Part 18: Lost Goals
Hey all. Remember how in Part 1, I said the story would eventually require a rating change? Now is that time. Please be prepared for some less-than-classy language and mature themes in this chapter.
The weather was cloudy yet oddly bright, lending a surreal reflective property to the dark streets that had been wetted with rain overnight. Orange barricades and cones still littered the city like an infestation. Now that the workers had gone home to their families for the evening, the abandoned reconstruction sites lent the impression that the city had been left behind for someplace better and more stable.
Krad knew better. He knew he was walking down what amounted to one wet street in one city which, in turn, was a single black dot in a country made up of enough dots to paint the map ebony. Every city the same, crowded and cluttered with the garbage and noise of the humans who inhabited it. Filled with people who could betray, steal, cheat, and torture each other in the names of love, faith, or loyalty. Those without such initiative would scramble through their meaningless lives like ants, eating and excreting and running back and forth like good cogs in a system that would easily replace them when they eventually wore out. A twisted, conceited, perverted race. And still, it saw itself as superior. Proud. Worthy of manipulating other life. Just watching them was enough to raise a sour flavor in the back of the angel's throat.
Yet he was here. He could have been somewhere else, but he was here. Twenty-four hours after the quake and the events at the school, he was walking the human streets. Wrapped in a grey cloak that had been abandoned in the street, with his hair still loose and disheveled from the fight with dark, the angel looked more shell-shocked than he would have liked. A deep purple bruise had formed around his right eye, but it was already beginning to fade. Such things healed easily. His anger did not.
His mind kept retracing the events of the night before. He clung to what remained of the helpless fury that had consumed him afterward, but the longer he dwelled in it, the more frustrated he became. Who was he supposed to be mad at? A week ago, he'd directed all his rage toward the solid goal of revenge - the destruction of his rival and the domination of the crude humans that saw fit to entrap him for centuries. Had he achieved his goal? He'd apparently destroyed Dark's wings and trapped him to the ground for eternity. He'd dropped a building over Satoshi's head. A crowd of thousands had fled from him in terror. Was he done?
From an unpleasant part of his memory came Dark's words to him shortly before they'd escaped the seal. "And when you're all done killing and avenging, then what?"
Then what, indeed. But he didn't feel done. He still felt angry.
He paused at the next intersection he came to and examined the street sign, which was standing fifteen degrees off its proper angle. The street belonged to a hospital route and remained open to traffic, unlike many others damaged by the quake. Still, there were no cars to be seen. The sidewalks were nearly empty as well, and those who were out seemed to huddle into themselves as they hurried toward their destinations. At six in the evening, the city seemed to be thrown from its own rhythm.
Krad surveyed the barren streets and squinted up at the hospital, which rose above its neighboring buildings two blocks away. The boy was probably still there. Both of them. He reached up over his shoulder and touched the place behind his shoulderblades where the joints of his folded wings formed a noticeable hump beneath the contour of his cloak. Something in his expression changed as he touched it.
Grimacing, he turned away from the hospital and abruptly set stride in the opposite direction. A wooden crate had been abandoned on the sidewalk. The angel stopped before it and looked at it quietly, as if preparing to step over it. Instead, anger tore through him like an unexpected storm. He reared back and kicked the object full-force. It flew into a neighboring street pole and burst apart, its contents scattering across the street. It wasn't enough. Sucking in a deep breath, he threw his fist into the wall of the building next to him, leaving a crumbling dent in the brick. Fifteen rapid blows later, the angel had produced a significant crater that blew through to the wooden framework of the building. He stared at it, out of breath from the effort and looking a bit stunned by his own outburst. That thought seemed to help his anger cool gradually into exhaustion. Taking a slow step back, his expression washed blank. He turned from the ruined wall and picked up a stiff gait away from the hospital and the barren streetlight.
He hadn't walked more than ten minutes when a near-collision with another pedestrian finally made him slow his pace to take in his surroundings. The man he'd almost crashed into shied out of the way, cursing moodily before pursuing his original course. Krad cupped his hand around a ball of blue energy, but chose not to fire it as his attention shifted to the neighborhood he'd come to. The street the angel stood on showed signs of general disrepair, and it wasn't because of the quake. Across the road was the obnoxious pink neon of a "love hotel", with the "l" burnt out. He was standing in front of a shady-looking tavern and could see several more bars in the coming blocks, illustrated by dimly lit signs. Most other buildings on the strip looked black and unwelcoming, with opaque blinds drawn over the windows.
There was a difference in the atmosphere of this block. There were people out on the streets here, and other than a few cracks in the pavement, there was little evidence that the earthquake had even taken place. It was the atmosphere of a neighborhood that was accustomed to disasters and couldn't be bothered to fuss much over this one. There was little noise beyond what filtered into the street from the establishments. Absorbing the new environment, the angel proceeded slowly down the sidewalk.
He hadn't made it two blocks when he tensed at the sensation of a hand closing on his arm. "Hello, stranger," a woman's voice purred from just behind him.
Krad broke immediately from the woman's grip and caught her wrist. Rather than turn around to see her, he dragged her roughly in front of him and studied her with a hard glare. She was pretty, maybe a little over nineteen, with curly brown hair and crimson lipstick. The leather tube top and skirt she was wearing revealed a curvy figure with just enough muscle to look tough. She was sexy. Unfortunately, the effect seemed lost on the angel. "What?" he demanded.
"Easy, handsome," she said with noteworthy composure, though her brown eyes looked startled. Then she looked up and noticed his face. "Oh, shit," she breathed, staring at him in confusion. "You're gorgeous. And who hit you?"
Krad added distaste to the collection of emotions in his expression. "What do you want?" he hissed.
"Hey, you don't have to be upset. I just thought I'd see if you were feeling lonely tonight," she said, and gave him an experienced smile. Since her words brought a confused look out of the anger in the stranger's face, she relaxed a bit. "…You're hurting my arm, love."
Krad collected his features into a pale frown. "Go away," he ordered, releasing her arm and moving to walk past her.
"Hey, wait," she called, jogging to keep up with him. She kept her hands to herself this time; she was a quick study. "Business is slow tonight. If you're in such a bad mood, then come have a drink with me. I'll make you feel better."
The angel was so frustrated, and her request so absurd, that he actually almost laughed at her. Instead, he shook his head without breaking pace and said, "You have no idea what mood I'm in."
"Of course not, honey. That's why you should come have some wine and tell me about it," she smiled. "I need to make some money tonight. Don't tell me you're going to prowl the streets jumping at people all night, when a beautiful woman right here wants to be with you?" She skipped just ahead of him and blocked his path.
Krad stopped short and stared at her in bafflement. "Do you have a death wish?"
Apparently, the threat didn't faze her. "Do you get off on being alone?" she returned.
"Yes."
"I don't believe you."
Before she could say more, Krad had caught her by the neck and swung her into the wall next to them. She yelped as she slammed into the hard surface, but didn't touch him. "I don't believe you," she repeated hoarsely, looking him dead in the eyes. "Nobody wants to be alone, and nobody comes into this neighborhood unless they've got business here."
He had no idea what she was talking about or trying to prove. Humans were absurdly stubborn about ridiculous things. He squeezed her throat tighter, seriously considering crushing it. She closed her mouth and squirmed faintly under his grip, looking him in the eyes. Brave girl.
Frowning, Krad let go of her neck and stepped back. He was tired of fighting with her. He was so tired in general. He'd been on his feet for most of the past thirty hours. She wanted a drink. In the end, what difference did it really make? "Alright," he said, pinning his fingers to his forehead in frustration. "Lead."
If being choked had alarmed her, she didn't really show it. Straightening up, she gave him a triumphant smile and turned suavely toward a door they'd passed a moment earlier. She knocked on it firmly. A slot in the door opened at eye level, then slid shut again. A moment later, something clicked and the hinge swung open to a dim-lit room with a bar in the corner. A surprising number of human patrons were sitting at tables and booths in the small room. There was no sign of whoever had opened the door. In fact, nobody appeared to pay them any mind as they walked across the bar room. However, apparently, the room wasn't their final destination. There was a narrow staircase in the corner with a red velvet curtain across it. The woman parted the curtain and proceeded up the stairs, looking back several times to make sure her strange entourage was still behind her.
Krad felt almost comfortable in the oddly anonymous atmosphere of the tavern, but followed her up the stairs into a small hallway with several doors. He paused and waited while she produced a key and opened one of the rooms. He walked in behind her and surveyed its contents. There was a large bed, a nightstand, and an adjoining bathroom. In the corner was a small wet bar and glasses.
He stared at the bed for a few seconds, working something out in his head. For some reason, he had absolutely not realized what she was asking him for outside. Now, it was so obvious to him that he was having trouble believing his own oversight. He was neither naïve nor foreign to the concept of sex, but it came as a sudden shock to even conceive of taking part in the act himself. Unlike Dark, he had never taken an interest in having a physical relationship with a human. Of course, he had never had the freedom to pursue one, but he doubted that would have changed things.
"Hey."
Krad glanced up to see that the woman had come back over to him and was watching him curiously.
"You look mad again. Is something wrong with the room?"
"No. I just realized…rather... I do not like humans much," Krad murmured, wondering why he hadn't left yet.
The girl crossed her arms skeptically. "Okay, I've been with the roleplaying type before. What's your flavor? Want me to be an elf? I don't do zombies. Tried that once, and it didn't end well."
The angel blinked. Embarrassment had shifted his demeanor slightly, and though he kept trying to summon anger, it seemed to have run out on him. That, in itself, was unusual. "No. Never mind."
"You're a strange one. Awfully pretty, too. It's a shame about that hump on your back, or you'd be just like a centerfold. I almost mistook you for an old man on the street. Have a drink, you'll feel better. White or red?" She glanced back at him.
"You select the drink," Krad said flatly. She talked far too much. He was trying to decide which concept he was more repelled by at the moment – the alcohol or the sex. Why was he still here?
She squeezed her chin between her fingers and studied him. "Forget the wine. You look like the type who takes whiskey," she announced, selecting a bottle and pouring its contents into two tumblers. Lifting them, she crossed over to the bed and took a seat, holding one drink out to Krad, who was still standing by the open door. "Going to take your coat off and stay a while?" she coaxed.
Krad gave the door a push and let it shut on its own while he approached her. The drink didn't really interest him. Alcohol made the mind less sharp than he liked it to be, but tonight, he had to admit that the thought of turning his brain off for a while was rather tempting. Drinking with a human stranger in a shady hotel room seemed so distant from rationality that it was almost comforting.
He studied the glass in the woman's hand. After a moment's consideration, he took it almost aggressively, tilted his head back, and finished the glass in one deep haul.
"Whoah, whoah! It's not fair to the booze if you drink it that way," she protested in true horror, trying to snatch his tumbler. When he glared at her, she seemed to think better of taking it by force. "Good lord, that's whiskey, not cough syrup," she scolded.
"You could have fooled me," Krad commented with a sour look on his face. His gold eyes were shining from the burn.
That seemed to endear him to her, because her expression softened. "Don't drink very much, do you?"
"I didn't have the opportunity," Krad commented, too distracted by the heat in his throat to afford much thought to his answer.
Her eyes widened. "You've never drank before? You're shitting me." He seemed to be ignoring her, so she smiled and sipped her drink. "How is that possible?" she asked, sounding seriously interested.
The angel afforded her a contemplative stare. Even if he had the desire to answer her, what would he say? "I spent the last few hundred years living captive inside the deranged minds of a line of megalomaniacal artistic geniuses, and now I'm free"? Yeah, right. He walked past her toward the bar and refilled his tumbler.
"Pace yourself, hero," she warned good-naturedly.
Krad took a pointedly civil sip and gave her an acidic look. Unfortunately, this sent her into a helpless fit of laughter.
"My name's Angel," she said when she finally regained the power of speech. She patted the bed next to her.
Krad might have asked if that was her real name, except that it obviously wasn't and he hardly cared what her name was. He didn't particularly want to sit next to her, either. Being laughed at was a new experience for him. He still couldn't quite locate the motivation to rip her throat out, which seemed inconvenient. He wondered if that was him being tired or the alcohol beginning to do its work. He walked back to the bed and sat several feet to Angel's left, mostly because he honestly didn't feel like standing any more.
"Not very talkative, are you?" she asked. "Well, I can get down to business, if that's all you want." She stood up with her back to him and stripped her top off in one curving, luxurious movement. It revealed something Krad hadn't noticed before – a tattoo of a huge pair of feathery wings that folded down the entire length of her back. He was still taking it in when she turned toward him, her bare chest bobbing with practiced grace as she sidled up to stand almost touching his knees. The angel had to look up at her as she walked just in front of him, but not by much. She wasn't particularly tall.
"You have wings," he said, wanting to turn her around without having to touch her. As beautiful as he could acknowledge she was, he really had surprisingly little interest in the front of her body. The tattoo, however, intrigued him.
"Oh, so now you feel like talking?" Angel smiled, spinning around flirtatiously to show him her back at point-blank range. She looked over her bare shoulder at him. "I like birds. I've always wished I could fly."
"They're nice," Krad conceded.
"Do I detect a compliment?" she teased, dropping into the bed next to him.
"You like birds, I like art," he said, aggravated by her enthusiasm.
"Well? Don't you want to touch them?" she said, dropping her eyes to her own breasts and flitting them back up at him in an admirably realistic impression of shyness.
"No," he returned coldly and much too quickly.
Angel crossed her arms under her breasts, clearly disagreeing with him about their value. "You're really a tough one, aren't you. What's your story? You queer?"
"I said that I don't like humans."
Her expression darkened. "I told you, I'll act like Bilbo fucking Baggins if it gets you off, but if you just hate sex, why'd you come up here in the first place? God, Midnight would just love you." She'd dropped the 'pretty' voice. Suddenly, she sounded shrill and bossy.
Here it came, more stripper names. "Who?" he asked flatly.
She raised her eyebrows at him. This was apparently yet another thing he was supposed to already know. "Midnight is the queen here. The boss," she said.
"Of this building?" he asked, not sure why he bothered.
She laughed, and her voice was unpleasant. "Of this city. She's got a penchant for guys who are hard to break."
"Break. So she's a dominant."
"A dom, yeah. A good one, too. You get off on bondage?"
"I have had my share," Krad said. "I'm free now. Never again."
This seemed to catch her interest, despite her annoyed mood. She looked at him skeptically. "You like your old master?"
The angel's expression said that the answer to that was obvious, but he didn't speak right away. After all, she didn't even understand what he was talking about. But maybe that was better. "He was obstinate and sentimental. He turned me over to the hands of my enemies and left me for dead."
"He?" She gave a harsh snicker, as if her breasts had been vindicated. "So, you love this guy?"
Krad's face grew dark. Ah, there it was. Anger. "What part of 'hands of my enemies' and 'left for dead' are you unfamiliar with?"
"Hey, it's just a question," she defended. "I'm not a sub, how should I know? Maybe you have Stockholm Syndrome and this shit made you loyal to him."
"I dropped a building over his head yesterday," Krad said dryly. He was beginning to seriously dislike her real voice.
Angel's expression went from curious to incredulous. "Good for you," she said, clearly not believing him. "Didja get him?"
"No. He made it out."
"Oh, this is rich. Okay, Superman, did you try using your laser vision?" she said sarcastically.
"We're done," Krad snarled, standing up.
And almost sat back down. Apparently, two whiskeys within fifteen minutes was nothing to sniff at. He toughed it out, and after a few seconds, he found that his head cleared somewhat. Enough, at least. He walked toward the door.
"Hey, you gonna pay for this show, or do I have to call someone to make you?" she demanded.
Krad reached into his pocket and pulled out the credit card Jirou had given him. He wouldn't be using it again. He threw it on the bed and opened the door. "Don't overdo it. It's not mine," he said flatly.
"Fine! Get the fuck out, fucking queer," Angel grumbled from behind him as he left her and her perfect breasts behind without a second glance.
The hallway seemed too bright after the dim light of the bedroom, but the angel was somewhat relieved to find that he didn't have significant trouble seeing or walking down it. That was about the only thing he was pleased about at the moment. He reached the base of the stairwell and stepped through the curtain, back into the muted commotion of the bar room. There were quite a few more people than before, and the room seemed oddly quieter than it had. He paused and peered into the dark room, searching for the door they'd come in by.
"Getcha something, sir?" the bartender's voice came from Krad's left.
The angel looked over at the man. "Just leaving," he said.
"I wouldn't go out just now if I were you. The cops are making a run of the street," the bartender said, wiping down a spill on his counter.
They are not here for me," Krad challenged coldly.
The bartender just laughed. "Ain't a man in this hellhole hasn't done something to piss off the cops, and even if you ain't, they'll take you aside just the same. So if you got something to hide, I recommend you stay put."
Krad frowned. His patience for human society had more than run its limits tonight. But he certainly did have something to hide. He had two very large, feathery things to hide. Practicality won out, and the irate angel took up a stool at the bar.
He glanced up as the bartender thunked a glass of beer in front of him.
"I didn't order anything," the angel said firmly.
"If you ain't gonna pay for it, don't drink it, but you can't just sit dry at my bar. Let one fella stay without buyin' and it sets a bad example for the others. I'm just putting up with ya because you're one of Angel's customers."
Krad rolled his eyes and leaned forward on his elbows, watching the beer without interest while the bartender moved off to take care of other customers. He had a bizarre temptation to put his head down and fall asleep, but he knew full well that this was no place to relax. If it weren't for the whiskey in his system, he'd probably have been on the verge of panic.
Instead, he let his anger and impatience fester and turned his attention toward his surroundings. The most hard-to-miss conversation in the room was the noisy quarreling of a group of about fifteen men who had staked out the entire left-front quadrant of the bar. It took a few minutes of listening to realize that they were arguing about someone who'd been left outside.
"This is insane! We can't leave him out there!" one of the younger voices demanded for the third or fourth time.
"No, he stays there. And Maru, one more whine from you and we'll let you join him."
"But he's one of us!"
"Can it, Maru! The boss is getting pissed."
"He wasn't pulling his weight and you all know it. Now shut up and order us some drinks."
"We can't leave him out there!"
"What did I fucking tell you?"
The telltale click of a safety lock unsnapping let the whole tavern know what was about to happen. As if a ceremony was about to start of which they were all informed in advance, the room fell silent. A second later, the shot went off and there was a heavy sound as a body slid to the floor. Krad looked over his shoulder to find the entire restaurant very cautiously minding its own business, the hum of conversation drifting back into the air as if nothing had happened. In fact, he was the only one who turned to see the man he assumed to be "Maru" drawing his final gasps on the linoleum floor.
A tall man wearing jeans and a black leather jacket was standing over the body, calmly resetting the safety on his gun. The man scanned the room and connected with Krad's cold stare.
"Idiot! The hell you looking at them for?" the bartender hissed from just behind Krad's head.
"Having a problem minding your own fucking business, pal?" the gangster threatened, turning toward Krad without putting the gun away.
The angel's expression hardened, anger sparking into the edges of his cold bronze eyes. "Something irritated my ears," he said.
"Aw, do bullets make you nervous, prettyboy? I don't pussy around with silencers," the man smirked darkly. Dangerous aggression seemed to ooze from his stance as he began walking toward Krad. It was easy to see why the rest of the men obeyed this one.
"The gun wasn't the problem. Perhaps it was your voice," the angel offered. There wasn't even a glimmer of amusement in his face.
Apparently, the rest of the room didn't think that was such a smart idea. Another ceremonial silence fell over the group, the turned backs of the other patrons asserting that this was what happened to people who didn't mind their business. It occurred to Krad that they had a point. He wasn't showing enough self-restraint. On the other hand, something about this gangster annoyed him immensely. The indifferent poses of the rest of the room irked him as well.
"Do you enjoy pain, smartass?" the man asked, leaning down so he was eye to eye with Krad.
The angel returned his glare unblinkingly, thinking more carefully through his words. He wanted a way to defuse the situation. He did not feel like enduring this musclehead's conversation until the police left the area. On the other hand, he didn't intend to be conciliatory, either. He chose to do neither. "I'm going to turn around and drink my beer," Krad said as mildly as possible, showing the man his open palms. He slowly pivoted his head back to the bar and left his back to him.
"You ain't drinkin' your beer."
Krad was truly angry now, but he kept his gaze forward and picked up the drink the bartender had set in front of him. Not that he cared much, but he couldn't afford to pay for it.
"You still ain't drinkin'," the voice taunted again from over his shoulder, closer than before.
"Tetsu, no more gunshots. The cops are right outside," warned one of the men in the corner.
"Yeah, I know," the voice returned, and a whisk of metal told Krad a switchblade had just come out.
Krad felt his muscles tense, adrenaline beginning to overcome the calming effects of the alcohol. He'd been free of the curse for nearly ten days, yet he had not taken a single human life. Again and again, he'd avoided the vindication of the anger he'd protected so carefully for so long. It kept nagging at him. He kept wondering if he had lost his nerve, forgotten his purpose. But with a knife at his back, revenge was less optional. Was this it? Was he going to kill every human being in this room? Would that restore his resolve?
The angel slowly got to his feet and turned to face the man called Tetsu. The other men began moving in to flank their leader, forming a semicircle around Krad. "Put the knife away," he said, his mood growing worse with every second he looked into the fool's smug face.
Tetsu's face contorted into an abrasive laugh. "You have no clue who you're screwing around with." He raised the knife and lunged at Krad, blade aimed at the angel's throat.
There was a burst of light, and the next thing anyone knew, Tetsu's body had been hurled to the floor, skidding across the room until his head rode up against a table leg and stopped him. A deep crater had been burned into his chest, his shirt blown to rags around it. There was no blood from the wound itself; it had been cauterized the instant it was made, but there was no doubt the man was dead. A trickle of blood ran from his nose, and his eyes stared vacantly into space.
"He killed Tetsu!" shouted one of the gangsters, who were cautiously drawing their weapons. As if the code of anonymity had been broken, the entire room was suddenly watching the scene.
Krad looked at the dead body. He was mad, and it felt good. "Worthless humans," he growled.
"Get him!" someone shouted, and suddenly ten bodies were running toward Krad with knives raised.
The angel summoned his powers and threw a volley of weaker blasts into the men closest to him. He couldn't afford to use an attack like he just had on Tetsu for each of them, so he paced himself. An entire row of men went down, shock glazed onto their expressions, but several more made it to him, forcing Krad to fight hand to hand. Or rather, hand to knife. The angel snarled as white heat cut across one of his arms. He summoned a powerful blast of force that threw the men out of striking distance. Wood splintered as people were thrown onto tables and chairs and food and drink crashed to the ground. Screams and shouts of panic rang out as people scrambled to organize themselves in a way that would actually work against the powerful stranger.
More decided to join the fight, edging toward Krad like he was a dangerous animal. Krad held his hand out, and a glowing blade of blue energy extended from it. Amidst a chorus of confused shouts and curses from around the room, he charged the closest attacker and threw the blade into its neck. The weapon cut easily through the man's flesh before Krad dropped him to the ground in a gurgling heap. The angel burst into motion toward the panicking crowd, using their shock to his advantage. Ten seconds later, eight more men lay on the floor and his attackers were becoming more desperate.
Krad, for his part, was getting tired. He was exhausted in the first place, and he had used a lot of energy on that first attack. However, this didn't supply him with even the slightest desire to stop. He wanted to kill; he wanted them all to suffer. The crowd around him looked like nothing more than worthless, petty vermin, and they died so easily. It was like stomping on roaches.
Hands were grabbing at him, trying to muscle him down. Fabric ripped around his neck, and he felt his cloak pull away from his body. The angel spun and took a lethal swing at the man who had done it, his wings showing to the room. A few men hesitated at the sight of them, while others shouted to each other and redoubled their efforts.
Krad stretched his wings straight upward to keep them out of the way, striking another man down. Bodies were closing in around him, making it hard to maneuver. Hands and fists were jabbing into him from more directions than he could manage at once. To make matters worse, his movements were losing their sharpness. He still had his knife spell engaged and was making full use of it, and more than a few bodies slumped limply between their peers as the crowd pressed in on the angel. More than two thirds of the men in the room were down, but there were still enough to corner him, which Krad did not like. He beat his wings and attempted to lift off from the chaos, but hands grabbed his ankle and twisted him sideways.
The angel gasped as he was thrown to the ground. The men pressed in above him. Krad let the energy blade dissolve in his hands and fired a series of attacks upward. Blood sprayed across his face, and two men collapsed over him. Their bodies were heavy and weighed him down more than ever. Hmm, that hadn't been the plan.
Krad glared upward and fought fiercely against the hands and boots that swarmed over him, but they pinned his limbs until he was too outmuscled to continue. Several heavy feet came down on his spread wings. "Off!" he roared, struggling.
"I'll do the honors," a man said, stepping forward with a pistol in his hand. The crowd separated enough to let him in at the angel's feet. Krad recognized him as part of the original gang from earlier. "You have a hell of a lot of nerve, picking a fight in here. And not bringin' a single friend to back you up. Are you some kind of idiot?" the man growled, pointing the gun at the angel's head. "I don't know what you did to yourself, but that's the most unnatural fucking thing I've ever seen," he spat, waving the barrel at Krad's wings.
Krad fought harder against their grip, understanding that he really was about to be shot. He did not want to die trapped. He was free, damn it. His rage was burning through every muscle like gasoline, ready to explode, but he had no matches left. He couldn't move his arms, and he couldn't make an attack. Through the legs of the men holding him down, he could see the bodies of the men he'd killed strewn across the bar. The first thought the view inspired was a sense of pride and satisfaction. To his confusion, the victory felt empty and false almost immediately afterward. It wasn't enough. He scrambled for a meaning to pin to what had just happened before he died at the hands of this half-wit thug. Nothing came; he only felt bitter and confused.
"Wait. Let me see," came a woman's commanding voice from the corner of the room. Krad tried to identify it, but it wasn't Angel's. The group opened up to let in a slender woman wearing a black leather dress and stiletto shoes with laces that ran up her legs. Her lipstick looked like blood on her ivory face, and her black hair flowed in thick curls around her waist.
"Miss Midnight," acknowledged the man with the gun, without lowering it.
The name clicked in Krad's adrenaline-soaked mind. This was the "queen" Angel had mentioned.
Midnight walked slowly up to Krad, studying him with a predatory stare. She stood between his spread legs and placed one spike-heeled foot on the angel's chest. She leaned forward onto it, bending over her knee to get a good look at the breathless man's face. Krad did not offer her the satisfaction of a groan. He glared at her hatefully as she looked over his wings and muscles. Finally, she pushed off his chest and crossed her arms critically. "I want him," she said.
"…Miss Midnight, he just took out our friends."
"Your friends," she corrected. "I want him. Don't worry, he'll be punished."
"With all due respect, that ain't the kind of punishment he deserves."
Midnight walked slowly up to the man, pressing her face close enough to kiss him. "I said he's mine. Now get your gun off my new pet."
"I am not your pet," Krad snarled from his place on the ground.
The woman smirked at the man with the gun. "Knock him out, but don't damage him."
Krad was about to talk back to her, but a steel-toed boot caught him squarely behind his ear, and in a flash of shock, he was out cold.
o0oOo0o
(From Wikipedia): Stockholm syndrome is a psychological response sometimes seen in an abducted hostage, in which the hostage shows signs of loyalty to the hostage-taker, regardless of the danger (or at least risk) in which they have been placed.
To be continued! Soon! Welp, Krad finally snapped. Seemed like it had to happen sometime. Don't be too weirded out by all the sketchy hookers; I promise not to write weird bondage lemons about Krad and Midnight (unless you want me to P ) I'm bringing Dark and Daisuke back in next chapter also, but you won't have to wait too long to find out what happens to Krad.
Shout outs!
Relena – Thanks for reviewing, as always. I think Daisuke and Dark will be seeing each other again in the next update.
Ichigo-usagi Wizu – If I'm lucky, you made it past the first chapter and are still reading P. Thanks for the feedback!
X lost fairytale – Huzzah, I'm thrilled that you like the vet. This update took longer than expected because, well, it became 13 pages long. But hopefully the motivation for the next part (or an impatient reader's fist) will hit me quickly so I can make more.
Bansheegrrl – Thanks for following along even though I took forever to update X)
Stormshadow13 – Er, I hope you will forgive me for being mean to Krad in this one. Yeah, Dark's in a bit of trouble, but at least he's closer to the action now. Krad and Sato haven't seen the last of each other – that much I can promise : )