Chapter Seventy Two

"Now, you owe me an explanation," Ariel says lecturingly, shutting the door behind her so carefully the latch does not even click. "I've spent the last thirty minutes dealing with a rambling Hugo about how you're a Young."

The demon lifts one eyebrow, but his eyes, hidden by his reflective shades, remain trained on the boring white ceiling above. "Oh? Well. It was only going to take so long for them to pull their heads out of their asses."

Ariel regards him skeptically. "I haven't seen Hugo like this for quite some time, Lucius. The last time I saw him with that gleam in his eyes, he was a child and even then –"

"He formulated a strategy to blow up the angelic aerie, yes, I know." Lucius sounds begrudgingly impressed. "He'd do well to keep his nose out of this. But I'm done trying to dictate the future."

"You sound like you've done it before."

"Have you ever wondered why I'm quite so wretched, inside and out?" A spiteful smirk pulls at his lips, but it seems almost sad. "There is nothing more damaging than finding out you were the villain all along. None of Daddy's magic could've done the number on me I've done to myself."

"I correct myself. You sound…" Ariel searches for a word. "Pathetic."

"Ooo, yes, I quite agree." His smirk turns into a nasty grin. "Go on, do it. Kick me out to the curb for raining on your parade. I dare you."

Annoyance makes Ariel's throat thick. Anger, thick and hot, pulses through her in one quick flash, but she knows better than to let it control her. Swallowing, she stiffens her neck and walks regally forward, allowing her dress to flutter around her ankles.

"Whatever's bothering you," Ariel says in a formal tone – formal, not stiff nor concerned – "you need to either talk to someone about it, or shut the hell up and skulk off with your tail between your legs. Take actions or don't. I won't put up with all your miserable moping."

"Talking equals an entire pity party I'd rather avoid," Lucius growls, linking his hands over his stomach.

"Oh, boo hoo," Ariel scoffs. "I have half a mind to throw you off my Triangle with your wings duct-taped to your sides. Get it out and feel better or feel awful for centuries more. Your decision, but I do have duct-tape."

"Noted." After a beat of silence, Lucius swings himself upright with a heavy sigh, his feet hitting the tile with elegant clicks of his heels, but he doesn't stand; rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he stares down and into an empty vase. Ariel ghosts around the couch, her footsteps soft and unheard, coming to stand behind him and stare down at the tense muscles causing his bony wings to clench and unclench in agitation.

"If you're willing to listen to my little mope festival," Lucius says quietly, "I would like to get it off my chest. All this shit about toxic relationships – well. I don't know who I can trust. And the worst you could do is tell Penryn who I am, who I am really but – I'm hoping I'll persuade you not to."

"I'm willing to listen," Ariel insists. Her words sound almost cold, she realizes in a half-second's span of time, too formal for a situation in which the child seems to be baring his heart. Ignoring the repulsion threatening her gag reflex, she reaches down and rests a hand on his cold shoulder. He goes rigid as a board, flinching away from her touch, but she does not falter; a second later, he relaxes, and eases back beneath it.

"Please," Lucius whispers, his words hollow and rasping, his back hunching, "please, don't tell Penryn."

"Penryn?" Her hand slips away from him, going limp at her side. "What does she have to do with this?"

"Everything, Ariel. Everything."

The gently shifting images upon the stained glass seem almost aware of our presence. Though I know they are not, they cannot be, for they are mere glass and iron brought together in intricate patterns, it seems that the intricate murals all seem rapt. It seems that the flood of children racing to safety flinch at every bellowed word, that the child Bryon upon the wall hugs his sister's beheaded body closer every time Black Wolf snarls, that the impassively terrible figure hovering above a steeple lifts his eyes as if to meet mine every time I spit out a furious reply.

"You owe me answers!" I shout at him, fists balling by my sides. "You've been skirting around this issue, been showing me small visions – tiny hints – what the hell is Lucius? Show me, dammit!"

I shall not, girl, and you should do well to remember that you are mine! He turns on me with a rabid snarl, white fangs unsheathing from the flat black with the same eerie dimension as his wings. In this domain, I can crush your soul and smash it into a million pieces!

"I've spoken out a million times before. Now it really matters! Why can't you tell me anything? What's stopping you?"

As if you'd understand, you barely sentient sack of flesh and fluid! His blue eyes burn with fury. I am decided. The history you have asked for has been denied.

"Then –" Frustratedly, I shake my head back and forth. "Fine! At least tell me – if Lucius is the cousin of Theobella and is also a Young, does that mean that Theobella is a Young?"

He snarls sneeringly, bristling. Why else would Bryon pity her when she was a shivering child? Or fall to her lures as a tantalizing god? He placed family on too high a pedestal.

"But you're her father." Warily, I circle him, flicking my gaze between the wolf and the image of Raffe striking down one of the many Nephilim children – the first fatal group. "Does that mean…?"

Balefully, he turns his gaze onto me. Do your own calculations, human.

"You understand that Raffe and Penryn are… lovers, correct?" Lucius asks hesitantly.

Ariel cocks her head to one side curiously. "Yes, but, considering the hurdle you've added to their relationship, lovers sounds far too… sensual."

"You know about that, too." Lucius's lips are curling into his wry smile, Ariel can feel it in his tone, in his aura. "That was my first mistake." He hangs his head, cradling it between two hands and laughing hollowly like someone beating a stick on the inside of an empty barrel, echoing and tinny and cold. "Because oh, Ariel. I don't understand love at all."

She stares at him, stares down at the shoulders that've just begun to quiver with knowledge she doesn't at all comprehend. "I… I'm not following you," she hedges.

"I thought that if I could end the sexual attraction… If I could forbid any sort of contact… Raphael would get bored. He would move on and find another woman. I never, ever would've dreamed that the already established connection would've been enough…"

"You made that deal… to keep them apart?" Ariel shakes her head, bemused. "Why?"

"I'm getting there, but in what world would it be alright for a princess of Nephilim to love her hunter?" Lucius shakes his head listlessly. "But. Say for a second… that things in the future turn out alright. That Raffe wins this debate. Say for a second Penryn succeeds and leads her country. Suppose that perhaps, in all the mishap and scandal that happens when people who lead separate groups fall for one another, they manage to push through, and one day, they want to push it past an emotional bond."

"You'll stop them," Ariel says slowly. "You've made it so that they're doomed physically. There's no way that'll happen."

"Ariel… I'm not the only God that walks the earth." He throws his head back, and she can feel his gaze through the mirrored lenses. "Say that thousands of years from now, with Penryn having absorbed Nephilim blood to keep her eternally youthful and leading her nation, they are certain of their chemistry and bonded through marriage and they want… well. Say that they're happy to give both the Watchers and the Wives one more member. You're a clever girl; how would they go about that?"

"Are you saying that…" Ariel's eyes blow wide. "Could Theobella negate the details of your deal somehow? Would she do something like that?"

Lucius chuckles. "She would if she could. But say she found a loophole in our agreement."

"Say she found a loophole?"

"Yes."

Ariel arches a brow. "Forgive me for interrupting, but what does this have to do with your sop story? This all seems like it has little to nothing to do with you."

A scowl drags the corners of his lips downwards. "The loophole would be to use the unique talent of Theobella's to travel to a time where I didn't yet exist. Where I hadn't even been a thought yet. Somewhere – sometime – I couldn't even reach, couldn't manage to tear the peace apart."

"They would –" Ariel's eyes widen. "No! But if Raphael was Messenger and Penryn was Queen surely they couldn't just – abandon their jobs!"

Lucius laughs almost merrily. "That's the glory of time travel, isn't it? They would be able to escape me and my" – he splutters bitterly – "my curse and be back in time for tea, a tiny Raffe Jr. and Little Penryn by their sides. Picture that world."

"I am." Ariel's eyebrows wrinkle together. "And I'm getting the sense that something in this agreement went very, very wrong."

"Oh, yes," Lucius says pleasantly. "Penryn brought her sister. That's what went wrong."

"You're a Young," I repeat, my mind stubbornly refusing to accept the information being fed. The Raphael in the window beside me seems positively antsy. "You're – you married a Young."

There's a reason our family is called the most powerful in the world. He curls his lip again, baring those frighteningly bright teeth of his. We spread out to the farthest reaches of history. It's a terrible thing. We really are like an infestation, a parasite latched onto the entirety of civilization.

"But –" I cut off, frowning. "Are you Bertholdt? You're not Bertholdt, are you?"

And here, the wolf goes slack, his lips folding back over his fangs and his shadow muscles losing their tension. With a curious, canine snuffle, he inches closer, wings wiggling with excitement. What do you know of Bertholdt?

More than a little taken aback by his rapid change in temperament, I step away from his puffing nose. "Um. That he's a Young? Why? Is he dead? Did you know him?"

On the contrary – uneasily, he settles back on the balls of his feet, ears flicking uncertainly – he hasn't been born yet. However, when you get a family as vast as the Young and with such a high mortality rate – with so many long-living, suffering souls watching their loved ones perish – you grow comfortable with those living in other ages. You meet through incorrect segments of time and space aligning, usually at the hand of my Angel or Theobella, and you take solace knowing that they are much like you. Bertholdt is a ghost from our future. He is a favorite of mine.

"Oh?" Fascinated with this new facet of his personality, I lean forward, eager to hear more. "What about him?"

Well, the time I first met him, he was sent back to save Bryon, the founder of our fine family, from an assassination attempt of Michael's. He chose to do this by seducing the archangel and making a doe-eyed lover out of him.

"How did that help his situation at all?" I tilt my head to one side, confused. "I don't – I don't understand."

Black Wolf turned his eye to me and grunted out a sharp bark of a laugh. I just told you that Michael and Bertholdt had very gay sex and you didn't so much as bat an eye.

Waving a hand dismissively, I mumble, "I don't care what that feathery jackass is into, or this future family member. Hugo took any homophobia I had and squashed it. How would that help at all? If he asked Michael to call it off, Michael – he's smart enough to know when he's been conned, I'd wager. It wouldn't work."

Precisely. Black Wolf sits in front of me, and, for the first time, he feels warm – not a fire that burns or even fills the bones with the heavy sensation of peace that comes with its gentle heat, but a small glow. It's where Lucius first coined the infamous snap – up until Bertholdt's infiltration, it'd never been used, never even thought up. That way, his partner in crime – you, actually – knew that no one else would snap before you and signal him.

"Me?"

Yes, you. This is not the first time our paths have crossed. He cocks his head. Does that alarm you?

"…Maybe." I swallow, trying to wrap my head around this information. "Does that mean that Bryon knew me? Lucius?"

I believe Bryon knew of you. And Lucius… yes. Black Wolf's hackles rise at the reminiscence of a bad memory. Yes, he knew you very well.

"Penryn's sister?" Ariel stands still, tall and uncertain, shifting from foot to foot like a tower unsteady upon its foundations. "Paige, was it? What does she matter?"

"You have met the girl, haven't you?" Lucius tilts his head to the side, his gaze seemingly trained on a blank wall. "She loves her sister very much. And Penryn loves her, too. Do you think that she'd have Penryn go alone? Certainly not."

Ariel is uncomfortable. She'd thought she'd known the situation in the slightest detail, thought he'd just whine about the difficulties of his childhood, bewail the unspoken grief for whoever has injured his heart. This is not what she expected at all. So she studies him with a heart that does not quite wish to hear this, a heart that recognizes his agony and does not want it thrust upon herself, and mind struggling to understand what it is that he speaks of.

"Paige is quite a pretty girl, you'd have noticed," Lucius says quietly. "Even now, as a child. I fear for her walking alone in these halls now that there are he-angels about. She only grows more beautiful with age, she –" His breath catches, and he tucks his head against his own shoulder. "I remember she was gorgeous. Truly, a sight to behold, outshining her sister in grace and poise."

"You knew Paige, then?" Ariel shifts her weight. "How did you know Paige?"

White hands curl through soft, white locks of hair, distressing any guise of a style. "Oh, yes, you could say that." He laughs that hollow laugh again, lacing it this time with a grieving keen. "Pretty girl like that – well. She caught the attention of many undesirables. And with her primary protectors horny lovebirds… No way to defend herself…"

"Oh no," Ariel whispers, eyes widening.

Lucius makes a choking noise. He rakes his hands through his hair, lines of distress in his back and in his wings rock-hard, causing him to quiver and quake violently. It's a state of undoing she'd never believed him capable of, shivering and terrified upon someone else's couch, so beyond this world that he no longer cares what she sees him like.

"I was never supposed to happen, Ariel," he whispers at last, voice a raspy hiss. "I am… a mistake. An error. In every conceivable way."

"Is that why he acts so weird around me, then?" I question cautiously. "I mean – he knows me, or a future me. What – what does he do about that?"

I cannot say. Black Wolf's ears flick about, as if he's uncomfortable about the topic. It's said that you inspired him, though, with your snap of fingers. No one had heard such a noise. Bertholdt was a pet, almost, a Nephilim heeling at Michael's heel and all were curious and came close to see him – they knew nothing of what went on behind closed doors. Lucius was wary and watched from afar.

"What happened?"

You, evidently, and you snapped your fingers. A rumble issues from low in his throat, perhaps a growl of distrust or satisfaction or even respect. Bertholdt was not Michael's pet. He had been trained to attack mercilessly the moment he heard such a noise – Nephilim are, of course, animal in many ways. You snapped and his eyes narrowed to slits and he attacked so savagely and so quickly that all those surrounding him as if he were an animal in a zoo were dead. Hardly any were spared.

"How did that discourage Michael from attacking Bryon?"

It was the last time Michael's personal army had taken a hit, and it destroyed the archangel's will. Lucius had observed the great damage it did upon the archangel then and used it against him once more.

"In his power play, yeah." I nod a few times, lost in thought, my gaze trained upon the great creature's paws upon the stone. "He was so angry. It'd make sense for him to lash out like that. Just… scary, y'know?"

Black Wolf's ears flick decidedly backwards, a rumbling growl deep in his throat. He is frightening, isn't he? He got in here once – an impenetrable fortress, or so I was told. Recently, too. Threw me for a loop, it did.

"Why did he come here?" I ask softly, watching a tiny Bryon dragon chasing a butterfly on stained glass, avoiding the Black Wolf's gaze. "What could he possibly need here?"

Black Wolf shifts, turning his back upon me and starting down the long hallway. He came first to see Bryon off, but lingered in a nearby hall. Perhaps you'd like to see…?

Meekly, I follow behind him. "Yes, please. I think… I need to see that."

"You're telling me that you're the son of Paige – Paige Young – the little girl prancing around my aerie." Ariel whips around the edge of the couch, her steps hurried by a strange mixture of candid fury and pity. "A future Paige gone back in time with her sister so that Raphael and Penryn could make children. Do you realize how utterly ridiculous you sound?"

Her words provoke hardly any response. Lucius merely looks at her, and something about it seems so tired, so bone-achingly weary that it makes her pause.

"Yes, actually," Lucius sighs, "I do." He pulls at his collar to loosen his tie and slumps back against the couch. "That was my childhood, Ariel. My happy childhood. An unwanted child. Hated for what I would become. And – " His fingers clench into fists. "The worst of them all was Raphael."

Ariel hesitates, battling with disbelief and confusion. More than anything, she wants to point her finger and call him a lunatic, and yet…

"You would've been the reason he'd been forced into that situation in the first place," she realizes slowly. "He'd realize that because he'd lusted over his Daughter of Man so much, he'd inadvertently created you, the biggest boundary between the two of them."

"You're getting it, you clever girl, you." Lucius grins, but it lacks the nastiness. "He despised me and all the love in the world from my mother and my aunt could not make up for the bitterness he hated me with. It was a conflicted sort of childhood – Paige showed me her world of flowers and beauty and elegance and Penryn hers of strategy and family and the delicate art of war, and from them I grew, but Raffe was the first one to ever teach me how to fight.

"And things were flawed. But sometimes, it doesn't matter. I still remember those years fondly, chasing my cousin through orchards of swaying willow trees, racing every morning to a duck pond to be the first to frighten off the birds. Things weren't good. Things weren't perfect. But I was strangely happy, strangely content with it all. I knew no other way to live, isolated as I was, and a creature eventually grows accustomed to its confinements. It wasn't a perfect system. But… oh well.

"We were happy in the oddest way. I was happy. It didn't matter what he said, because I loved him anyway, I loved our cottage, I loved Penryn and Emilio and everyone else."

Ariel studies him, and, the longer she does so, the more features upon him she can see that resemble the Young family. It unnerves her, now that she can see it. She knows not who the girls shall be when they mature, but it sounds like them, and it certainly sounds like Raphael.

"Something happened, didn't it?" she says quietly, studying him. "You were trying to keep Raphael and Penryn apart. So far… there's no real reason to do that other than selfishness. I don't think you're a selfish man."

A long beat of silence. A quiet stretch between the two of them. And every muscle that had gone slack with momentary relief, with the belief that she was understanding and quiet and not judging him for the moment at least, tenses up again. He throws his head back, lips curling over his gums to reveal clenched teeth.

"Things changed," Lucius growls, low in his throat.

"What changed?"

"…Everyone has a different reaction to looking into my eyes, Ariel." Lucius flings himself off the couch and paces agitatedly back and forth in front of her, eyes trained downwards, needlelike teeth gnashing against each other. "Some have clarity. Some receive visions. Some believe they're divinely granted the will to do whatever the fuck they want. Some simply go mad.

"I don't know when and I don't know how. All I know is that one day, Raffe and Penryn departed arm in arm to a meeting, happy, cheerful, smiling and in love – saccharinely so. And he came back…"

Lucius's lip curls. He quivers and twitches, muscles spasming, but not aggressively. Like a creature forced to watch something it doesn't wish, like one that merely wants to flee. Horror.

"What happened when Raffe came back, Lucius?" Ariel asks patiently, managing to hide her raging curiosity behind professionalism. "Why are you so afraid of him?"

It's different than the others. Instead of a window, it's a sword mounted upon a rainbow glass pedestal, its hilt ready to be grasped and the memories within seeming to leer at me, daring me to touch it.

"This is it, then?"

Take caution. His lips peel back into a distrustful snarl. This is not a place of happy memories. Nor is it only memories. It is – these are the collections taken from a sword's memory, Penryn. Like an angel sword. A corrupted blade. I do not know what you will experience.

I look back to the sword, taking it in. Why had Lucius selected this blade? It almost certainly was once an angel's weapon, with the double-edged design and simple, elegant hilt. However, its luster has been lost to the bitter erosion of time. A fragment is missing, slicing through the middle of the metal, as if it'd shattered. Rust cankers at the edges of the blade, and the leather on the handle is frayed and even moldy. If it were anything but an angel sword, I'd doubt it has the ability to cut melted butter.

Something… almost seems foreboding, about it. For a reason I can't quite explain, a pluck of terror pangs in my gut. Swallowing, I steel myself, and kneel down. My hand hovers over the hilt for a moment. Should I…?

"So be it, right? I need to know this."

Taking a deep breath, I grip the hilt of the sword.

"I am not afraid of Raphael," Lucius breathes. "I am afraid of what he becomes."

Almost immediately, it shoots through me. I gasp, bolting to my feet but not dropping the sword, as a flash sizzles through my consciousness, a flash of fury and anger and confusion the likes of which I've never felt from Raffe's sword. Unpleasant tingles race from my fingers to my elbow, prickling up towards my shoulder. An involuntary shiver rattles at my spine.

Panting, I hold the sword up towards the light. Sweat beads at my brow. The sword's consciousness isn't just present or even active – it's attacking.

I groan low in my throat, closing my eyes and tilting my head up. My dry throat itches, but when I swallow, it only seems to get drier. Head beginning to spin, I risk a glance down at the sword, down upon the dull silver metal, meeting my eyes in the fuzzy, distorted reflection.

And then the sword attacks again. In half a second, it wins. I no longer see the stone hallway.

But… it isn't like Pooky Bear's immaculate visions, either. Images are jagged – sometimes seen from the wielder's eyes, sometimes seen from what almost seems like the sword's viewpoint, and other times, omnipresent. They're hardly steady, either, thrown together in a mixture of sights and sounds and smells and screams.

An eagle screeches. I see Lucius laughing, seeming truly happy at his current age, the age I know him as, lifting a wine glass to someone and then – then he looks over, and I cannot see who, but his face falls into horror.

A stinging pain stabs at my wrist. I'm faintly aware of screaming.

And then… and then…

And then my sister.

"I know you," she whispers, age lines crinkling as she smiles weakly, thick, black hands around her neck, the same color as the long hair tumbling over her shoulders. So beautiful. So beautiful.

"I know you. You would never hurt me." I am aware of thinking that she is almost funny. I am aware of blaming her for what I am. Who I am. Nephilim, Nephilim, Nephilim, they did this to me. Mad thoughts rage through my brain and I cannot stop them, for they are not my own, they are his, they are ours, but I do not like them and they do not go away. "Please. I've known you… all my life. I won't fight you."

A terrible roar rips through dark woods. Crows scatter. A tiny Lucius clutches an even tinier Belle to his chest, hiccupping a sob of fear.

"I won't fight you," my sister whispers, her eyes growing large as she slides up the tree she'd been braced against, her voice growing breathy and faint as he – I – we, lift her up, suspending her only by our hands around her throat. "Remember who you are, remember, please –"

Her eyes flicker upwards, her pale hands go to claw at her throat, and then she looks out, we can see it in her dark eyes, a flash of white, too pure, too bright, and her face goes from fear of death to hysterical panic.

"BRYON!"

Darkness, terrible darkness. My heart is hammering. I can feel myself swinging by my master's side, and can almost catch the blue of his eyes, but I know something is wrong. What is wrong? What is wrong?

There lies the maiden in a white dress, and there lies her child in white skin, sobbing. He paws at her clothing and cradles her head, watching her eyes dim. And before us the little bronze dragon, shrinking back, eyes wide. I hear her pleading whistle, her song, as her scales fold back and as she cowers.

He hefts us up. Belle squeals in terror.

Another roar echoes. But this isn't a typical roar. Because first comes a snap of fingers, echoing through the dark, second comes a earsplitting crack and a fierce golden light, a golden sunlight upon the austere black and white of the surrounding area, before fading into a small twinkle in the distance, like a slice through the world.

We raise our head. He raises his head. The faint whisper of a vortex slips through our mind. We chase after the whisper, still, confused, trying to figure out…

But we are frozen and others are not.

Belle races towards the portal, and we dash after her, but something leaps at us from the side. A pulse of fury through the air, palpable in the shift of scents from sharp and piney to fiercer, wilder tangs. A small thing, a white thing, mauling and snarling. Tiny hands that grip and tear at our clothing and reach and try to sink into our eye sockets, nasty little claws. A little human mouth housing not-quite-so-human fangs. Fangs that hurt as they drive into us again and again.

In an act of fury as we watch the dragon get away, darting towards the portal and away, away, where we know we shall not follow unless we move, we slice. We – it – the sword – cuts cleanly. The beast howls and topples off, coming off in two pieces. An arm falls beside him – his arm? We do not care. Do we? We begin to dash forward again, our steps more heavy. We are annoyed by the weakness of our mortal body and the damage wrought upon it, but confident we'll make it there in time.

On the other side of the portal, of the swirling golden light, we see eyes – eyes that are familiar to us, eyes that almost cause a spark of emotion, a pang of loss. If they had not been so horrified, that is.

The white one slams into us again. Being cut into two has only riled its fury, as it slams against us harder, driving fangs into us all over. Up our back, up our neck, slicing with claws.

"YOU KILLED HER!"

High, shrill. Painful.

Why is our master making us do this? We do not want to. We do not want to.

"I HATE YOU!"

Annoyed, we slam out a wing, throwing him against a tree with a resounding crack – we see his wing, the beast's, snap in two, pinned between the collison. He howls in pain, the pitiful ki-yi of a puppy, of a child. We turn away, he shall not live, not with the crimson blood spilling over his white skin, turn to see the dragon take a flying leap and land in the arms of the person waiting on the other side.

The person bundles the dragon in her arms, but she doesn't close the vortex yet. Waiting. Waiting for what? For whom? For the white one?

Determination strikes in our heart. The tiny monster has stalled us too much, we shall not let the other escape. We cannot. A sin, a sin, a most grievous sin, that must be righted.

Again, the white one pushes itself to its feet, but this time, it has a different agenda. The gateway shall not last long. It sees this. Scrambling to its feet, unbalanced, awkward, the creature dashes forward. He runs faster than us, even with one arm and half a leg gone.

Fury, mad, blinded fury, surges through us. How dare he, how dare he –

And suddenly, I'm seeing from a different viewpoint, with a new master, one with a tiny, quivering dragon tucked into her arms, hissing fearfully and shaking so violently the world could end. And we see him – that tiny, quivering victim on the other side, eyes brimming with tears flowing down his albino cheeks, dashing toward us, sobbing a name. He holds out his one arm as he runs, an unspoken plea for a hug, for an embrace, from the last member of family he has left, and then –

The creature, dark and twisted, behind him roars. It charges, lips twisted in a foul sneer, towards the portal. Choking on his words, the little child flinches away, releasing a yelp of fear.

He hesitates, looking from the giant to our master, and we want to scream. Save him. Save him. We can. Why aren't we? Why aren't we?

She tells us. I tell us. She's frozen in agony, she lets this slip from her mind. She can't let the boy come here. Even if she could, He would get through as well.

The child sees this too.

The boy glances back at the wretched creature, then at us once more. His face contorts with a bone-deep terror. A sob rasps from his chest, and brokenly, he repeats her name one last time.

"Penryn," he hiccups. "Penryn."

Turning his back on us, he braces himself, and lunges towards the beast. The portal shrinks, growing smaller, smaller. The dragon in her arms wails and tries to leap toward, claws braced. The last thing seen of the boy before the portal pops shut is him being lifted on that terrible sword, bloodstained and shattered, and sliding down further onto the hilt. Skewered through the middle.

Crying.

Screaming.

"Oh, no," my own voice whispers brokenly. "Oh, no, oh, no, oh God. No."

The sword clatters against the cobblestone. I gasp, throwing myself backwards, landing upon the coarse ground, scooting back. Anything to distance us.

"What the hell," I whisper to myself, blinking, throwing a hand out to guard myself from… nothing. Black Wolf is gone. Tremors rock my body. "What the hell. What the actual hell."

The sword sits, winking cleverly back at me, almost like a grin. My stomach convulses, but it's empty. Perhaps there was nothing ever in it in these dark halls. Leaning one arm against the wall, I dry-heave terribly for a few seconds, shaking and shivering, dry throat becoming even drier.

Between the spasms of my muscles, I find myself glancing up at the moon above. Why did he leave this here? Why? I didn't… I didn't want to know this. I didn't want any of this. Wiping at the corners of my mouth and wrapping myself up in a big hug, I whimper, staring up at the moon.

Penryn. Lucius's words. Penryn.

That sword. Those hands. Paige.

YOU KILLED HER.

"I have to know." I whisper it for my own ears, trying to convince myself. I ignore the terror in my gut, scooting closer to the sword – is it mad? Is it crazy? Is that why it's acting so aggressive? "I want you… to show me other things. Show me happy times."

I place my hand tentatively on the sword hilt. And it replies again. I am in its world once more.

I have a proposition to make you. From the shadows slinks a creature, once with shimmering scales, now turned dull, once with sparkling eyes, now flat as riverstones. I have a feeling you'll be interested.

We turn and draw our sword, wary.

There's no need for that. Theobella, the Tyab'la, one of them, smiles wickedly, jaws full of pearly white teeth. I think you'll be quite interested in this deal. It has to do with your Daughter of Man, after all, and all this… chastity.

The world around me dissolves into her huge smile, becoming golden and pulling and stretching at my mind, at our feathers, unlike anything we've ever experienced, and then – I see me again.

My hair is longer than it is now, tied back in a ponytail. My eyes have bags beneath them and dirt smudges at my cheekbone, but our vision seems slightly tainted – despite the imperfections I see in the older me's face, we don't care. I look beautiful.

But I'm angry, hissing under my breath, clubbing a finger at us.

"You need to stop this!" she's – I'm – shouting. "How do you think he feels when you look at him like that, huh? Do you even care?"

"How do you think I felt when he looked at you like a slab of meat, huh?" we shoot back, but I'm not quite able to place our voice. "It doesn't matter. I don't understand how you're all being civil around him. He's a monster. For God's sake, Penryn, do you see what he forced your own sister to go through?"

"Precisely." My eyes narrow furiously. "He's my nephew, and guess what? He's yours, too. Maybe you should stop being less of an asshole whenever he enters the room –"

"He asks for it!"

"He does not!" Penryn – I? – cries in exasperation. "Look, if you're so wound up about him becoming a monster in the future – have you ever wondered if you're the one doing it? All this hate will make him wretched. It will make him everything you're afraid of. Stop making him hate you."

"So I'm the reason he's a monster?" we sneer. Catching a glimpse of white in the doorway, where he believes he's hidden by the shadows, we curl our lip further and barb our words. "You could raise that monster in a field of flowers and daisies and he'd still grow up to be terrible. He's a monster. No angel comes equipped with poisonous fangs."

Content, we settle back on our feet. In the hall, the boy catches his breath and races off, his feet thumping loudly down the hallway. Penryn, I, whoever, turns, eyes blown wide, listening as he slams his door shut and locks himself in his room.

Whipping back around with livid eyes, the other Penryn hisses, "You're right. Apparently, angels come equipped with poisonous tongues."

Furiously, she turns her back on us and stalks out.

A fragment of fire pierces through the sunny images. Of a house going up in flames. Of a terrible black figure, crouched upon the roof, waiting for the inhabitants to flee the fire. An ambush of the deadliest sort. Of a woman charging out first, followed by streaks of fleeing creatures.

Then a tiny Lucius is offering us a flower. He's babbling childishly, smugly stating that he grew it "aw by his sef" and that "I wan' you ta' haf it!" His bronze eyes shine and shimmer with hope. But then we say something, something cruel that I don't quite understand, and his expression shatters.

Paige appears again. Beautiful, rosy-cheeked, black hair bound back in a messy bun. Her clothing is loose and generous, not quite wide enough around the swollen belly evident of a pregnancy.

"We already know who's gonna be coming out of here," hums an older Emilio with a sleek bronze eyepatch. The sight of him sends a small flash of irritation through us, especially as he tousles Paige's hair slightly. "But we decided to name him something anyway."

"He needs a proper name," Paige agrees, her voice soft and musical, glancing from us to… another me. Another me again. Dressed in old clothing. Looking on scathingly. "We were thinking, name him after the best our family has to offer, right?"

"Right," agrees that other me cautiously, cocking an eyebrow. There's something in her gaze – my gaze? I still don't know – that puzzles us, almost a grim sort of recognition, like she's bracing herself for a blow.

"Bryon Junior." Paige beams, cupping her stomach. "Bryon Junior, wouldn't you think? And I've always loved the name Frederick, so –"

"I had no choice in this, of course," Emilio breaks in with a humble laugh.

"So," Paige stresses, elbowing Emilio and rolling her eyes. "I think I want to name him Bryon Jr. Fredrick."

She smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Bryon Jr. Fredrick Young."

"Penryn."

A cool hand overlaps mine, breaking off my connection with the sword. Gasping, I attempt to swing the sword towards the sudden presence. I lose my balance when the hand holds steady and keeps the blade firmly in place, instead hurling my body weight against the wall.

Terrified, I turn to face my intruder, and find myself staring into my own reflection in mirrored sunglasses lenses.

"What is this?" Lucius asks coolly, as if his spite of the sword is not visible to me, as if I can't see the subtle way his lips twist downwards this close to him.

"Oh my God," I whisper, letting the sword clatter to the floor, a seizure ripping through me. "Bryon."

Lucius cocks his head. His mouth opens slightly, but is snaps shut again. "Excuse me?"

"Bryon Jr." I press myself back against the window, shivering. "Bryon Jr. Young. You're my…"

He stands abruptly, seeming troubled. Anxiously, he rakes a hand through his hair. "Who told you that? Was it Ogden?"

"The sword… the sword."

Lips pulling back into a snarl, Lucius glares down at me. "I see. And how exactly did you get a hand on… that sword?"

He speaks as if it's revolting to him. As if it's terrible. He doesn't even seem able to make himself look at it.

"I… I…" My vision is fading, my strength is leaving me. Upon realization, my heart stutters fearfully, but the sword has sapped too much of my strength to really put up any sort of fight against sleep. "Black Wolf…"

"That bastard," Lucius mumbles, kneeling down again. "Come here, sleepy Young. Let's get you home."

I barely have the lucidity to mutter a protest as he scoops me up into his wiry arms. Lucius's cold, cold arms are welcoming to the feverishness claiming my weary limbs.

"Calm, now," Lucius whispers, his voice filled with some unplaceable emotion. "Shh. Sleep. Or, more accurately, wake. You'll remember none of this. You'll remember none of it. None of it at all."

"And so that's how it happens, then?" Ariel whispers, her heart pounding in her chest. "Raphael killed her? He – oh, no, Lucius, oh, no."

"I spent centuries trying to figure out what happened." Wearily, he paws at his face with one hand, rubbing his eyes. "How I could – brace myself against what would happen. I knew it was coming, I knew that Belle and Penryn and all of them – we'd have her stolen from us. So I – I –"

"You made yourself stronger," Ariel says evenly, finishing for him. "You prepared yourself. You blamed him for everything you went through. And your hate blindsided you to the effects of the deal you struck."

"I never would've imagined, Ariel –" He rakes his hands through his hair. "I caused it all. I am the reason I exist. I am an anomaly. I do not belong in this world."

"But Raffe –" She bites her tongue. "What happens to him?"

"Eventually, he gets sent back to the same time period he left." Lucius peels an eye open. "He's filled with hatred more blind than me, pumped full of my poison and brain addled by my gaze. He doesn't understand why he's like this way. He only has the barest memory of the greatness he used to be, and when he tried to figure out what changed, he only came up with a love for Nephilim. His Nephilim baby girl. Me. Penryn. He chases Penryn ruthlessly, an invincible tank in that other world. He –"

Lucius cuts off with a dark rumble.

"You've said enough, Lucius," Ariel soothes. "If you want to stop – you can."

"No, it's just –" Lucius puffs out a deep breath. "There's a lot of background and a lot of emotion. I'm confused is all."

"You have every reason to be." Ariel rubs at her forehead. "Bryon was the only one that knew about all of this, right? But he didn't do anything because of the Tyab'la?"

"Yes. That was frustrating – I didn't know what he was doing."

She quietly turns her gaze up at her plain white ceiling. "He died, and now no one knows. How have you been even… talking to Penryn? Paige? Hell, Raphael?"

"It's been hard," he laughs with a bit more life, "but I'm not a wet towel. The hardest part has been stepping back. Not saying anything, letting them go to their fates themselves. I learned my lesson with that deal, and any tinkering will just make things worse, and… I'm growing from it, I believe. I mean, I finally got rid of my dad. Good on me there."

Ariel shifts uncomfortably. "I don't quite know –"

"And I'm not sharing."

She nods, feeling that her prying had become too desperate, harboring respect for him for capping her question quite so quickly. "Of course. …So you and Raphael… will you tell him nothing?"

"We're a cycle, Ariel," Lucius says quietly. "He and I, we drive each other mad, we see the worst of each other and then when we are introduced to the fresh clay to mold, we can still only see the worst. …It's not a perfect system, but… oh well."

"I understand." Ariel rises, her gown swooping around her legs. "Out of respect for your story, I will treat them no differently nor share it with anyone."

Taking note of her silent dismissal, Lucius rises, dipping his head. "Thank you, Ariel. For listening to me. It's… odd, having someone do that. Might I issue a token of advice in return?"

She inclines her head, studying him, trying to see past the stony veil his glasses create. "I will never turn down advice."

"You look simply stunning in black and gold gowns, but they're all I've ever seen you wear." He smirks, cocking his head to one side. "Experiment. White and yellow, bronze, green – oh, a lush peacock green would look simply exquisite. Your body is yours and yours to decorate. Have fun with it."

Ariel's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Here I am expecting a critique on my leadership, not my wardrobe. Sound advice, I will admit. Why are you giving it?"

"Because I love beauty." Lucius smiles, a real smile, one so genuine and warm that it almost makes up from the daggerish teeth needling through it. "I love looking incredible. If I could have a chance to, I'd love a chance to illuminate my lips and draw attention to my eyes. You are very beautiful, with very beautiful lips and very beautiful eyes. It's a pity to waste them."

"Makeup?" She studies him. "I would not take you to be the type."

He waves a hand dismissively. "I grew up in a time where it was not socially acceptable for any gender to walk without it. I always did my mother's – and Penryn's, dear God, she was a disaster."

Ariel smiles back at him, allowing herself a real smile as well. "Well, since the way I conduct myself is dissatisfying, feel free to drop by anytime to assist me with an outfit."

Lucius puffs out a huge sigh, miming exasperation. "Thank goodness. I thought you'd never offer." His smile returns in all its spiky radiance. "And if you ever find yourself in a bad situation… well. You'll find a menacing demon often dissuades argument."

"I'll keep that in mind." Ariel finds her smile fading. "Lucius, I know very little about you, and that I do know is… mysterious. But I do hope that you do not hesitate to speak to me if you ever need to get anything off your chest again."

"I won't." He waves, turning his back on Ariel in his usual manner, but something seems far more… loose in his stance. "Good day, Ariel. And… thank you. I'm only ever a snap away."

I'm not the happiest with this but oh well. I hope you guys enjoyed.

Ciao,

~wolfluvermh