The sun bled ruby red through the orange clouds, its light beginning to dwindle into dark violet and royal blue.
Goliath's dreams waxed and waned with the strength of the sun. In the soft blue edge of the dawn and the orange cusp of the dusk, they were as vivid as any dream a human could dream. Behind the stone facade of his day-skin, he dreamt of an angel. Her sodalite-blue arm wrapped about his waist, her head resting on his neck. She sighed with contentment, fingers woven between his own, as they sat together on a rocky outcropping and looked out at the sea.
Unwrapped before them was a small banquet, just for the two of them. Soft white cheese of sheep's milk, bread fresh that morning with a crackling crust, and a truly rare treat–a side of ribs from a hart, as well as a bottle of young wine.
At their side, a bonfire flickered and sparked with glowing red embers and dark, heady smoke. The coastline of the Hebrides was calm, dark glass that sparkled with pearls. The Milky Way, like white flakes of sand through a sifted hourglass, illuminated the moonless night with a gentle glow.
That should have been his best inkling that this was only a dream; the sea was never so clear, so calm as glass. It was always rough, churning, restless. Goliath's thoughts churned like the undercurrent of the dark, rocky coastline. Memories broke upon the present, each spray a remembered whisper or gesture before retreating back into the dark sea of the past.
She leaned closer into his side. She lifted one of her great blue wings, folding it over his shoulder, as gentle a comfort as opening a blanket to share its warmth. He breathed in her scent. Warm, vibrant, sensual. Involuntarily, he felt himself begin to relax into her embrace. This may have been a dream, but he wanted to lose himself in the safety of this moment. He remembered this night.
"I do not relish taking life." He said quietly. "To take our supper after having destroyed so many, so short a time ago feels... callous."
"You would hold a vigil of honor over our enemies' bodies?" She scoffed. "We won! The humans may be celebrating the victory we brought them, but this feast and this glorious night are ours!" She lifted her wooden goblet to his lips, tipping it for him to drink. The wine was dark, young. Its tart sweetness not yet ripened with age.
He took his lips away from the brim. Gently, his hand found her wild, untameable red hair. He pushed his claws through her locks, feeling the sensation of her hair under his hands. To a gargoyle, the gesture was as intimate and loving as a passionate kiss.
"Our victory." He sighed. "Yes." He remembered, with great heartache.
She lifted her goblet to the sea. Her sharp teeth, her bright eyes, he remembered those features with a softness that he had to wonder at. Her smile felt ethereal, misty. The entire dream seemed wreathed in a soft pale smoke that obscured the world with a warm veil.
"To us!" She tipped the wine to her own lips, toasting their survival.
He didn't remember having a wooden goblet in his own hand. He didn't remember drinking from it. Yet, there it was in his claws. The ruby red ichor reflected the sky, but not his face. As if he weren't really there.
They stared into the fire together. He sighed, shaking his head. "This isn't real. None of this is real."
His angel's demeanor seemed to shrink and diminish, her smile falling to a frown. "I know." She said, her voice soft. It was never this soft in the real world, in her real life. It always held an edge of hardness, a spark of fire, something he could remember but never rebuild in his memory completely. He realized, with dim awareness, that he was forgetting his lover's voice.
"Stay with me." He unfolded his wings, enveloping her in them, like he could capture her essence like a firefly in his hands.
"I will." She promised.
He felt warmth spread through him. A shudder ran through his body, a slight peeling sensation as his day-skin was lifted from its surface. He involuntarily flexed, hearing and feeling the crackle of the thin stone shell around him. He lifted his body, extended his wings, and he stretched. Stone crumbled around him. The rush of cool air touching his skin for the first time was as brisk and refreshing as a cool bucket of water on a hot day to him. The heat began to dissipate, remnants of solar energy seeping into his rejuvenated muscle and bone. His voice, a refreshed yawn grumbling from his throat, was a little rough as he took his first living breath of the night.
"Good night!" Lexington looked up from his cornice and waved at Goliath as he stretched his back with a yawn. "How'd you sleep?"
"Well." Goliath lied. "And you?"
"Oh, I slept great! It felt like it was a warm day today." Lexington rolled his elbow, wing-digits stretching wide, spreading the membrane of his wings taut. He yawned, tongue curling over his sharp teeth.
Brooklyn shook a chunk of stone out of his hair. "Warmer than last week?"
"Yep! My guess, about four or five degrees. If I'm right, that means the updrafts should last a good hour and a half longer than last night. They'll peter out at three hours to sunrise." Lexington answered with confidence.
"I still dunno how you get that." Brooklyn shook his head. "But you've never been wrong. You're meeting Michelangelo tonight, right?"
"Tomorrow night." He corrected, "Don't forget, you and Hudson said you'd be investigating the construction site with Donatello tonight."
"Oh, right, thanks." Brooklyn tapped himself on the forehead. "Hey, Broadway, are you–?"
"Uhhh…" Broadway whispered. "A little help?" He crossed his eyes up to stare at something on his forehead.
Looking over at him, brushing some gravel off of his shoulder, Hudson chuckled. "They seem to favor ye, Broadway. Tell me, it wouldn't have anything to do with the bread you fell asleep with in your hand last morning, would it?"
He frowned, a thick plate of stone still encasing his forehead. Sitting on top of it was a frightened fluttering pigeon, clearly confused as to why its feet weren't releasing from his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to scare it and make it hurt itself!"
At dawn, when they first froze, their day-skin wasn't completely solid. For around five minutes, it was still very much like clay and was somewhat malleable, and nearly two inches thick. It gave them a moment to get comfortable before they froze for the rest of the day. It also gave unfortunate pigeons a chance to land, curious about the sight before them, and end up stuck on a gargoyle's body until nightfall. It was rare. But Broadway was, unfortunately, the most frequent victim of this phenomenon.
Hudson strode over to him, cupping his hands around the frightened bird, holding it gently like a hamburger. "Easy, Broadway, stay still." He said softly. Stroking the bird with his thumbs, the terrified animal trembled in his hands. Very delicately, he pressed his claws into the stone shell, cracking the stone around its feet, releasing it. He lifted the bird and handed it to Broadway.
Broadway's eyes softened, earfins drooping with pity for the poor thing cupped in his claws. "Aww. Stuck up there all day. That must've been awful, I'm sorry little guy."
He opened his wings, coasting down to the green garden of the castle roof. He dipped the pigeon down close to the water, letting it sit and fluff its feathers near the edge of the little clear pool. He watched it with rapt attention as it dipped its head into the water, tossing droplets with a shake of its head and a flutter of its wings.
Goliath smiled. Even with all that his charge had survived, he was still so gentle. So kind. "I am going to meet with Leonardo. Broadway, are you coming?" He called.
Broadway shook his head. "You guys are gonna need to be quiet where you're going. Not exactly my strong suit. I'll stay here at the castle, see what I can find."
"Wise decision." Goliath gave an approving nod. "Good hunting." Looking at Lexington, he asked, "Did the weather last night give any warning that there would be high winds?"
"Right around 1 AM, there'll be some heavy gusts. Other than that, it'll be a good night." He assured him.
"Excellent. I'd like you to help Broadway explore the castle tonight. Keep a watch on each other."
"Count on us!" Broadway nodded.
They both waved farewell as he opened his wings and took off. He was nearly out of sight of the castle when he turned to look over his shoulder. To his surprise, Owen Burnett was standing in the courtyard, waving his arms over his head to get his attention.
That was odd. What could he want? Goliath tilted his wings, banking a u-turn back to the castle. Burnett stood like a tree in the gale that braked his landing, seemingly unruffled as Goliath caped his wings. "What is it you require, Owen?" He asked, trying not to let suspicion color his tone.
"Mr. Xanatos would like to see you, Goliath. He says it is an urgent matter."
"Regarding what?" Goliath pressed. "Speak quickly."
"It appears we have new enemies with which to contend."
The grand dining hall of the castle, trimmed in red velvet and dark wood, crafted by the hands of long-dead master carpenters and weavers. The fireplace crackled, filling the air with the familiar aroma of woodsmoke.
The castle had many occupants after their time, warlords and rulers and families that had added and removed parts of the castle as the centuries passed. But the Great Hall was always the same. There were times he could stand in here, close his eyes, and almost imagine that nothing had ever changed. He could almost trick his mind into hearing his old language, feeling the cool salt breeze of Scotland's winter winds. He could almost hear the sound of heavy wings, beating the air outside, laughter and raucous voices belonging to gargoyles young and old.
But he could not close his eyes in the presence of David Xanatos. He did not dare leave himself unguarded in his presence. Elisa's warning about his alliance with a murderous criminal, the evidence that he'd been involved in her brother's disappearance colored the once cordial relationship with a darker hue.
Goliath folded his arms. "I am here, as requested. Now why did you summon for me, Xanatos?"
"I'm afraid that I have grave news." Xanatos stood. "Goliath, this may be something of a shock to you. It was a shock to me, too. But it seems as if you and your clan are not the only 'extraordinary people' in New York. I've received word from someone I trust that there are five others."
"Gargoyles?" He asked. The stone wall around his heart creaked slightly, hope seeping through for an instant, although he already knew the answer.
"Not even close." He took a blocky remote from the tabletop, pointing it at a tapestry. The tapestry slowly rolled up into the ceiling, and a white screen slowly rolled down. In the chandelier, a projector flickered to life.
Goliath's gut clenched when he saw flickering footage of the Hamato Clan, stills of fierce combat with armed men clothed in black. One, an image of Raphael, with his hand around a man's throat, eyes burning with bloodlust. Another, an image of Michelangelo, arm arced as he threw something he couldn't see on the screen. He looked furious.
"My friend tells me that they're assassins, led by his mortal enemy. These abominations are remarkably dangerous, trained to kill by any means necessary, twisted by evil magic. They zealously follow their master, completely blind to how he manipulates them. He calls himself their 'father'."
Goliath peered at him suspiciously. He felt grateful, for a moment, that humans were not familiar with the faces that a gargoyle ill at ease would express. "What do these creatures want with your friend? Surely such assassins would not be necessary unless he were powerful, dangerous, or both."
Xanatos smiled. "You are perceptive, Goliath. The Iron Foot of the Dragon is an organization of noble warriors who fight to preserve and protect ancient secrets. My friend Oroku Saki is the leader of this order of secret-keepers. He came to me because his spies had uncovered a terrible plan being put into motion by a foreign government. The Foot Clan believes they're building an army of androids–metal soldiers with no mind or soul of their own–to use to destroy vulnerable countries around the world. And they plan to sell their designs to terrible warmongering tyrants for a king's ransom."
Goliath's face darkened, his eyes burned white. "Why? Who would do such a thing to defenseless people?"
"I'm not sure. We're trying to find that out. But we have good reason to suspect these monster-assassins might be working for them. They're carrying a piece of the plans to complete the army, and they're currently hiding in the city. You have to find them and stop them before they rendezvous with their partners and sell the information. They're out for blood, Goliath."
Goliath growled. It was a low, thoughtful sound, like a lion considering whether or not it was trapped or could fight its way out of a corner. "This is not the same as protecting the castle. We are unaccustomed to fighting on the hunt, when we've trained to fight on the defensive."
"You're the only one I can trust with this." His handsome eyes fell into a pleading, sorrowful look. "If we don't stop them, many innocent people could die, and a terrible weapon would be unleashed on the world. I need to count on you and your clan. Can you do it? Protect the city alongside me?"
Does he know? Goliath's brain churned, a terrible idea beginning to form within it. The Hamato Clan has given us their word that they are our allies, but so has Xanatos.
"Allow me to confer with my clan. They must be informed of these developments, I cannot allow them to go about the city without forewarning."
"By all means." Xanatos gestured. "Please, keep your family safe."
Goliath inclined his head, dismissing himself from the room. Quietly, as he waited in the elevator, he slowly drew circles on the floor with his tail. He scowled thoughtfully at his reflection in the steel door.
He was being deceived. That much was clear. But whether it was by Elisa, by Xanatos, or by the Hamato Clan, he couldn't discern an answer.
This bodes ill. The elevator dinged, opening up on the courtyard of the castle. He took a running start, leaping off of the building with a mighty jump, wings catching the wind as he banked north.
Xanatos sat back in his chair, spinning gently side to side. He felt quite satisfied with himself. He looked over at the wall of his office. He gazed into the ornate mirror that hung above a long side table, the centerpiece a beautiful vase full of flowers. His reflection smirked back at him.
"I think that will guarantee his intervention." He said to the mirror.
The mirror replied, in a woman's cool and oily voice, "He won't believe you, you know. He's too clever for that. I would know."
"I don't doubt you. But luckily, I don't need him to believe me. I only need him to get his clan involved. After that, it won't matter what he does; we'll have what we need."
"You are certainly sure of yourself, even for a human."
"I've made many plans, Demona. Plans within plans. But, you should be satisfied. Everything's going exactly as we predicted it would. Speaking of plans, have you finished the Sword?"
"The Sword of Tengu is nearly complete; the ritual can be concluded on Samhain Eve. Such a blend of sorcery and science has been difficult to craft, but it will serve its purpose. Though, perhaps not his purpose. "
Xanatos' smile barely showed his teeth. "Our contingency plan is secure. If Oroku makes one false step, he'll regret it. Deeply."