09-22-2009, 08:44 AM
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Even as he hit the ground, there was noise and confusion. Anselm’s voice, though he did not hear the words, and then terrible screaming pain. This was what he had wanted; this was what the wolf deserved. Gabriel made it to his feet as two distinct sounds came—one, Mason, yelping in pain. The second, his mother, as terrible as a dragon. She was on the wolf, a harpy fiend, lunging, drawing blood. Behind the Aquila his own son came, and Ezekiel wasted little time passing his father and grabbing hold of the hind leg that was not broken. Only then, thrashing futilely, did the kill come. It was his niece who struck, rushing into the exposed throat and ripping it from the stranger. Gabriel moved forward only then, walking gingerly on the aching leg. Though no pleasure showed on his face, his eyes were burning laughter. “I want this bastard on a pike,” he spat, not caring who did the act, or how it was done. Either way, they had done what they had needed to do. The threat was dead. Lifting his head from the still twitching, bleeding carcass, his amber eyes found Halo, blood-coated and not much younger then his own son. “Halo,” he continued. “You’ve earned your place as a member of the Hydra. Consider yourself a warrior of Inferni now.” She had done what needed to be done, something he had not expected from the girl. Then he turned, seeking out the only figure that seemed out of place amongst the chaos. “Mason, are you all right?” |