver.

It's full of emotion. Of heartbroken emotion.

"No," Lucius whispers, shaking his head slower than the tides move over the Earth's face. "That can't be right."

Michael's sword swings through the air.

Raffe winces at the clang that echoes through the room as the feet of invulnerable metal slams against the demon's skull. Despite any advantage of Lucius's, he can't stand against such a pugnacious attack. Unconscious, he falls to the ground, landing in a lifeless heap.

"Do with him what you please, Lucifer," Michael says indifferently, sheathing his sword. "I advise snapping his neck, here and now, but it's up to you."

"Michael, what –"

The archangel throws out a hand towards Raffe, cutting him off. "Gather your strength, Raphael. Arm yourself, and get out your best suit of armor. We shall take the necessary time to prepare ourselves, we shall feed my men and caffeinate them, and we shall exterminate the human camp. Ariel, dare you to protest, you'll meet the same fate as this pathetic demon."

Uriel steps forward. "Now, wait just a minute now –"

"We are waiting." Michael glares down the other archangel. "But then we are striking. Stay here like a sniveling coward with your tail between your legs if your stomach is too weak, Uriel, and let your soldiers triumph without you. I fail to see how it's any different from any other of our battles. But as for us, we shall march on and eliminate the pests beneath our noses. After that…"

Michael smiles, his face silhouetted by the sun as it slips from shades of yellow to orange.

"The possibilities are endless."

History is repeating itself.

Ciao,

~wolfluvermh