Daylight; a bright cloudless day with the sun beating down hard, it is the last remnants of summer, a final parting breath before slipping into fall. Gabriel has followed the scent of the Seer to the Marketplace. He can?t get any closer due to the monitoring in use by the Demonic crowd. Their security is intense. They are certainly a paranoid lot, but he can?t blame them. They?ve made more enemies in their time in Rhy?Din than Gabriel has made in his entire existence.

He?s taken to high ground where he can watch without being watched in return. Direct confrontation with the three attorneys would not be wise. If they recognize his current ?situation? they will no doubt exploit it to suit their needs which would go very badly for Gabriel.

He has no intentions of becoming a ?servant? of DCH?s!

Standing atop some random building, he gazes down at the office of DCH four, almost five, blocks away. The scent of the Seer is strong in the air, calling to him like a siren bent on luring him to his destruction. But Gabriel knows he must wait. For his plan to be successful he needs to know what he?s up against and then for the best time to strike. So here he sits, watching, calculating, strategizing.

He wonders what traps they?ve set as he watches the changing of their guard. Of course, he knows he?d have set traps, many of them, to protect such valuable acquisitions. Yet he knows Howe and his nature well; he?s a creature with an overconfident streak, an exploitable trait to say the least. Howe?s ego baits him to believe himself more powerful, smarter, wiser than any others. Gabriel hopes Howe?s arrogance will extend to DCH?s security system, but being realistic Gabriel must factor in both Dewey and Cheetham, neither of whom he has had the chance to get to know nearly as well as Howe.

Testing the boundaries is easy for Gabriel. He merely stretches out his psyche, finding the image orbs? locations, finding the hidden triggers that would alert them of potential intruders. He?s seeking the best route to gain access to their underground fortress. It seems they?ve made use of the sewage systems of the township. This may be Gabriel?s lucky day. DCH can?t be watching all of the sewage system, and he just needs one hole to squirm through.

It?s true that Gabriel has the power to teleport, however having the power is one thing, using it is another. Should he attempt to teleport inside without knowing the layout of the interior, he could land himself inside a wall, or worse. Having a physical form this would be catastrophic. Being one with a wall would certainly put a damper on his existence. Gabriel must find a way inside but he knows he can rely on his inherent talents for their escape. There is some relief in knowing half of the mission will be easy. Now to concentrate on the half that will require finesse and effort.

Watching and watching and watching. The art of surveillance is based on patience and the ability to sit around and wait. It?s a lot of ?hurry up and do nothing?. Gabriel holds little patience and the mark left behind from the dream of the Seer itches and burns with greater intensity with each passing second. It is as if an internal clock is tick-tick-ticking away; time is running out. He isn?t sure what the sensation means but it doesn?t matter. He already realizes he needs to get her out and it needs to happen soon.

DCH can't be trusted, he?s known this all along. Gabriel is well aware of their twisted experimentations but up until now he?s had no reason to intervene. Surely they would find Viki irresistible. Gabriel doesn't know what species she is, DCH isn't likely to either. Where Gabriel is willing to let that detail slip past, there's no way the demonic attorneys will.

DCH's goals are to garner as much power as possible, Gabriel knows this and the why. Viki may seem like a suitable ?battery? to them, a vast amount of power lurks in the girl, energy DCH may think they can use to their own means, that is should they be able to harness it. Of course, Gabriel isn?t about to let that happen.

As the day lengthens towards night, Gabriel abandons the rooftops for the sewage system. He chooses his entrance to the underground world carefully, moving out of the Marketplace towards the river, seeking a covert way inside. Off the shoreline he spies an opening, the foul smells issuing from within tells him he?s hit the jackpot.

The smell assaults his senses like nails being dragged down a chalk board, making him cringe and want to turn away but he presses onwards. The mark heavy upon his chest seems to tug him undeniably onward but thankfully it works much like a compass, leading him through the rank tunnels right towards DCH?s underground compound.

*******

Gabriel stands staring at what appears to be an impenetrable wall. Out of place and made of materials the town of Rhy?Din has certainly never used, he knows this is of DCH?s construction. High-tech cameras had been watching the passageway but lucky for Gabriel unusually large rats had decided to use their wires to line nearby nests. The cameras are dead and useless; no threat to the man with a mission.

As for the oversized rodents: Gabriel felt enough compassion to be kind in his dispatching of them. Their carcasses lay a few feet away from him now, ignored and already forgotten, frozen in their peaceful passing.

Gabriel can feel the day dying, the night creeping in. He hankers down, a statue of shadows in the dark, dank tunnel, waiting; waiting until the time is ripe for him to strike. All the while the mark burns and itches, a constant reminder of why he?s here.

Soon, this will all be over but he must ask himself; what then?

He will have made enemies of the only allies he had. Gabriel has never felt this alone or unsure. One thing is stunningly clear; he doesn?t like how he feels.

If Gabriel had not been subjected to a physical form, he could simply phase through the thick wall, but that option is closed to him. If he were to get stuck inside of something he?d have hell to pay, literally. He isn?t able to die but he could be part of a wall for a long time. Therefore he will need to be more aggressive in his approach, more direct. Gabriel hates flamboyant entrances but sometimes it can?t be helped.

Standing before the wall that keeps him from the Seer, he places his hand inches from it, moving it from side to side, up then down, seeking the weakest area. Sure, he would prefer a quiet entrance; the opportunity to take them unawares would give him an extra edge. But realistically speaking the beings he senses beyond the wall are no match for him. By his current estimations this rescue mission should be a cakewalk. Of course, what something seems isn?t always what it turns out to be.

He?s waited; he?s waited down here in the underbelly of the town until the night has matured. He?s waited because he knows they will be less prepared for him than at any other time. But he can wait no longer. He?s reached the end of his patience and the burning brand on his chest is screaming him painfully into action.

Standing before the wall he pulls his hand back for the first fist slam then freezes in place. Nostrils flare slightly; the scent is taken in, familiar but eerily off. Spinning about he stares off into the pitch dark of the foul smelling sewage tunnel. He feels it coming, closing in on him, closer and closer.

Odd this familiar smell, he can?t place it because of the corruption lingering in its essence; primordial corruption, something the Angelic tends to avoid. Gabriel holds no sway over primordial powers; he has no taste to tangle with them either. But that choice has been made for him, now hasn?t it?

As it draws near, Gabriel prepares for battle. He pulls in his energy, coiling it into silent place. Human eyes do not gleam in the darkness. His frame denies the glow of his heritage. He may have lost the intimidating grandeur of his Angelic nature, but all that power remains his to call. The scowl on his face speaks volumes of his displeasure at the poor timing of this intrusion. Gabriel has more important things to do and he needs to make short work of this confrontation. He senses he is running out of time.

I'm not the only one who's bleeding
before the past is done repeating.
Gets underneath my skin. It won't die.
This time if I can't win,
then I won't try to carry on.
I'll play it satirical.
Tonight won't be so long.
I'll pray for a miracle.
- The Birthday Massacre

Skyclad, were there only a sky to see, she gripped the stone of the wall in a half huddle - in spite of fear and cause of cold. A fingernail marked the place where she attempted to claw herself out, stuck between block thirty-seven and thirty-eight. Limestone? Brimstone more like. Hell's foundation.

She half wondered what the kitchen looked like.

Not your memory.

Knees under a chin, drawn and drawn over. God only knew what she used as ink. The blood from her index finger a possible fount, and wet dirt and scratches of stone on itself.

It was everywhere. The message. On her and over her and all long the ground and wall, as far as the chain would allow her to move.

"Soon and soon."

Her eyes swept to the two broken figures in the opposite cells. Swept, not wept. She'd forgotten the how and the why of such a thing.

"Seeker," said the seer to the chain links, making a bracelet out of what would give.

And then the seer, slack and all, slipped away from the wall.

At last the Psions had arrived. They were twenty minutes late and have come in acting rather arrogant and full of themselves, but Howe bides his time. He will bite their heads off when they?ve finished with their assigned duty. Dewey has already sent Cheetham ahead to prepare the bitch, Viki. It will be a matter of hours now before DCH holds what?s inside that head of hers in their greedy little hands.

Dewey is speaking to the Psions, giving them their directions in a calm soothing voice. Howe ignores the words, beady eyes assessing the three Psions coldly; Stan, Harvey and Dick, such common names for such uncommon mortals. At least they know how to dress! Their expensive tailored suits are the only thing Howe finds about them to like. Smirking to himself, he wonders what they will taste like, their energies rolling on his tongue. Still, it is to the basement of the office building his thoughts continue to wander.

Down there in the depths of the sewage system lay their prisoners. Howe wonders if they shouldn?t use the Psions on Glan and Tass as well? since they are all here after all, why not? A look to Dewey, that?s all it takes. The unholy triumvirate allows for a communion between the three that others can only wish for. The glory of such power, the delicious taste of its corruption, tingles through him like a vibration of deep bass. Dewey grants Howe no obvious sign of acknowledgement; he is otherwise occupied describing in detail what he wants done to Viki.

Beady eyes move over the Psions, then to the widow overlooking the Marketplace just behind them. He has time to think ?is that a shadow?? before the glass explodes in on them and in moments, all hell is unleashed in the meeting room.

The internal alarms begin screaming, loud and continuous summoning security to their room. Too late to be sure as blood and guts spray over the walls and screams of fear are cut tragically short. The three Psions never saw *it* coming, they never had a chance. Howe could only watch in stunned amazement. He?s never seen a creature like this before, primordial yet oddly familiar, in a hateful way.

But look at it move: lightening fast, precise and deadly. A beast he wouldn?t mind calling to his leash, indeed.

Too soon, the creature has finished with the Psions and lays amber orb-less eyes on Howe. Not on Dewey as Howe had anticipated, no. But on *him*! Howe has always deferred to Dewey, preferring to stand behind him, rather more a puppetmaster, than target. Such maneuverings offer nothing now. The beast seems intent on Howe.

It looks like it might once have been female, now it is little less than a caricature of a biped. Angular, and oddly shaped, it stands blood-soaked and determined before him. What little clothing it may once have worn, a memory in tatters and bits, clotting to the malformed, gore-strewn frame. There is purpose in that burning amber liquid it calls eyes and it is focused on him!

Howe allows the smirk to twist thin lips as he snarls ?Come on, bring it you primordial, misshapen piece of s**t!?

Before the creature or Howe has the opportunity to strike, the conference door slams open and a cadre of security streams in. Howe is shoved aside as they ring in the creature, leveling their various weapons of choice.

?Hmph.? Snorts Howe as he finds himself pushed off towards the exit leading into the hall. ?I must say, I was rather looking forward to squaring off with that thing.?

Dewey rolls his eyes to rest on Howe. ?Don?t worry. She should be done with that lot in no time and you?ll get your wish, partner. You?ll get your wish?? Dewey has no plans to wait for the creature to finish, he is already preparing their departure. Now if he can only hone in on Cheetham.

Cheetham likes to stay out of the lime light. He?s avoided going public for years now and he rather likes lying low so to speak. A handsomely boyish looking fellow he seems to be the youngest of the Senior Partners, but as in all things, appearances can be deceiving.

Cheetham is second only to Dewey. If it weren?t for Howe?s temper, Cheetham may have fallen to third, but thankfully, Howe has no self-control. Cheetham prides himself on his however. Rarely does he allow his mask to slip or even tilt a bit to the left. He is a meticulous and detailed man, who likes keeping things in their place. He may not serve in court hearings, but he?s one hell of an inspiring researcher. If there is dirt, he will find it. It there isn?t, he can work within those boundaries too.

Tonight?s business is rather distasteful to Cheetham; he would have much rather preferred keeping it ?In-House? then summoning the Psions. They are tricky lot, and none too trustworthy. They would sell their mothers? souls for a good price. Cheetham is with Howe where the Psions are concerned; they can?t be allowed to live after they?ve performed their duties. Shame too, they are hard to come by and once the organization has been burned like this they will be far more hesitant to participate in future needs. They will have to find another party to deal with.

Cheetham is the sensible Senior Partner. He likes to think in long terms, rather than short ones. He feels this entire Rhy?Din fiasco hasn?t been properly thought out or planned. Later tonight, when they are toasting their successes he plans to bring this up to the other two partners. He feels its time they make a change in their game plan.

Having been sent down to the basement laboratory to prepare the Seer, Cheetham is quick to glance at his watch. He keeps the schedule of tranquilizers? inside his head; he wants to make sure she?s knocked out before putting her on the table. He takes the time to stop by the pharmacy and check the Seer?s chart. Yes, she?d been given her extra dose about an hour and half ago. She should be sleeping rather peacefully by now.

Cheetham glances around the nearly empty lab. They?d sent many of their lab workers upstairs tonight. Not wanting them nearby, not wanting what the Seer has to say to go any further than a small select group. Cheetham will have them back and working as soon as the Psions are dead, he silently promises himself.

Moving down the hallway of cells, he pauses at the first and peers in at the ragged looking Trueblood. The dog has been utterly useless for them. Not giving an iota of information about the Bloods. Cheetham snorts softly under his breath. He thinks the dog should be beheaded and granted as a present to Corwyn. If tonight is successful, he may get this wish.

Moving on to Tass? cell Cheetham narrows his eyes on the beast inside. Primordial, something as old as the universe itself; too bad they can?t figure out a way to tap into that. What power it would grant the unholy triumvirate. But the time being wasted trying to tap into it is costing them a major fortune. Its time to cut those losses and kill the beast, the thought brings a smile to Cheetham?s cruel lips.

With a heavy sigh that speaks of his burdens he moves on to the cell of the Seer. Peering through the tiny slotted glass window he sees her out of bed and seemingly wide awake. Not good, not good at all! She should be totally zonked out. Cheetham shakes his head at the incompetence, he will have to go back to the pharmacy and get the meds himself. He?ll give her a little extra tonight, he thinks, since it seems she's growing used to them.

Turning he begins to retrace his path. Another anxious glance at his wrist watch, he can?t help but worry he?s wasting precious time.

There is little known of Cheetham?s abilities, he likes it that way. He prefers to keep such skills secret; it makes it harder on his foes when they can?t anticipate his defenses. Cheetham is a man of few words and fewer displays of power. He relies on being underestimated. Therefore the appearance of the Betrayer, Gabriel, doesn?t inspire fear as much as excitement; they are relatively alone down here, Cheetham can be open in his attack without fear of having it noticed.

Even as Cheetham speaks, he?s mentally reaching out for the power of the unholy Triumvirate. Not even Gabriel should be able to withstand the full force of this unholy alliance.

?Not luck, Gabriel, betrayal. You betray your only real allies. One must wonder?? He begins to turn around to face the betrayer. ?How smart is that, really??

It is in this moment that realization dawns unsettlingly clear; the protections on the basement complex do not allow Cheetham to connect with the other two who are in the meeting room three stories above. The power he would call upon simply isn?t available to him. He must face Gabriel, the Right Hand of God, with only his feeble personal power and Cheetham already knows it won?t be enough.

As these thoughts flash with preternatural speed through his mind, the lightening bolt slams into him. The impact is massive, sending his mortal vessel careening into the door of the Seer?s cell somewhat sideways. There is a loud sickening crunch as the fragile bones of the human neck breaks and then he?s sliding towards the floor.

Cheetham doesn?t lose consciousness, but neither can he control the vessel any longer. The breaking bones have severed the spinal cord, leaving the body paralyzed. It could take hours, perhaps days to repair such damage, unless he?s granted some miracle, given some respite. Cheetham doesn?t imagine anything like that likely to happen anytime soon.

The broken shell falls limply to the floor, eyes wide open and staring. Cheetham curses in silence, stuck inside the vessel he is unable to do anything but lie there. And lie there he does. The ears and eyes still function, feeding him information in restricted tidbits. He can hear Gabriel?s footsteps, closing in on him. All he can see however is the spotless ceiling above them.

Cheetham can only wait and watch that ceiling. He can?t stop Gabriel now. Without function of the vessel and him still stuck inside, he is effectively powerless.

Meanwhile?

On the second floor of DCH?s Marketplace office building carnage has ensued. No matter how many of the security detail they throw at the creature, they are unable to stop it. Hell, they can?t even slow it down! Wave after wave has come, shoving past the two senior partners in their haste to defend. It seems of no consequence, a waste of time and even perhaps life. Although, truth be told, Howe cares less about the deaths, each is an addition to their already overwhelming collection of souls. He and the other two senior partners win either way; dead or alive they still belong to DCH.

As man after man goes down under the vicious assault of the creature, Howe snarls at the ineptitude of their personnel, for surely he could not give credit to the Thing. Although he silently admits to himself that it is quite a work of art: a masterpiece really. In movement, in action, in precision; it seems to flow like silk and strike with lethal meticulousness. Howe does not allow his admiration to show. However he glowers over his shoulder at Dewey.

?We?re next on the list, Partner, unless you get us out of here!?

Dewey?s eyes glow an unholy red as he snarls in response. ?I can?t reach Cheetham. I?m trying to bypass the wards now.? But Mister Dewey isn?t even sure if that is possible. The basement area had been sealed to keep what was hidden secret. They had spared no expense, they exhausted every possibility. Effectively they created a barrier that they can?t even cross.

Howe?s scowl deepens as he turns back to eye the creature. At every opportunity Progeny finds, she lets him know she?s coming for him. It is shockingly unsettling, the determination blazing in those inhuman eyes. Howe heaves a sigh of resignation. Time and manpower are running out. To give Dewey time to breech the wards, he will have no choice but to confront the creature. He may admire the thing, but he has no desire to feel it rip him to shreds.

As the last of the security guards jump into the fray, Howe readies himself. Beady eyes watch and wait for the best time for him to strike. Howe doesn?t plan on playing fair, in fact if he has to sacrifice a few of his own to get in a good hit or three, he will without pause, without hesitation. But first, he needs the right opportunity.

With Cheetham out of range so to speak, Howe cannot rely on the Triumvirate, but he can pull resources from Dewey. However since Dewey is using his own energy to combat the basement wards, draining him will only slow down their escape. Howe must rely on his innate talents alone.

Seeing an opening, Howe blasts the bitch with a fireball, taking two of his own out at the same time. The creature reels but does not go down. The four remaining guards open fire on the thing, ripping at preternatural flesh with blasters meant to sear the meat right off the bone. Yet still she fights; like a rabid beast unable to allow itself to die.

As the last guard falls the creature spins and with lightening speed launches herself right at Howe. Too late now to run, Howe snarls and lunges; he?s not going down without one hell of a fight!

It is like a salve to Gabriel?s soul, a blanket of warmth over a cold, cold heart, holding the Seer close. Close enough to feel the brush of her breath against his throat as she speaks. The electric current flows between them as it always has, and Gabriel can?t help himself. He basks in the energy, yes, even sensing how weak she is. He tries not to, but it is an instinctive thing. Something he cannot deny.

Viki?s words wash through him alongside the taste of her. Gabriel hears the word ?lover? and a shiver of emotion washes over him. Odd and disquieting is the intensity, so much so it takes him a moment to recover. At last the rest of the Seer?s words take root and he realizes she wants him to free the others. A Trueblood and a primordial type, he has no liking for either and consider both little better than abominations. However the sensation of Viki?s voice is having a startling effect.

Gabriel is no hero; there has never been a call for it. Perhaps it is as simple as he?s lacked motivation? Whatever the case, he?s never stepped out of his comfort zone, never afforded a personal sacrifice and certainly never offered mercy to any. Yet the tone of the Seer?s voice, the implications, the mere idea that such a small selfless token would afford affection in her heart? Earn him favor where he had harbored no hope? Gabriel would do anything she asked.

?As you wish, Seer.?Gabriel is reluctant to break their close contact, yet, even with her in his arms driving him to distraction, he senses they are running out of precious time.

"The traitor is without his coat."

The words are soft and whispered but to Gabriel?s ear they hold an ominous overtone. Viki has always spoken in riddles, in her own eccentric code. Gabriel has worked hard to decipher her meanings. He may not grasp the full meaning of her words but it is what he senses that brings a bitter taste of apprehension. Soothingly he strokes her hair, not wanting to let go of her and knowing if he is to free the others he must.

?Seer whatever you are, know this; you are a force to be reckoned with. Own it.? Gabriel hesitates. He wants to say so much more but this is not the time. Instead he gently disengages from her while feeding her his energy; a silent exchange that he doesn?t bring attention to. He hopes it will give her the strength she needs to get through this. Once sure she can stand of her own accord he moves off towards the door. ?I?ll be right back.?

Stepping over Cheetham?s legs which block the opening to Viki?s cell Gabriel moves into the hallway. Retrieving the arm he pulled off of Cheetham earlier, he goes to the nearest of the locked cells. He can sense the primordial ancient inside and for a moment he questions the wisdom of letting the creature out. He decides to free the Trueblood first.

Crossing to the other cell, Gabriel presses the palm of Cheetham?s hand to the pad. The cell whizzes open revealing Glan lying tied down to a stainless-steel gurney. Gabriel makes quick work of liberating the Trueblood but Glan cannot be wakened. Unable to find Glan?s BHO pin, Gabriel resorts to personally teleporting the Blood home. Pulling the image of Onyx House clear to mind Gabriel touches Glan and the Trueblood vanishes. Gabriel will worry later if Glan got delivered to the right place, for now he moves quickly back to Tass? cell.

This time there is no hesitation, the palm of Cheetham?s severed arm is slapped to the pad and as soon as the cell whirs open, Gabriel dashes inside. Surprisingly the Ancient is awake and seems to be fine; free of drugs and cognizant. Gabriel only has a second to wonder why the Ancient is in such good condition before he is ushering Tass back towards the Seer?s cell. Perhaps later when he reflects back on this moment he will recognize the significance, but for now he is happy for the small miracle it seems.

?I know you don?t know me, but if you want to get out of here, I suggest you come with me now.? So much for polite introductions, Gabriel is waving for Tass to follow as he leads the way back to Viki. Never once does Gabriel pause to consider what may come next. Right now, he believes he's in control.

( Authors? Note: The following was co-written by all the players involved in this thread. Thanks. )

I got this feeling that they?re gonna break down the door
I got this feeling they they?re gonna come back for more
See I was thinking that I lost my mind
But it?s been getting to me all this time
And it don?t stop dragging me down
- The Killers

Tasslehofl seems to have awakened, having calmly sat through all the process of what they tried to do to him? the constant probes that found dead ends? and now the destruction that had taken place just outside his cell. Tass? eyes are the first to show the difference. The purple hues give way to utter blackness and even the shadows seem to shy away from him in fear that they would be sucked within.

Gabriel doesn't understand why the Dragon Kin is taking so long to jump to it. He knows well enough that Viki is still in peril. Well, they all are actually and he's still not quite sure how he's going to get them out of here. The longer it takes, the more he will need to draw power from some external source and he doubts Viki has the energy to spare. "Ah, Ancient one,? Gabriel attempts to hasten the Dragon Kin hoping to spur Tass into action with his words, ?Could you hurry yourself up a bit? I don't like leaving the Seer alone."

Tass looks to the angel that stands next to him. Those eyes taking within him for a moment, then he steps past and it seems that all that had come before was dust in the Dragon?s wake? but it couldn't be. That which he passes seems to simply no longer "be".

Gabriel stares at the cell, or what should have been a cell that now seemed little less than a well of utter blackness, a hole in the fabric of the physical. A quiet muted snort as Gabriel feels compelled to comment, "Fine, but could you wait on taking out the rest of the place, until we depart? I don't want The Seer stuck down here any longer than she already has been!"

He?s obviously in a bad mood.

In reality, Gabriel?s real focus is locked on the occupant of the other cell; he really could care less about the Dragon Kin or the Ancient Trueblood. He?d only released them because Viki had insisted.

Viki is utterly still as the creature comes for her, this writhing, maimed thing, stand-in suit. She blinks her eyes and turns from it a moment; and a moment is all she has. The air is thin here, thin as if they were all on high; must be the presence of the angel among so much darkness. Whirlwind through a valley-forge, she turns again. A touch, is it? The seer cants her head, bird-like, reminiscent of the Lover, of a trait she took on. A fake-out. Blue-eyes blaze. Two-tone lift. The air goes crackle-snap as she burns and reaches back?

Like something out of a George Romero flick - Not that Cheetham has ever availed himself of cinematic knowledge - broken-backed, twisted neck; he shuffles forward at a snail's pace, seeking that electric touch; tongue lolling from a dead mouth, eyes glassed over and opaque. Just... one... Touch. He might gain some power, enough to get him out of here, but this body, his body?! Most certainly is a lost cause. Cheetham?s anger knows no bounds; he is determined to make them pay!

Finger-tipped charge for the reacher, and there's a shine to her flesh that ricochets off the cell bars, off the rock on the wall. It's a light that can't be drowned by all the grime, all the dismal dank. Her eyes grow wide, and grow teeth. It's a savage look for a savage stance - naked girl but for the curtain of curls, beauty no less marred by the dirt on her face. She sticks her feet into the floor and snags the arm of one Cheetham, lawyer-naut, and drives it home, or in. Like a fire-poker, they glow red, all those little digits, and sink into the skin-suit, first the meat - easy, simple. Then the bone; that burns a bit brighter; for radiation has no flame.

Cheetham wails like a dog whose leg has been run over by a lawn mower. Loud, painful, intense and long; a guttural rattle of coagulated blood from ruined lungs at the end as radiation begins to ash dead flesh and bone. The wail is pitiful, pathetic, but what runs through the lawyer's mind is vile and calculating. 'Just wait, little Seer. I will return and then Howe won't be the only one with a hard on for your torture and pain.'

At the end, the meat suit let loose one final sound - something not unlike choked laughter.

Following quick behind the Dragon kin, Gabriel is obviously in a hurry to get back to the Seer. He finds he?s worried about her, an unsettling and unfamiliar feeling to say the least. A frown lies heavy on his countenance as he notices the body of Cheetham is not where he'd left it.

Tass? step carries him forward, and he stops just before the puddle of gore that lies in front of the Seer. A twisted smile comes on his lips as he lowers himself down; sitting back on his heels, while his hands come down to dangle over his knees. Those eyes bear down within that body that is before him, or what remains of it. With the totality of the Primordial flowing deep within them Tass speaks, ?I shall look forward to this.?

Gabriel rushes into Viki's cell, fast upon Tass? heels, the loud pitiful screams a herald of erupting madness. He doesn't stop until he is once again standing at Viki?s side. However, the sight that greets him freezes him in place. He does not reach out and attempt to touch her, but rather stares in wonder. "What the...?"

Before the skull caves in, one last swivel of one opaque eye finds Tass. Oh yes, Cheetham will see to that one's demise, as well, with abounding glee!

A tip-toe around the spill of flesh onto the floor, of stomach and sinew and skin overhanging overalls... An indistinguishable pool of what might have been man? might have been sewage. The girl looks up at the cusp of a question, and how liquid it feels in an air so sharp, so tainted by the smell of burning flesh. Her arms are covered, blood red from knuckles to elbows, but she wades in, into the pile. Cool now, cucumber cool, she finds them ? the eyes.

Gabriel has always known the Seer is more than meets the eye, yet tonight, in this moment of what he can only term as sheer lunacy, he has to question with far more intensity than ever; just what is she?! No answers are immediate but he can feel their time running out, like the ticking of an invisible clock: a second sense perhaps?

"We have to get out of here." Urgency in Gabriel?s voice although if asked he wouldn't be able to explain the why. "Seer?!" His worry apparent in his voice, Gabe watches in surprised astonishment as she collects the eyes from the pooled mess.

Tass stands, those eyes of his turning upon the two that are here with him. Then he looks to the ceiling that twisted smile on his lips growing. The pile that Viki strode within begins to come away: leaving behind nothing. There is no smoke, no smolder, no smell, it simply... never was.

?For him.? Off-blue dart to the angel before wandering to the onlooker, and for his face with her free hand, she draws another head - right of his neck, into the air. Squint-squint, before standing. Knees crack under the throw of small weight. She moves, but slowly; before a sound from above alerts them all.

Confused, Gabriel turns away from Viki, focusing his attentions on the Dragon kin, not liking what Tass has the ability to do in the least. "Could you please stop doing that?! It's... downright creepy!" He too looks up hearing? something.

Tass? voice, too, is twisted, a mix of his and another?s, ?There is more that must be done??

"No, wait..." Gabriel realizes too late that whatever control he had thought he held was never truly his. The pair of them: they are not beings that he is in the least familiar. And he understands one thing crystal clear: He has no idea what they are going to do next. His safety is now in question.

Show me the dirt pile
And I will pray that the soul can take
Three stowaways
Vanish with no guile
And I will not pay
But the soul can wait
The soul can wait
- Interpol

When Worlds Collide... Miniature devil near tumbles in her descent, for her need is such that nothing, not even the iron-hot pain of the Black Wizard's remembrance would keep her away. Tendrils lift, so that she is more octopus than fiend, but her eyes, crooked, chop through the dark, stopping short of the life leftover - carnage not her cause.

The seer is stunned, but she counted on this. In the emblems in the earth, in her cell, she scrolled her name - ancient script for the child stolen, the child misplaced; the child with her face but wrong. It is almost too much bear - to stand. So she does not the latter. An awkward slump into the angel, and isn't it strange that she no longer dies on contact. No longer a battery. Someone's given her an outlet: Someone, something. She counts her breath and steals a glimpse at the would-be lover, foreign eyes in one hand and his in the other. ?Kill it.?

Tass looks to the angel next to him, and there is a deadly smile, ?I would be making my exit if I were you.? then his eyes move to the stone ceiling once more, and his hands lift. Coming to life there in each palm, a blackness that far exceeds that which roll in his eyes, spreading, stretching, coming to touch each other and expanding as he moves his hands apart.

Gabriel gives Viki a single nod. He would prefer to hold her in his arms, take her up in them and steal away with her. However, this isn?t what she?s asked of him. Later... if questioned... he would not be able to explain why he did as she bid him, he just did. But for now, he gently disentangles from her, his reluctance more than obvious before turning towards the cell's exit. His stride slow, but already leading him out, he pauses to glance back one last time. How could he know the finality of this moment? He doesn't even know what it is he may be facing, he knows only that he would do anything that she asked of him. His hope, his desire springs eternal and from a place he truly can?t understand but perhaps soon enough he shall.

Tass? voice is once more his own as he looks upon the seer. ?We have changed? but that change cannot be the undoing of us... for if there is undoing, we must go through this again once more??

That power, his power, moves upward, flowing free of Tass, ripping through the stone and the barriers that are placed between. That blackness eats, or rather? ?un-makes? what it touches as it moves on. He watches for a moment, and then his attention turns back upon the Seer.

She watches the stride, watches the motion of Gabriel?s shoulders under the skin of his shirt. Watches the way his legs guide his feet, not the other way around. Angels. But while his back is turned, while the creature is distracted, while the duo of lawyers are well away upstairs (for she can feel the Snakeskin even now, feel his hands upon her, his eyes, his hate, his heat), she walks like one entranced, back to her cell, back to the crumbling wall therein, where Gabriel had since driven straight through to save her - her savior: Name-Like-Bells. The thought is clear as crystal and wraps around her regret. Regret for what she would do to him. A glance spared to the ancient Dragon, but there is nothing left to be said. One foot over, one foot out: The shock of October air is nothing, now.

As Tass lowers himself to Gabe, from his back rips wings, shredding the walls as they extend, they slowly wrap around the two. ?It is time you leave, child. Return to which you have come, so that you may mend what has been wounded.?

From without the building? if one were to see? there extends an eerie blackness from the walls? coming to touch the streets, but not moving beyond that line.

In a flash Gabriel is gone. As the building is being swallowed into the nothingness Tass bleeds, so seems has it erased our angel. Yet, tomorrow he would awaken in his home on the Dockside. Painfully aware that he?s failed to save the woman he believes he loves. But for now... he is blissfully unconscious; his multiple and grave wounds forgotten and the Seer?s ultimate betrayal as yet unknown.

There, on Tass? lips, toys a dangerous smile? and he stands as the angel vanishes, moving down the halls until at last he finds the ticking bomb left by the nefarious Senior Partners. A hand extends, touching it, leaving a thought tracer back along the wave to those who have left it. ?I shall be waiting...?

It is a gleeful smile on Howe's thin lips as he moves to Dewey's side, his power open to the taking, as Dewey may need it. He thinks upon the treasures below and yet feels no remorse at the thought of losing them. They haven't been able to find a way to kill or use their prisoners. So, now they leave them to rot in their cells under the rubble that once housed DCH's Marketplace offices. "Yes, let's do just that. Blow this f*ckin? joint," Howe cackles, brushing at the dust and gore speckling his fine suit as if it were any other day. "I need a good dry cleaner, this suit is in ruins! Ready?"

Dewey is untouched by debris, oddly. He would have it no other way. He grants a serene nod to his partner, just once before saying in his quiet voice ?Of course.?

Before Dewey can pull the pair of them out of the building, Howe?s smile turns jovial as he presses the small remote inside his coat pocket, the simple act improving his mood. In a few short seconds the entire building will become an inferno. It will erupt with flames and rain ruin down upon the entire Marketplace. Then the remnants will collapse down into the basement below, forever burying their sins.

With one loud crackle as if the ground opens up, Howe and Dewey vanish as employees, building, and assets are left to their fates and the partners uncaring as all fall to ruins.

A moment later the Marketplace Offices of DCH go up in what seems to be a very controlled explosion. The upper regions of the building crumble down, down into the hole where once the basement was. It would take two months for the debris to be cleared and all the bodies reclaimed. As for now? it appears that Tass may still have been inside and the Senior Partners? Well? to all seeming purposes they appear to be dead.