Fire of Youth

Chapter 32


Bzzzzz

BzzZzz

BZZzzzZz

Groggy from sleep, her eyes opened to the sound her ears had picked up. Her phone lay on a small bedside table and was busy having its vibrating seizures. Her hand mechanically reached out to snatch it. One miss later and the phone was in her hand. There was one missed call – from Infernus? She hit the button to return the call even as she heard the door to the on-site house open. Her brain started waking up at that. The rest of her body was refusing to follow suit. Blinking and wincing at the belligerent light of the screen, she held it up to her ear and sat up in the bed. At least now the light wasn't on her face.

"Infernus?" she wondered. "What is it?"

"...Please don't kill me."

She blinked. "What?"

"Please don't kill me."

She'd been woken up by bizarre requests a few times in her life, the most common lately being "Please don't freak out," and "I can explain." This one had to fall into her top three. Smokescreen had always been wary around her ever since his "adventure" with Jack into a dangerous situation, but she'd eventually let her nettled attitude subside once he'd proven himself capable of learning from mistakes. Once she'd gotten to know him a little better she'd realized he was a typical teenager in the way he'd behaved: eager to please, somewhat rebellious, and more often than not operated on impulse – except, of course, for the obvious difference of the teenager being a good twenty feet tall, now even taller after undergoing a forced modification.

So why the sudden reversion back to skittishness? she wondered.

Her answer walked in through the darkened barracks: Miko. At first, she didn't see anything wrong other than the girl holding one hand over her left arm, her posture subdued. As her eyes readjusted to the dark, however, she began to notice dark splotches on her exposed skin. Heart racing as her mind recognized them, she flipped on the light on the end table to get a better look. Her heart jumped. Revealed were over a dozen cuts and bruises all over her arms, legs, and face, her clothes dusty.

"It's...not as bad as it looks?" the girl managed.

Her mind and body woke up in an instant.

She flung the covers away and rushed forward. She looked her over. The cuts had scabbed over already, though the bruises appeared worse – large and dark, like something heavy had dropped on her or hit her. There was no sign of any broken bones, thankfully. But the dust – it brought back bad memories of a story Arcee had shared with her, from before she'd known of her real nature. Miko had been underground. That was obvious. She fought the urge to question where exactly she'd been and dove into the drawer of the nightstand where a cache of bandages, ointment, cotton balls, and a few small travel bottles of hydrogen peroxide were stored. She grabbed the cotton balls and the peroxide and rushed into the small bathroom, taking a cloth and wetting it, then return and set to work on the cut above her eye. Miko winced as the cold water and peroxide stung, tiny bubbles forming as the latter fluid did its job, but otherwise did not react.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"It's...uh...yeah...it's – it's involved?" the girl stammered. "Y'see, I..."

Her phone buzzed again, then went to speaker on its own.

"It's my fault, Ms. Darby. I wasn't there to keep an optic on her, and...I only found out about it after it happened. She stowed away on Magnus's ship, went with them to the Isles. I was in El Paso with 'Bee, Arcee, and Blue and Soundwave was there and cut their comm's. I would've bridged in, or sent someone here to pick her up, but we're trying to stay below the 'Cons' radar. I'm sorry."

"Geez, it's okay!" Miko snorted. "Catscratch protected me when the cave came crashing down. And technically that was 'Jackie's fault, not mine."

Her eyes widened as she kept dabbing the water and peroxide. Her injuries were from a cave in?!

Miko protested that "she was fine" and "it wasn't a big deal."

She shook her head, barely containing the surge of protective fury that was bubbling in her chest. At least someone had been there to shield her – Catscratch. If she ever got the chance, she owed this Catscratch some heartfelt thanks. Done with the peroxide treatment, she brought out the antibiotic ointment and the bandages. Some cuts were so insignificant that they didn't deserve more than a dab of ointment; others were treated and covered. Lucky the girl had had most of her skin covered and, from the looks of it, had kept the injuries from being exposed to contaminants. The bruises would need treatment, too. A handful of them looked almost purple. Those would start hurting badly if they weren't already.

Rising, she retreated to a mini-fridge, rummaged, and found an ice pack and a bottle of water, advising her to keep the pack on the largest of the bruises to help with pain and swelling. She then fished into her purse and found some over-the-counter pain killers, giving her two and the water bottle.

"No more 'excursions' for you. Not until you're healed up." she scolded.

The look she gave her was somewhere between contrite, annoyed, and exasperated.

"Miko..." Infernus warned. "Don't make me put a leash on you. Because I can and I will."

Her tongue stuck out at the phone on her end table.

"Please, Miko. Just listen to her."

Something in his voice made her yield an inch. She groaned, rolled yer eyes, but promised not to go adventuring until she didn't look like a small, angry mountain had attacked her.


'Smokescreen –'

He rolled his optics, "All due respect, Optimus, but don't start."

'Then all I will say is that your panic was disproportionate to the danger posed."

He rolled his optic and stuck his glossa out in protest. When he got threatened by an angry human femme after endangering her kid by accident, he wouldn't be saying "disproportionate" for very long. Screw protective femmes from home. June was terr-i-fying when she was mad, and she could fit in his hand. In his hand! He was terrified of someone shorter than a mini-con! No weapons or armor either!

A pulse came – tinier, sprightly almost, yet highly intelligent and, while friendly, there was bite in it. 'I believe Ms. Darby might be flattered that a being your size is cowed by her.' offered a new voice. 'That or intensely amused.'

'Hey-hey! And the munchkin finally speaks!' laughed the Shifter. 'Where ya been hangin', shorty?'

'...Call me that again and I will hurt you.'

'Aw, you're so cute when you're-OW! I didn't even say it!'

He relaxed when the older Prime chuckled. He smiled as a twinge of regret nipped at his spark. It wasn't fair, he thought, that no one except him would ever hear that sound under non-lethal circumstances. He could only be heard through the Matrix. It wasn't fair. But he felt the senior Prime smile as the Matrix pulsed softly. He had but to ask Arcee, Wheeljack, and Grimwing to prove that assumption incorrect. Confused, he said he'd ask. None of them had mentioned anything about him after their visits to the grave, and hadn't he said that leaving the Matrix was, like, a no-go?

He felt the Prime's smile grow broader. He had never said that he insisted.

Speaking of the grave, he owed him a visit. But first, he needed to check on Blue. Though stable, he still hadn't onlined. He was getting worried. Maybe being there, like Mark being there for him, might help.

'Your brother takes priority, Smokescreen.'

Transforming, he pumped his tattered wings and made for the hangar. Funny though that the farther he got away from Miko, the less noticeable the low broil in the air became. A tension in his body he hadn't noticed faded too. Why – why would being around Miko make him nervous, adrenaline junkie behavior aside? She wasn't dangerous to him, and yet that was how he'd reacted unconsciously. Someone in the Matrix pulsed their own agreement to the observation, a pulse he hadn't felt individually before. Warm, intelligent, casual, and bearing a playfulness akin to the Shifter's, there was an odd flanging of hot and cold in the pulse. It didn't completely fade either, like other pulses did. Weird.

'Okay. You wanna talk or are you gonna lurk in the background like a creepy ghost stalker? 'Cause that's what you're makin' me feel right now: stalked.'

In answer, a warm, gruff voice like a Lord of the Rings dwarf answered back laughingly that he could talk in a moment. He was to see to his brother first. And the briefing.

He pushed it to the side-burner as he reached the hangar, swapping out of beast form to enter. Bluestreak was still lying on the berth, cycling air, but unconscious. He was stunned, honestly, on noticing that Raf was the one keeping an eye on Bluestreak's vitals through his laptop on the sofa. Or he thought he was. A closer look showed the boy was dead asleep, his heart rate slow and steady. Jack was with him on the chair, also out of it. Ratchet was off to the side tending to Bulkhead's ruptured audial while Magnus waited near at hand. On spotting him, he gave him a look that said "We need to talk" but it wasn't forceful. He flared a few glyphs at him in thanks, then turned to approach the berth. Blue looked the same as he had. Still no sign of him waking up. The Prime reached one hand to put on his sibling's arm. Warm. The readings showed no deviation, and he could still sense his spark.

"Come on, Blue...Wake up..." he muttered.

But he didn't.

"Please..."

Still nothing.

He left to speak with the Commander. He linked into Rafael's laptop just in case. To his surprise, Ultra Magnus motioned the nearby Prowl, Bumblebee, and even Ratchet out of the hangar. But not the Wreckers, nor did he wake up the sleeping Raf and Jack. He cocked a brow ridge at him. Magnus pulled him over to one side and explained himself in the most cryptic terms he'd heard him use.

"The Decepticons cannot patch a human, Prime, and this data cannot go beyond those who know it, or an acquaintance of ours could die. The simple truth is that the Decepticons hold no interest in humans, and they hold no interest in capturing you alive now you've become a Prime. However, they would hold interest in capturing Wreckers due to sensitive information we carry. In light of that, had we the means, I would not hesitate to transfer what we know to you through a cortical psychic patch, then perform mnemosurgery to remove what we know, leaving you the only holder."

He stared at him. Shock ripped through him better than the shrapnel had. "What?"

"We have a possible double agent, Prime."

He looked away from the medic's console and brought up an artist's rendition of a little black cat in various positions. Large ears, a scraggly coat, bushy, wispy tail, and wide blue eyes made it seem kitten-like – adorable. A single white splotch on its chest shone faintly. The internet revealed it was a fairy cat, viewed by the Celts as playful (they'd entertained it with a prominent festival) but dangerous (it stole souls apparently). If he was showing him this – the sidhe cat – then that must mean...this was the double agent, and it must be a Predacon. He resisted slapping himself physically, content to do it mentally. Miko had mentioned someone named "Catscratch" having protected her during the cave collapse. Wow. Pretty obvious name in hindsight. Regular 'Con-loyal beasts wouldn't have bothered to protect her – this one had. And yet, if Catscratch were a double agent, that meant she'd gone back to the 'Cons.

Why?

"They're loyal," Wheeljack grunted. "But that doesn't mean they like 'em."

Magnus took down the image. The pieces fit in. He couldn't help grinning.

"I have a kitty-cat spy. Sweeeet."

Magnus grabbed him. "Prime, it is vital that you understand this information must not go beyond my Wreckers and the humans. The fewer who are aware, the better their chances of survival."

"Uh...the Thirteen are exempt from that rule...right?"

"Yes."

'Ah, good. Otherwise I would've felt like a horrible betrayer.'

Maybe it was just Liege's unique way of speech coupled with his voice print, but something about that statement hadn't felt entirely sincere.

'Says the schleezy traitor who orchestrated my murder.' Solus snapped back.

The gruff voice from outside butted in as kindly as he could, 'Whoa-kay, you two, let's nae star –"

Liege purred back, 'Darling, that was an accident! You know that. I would never –'

'Was it though? Was it?'

He could almost imagine the Maker aiming her Forge to Liege the same way an angry human female might hold a gun to a cheating boyfriend. He pictured her expression somewhere between "Don't tempt me, moron," to "Legit give me any reason."

"Can you two take your drama someplace else?" he growled. "If not, keep it in the background."

Three sets of optics stared at him. He stared back, revving his vocalizer in a way as forced and awkward as he felt. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Prime drama..."

"They have drama?" Bulkhead wondered.

He gave him an optic-roll, "Like you wouldn't believe."

Magnus gave him a wisp of a smile. He called the rest of the team back in.


He was starting to get irritated with Predacons. The damage to Bulkhead's audial and surrounding regions wasn't like standard wounds to that area. Normally such damages consisted of a blast site, caused by plasma shots or missiles, and fried ensuing and blasted circuitry, or a dent that needed pounding out, but working through the shredded tangle of sparking wires and persistent leaks was more hassle than trying to hijack Shockwave's chip signal. Some of the fine efnx lines that comprised his wireless communication network were so badly shredded he couldn't salvage them. Not for the first time did he yearn for the complex set of tools and supplies a real clinic from home could provide, or a mini-con assistant for the finer repairs. Or both. Both would be fantastic.

But that wasn't possible when the universe was persistent about taking things away from you.

"Ping me. Let me see if the comm. link works."

The burly mech did as told. The ping came.

"Good. Next time, don't ping someone when there's a rabid Predacon within charging distance of you."

He released Bulkhead. His hearing would be marginally worse on that side, but at the very least the comm. link still functioned properly. He returned to his work on the chip. The process was slow, but with Shockwave there could be no mishaps. A field flared behind him gently, awkwardly. Infernus.

*You okay, doc?*

He graced him a sideways glance to notice a strange expression on his faceplates. Was there a reason he was asking?

*Yeah. I want you to take a break. You need it.*

The old medic's ensuing sharp turn of the helm was coupled with surprise. This seemed...sudden. Or perhaps he'd misjudged how accurately he could read him through his acerbic impartiality.

*You've been so busy you haven't had a chance to visit. You two were close. Go.*

He appreciated the sentiment, and the concern for his emotional well-being, but they couldn't afford it until the chip –

*Yes. You can. Go. Drowning yourself in your work isn't going to help.*

Sighing, he abandoned the chip. He had to credit the youth – he was young and inexperienced, but he had the same kind nature as Orion and the same sharp optic for people. As a Prime, it was simply more noticeable. Or maybe Optimus himself had noticed and had alerted him to the emotional distress he'd though he'd handled and hidden. In wartime, death was common for a field medic – you grieved for a while, then moved on. Managing it in practice was never so easy, not when close friends were the ones you were grieving.

*Go. Take as long as you need.*

Infernus opened a 'bridge for him, nodding him through. The look on his faceplates – it almost spooked him. It was Infernus's young, angular faceplates, but his expression, his optics, that sad, understanding smile were all Orion's.


Thank Primus for Prowl she thought as she trudged back towards the sanctuary of the hangar, dorsal fins down. He knew how to word things right and he knew military protocol better than even the military people here did. That made up for him being a cold, impartial, pragmatic jackass the rest of the time. Without his help she might've done something regrettable to General Bryce. Fowler, strangely, had been the reasonable one in that talk. It was a broken door, not a blown up building, and removing the 'Con bodies was the priority. A jaw could be faked – media covered hoaxes like that all the time. Pumpjacks could be repaired. Dead Vehicons and Eradicons? Not so much. Clean-up crews were already dealing with that before the weekend finished and the workers came back.

She entered, thankful for the smile Infernus gave her from where he leaned on the wall, arms over his chest, and the chirping greeting of Bumblebee. Welcome change from a fragged off General. Her partner and Rafael were both asleep in the little lounge, one on the sofa with his laptop flickering on the table in front of him, the other leaning back in a chair. Her nettled plating smoothed out. Peace and quiet again at last.

"Remind me to never kick down another door in my life, or trust you in an oil field."

"Oh, c'mon! He's mad at you over that? He was less fragged at me over bringing Grimwing here!" (She was grateful he kept his voice down)

"You're the one in charge," trilled the scout. "Maybe he respects you more than he lets on. And maybe Bryce is a little bit sexist. Who knows?"

She made a face. Why gender was such a big deal with humans she would never understand.

"Anything new happen while I was out?"

"Do I count?"

She whirled to face the berth. Lying down, she almost hadn't noticed him. Bluestreak looked terrible but, like Infernus, was somehow able to smile that innocent smile of his through the pain. That seemed to be a shared trait with them. But in a move that made no sense, the young Prime seemed troubled. Maybe he'd already reacted and had moved on to other things. Or, worse, something was bothering him so thoroughly he couldn't appreciate the little win of his brother's survival. Over the span of a few quiet minutes, she spotted that he kept glancing in the hangar exit's general direction through fleet, almost reluctant turns of his neck, and then towards Prowl. His behavior was that of some soldiers during the war: he was anxious, stir-crazy. Wanted out but couldn't get out.

*You okay?*

He didn't respond. Not instantly. What he answered with, in a tone that she wasn't used to hearing from him, made no sense to her: *Something's up with Miko.*

She cocked one brow ridge. Miko was the wild card who stowed away on personal ships and tried to pick fights with 'Cons. Of course there was "something up" with her. She was an adrenaline junkie.

He said that wasn't what he meant. The air around her, ever since she'd got back, felt like it –

Ratchet's console suddenly began blaring. Raf and Jack were up in an instant, their eyes bleary as their heads whirled to the console in a blind panic. Infernus dashes to the console.

"What? What's wrong?!" Jack demanded.

"Prime?!"

To hear the faintest tinge of panic in Prowl's voice was not reassuring.

Thuds from outside betrayed Grimwing's arrival. He was agitated, the warning lights on his wings flickering rapidly in bright red.

"It's Ratchet. He's –"

He rounded on the 'bridge controls, yanking the lever down before vanishing inside.

"What?! What's going on?" Raf demanded, his tone dangerously nervous. "Where's Ratchet?!"

Bumblebee forewent the console to pluck the boy off the sofa, holding him close. He told him in a low trill that he went to visit the grave. He refused to tell him any more. If he had, the news would only increase his pulse past the ridiculous rate it was already at.

"Prime?" Prowl demanded again into the console.

No answer came.


His spark flipped. He actually felt it flip inside its chamber at what he saw.

Ratchet.

On the ground.

The tips of his limbs greying.

He swapped one hand to a gun, the other to a blade. He scanned the skies, the ground. He could see no enemies, smell no foreign scents, hear no noise. He quickly stalked towards where the old medic lay on his backstrut, keeping his weapons out. He knelt. No wounds, but no spark signal either. His wrists and heel struts were busy greying, and yet the rest of him was still vibrant with color. There was something in the air, too – a strong tingle he could feel in his circuits.

Onyx. Onyx was the resident spirit expert. He would know what was going on.

"Onyx? Onyx, what's going on?"

No answer. The Matrix churned.

'Calm, little ember. You have no need to panic.'

Something snapped inside. Fire scalded his circuits.

"No need to panic?! NO NEED TO PANIC?! THE DOC IS LYING DEAD ON THE GROUND AND YOU'RE TELLING ME NOT TO PANIC?!"

He felt the benign deity retreat almost out of startled shyness or maybe even fear. The Thirteen still refused to speak up. Not knowing what else to do, he began gently shaking the medic's frame with his own shaking hands. No response. The grey slowly continued to inch up his limbs. Slag, he was starting to get a little too familiar with how Simba had felt in the Lion King.

"Doc! Come on! Wake up! Please!"

[Prime! Status!] Prowl barked. [Is Ratchet online?]

"I-I-I don't know! I don't know!"

[Prime, please try to remain coherent.] urged the Commander. [Are there any enemies in the vicinity?]

"No, no. I-I checked. He's not hurt either. I-It's like he just...keeled over or something."

Prowl demanded further details of his condition.

"Only the ends of his limbs are grey; rest of him's still in color, but the grey's spreading – slow, but spreading. No energy reading from him. And there's this weird buzz in the air?"

[Buzz?] Arcee repeated. [What do you mean?]

His spark flipped again when the grey licking at the medic's limbs began to recede. A hysterical, relieved cry came from the hangar: Raf. His signal was back online! Ratchet stirred soon after, groaning as he rose. He seemed unprepared for the look of relieved agonizing stress that met him, and was less prepared still for the embrace. The grey retreated to the internal song of the Matrix, its notes hopeful and loving yet filled with regret. The buzz wasn't gone but it was almost unnoticeable now.

"Thank Primus!" he gasped. "Don't scare me like that again! Your signal went offline and you nearly gave us all spark attacks! You nearly scared Raf to death! We though the 'Cons had found you and – and...and I found you lying dead on the ground, turning grey and I've been trying to get you to wake up for, like, easily three breams! What the frack happened?!"

Ratchet, disoriented and visibly dazed, said he wouldn't believe him if he told him. At that, he snorted.

"Seriously? Try me, old timer. You're talking to the guy who got turned into a dragon by a bunch of mechanical demigods and has said demigods stuck in his helm as we speak. Fracking. Try. Me," he paused to look around. "At the hangar."

He helped him up, requested a 'bridge from Raf, and led the medic on unsteady trods towards the portal.

"...You owe Raf an apology by the way. Big time."

To his surprise, Ratchet gave a short, raspy sort of chuckle – and agreed.


He refused to leave the medic's side as he sat, backstrut against the interior wall of the hangar. Grimwing lay curled up like a feathered cat close by, watching Ratchet closely. Nothing was more important than the large black hand that held him close to his chassis, letting him rest his head on the faded amber metal. Warm. Alive. The fright was still there, but the longer he stayed near him, the more he heard the steady pulse beneath the metal, the weaker it became. And the more exhausted he felt.

Ratchet was alive. He'd explain in the morning what had happened.

Bluestreak was awake again.

Infernus wasn't freaking out anymore.

Everything was okay.

Finally, he let his brain slip under again to the pulsing thrum beneath the metal.


Why had he pulled her out here? Why the secrecy?

He glanced quickly at the hangar. He had wanted to talk to her, he said softly. Worried blue optics locked onto her own. About Miko.

"What about her?"

He patted the air in front of her nervously, requesting she keep her voice down or else use his private comm. channel. He didn't want Bulkhead to overhear. That got her attention – and her suspicion. This wasn't a "normal" Miko issue he wanted to talk about – if it were, he'd do the smart thing and keep Bulkhead in the loop.

"What's wrong?"

"I got cut off earlier," he whispered, "so I didn't get to finish. When I was taking Miko over the Ms. Darby, the air around her felt like it was on fire. And I'm not talking anything weird. I'm talking the air felt like it was literally on fire. Burning. Like someone had dropped a napalm around her. Soon as I got away from her, it stopped."

She shuttered her optics once in a rapid blink. None of the Wreckers had mentioned that, she said. But shouldn't he be telling this to Ratchet or June? Why tell her?

Because, he said, this wasn't something either of them could help with, and telling anyone else would mean it would get around.

"What would get around?"

"That sense – the fire – one of the Thirteen decided to help me out in trying to figure out what it is. He did something to my optics. I can see this...trail now. Energy trail," He pointed out towards the hangar where the Iron Will was stored. "It comes out of there and follows the path I took to the on-site housing where Ms. Darby's staying. I've been watching it for a while now. Still there. Hasn't moved. Neither has Miko."

"Energy trail?" she repeated. "What kind of energy?"

The look he gave her made her shudder. It wasn't Infernus looking at her – it wasn't even Smokescreen.


"You say you assaulted my soldiers through coercion," the Grey King said. "Shockwave assures me, however, that Predacons are loyal by their very nature. I find it hard to believe all four of you were so easily taken advantage of."

He cast a quick glance at the Felioid at his side. Silently he thanked Onyx that her flicking tail wasn't translated by the Grey King or his screeching lieutenant. He didn't need to look behind to hear Moonhowler on the floor, shivering and whimpering. He felt worst he had in decades when he snorted and stamped a hoof to quiet the older hound. Tag-Along quickly huddled around his friend. When Ravage tried to lean in to sniff, he snarled and came within a fiber's width of snapping Ravage's snout off.

He kept his voice level as he answered, *Ah'm shoore the Builder can explain we're territorial by nature, too, sir. And close. We see something that dooesn't ding right away, we'll react tae protect our oown and our stock. I admit, we've become a tad paranoid.*

The Grey King frowned. Moonhowler whimpered.

*Honestly,* Catscratch hissed in a disparaging voice. *Look at us! We wouldn't have stood a bloomin' chance against those moderns. Either we comply, or we get smooshed. It's that simple. And when the alpha makes a decision, the rest better bloody well listen.*

*You managed well enough against a Draconian, cat,* Ravage growled. *Battling a few measly moderns would have been simpler.*

*Dracs are greedy ego-maniacs,* she snapped back. *And you'd do well tae learn soome manners, ya bastart!*

Ravage bared his fangs. Catscratch yowled and made to swat him. He stamped again to stop her. Her paw lowered.

*Besides,* she continued in her usual domineering manner, *Moony can't control the area of effect of his howl. If we'd managed to bury those moderns, ye'd nae see any of us weeping. We've had our fair share of trooble with them over the years. We dealt with them however we could. Sometimes that meant using our processors and not our jaws when we started losing members to moderns. Can ye really blame us for playin' it safe as our numbers fell?* She motioned to him and the others with her tail. *We're nae exactly an intimidating army.*

The Grey King's frown did not lift. But the suspicion in his burning red gaze lifted somewhat. Moonhowler dared to lift his helm.

"Tricks, then," he said.

*You could say that, sir,* Tag-Along assured. *Playing smart can sometimes be better than playing hard. Especially at our size.*

The Grey King drew himself up. A nod, almost imperceptible, was coupled with an expression he could not decipher through his field.

"Knockout is occupied for the time being with the Draconian from the Isles –"

*Sizzleslash, sir,* he corrected.

He glowered at the interruption before continuing, "Until then, Starscream will show you to your quarters. If I hear of another attack on my soldiers, you will not live to regret it."

Moonhowler's whine became, if anything, more pathetic. He was back in a war a war he didn't wish to be in. He feared he wouldn't last the week.


"Is she alive?"

The mottled green hound bowed his helm, "Unfortunately."

The she-devil hissed violently, back arched like the twisting neck of that screeching Avioid. At the same time, it was oddly pleased to see the she-devil alive, and her companions.

"Think we can...?"

"Yoo heard the Grey King."

(Grey King. A fitting name, it mused.)

She growled. The sound faded after a moment or two. A sly, fanged smile formed to couple with a impish gleam in her green optics. Her tail twitched.

"He said nae attacks. He never said nae cleasanna salach..."

It did not understand the she-devil's strange second tongue, but the sly grins and optics alight with mischief told of something less than honest. Dangerous – it would wait to see. The she-devil and the grey hound were the only true dangers of the four. What danger could they pose now that they were under orders – and under threat of death for treason?


Author's Note: We'll get to the mystery of the energy trails next time...;)