A/N: Just a couple of recent events. I have some more to add, but I wanted to post something tonight, so I'll write them later. :)

~~ Cas ~~

Caspian had not been able to go straight back to the Hunt after talking to Nyx. It had been a mistake to go there in the first place – a big one – and he stalked the streets, anger raw and evident in his eyes. Somehow, Nyx knew just the words to burrow under his skin, and he couldn't tune them out.

"I hope you think of that every time you're with him. That you're not the only one that's touched him, tasted him, held him. Disgusts you, doesn't it, Caspian? That he's in a room sometimes calling out someone else's name."

Fighting was an instinct – or even more than that, an urge that he couldn't ignore when he was caught in such a state. It was something he was good at, something that he could win. Even better, it blocked out his thoughts, until all he could feel was the staff in his hand, and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Constantly evaluating his opponent's moves, he had no time to consider anything else.

At least that's how it usually worked.

He didn't have to wait long at a dark alleyway, before a werewolf walked past. He was quick to lung for him, although the werewolf backed away, changing into his wolf form. Caspian watched with narrowed eyes, before giving a humourless laugh. Come, he thought, adjusting his stance, for I will make you feel pain.

When the werewolf jumped at him, Caspian batted it away with his staff, managing to get a cut in. The wolf circled him, occasionally lunging forward, but it couldn't get close enough to bite him, with the reach of Caspian's staff, and his quick reflexes. He found werewolves were often predictable, with their limited and less refined set of weaponry.

He did not rush the fight, toying with him and landing multiple cuts. It wasn't until the blade of his staff dug deep into the werewolf's shoulder, cutting through fur and flesh, that he whimpered when Caspian pulled it out. Although obviously in pain, the werewolf scampered off down the street to escape, and Caspian narrowed his eyes.

Coward.

Instead of chasing him, he waited, his blade coated with werewolf blood. As time went on, he challenged anyone who went down the alleyway, no matter what the species. His grip was careful as he batted them and rained down strikes upon them.

"I bet you don't even know what he likes. What he's into. No worries, though. I'm sure you can find someone on the street that can tell you." Nyx kept his words a drawl, a bite to his tone. "Or me."

Despite his actions, Nyx's voice still resounded in his head, and he growled. Suddenly, everyone in the Towns was his enemy. The people in the Towns had always been his 'faceless' competition. He had not known their names or what they looked like, and he had never been able to picture them in his mind. But now, anyone there was his rival, his foe. Any one of them could have been that 'someone on the street' that Nyx had referred to. He fought them all, his blade cutting through flesh, and painting them with blood. They feared him, and he savoured the fear in their eyes. For once he felt like he was in control, and that he could beat them.

He wasn't sure how much time passed and how many he had fought, before a half-faerie started down the alleyway. The faerie had black hair to his shoulders, grey eyes, and the hint of a tattoo showing from under his shirt. When he saw Caspian and the blood on his blade, his eyes widened, and he reached for a gun, pulling it from his pocket. But Caspian was quick and he had the element of surprise, and he knocked the gun away, sending it flying away. The faerie swore, grabbing a dagger instead, as Caspian kicked the gun away. He'd never had any respect for such mundane weapons. Even the unskilled could use them.

He advanced forward, before stopping when a few more faeries joined the first, and his gaze flicked between them. No doubt they were in a gang, or something of the like, their members needing backing up.

How pathetic.

The gang circled him, each taking turns to try and hit or slice him. They were cautious, while he was anything but, his grip on his staff growing a little slick from the blood. When he lashed out at one, blocking another at the same time, a third moved to fill their spot and hit him, the pommel of their dagger slamming into his cheekbone. It stung and would undoubtedly leave a colourful bruise, but he found it didn't care. A few managed to get cuts in, but he landed the biggest blow, slicing open a deep cut in the chest of a brown-haired faerie. Some of the faeries hurried to catch him, supporting him before he could fall, although Caspian thought it was useless, considering how much blood he was losing.

A voice down the street yelled out in warning about a Shadowhunter approaching, and they all froze. The gang members then started to hurry away, supporting the injured faerie as they went. Caspian hesitated, tempted to follow them, for he wasn't done yet.

But another voice called the word Shadowhunter, and this time, he finally listened. He felt as if cold water had been thrown over his face. He would be in a whole lot of trouble if the Shadowhunters came and found him. It would mean disaster for the Hunt, and Aspen would undoubtedly be even angrier at him. Heaving in a breath, he threw his hood over his hair, hurrying down the alleyway, and making his way to a crowded street. He pushed his way through the crowds, the noise grounding him, and the bloodlust leaving his eyes.

He was being stupidly reckless, and he was annoyed that Nyx had been the one to push him over the edge. He'd thought he had been able to control his anger better than that. Avoiding looking at the faces of the other Downworlders, he tried to push them from his thoughts as he made his way back through the trees, towards the gate to the Faerie.

He hated that maybe things bothered him more than he liked to admit.

And maybe for once, this was a battle that he couldn't win.

~~ Kellan ~~

Once the Seelie faeries left the Hunt, it took an effort for Kellan to control his racing heart and his breathing. Feeling exhausted, he pulled the gloves off his hands, before slipping them into his pockets. They had fit awkwardly over the bandages, and it was a relief to have them off.

Roaming through the trees, he was unsure as to where he was going. Finally, he stopped and sat down on a large rock, staring at a small creek. The thought of a war against the Unseelie was frightening. He knew the Hunt and the Seelie were good fighters, but so were the Unseelie, and he didn't want to lose any of their members. It was unavoidable though, and his fingers pulled at a thread on one of the bandages as he thought.

The other problem would be his involvement in the war. As a supervisor, he was expected to fight and to lead, and he always accepted such authority. It was his duty, after all, and there were faeries that counted on him. He did not understand how the Seelie Queen expected him to pull out of such a fight. Did she think he was weak and needed protecting? Did she think he might die again? Or was it all a test? He could never be sure with her.

He did not want or need her protection. He was old enough to look after himself, and he had done so for all his life, before he knew her. He had obviously trained as a Shadowhunter in the past, and now he fought as a faerie. That made him capable of protecting himself.

It was hard to not feel like he had disappointed Ethos. Kellan hoped that Ethos wouldn't get into trouble for his own decisions. That had never been his intention, and he hadn't wanted to make it hard for him. But he supposed that if being taken by force meant that he hadn't forsaken the Hunt – his family – then he supposed it was worth it. He hardly dared to think of what his punishment would be for missing the fight, especially if the reason was revealed. The Hunt wouldn't be happy, and he couldn't blame them. He did not deserve any special treatment.

The more he pondered such things, the more exhausted and anxious he became. Inhaling, he moved his fingers to grasp the bandage around his left hand, before ripping it off, and it pulled at his skin roughly. It reminded him a little of old snakeskin, as it fell to the ground in a heap. Hissing in another breath to prepare himself, he then took off the other bandage. He had no time for injuries or for being weak.

He had committed to a war, and now he would prepare for it.

If there was one thing he would do, it would be to protect his faction and his family.