Black Diamond Penthouse
Was Morningstar expecting a late night call from Draven? No.
Was he angry at this? Yes. Yes, he was.
He rubbed his eyes, irritated at the fact that he was hearing the annoying screeches of the cauldron near the middle of the night. He fully got out of his bed and reached a coat rack that held his morning robes. He didn't want to do a call shirtless, after all. He exited the bedroom and headed towards his office room where the cauldron was, its lights illuminating the room as he adjusted his robes to fully cover a very prominent and very nasty-looking scar on his chest.
The mist from the cauldron had already formed the shape of Draven, who held up an arm so that his amphiptere's serpentine body wrapped itself around it. Eventually, the mist formed the shapes of the other members of the Syndicate, who seemed to be just as annoyed as Morningstar was at receiving the message.
Wilkes was in a nightgown, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Griffin crossed his arms, his lab coat remaining on his body, which made everyone think that he slept with it. A thought both hilarious and disturbing. Crowley adjusted his pelt suit as the distant sounds of thumping music was heard on his end, which was annoying. Last, but not least, Orlok was finishing munching down on a bloody slab of meat in his hands, which was disgusting.
Crowley then put up his hands and spoke, "before we start," he said, indicating the thumping music from the background on his end, "sorry for the noise."
Everyone shrugged, accepting that apology.
Morningstar sighed, "anyways…" he said, exhaustedly, "Draven, please explain to us what is so important that you called most of us from our sleep to tell us about?"
"Now you know how I feel," Orlok commented, licking the blood off his now empty hand.
"Fuck off!"
"Enough!" Draven interjected, gaining both their attention. He motioned to his amphiptere who nodded and breathed out an illuminated mist that displayed the images of Spawn, Luz, and more.
The group observed with curiosity. Orlok and Wilkes simply stared, Griffin had a hand on his chin, Crowley raised a brow, and Morningstar glared with narrowed eyes.
The images dissipated and Draven dismissed his reptilian companion, awaiting everyone's reactions. Orlok licked off the blood off his chin and lips, Wilkes and Griffin's faces were stone faced, and Crowley had a hand on his chin.
But Morningstar had the most clear reaction. His eyes were narrowed, brow furrowed, and he huffed in utmost contempt. He looked at everyone else who seemed to await his response. Draven in particular.
"I always wanted to kill that Clawthorne bitch."
Bonesbourough Outskirts
As the crack of dawn broke over the horizon, Spawn pondered to himself on top of a building, perched onto one of the stone structures protruding from it. He couldn't get his mind off the kid. What was she doing here? Why was she here? How did she get here? These questions echoed in his mind like words spoken in a cave.
More questions echoed in the undead's mind. Just who were those clowns with her? Guardians? The dog thing certainly didn't seem like the type, but that lady… She sure had a fire in her. He can't recall any of the thugs giving him a good fight, even if was holding back by a significant margin.
Still, the vigilante wondered if the outcome was necessary. He didn't want to hurt her - even if the woman reeked of the Sin of Greed, she seemed to be a reasonable person, all things considered. And the fact that he scared the little girl, someone who seemed to trust him, broke his heart to no end.
He then sighed, partially annoyed, partially tired. To clear his mind, he watched the sunrise slowly make its way across the sky, bathing the city in a brilliant orange light. Even in a place like this, he can always count on the sunrise offering some level of beauty in a wretched world.
His appreciation didn't last long, since his mind drifted back to the kid again. He grumbled as he felt like an overly concerned parent, which just reminded him of his many, many failures in both his life and his undeath.
He looked downwards to the alley below him. He supposed he could call it a night, or rather, day. The Hellspawn leapt from the building and downwards into the alley below, landing with a hard 'thud' that cracked the stone floor beneath him. He rose up and began to walk towards the inner alleys, passing by many startled homeless civilians who were awoken from his landing, hiding under their rags in fear.
Ignoring the murmurs of the hobos, he walked towards the end of the alley and towards a manhole. Leaning down, he lifted the hunk of metal with one hand and climbed down the ladder, placing the cover back as he did so.
The sewers were like any other sewers he's been to: Dark, dank, and had a terrible smell. Rats of various sizes and shapes crawled along the pipes on the walls, roaches scattered across the floors and walls at the hint of any form of outside movement or light, and there were definitely several corpses buried in the literal river or shit.
"Feels just like home," Al thought to himself as he walked along the pathways, scaring away the roaches and rats the size of dogs just from his presence alone. After a few minutes of walking, he came across a part of the wall that seemed like it was nothing special, until he pushed on a piece of said wall, revealing it to be a hidden button that made a slab of it move away, revealing a hidden room illuminated by candles and torches.
He entered the room, closing the door behind him as did so. He saw the barrels, shelves, desks, and crates cluttering the walls, with a singular table in the center of the room. Accompanying the walls were maps of various parts of the city that had marker lines and scribbles all over them, indicating paths and locations routinely used by the criminal gangs.
This room was his home away from home, so to speak. A base of operations for this strange world he found himself in. When he first stumbled upon it, it was occupied by some thugs playing a weird version of what he could only assume was poker, or maybe one of those children's card games with the monsters on them. Regardless, there was a new change of management and Spawn… took care of them.
What was once a den used for delivering illicit goods became a place where he could plan out his next strikes to clean up this cesspool of a city. He considers that a reasonable upgrade.
Al tiredly walked up to the map and grabbed a red marker, scribbling a section of the city off, indicating a spot that was now clear. After observing the map for a second or two, he put the utensil down and turned towards the table in the room, grabbing a chair from it and putting it against the wall.
As an undead, Al didn't need to sleep - nor eat or drink for that matter - but he often did it anyway. It reminded him that, in some way, he was still human buried beneath all that burnt flesh and necroplasm. He sat down and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes, feeling his strength return by absorbing the very sin that etched itself into the shadows of the room.
The Owl House
Eda's current state was absolute Hell.
Her face and body was covered in bruises and bumps that stung all over, her bones and muscles were still aching, and she hadn't taken in her morning Apple Blood, so she was suffering from early withdrawal.
She used every ounce of her willpower to ignore the absolute pained state she was in as her focus was on the brewing book and mini cauldron in front of her, using a spoon to stir the ingredients used to make a healing potion.
"After stirring the ingredients together for two minutes, let it simmer for one minute and the brew will be complete," she read out loud to herself before shrugging and stopping the stirring, wondering what to do in the meantime.
She would usually wake up Luz by this point, but she knew that kid needed all the sleep she could get, especially after the events of last night. She could just wake up King, but then he'll start whining, which will wake up Hooty, and that was the absolute last thing she needed right now.
So she instead went to one of the cabinets and pulled out one of countless jugs of Apple Blood and a mug to hold it in. She poured the drink in, but only up to the halfway point. She had been trying her damnedest to try and go clean, for Luz's sake, but she learned quickly that old habits were very hard to get rid of.
She sighed as she went back to the pot and checked on the brew. The slightly overpowering and pungent scent of herbs and substances filled her nostrils as she read the instructions out loud to herself one more time.
"Recommended doses are half a cup," she then looked at her half-full mug and just shrugged, grabbing a spoon from one of the drawers and poured the blue substance into her morning drink, filling the mug completely after a nice stirring.
She took a sip of the beverage, disgusted by the brew overpowering the alcohol and leaving a minty feeling in her throat. It was like eating chewing gum from the Human Realm. Despite the terrible taste, that did seem to make everything better, as her aching body seemed to hurt a bit less now as a few bruises and scrapes faded away.
As the medicine worked its wonders, she headed upstairs to Luz's room and slowly, carefully, opened the door. She saw the human sleeping like a log, ignoring the sun that illuminated the room. The room was filled with hundreds of paper strips, blank and written on the floors, the cage for the Echo Mouse wasn't in use, and the walls were dotted by scribbles relating to Phillip Wittebane's journal.
The witch smiled seeing her all cozied up, finally getting some decent sleep, but her smile faded thinking of everything else. She was worried beyond belief for not just her, but everything else going on. The mysterious Day of Unity was fast approaching, the Emperor's Coven was seemingly always on their tails, money was wasted more often than gained, and the seemingly never-ending mysteries they kept uncovering and trying so hard to figure out: King's heritage and Phillip's Diary among others. It was all so much.
And now, they had a Hellspawn to deal with. The cherry on top of the shit sundae that was their current life.
She left the doorway, taking another sip of her drink and back down to the kitchen. She leaned against the counter with a heavy sigh, "What am I gonna do?" She asked herself, rubbing a brow that stung with every bit of contact. She took everything in, overwhelmed by it all and knowing that these were problems she couldn't just brush under the rug or run away from. Not anymore.
Eda took another sip from her mug, slightly trembling as she did so. Whether it was out of fear or a sign of overwhelming worry, she did not know.
Her mind drifted back to the Hellspawn, remembering those wretched green eyes staring into her soul. She was surprised she wasn't dead after that fight with him, though she sure felt like she was dead considering her physical state. She reflected on her actions towards him, her hostility and conclusion jumps she took.
Maybe she didn't have to take such actions. Maybe she could have listened to reason.
No. She couldn't have. She knows what those monsters are capable of. She knows the stories - the legends and myths. Their tales of slaughter, destruction, and the madness they brought on the innocents.
It's what happened to her ancestor after all.
The mere memory of him brought a chill to her skin.
She chugged the last bit of her drink and placed it on a table before walking towards the basement. She ignored her aching muscles as she headed down the stairs that creaked with each step. She rushed towards one of the many piles of unused junk and miscellaneous items that lined the room, homing in on a singular chest in the far corner, small enough to be carried with two hands, but big enough to carry a few personal items.
She grabbed the chest and carried it with her back upstairs to the living room. She placed it on the table in the center and proceeded to fiddle with the lock of the chest, struggling to remember the combination.
Eventually, she figured it out, "One… Two… Three... " She said as she set the numbers on the locks. She smiled at how genius that combination was before removing the metal device and opening the chest.
The contents inside the chest was virtually nonexistent save for one item. A book that was bound in an aged leather that was put together in such a haphazard and amateurish way that the seams holding the leather together were visible like the seams of a baseball and crossed random directions with no pattern or reason.
The witch grabbed the book, her hands trembling as she did so. The shadow of fear crashing down upon her like the waves of the ocean. She never understood why she or her family kept this book or why they haven't burned it already, but here it was, in her hands, waiting to be read and beckoning her. She took a deep breath and opened the book to the very first page, the color of the text inside was a dark, rusty red that reminded her of blood. In fact, it probably was blood.
She read the text on the first page. Despite the page only consisting of five words, it was enough to send chills down her spine.
'THE DIARY OF ORIN CLAWTHORNE'