“Go for his throat,” Rhage growled, “knocking him around a bit would be fun but I just want this bastard to die already.” V nodded and Wrath cracked his knuckles from the seat across the aisle from Seymour who simply smirked from his position. When the wheels hit the run way the right engine wing exploded.
Shrapnel flew in every direction, busting windows and scorching the side of the plane a coal black as smoke seared the nostrils of all on board, causing them to splutter and close their eyes to fight the burn that touched the bottom lid of their eyes. Crimson, gold, and black bloomed along the side of the ship, licking the navy sky, trying to touch the darkness as it fed on the fuel, another explosion ringing through the air. Seymour grimaced from his seat, if he’d known it would cause such a racket he wouldn’t have done it…Oh well, too late to think about that now.
The whole plane jolted, the wheels screeching on the runway to the sound of another powerful blast as the whole back part of the plane split, screams ringing through the air as Seymour yawned lazily, unbuckling his seatbelt. His amber eyes cut the black fog with a knifes precision as he jumped from the vessel, landing in the dancing flames as Wrath and the brothers ran forward, jumping out of the wreckage.
All three of them landed a few yards away from the burning plane, eyes wide on the sight of the people inside who were being seared and charred by the unforgiving fire. Wrath heard their screams and closed his eyes, gripping the long black body of the object he had saved from the flames…The cane.
“Thank you,” a raspy echoed voice spoke, the flames parting suddenly, the smog covering the figure in darkness, “for returning that which is mine.” Amber eyes blazed, blinking in the silver moonlight which parted the fire away from the tall frame of Seymour. “You see, I’m so eager…To send you to Hell!” Rhage was the first to be hit, the elder man moving so fast that they barely had time to see him and Wrath moved only when V shoved him out of the way.
Seymour's arm was alit with the flames of the explosion he had obviously caused, searing over Rhage’s face and torso with a wave of his limb he kicked him in the gut, sending him spiraling back as V leapt at him. Seymour's limb exstinguished itself and he turned as V aimed a punch at his jaw, missing only to twist around and aim a knee at his gut. The hit landed but Seymour grabbed his leg, his sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight as V’s eyes grew wide.
Wrath grabbed with a shaky hand for the head of the cane, finding it he jerked but the blade would not come free and something sunk into his hand, drawing blood. He heard V grunt as he was thrown away and the stumbling of Rhage as he stood up, the cackle of flame on his form having gone out. “Do you really think you can open that?” His voice had changed back to the deep reverberating baritone with the bored tint at the end and Wrath panted, jerking his hand free of the wolf’s head which had bitten into his hand.
“It was worth a shot,” Wrath retorted and ran forward, swinging at the elder man who dodged, his foot coming up to catch Wrath’s knee and sending him reeling as his shin was dislocated.
“Bastard!” Rhage roared, his face burned and sizzling under the intensity of Seymour’s first attack. His voice had dropped a few octaves though and Seymour turned his eyes to look at him, raising a brow at the sight of the other’s changing demeanor. Rhage’s face appeared to be changing, the bone structure twisting and the snarl on his face seemed plastered there, nostrils flaring as he clenched his fists.
V and Rhage ran forward, ignoring their injuries to protect Wrath as V jumped into the air, his fist meaning to collide with Seymour’s face and Rhage’s fist going for his gut.
He side-stepped V’s blow, causing him to land and giving Seymour just enough time to grab Rhage’s fist, his feet skidding on the pavement, leaving wide gashes in his wake. Rhage brought up his other fist, causing Seymour to dodge it and release his other hand while V suddenly appeared and did a sweep with his leg to bring him down. Seymour jumped, rolling back and standing quickly to look at the both of them with a wicked grin as they stood at the ready.
“You cannot win this battle,” Seymour stated, cracking his knuckles as he looked up at the sky in contemplation, “I suppose casting such a spell would take up the last bit of my energy but I must say…Perhaps it would be worth it. No?” Wrath had finally stood and was up with the other two, glaring at Seymour, the cane still gripped tightly in his hand.
“If you want this ‘battle’ to end then you better have something that could kill all three of us! Otherwise we will continue to hunt you down…” Wrath growled and Seymour rolled his eyes and sighed.
“Yes, I suppose your right. But I haven’t the power for that at this range so…To compensate I shall simply get rid of the one that is the biggest problem,” he grinned here, something feral and wolf like. V shivered noticeably beside Wrath, at the ready and Rhage tensed too.
“You won’t get near our king you asshole!” Rhage swore; eyes burning with unbridled hatred as the sound of sirens pierced the air, nearing quickly it seemed as the blaring grew closer and closer.
“Who said your ‘king’ was my target,” Seymour said, raising a hand and pointing it at Rhage, amber eyes glued to him, veins rising once more in his face. Wrath’s eyes grew wide with these words, his body moving but…There was no way he could reach Rhage because in those few seconds Seymour spoke one word, one word that none of them knew the meaning to but he did know one thing. The next millisecond later – maybe less – he smelt the tang of blood as it sprayed over his face and body, the thud of Rhage’s form hitting the ground ringing through the air as V roared in anguish.
Wrath fell to his knees, feeling for the other as suddenly he could hear his breathing, the sound fading so fast that he couldn’t really catch it, couldn’t hear it even though for all this time that is the one sense he had perfected. “Rhage, Rhage!” Wrath roared, feeling the sticky hair of the other and pulling him in close, blood slicking the flesh of the other between his fingers. He couldn’t hear V charge Seymour or the sound of the wind whirling as the elder man suddenly disappeared or the siren as the fire trucks and ambulances pulled in all around. He couldn’t make out any of it…
~ Castle Ark ~
Seymour stepped into the grand hall, removing his cloak to the sounds of running feet, a young footman jogging around the corner quickly ran over to him. “I’m sorry sir!” The young lad said, taking his coat and bowing his head deeply, as not to gaze into his employers eyes, “I should have met you at the door but we were not expecting you for another two or three days!” Seymour rolled his eyes and simply gave a deep, exasperated sigh as the young man proceeded to fidget there for a moment. “Would you like anything else, sir?”
“One thing, before you get out of my sight,” Seymour growled, fixing his shirt, “where is my wife?”
“The drawing room, sir,” the boy managed standing up straight but keeping his eyes focused on Seymour’s feet, “she retired there to read and drink a cup of late night tea.”
Seymour simply nodded and walked up the stairs of the grand hall, paying little mind to anything else but thoughts of his destination. As he neared the drawing room he heard the distinct sound of feet moving on carpet, the gentle rub of leather against leather as a book was placed back on its shelf, and once more the movement of feet. He smirked – his senses had returned in full – and saw that when he opened the door his wife was just settling back into the sofa where she usually lounged while reading.
The drawing room had floor to ceiling book shelves on every wall except the far left, for when one entered in the center of said wall was a window that went all the way from the roof of the room to about a fourth of the way off the ground to make room for a comfortable red satin love seat with golden pillows.
A fireplace on the far wall also disturbed the impressive amount of book shelves, made of grey marble it had the Ark motto on the front of the mantel: “Mors Principium Est,” or “Death is the Beginning.” The carpet depicted the scene of a night black forest and a maiden wearing a long flowing red dress, her eyes a shade of violet with flawless skin and bloody lips. The sofa Lillian occupied was at the backmost left corner of the room, two wingbacks in front of the fire and a globe placed in the center of the room.
“Your back,” she exclaimed, running over in her flowing white shift to embrace him - the white turning to silver as she made her way in front of the silver moonlight coming through the window - her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. His arms circled her waist, his face nestled into the creamy skin of her shoulder and his dark, silver locks mixing with the golden, brown streaked strands of her scalp.
Lillian’s fingers played with the shoulder length strands of his hair, her nimble digits playing across his shoulder blades as well. “What is wrong,” she whispered, drawing back to look at his face, “you have been ill.” Her voice cracked as she drew back to examine him, her hands falling to lay on his forearms as he stared at her. She ran her cool fingers across his cheek and into his locks, her eyes glistening with tears he grabbed her hand and gripped it in his own.
He kissed the ivory skin of her knuckles, his eyes closing as he held her palm against the side of his gaunt face, “your cold my dear.” She shook her head, moving forward to press her face into his chest, the hand he did not hold gripping the front of his ruffled shirt.
“I’ve…I’ve never seen you like this before,” she withdrew her hand from his to grip his shirt as she looked up into his amber colored irises, “what could harm you like this?!”
Seymour’s eyes became half lidded as he looked down at her, unable to deny her he sighed and wrapped his arms around her. “Do you truly wish me to tell you?” The question hung there like a summer leaf dancing to the ground and her brow furrowed slightly as she gazed up at him.
“There are no secrets between us…Tell me,” she whispered and Seymour took a deep breath and let it out slowly, nodding, he gestured to the couch. Lillian gripped his hand, winding her fingers in with his as she made her way over to the red satin couch, the embroidery of golden thread wound into the armrests and cushions. She sat beside him, touching his face and clearing some of the petulant strands away from his features as to see him when he spoke.
The whole story was long but he told her the truth, leaving out no detail – even the ones he wished to omit – his mouth running as she stroked his face and touched his hands, running her fingers over the veins that were usually always visible, due to the age of his body, not his weakness. She squeezed his hand slightly when he told her about when he was held captive, telling her of what they had done to him, and how he had endured. He told her of what he looked like when under this state, of walking in the rain, and fighting them in the ship. He told her of what happened at the airport – never skipping any detail – and of how he had used some of the last bit of his power.
He always thought that when he told her of such things she would leave, turn around and never come back. Seymour laid his head against the back of the sofa, closing his eyes and gulping as they sat there in silence for many moments. Lillian just held his hand, running her thumbs along the back of his knuckles before she raised a hand and cupped his cheek, turning his head to where he would look at her. He did not open his eyes though, out of fear of seeing the hurt in her eyes but he finally relented when the smooth pad of her thumb rubbed over his eye lid.
“Nothing justifies revenge,” she whispered, her grey eyes looking deep into his amber pair and it shocked him to see a sad smile on her face, “you helped and they attacked you but…You didn’t exactly make the best impression on them the first time. What happened to those people on the plane,” she closed her eyes and frowned slightly and he knew she was holding back tears. He raised his hand from her palm and stroked the side of her face, his thumb rubbing against the corner of her eye and when her irises became visible again they were covered in a light sheen.
“I love you; I knew what I was getting into from the beginning. I know what you are and despite that I still love you, and no matter what I do I can’t stop loving you. I wouldn’t even if I could…I can’t deny you your nature. I never would.” Lillian drew closer and pulled him to her, allowing him to lay his head on her lap as he laid back and lounged on the satin of the sofa.
“I love you,” he whispered, the words themselves a rarity even to her ears and she treasured every time he said those syllables. She could recount every time that he had said them, weather this was because he said them so little or because she treasured his words so much was a mystery but nonetheless she always smiled.
“Sleep, you’ve had a trying journey,” she murmured, running her slim fingers over the hollow features of his face as he laid there, eyes slowly closing.
London Compound – Late that Night
“How…How did this happen?!” Butch yelled, staring at Rhage’s form as he lay there, passed out on the table.
The night had been long with the arrival of the rest of the Brotherhood – Shellans included – to the London Compound. Mary had arrived and had immediately started working on Rhage in a panic as his vitals reached critical and the rest of the brothers filed in to see the damage done to their king and the two brothers that accompanied him.
Rhage was covered his deep gashes and the burn had yet to start receding, Wrath feared that Seymour had placed the same curse on Rhage that he had on him…V had sustained minor bruises that had healed within two hours – much too long – and Wrath’s knee healed after three. It seemed that he could not only inflict permanent damage but he could keep it that way for extended amounts of time…
The rest of the brothers grew progressively angry, irritable, and shocked as Wrath told the story of what had happened, finishing with the wounding of Rhage. “You’re telling us that this guy can inflict damage on us to the point where we’re healing like humans?” Zsadist asked, dark eyes focusing on Wrath who nodded – still covered in Rhage’s blood.
“Let’s go kill this guy!” V roared, “He’s still got traces of Beth’s blood in his veins, we can track him!”
“No, we can’t!” Wrath growled, “in case you hadn’t noticed, he just kicked our asses without breaking a real sweat!”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Butch said, pacing, “in Tokyo you took him down easy…Why couldn’t all three of you take him down here?” Wrath shook his head, arms crossed over his broad chest, his eyes closed and brow furrowed, head turned down to the ground.
“I don’t know…Home field advantage wouldn’t make sense…I mean, we were on the open run way of a plane!” Wrath rubbed the back of his neck, before rubbing his chin, “unless there is something here in London that he uses as his power source.”
“Yeah,” V said, nodding, “maybe if we find his source we can destroy it and then torture him to find out where the Omega is.”
“No,” Wrath growled, causing all eyes to turn on him in shock, “he’s way too powerful to be just a Lesser general…He’s something more. I can’t explain it but when we fought…It was like he wasn’t even trying.”
“Then what’s the point of trying to kill him?” Butch asked; brow furrowing as he turned to look at Wrath whose head rose so that he seemed to be looking at him.
“He nearly killed us…That makes him a threat. Anything that is a direct threat to us has to die – by any means necessary, I don’t even want to think what would happen if he allied himself with the Omega.” The whole room tensed and some of them even shuddered at the thought. “He took out Rhage so that he wouldn’t have to fight him, he knew about the dragon – or at least had some idea of his power – so he put him out of commission. That means it’s up to the rest of us to take him down…”
“Are you sure we can? I mean…Look at Rhage,” Butch said, frowning slightly as Wrath gripped his arms a bit tighter.
“Everyone has a weakness…Including him. I heard him during our fight, ‘I suppose casting such a spell would take up the last bit of my energy,’ meaning that he can only cast it a few times, and if we can find a way to dodge it we should be fine.”
“No way,” V growled, “he said one fucking word and did that to Rhage, we don’t stand a chance against something like that if all he has to do is point and say a word!”
“That was before!” Wrath roared, turning on the shorter brother, “we weren’t ready and you both thought he was going to aim for me! He didn’t, next time we’ll be ready for anything!” V looked taken aback but stopped, eyes narrowing slowly on his king as he stood there, un-tensing and shaking his head.
“Wrath…Even you don’t believe that. Rhage will be fine, don’t make a death wish just because you feel guilty,” everyone stopped breathing when V said this, his voice not betraying the fear he felt as he said the last bit. But it was true. He had to be brutally honest with Wrath in order to get him to see reason, even if doing it in front of everybody else was the only way. Wrath stepped back, taking a deep breath before shaking his head.
“I need to be alone,” he stated, George suddenly appearing from the shadows of the corner to lead his master from the room.
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