#if you have seen or heard anything about cyclone gabrielle

[sigridhawke]

This week has destroyed me emotionally but at least I found some energy to try draw my boys again ;; I miss drawing them and think of them often.

[Leather and Linen: The Memory Banks] [Leather and Linen - AO3 story link] [Tumblr post]  

[thebibliomancer]

50 More Days of Comics! 24/50: Arak: Son of Thunder Annual #1 (1984)

“ARAK: IN THE LAIR OF THE SERPENT LORD”

Pretty great title.

I am pretty sure I had never heard of this character until I saw this cover! Probably! He might have been in one of the weirder Justice League Unlimited issues. I think in JLU it turns out that the world is hollow and that there’s a fantasy world inside it for some reason? Or maybe that was an episode of Superman?

Anyway, Arak (Son of Thunder) is an interesting sort.

He was a relatively respectful Native American character for his time which meant that he did not have broken speech or stereotypical powers like super-tracking (looking at you nearly every X-Men Native American character).

And he has a pretty bonkers backstory for a guy that was initially a Conan the Barbarian ripoff.

(Roy Thomas explicitly says in the letters column in the back of this issue that he came up with Arak because Conan Properties wouldn’t let him write a Conan novel. So. Y’know. Make of that what it is.)

See, Star-of-Dawn of the Quontauka Native tribe was fleeing from an amorous evil serpent god and was rescued by the thunder god He-No. She married He-No out of gratitude for saving her from an evil horny snake god but wasn’t really in love with him and missed her people so he returned her home.

And then she gave birth to a demigod, Bright-Sky-After-Storm.

Later, in a one-two punch the serpent god attached He-No while a tribe that worshipped evil snakes attacked the Quontauka. While thunder has a type advantage against snakes, He-No sacrificed himself to save his son and send him floating out into the sea where he was out of reach.

Where he was found by Vikings, as ya do.

One of the Vikings raised him and named him Eric, which became Arak due to the young boy’s mispronunciation.

He joins their raids until a sorceress sends a sea serpent after the Vikings. The serpent kills all but Arak who throws a cross like a Castlevania and impales the serpent through the brain.

A nearby monk says that god has delivered them which makes Arak wonder if it was the monk’s god or his own god. And so he sets off to have adventures and becomes a good friend of Charlemagne and gets romantically involved with a paladin called Valda the Iron Maiden.

So basically Arak has an awesome life, give or take being serially orphaned.

Aside from being set in a real historical period, Arak tends to interact with real mythological nonsense rather than Conan’s sword and sorcery type deal.

And that’s the need to know for this annual. Oh, that and he at some point found the flaming sword of Gabriel, which drove the first humans out of Eden and which can command Christian, Jew, and Muslim. That is a thing that exists and that Arak has and that the bad guy wants.

And as this annual starts, Arak and his good pal Satyricus (…… a satyr, obviously) are on their way to the titular lair of the serpent lord to exchange the Sword of Gabriel for boy-prince Alsind and his cousin Sharizad, friends of Arak’s that the Serpent Lord took hostage.

They are briefly waylaid by desert bandits who get the best of Arak by taking Satyricus the Satyr hostage but the Sword of Gabriel is the real sword of evil’s bane and when the bandit leader unveils it, it burns out his eyes.

Between this and Indiana Jones, god stuff is just really user unfriendly, isn’t it?

The bandits flee in terror of the eye melting sword and Arak has to reswaddle the thing.

No easy task as it wants to rocket to heaven and also its on fire.

Through some weird ritual that Arak himself doesn’t quite understand, he… iunno, wipes the fire into the hilt? so he can rewrap the blade.

Satyricus has some misgivings about turning over the Sword of Gabriel to the Serpent Lord who either works for or is the same snake god that tried to boink Arak’s mom and wiped out his tribe. But Arak gotta do what Arak gotta do.

Then a giant, unnatural cyclone comes at them. Satyricus promises to stick to Arak like his shadow but he’s just so small. He gets blown away by the winds. And as the cyclone blasts Arak with sand he swears he’ll find his friend.

But for some reason, being buffeted by winds makes Arak start contemplating his life backwards, thinking of Valda, the paladin. Thinking of the sea serpent who killed the Vikings who adopted him. Thinking of the good times he had raiding and pillaging with them.

And when the winds subside he finds himself in a familiar forest, the very forest of his long lost birthplace!

Tornados are surprisingly good transportation in fiction.

Satyricus finds himself in quite a different locale though. The tornado somehow blew him into a cave. A cave with a Cerberus in it. Aw hell, he’s in Hades!

The dogs don’t bork which means he’s dead and belongs so he passes by them and meets the ferryman Charon who offers Satyricus a ride across the river Styx.

Satryicus has no coin and also doesn’t want to be dead yet. He has so much to live for. “For love, Charon! Love of green fields, sunshine, sweet fruits, and tender women. Aye, and for love of a friend – one I’ve sworn to protect as he searches the world for his homeland!”

And then a dead friend of Satyricus’ pops up and sasses him.

Khiron: “Just like you, Satyricus, to die without a Grecian obol to your name!”

And then he tells Satyricus to just wade across the river. Pssh what? Its going to kill the dead? Yeah right! What even is the point of Charon here? For ghosts afraid to get their feet wet?

Because he does it! Satyricus just wades across. And he’s short!

Satyricus and Khiron catch up before Satyricus decides actually fuck being dead and decides to spring Khiron. The centaur protests he’s too weak to jail break out of Hades and Charon is like come on dude I’mma have to scythe you if you try to leave.

But Satyricus kicks a hole in Charon’s boat, which tips the skeleton into the drink when it capsizes. The satyr steals Charon’s scythe and thus the scyther becomes the one who is scythed.

He stabs Charon.

Actually pretty crafty, Satyricus. Granted, you look sinister af due to cultural biases against short hairy men with goat legs, goatees, and horns but well played.

He also stabs Cerberus. And I understand that it had to be done to escape but it still fills me with sadness. That poor doggo.

Satyricus and Khiron find themselves emerging into the green glades of ancient Greece. And together they vow that the last centaur and the last satyr will drive the barbarians out of the land and restore its glory. I’m not up on my relative time periods so I’m not sure which barbarians were occupying Greece during the time of Charlemagne but its probably a good thing for a satyr and centaur to start a populous movement.

Elsewhere in America perhaps, Arak ponders his situation. The witch-queen Angelica once used magic to show him that some Quontauka were still alive and offered to transport him to them. But since she was quite evil, he didn’t agree. But maybe a similar magic was in that ol’ tornado.

He doesn’t have much time to ponder because the snake tribe is attacking the Quontauka again! He rushes in and starts cutting and scalding people.

He sees a snake tribesman about to split open an old woman’s skull as his mother’s was years ago but this time he has a sword that is on fire! And he throws it at the dude and burns him. The burned guy flees.

To his surprise, Arak discovers that not only is this situation reminiscent to what happened to his mother its actually his actual supposedly dead mother that he saved!

Arak’s grandfather White-Snow Owl arrives and asks him to take up the fire sword as the Quontauka’s warchief and put the fear in all other tribes.

Arak protests that he did not return to lead them against tribes that have no quarrel with them. Besides, his journey isn’t done. The hostages of the serpent lord will die unless he exchanges the sword for them.

Arak: “One of those I must save is but a child – another a young woman!”

White-Snow Owl: “I do not care.”

And then White-Snow Owl demands that Arak give him the sword. Ahh but see. Arak is the name the Vikings gave him. His tribesmen have been calling him their name for him, Bright-Sky-After-Storm. Why would White-Snow Owl know his Viking name?

So Arak stabs his grandfather.

A lot of stabbing in this sword and sorcery.

And it turns out that his grandfather was a snake and also not his grandfather.

It turns out everyone was snakes. So Arak burns it all down.

And finds himself in a Grecian glade where Satyrnicus and Khiron are hanging out.

Satyrnicus is thrilled to see him and wants to tell him how his once-meek goat-legged friend broke out of Hades but Arak has figured out the score.

This is all illusion. A very convincing illusion. One that knows your memories and knows what you want to see. But Arak won’t be fooled.

He stabs Khiron with the sword of Gabriel which apparently only destroys the wicked and false and reveals that the centaur was actually a man-snake and is now also dead. From the stabs.

Satyrnicus is aghast that he beat Hades all by himself only to lead a monster to his nice home.

No, no. You didn’t get a cool victory or get to go home to a nice green glade. You’re still in the sandy wasteland, Arak says.

Poor Satyrnicus doesn’t get to have anything nice like overthrowing Hades. Oh boo.

Arak waves the sword around until the illusion gives up. That’s probably how dispelling illusions works.

And then the titular Lair of the Serpent Lord finally shows its snake head themed entrance, emerging from under the sand only 32 pages into this 40 page story.

The Serpent Lord almost pulls off the aesthetic. He’s green and scaly and has snake men minions and a snake draped around his hands like a boa but he has horns and I’ve never seen a snake with horns.

Anyway, the Serpent Lord cheekily laments that Arak didn’t fall for the temptations of the whirlwind. Then he would have had the hostages and the sword.

Alsind and Sharizad beg Arak not to give the sword of Gabriel to the Serpent Lord but he ignores their pleas and swears on He-No’s name that after the two hostages are released, he’ll throw the sword to the steps of Serpent Lord’s throne.

Since Arak is an honorable sort where his words are his bond and especially vows on his father and all, Serpent Lord agrees.

He releases the hostages and Arak throws the sword.

Satyrnicus suggests that they amscray but Arak says not yet but for his group to cover their eyes.

Arak: “Guard your eyes, and pray to all your several gods – for I suspect a weapon forged in Heaven will not abide for long a demon’s hand.”

And when one of Serpent Lord’s snake dudes goes to bring it to him the sword angrily flares, incinerating all the snake dudes to ash and bone on the spot.

Arak, Satyrnicus, Alsind and Sharizad are protected by Arak’s shaman aura. And the Serpent Lord by his own sorcery. And then the flare dims, that wily ol’ Serpent Lord is running to grab the sword.

So Arak runs and they both grab it at the same time. And wrassle over it .

The Serpent Lord questions Arak’s oath to turn the sword over but Arak points out that he only swore to deliver it to the Serpent Lord’s throne and did not say what he would do after that.

I always sort of wonder what the point of having such a sense of honor that you must abide by your word, even if it was under duress, when you are also willing to wriggle out through dumb baby word games?

I mean, yes, good thinking on Arak’s part to phrase it in an exploitable way but if you’re doing that are you actually an honorable person?

You’ll build a loophole into a promise but god help you if you lie?

Honor is weird.

The Serpent Lord is actually Arak’s match in muscle so they go all over the place tugging the sword until Arak has an idea.

He beseeches the fire spirits which rest within the sword to flee evil’s grasp by abandoning their metal home. And then he just kind of… pulls away with a sword-shaped fire in his hands.

Serpent Lord decides that he can still use the metal of the blade to kill Arak and you’d think that a metal blade would go right through a fire. But guess what. This is angelic fire or something.

Serpent Lord swings his metal sword and it strikes the fire sword and the metal sword melts all over Serpent Lord’s hands.

Which has to be somewhere up there in terms of things that hurt a whole hell of a lot.

And then Arak stabs him.

There’s a lot of stabbing etc etc.

And then Arak tells the sword it can go home and releases it and the fire flies into the sky, going home.

Arak: “So go you forth, mighty sword! Fly upward to the abode of angels – nevermore to be raised anew against the works of man unless a god decrees!”

You’re a cool guy, Arak.

Now, nearly exhausted Arak still has to run because the Serpent Lord was one of those load bearing bosses and his snakehead lair is collapsing.

And he notices tracks of blood leading out into the desert. The Serpent Lord isn’t dead.

Arak decides not to chase after him. As wounded as he is it will be a long time before he can menace other men. And whatever else, he has been forever denied the Sword of Gabriel because it flew home.

And the Serpent Lord’s anger at being thwarted is a problem for another day.

I actually quite enjoyed this.

As mentioned, Arak is a pretty cool dude. With cool friends (although I kept wanting to call Satyrnicus Phil because it’d be easier to type). And this was a pretty cool adventure.

Arak: Son of Thunder apparently only got 50 issues and this annual and a scant few other appearances. And then recentlyish reappared having been mind controlled into being Braniac’s minion in Convergence. Which… is a choice.

But this issue was good.

Tangentially, it very much felt like you could get a dnd module out of this.

[strainingfororiginality]

Chapter 13.4 - Redemption

Note from Author: Chapter 13 was supposed to be 6 parts, but when I looked at the current chapter, I already had over 30 pages and it was only half done, so I’ve broken the latest one into 2. Looks like Chapter 13 is gonna be 7 parts.

The fight outside of her mind had come to a standstill and all of the attention was on the assault that waged within. None of their consciousness could spread their attention between the two separate realms and their shells upon Earth had frozen in whatever stance they were in when she started to fluctuate the flow of time.

Raphael watched calmly from the back of her consciousness. He was better than any of them, but he needed to let his brothers have their victories. He needed them to know they were better as well.

Biding his time in the shadows, as he was so used to doing, he knew there would be a moment when he would need to step forward, but they were doing so very well without him and he billowed with pride. The twins and Gabriel took turns coming forward and Dawn accepted their motions, matching their speeds with Lucifer’s.

It wasn’t until she suddenly flicked a glance in Ozryel’s direction that Raphael realized something else was afoot, something outside of this internal fight. He could have picked into their minds to see what might have been stirring, but he didn’t want to bring any attention that the Morning Star might catch.

There was some sort of plan in the works and the concerned look on Oz’s face was matched with Dawn’s own. In that fleeting and miniscule moment, that one look seemed to convey an entire conversation. Ozryel was asking for something. Gabriel was at the forefront, allowing them to pay full attention to each other. For just that split second and Dawn gave a half nod to Ozryel, accepting whatever she was promising.

The twins stepped forward again, always together, in beautiful and elegant unison, and that’s when he heard the voice from outside. Masculine, distant, and very distinctly German. Raphael’s skin flushed with bumps as he heard it so faintly in the background. The look between Ozryel and Dawn was understood. The Angel of Death was asking her permission for something terrible and drastic.

"I’m so sorry, my Dear. Forgive me."

Lucifer’s ears pricked, his eyes growing wide. Of course he had heard it and he attempted to pull back into the real world, to flee back into her physical body and Raphael knew it was finally his turn.

"This …" He stepped forward, his skin crackling with divine light. He gripped the fleeing Morning Star, holding him in place.

"No. NO!" Lucifer struggled, pulling furiously at his soul to stop the impending blow. “Don’t. Don’t make me do this! DON’T MAKE ME--”

"This is how you lose, little brother." Raphael whispered into his ear as he held his ground. “Through redemption …”

They all felt the staff the moment the Nazi pushed it into her body.

As he descended into the very center of the crater, Quinlan hoped, as he always had and always would.

"Hic abundant leones." He urged himself on, pushing himself forward and down the steps as his eyes locked onto the cowering mass below.

"The rapture? Andy, you’re talking about Revelations." Uriel’s path dipped slightly as her words fully sunk in and his mouth fell agape. “You’re talking about … The End of Days?”

"Of course it is! Are you daft? Have you not put all the signs together, brother?!" She was certain she had never before seen such amusing panic on the overly stoic angel’s face. Perhaps it was that unusual response that made her snort, but she quickly regretted it as his flight slowed and more panic set in. “Come on. Come on!” She needed to stop smiling, it was only making his fear deepen, but his reaction was continuing to wildly tickle her. “It’s not that bad! I promise!”

"But this .. this can’t be the end."

"‘The End of Days’? ‘The End Time’? I assure you it is, brother. Everything lines up with what was foretold, does it not?" The Left Hand grew silent. “The Great Tribulation itself has already occurred. Don’t you see? The Seventh Shard’s stranglehold on mankind, when everyone, across the globe, experienced disasters, famine, war, pain, and suffering. The Master decimated three quarters of all life on the planet. He was the Abomination of Desolation, Uriel. He was the perversion of Baal Shamem, one of the Lords of Heaven. And then the Second Coming took place. Lucifer had no idea he would be the catalyst for it.”

"The Second Coming?? The children … " Uriel hadn’t yet put two and two together. Even after the story she spun him, he couldn’t see passed his own assumptions of what the next messiah should be.

"The children. And they have both already died and risen again. Have they not? One for the Right. One for the Left. Do you not see it? Does it not make perfect sense now? Like a painting that has finally come together. And do you know how many weeks it has been since that plane first landed in New York, brother?"

Uriel’s lips pursed together. She knew he knew the answer but he didn’t utter it, at least not out loud.

"Seventy weeks. One year, four and a half months. After seven weeks and sixty-two weeks, the messiah will be severed. They will die and rise again. And the Battle of Armageddon? It wages right now on the shores of Baikal. Two divine armies are clashing there as we speak, before the end times will occur."

"If everything’s gonna end …" She’d never heard such defeat in the warrior’s voice. “Then why are we bothering right now?” He slowed even more, even as the wind carried him on. “It can’t … it can’t be … over. I need to find …” His words trailed off, ashamed to utter the name that fluttered on the end his tongue. Sandalphon knew the name that clung to his mind. “If this is the end, I need to find …”

"The end of everything? Oh good Lord no. Calm yourself. I expected less drama from you, of all people. End of Times, I mean, it sounds scary, but I assure you, it’s not what you assume. It’s merely the end of an era. Nothing more. Nothing less. They used my prophecy, my words, translated it poorly, to strike fear into the hearts of man, to obtain compliance."

"And the rapture then?" Uriel grasped for straws. “How does this even play into your plan? How is going to the Well of Souls going to help us save the souls on Earth.”

"The souls on Earth?" She nearly giggled. “Who said anything about the souls on Earth? The Rapture is the time for the dead to rise. For those forgotten to be received into Heaven light … finally. For them to be gathered into the air by God.”

They landed on the ledge in unison and swiftly entered the cave. The chamber hadn’t been used in nearly six thousand years. It was locked when the first of the Basilisk used the portal to flee Heaven, against the rules. Uriel placed his hand on the keystone and the doors shifted and rolled open before them.

"So why Dawn?" Uriel waved his sister in first. “I know you’re still not telling me everything.”

"I rarely do." Sandalphon chuckled as she accepted the lead and entered the cave. “She has a very important purpose she has yet to fully grasp. But she already has all the clues and she’s very, very clever.”

As Uriel entered from behind, the torches mounted to the walls around the room came alive to his presence and the room danced with amber light. They approached the dark, round well in the very middle of the room and Sandalphon sat on its edge, peering down into the perfectly still water. Such a tiny opening. This was going to take a long time and she sighed over the coming task and its inevitable exertion upon her. "Riddles. All you say are riddles. Fine. Don’t tell me then. Then why Quinlan? Of all people, why did you choose Honoria’s son? Why would you make her an accomplice in this--"

"Why him?" Repeating the question to him, she smiles. She liked that question. Quite a bit actually, especially coming from him. Now she was laughing again and his expression was growing more exasperated. “Don’t you get it? You’ve already answered the question.”

"What?"

"You are the answer to your own question. I found him because of you, Uriel. It was your love for Honoria that put a spotlight on that child." The look on angel’s face was priceless. “And we knew, anyone that we picked, would need divine help to escape Heaven ... and in all the possibilities, in all the futures … no matter what we did, you’ll always love her.” She stood and placed her palm on his chest, directly over his raging heart. “He would never have made it out of Heaven without your submission to her and you would not help me now unless your love for her had not spilled over onto him.”

"You … used me?" Uriel’s face contorted, unsure how to process the information.

"I use everyone." She had never been one to beat around the bush, nor refuse the truth, regardless of its uncomfortable undertones.

"She is … " His shame tormented her. It oozed from his eyes as he stared down at the ground. “Honoria has always been my downfall.”

"No." Sandalphon gripped his shoulder. “She is your grace, brother. But enough chit chat. Yeah?” Turning back to the well, she raised her hands, bellowing into the air. “Well!? Your turn. Finally. We’re waiting.”

The faintest of breezes tickled the brown hair across her face and as it grew into a torrential cyclone in the circular chamber, visions of memories fluttered across her mind. Uriel’s question riding the front of her consciousness.

Why Quintus? No, the correct question was: why Cassius?

Heavy - Birdtalker

Are you tired are you weary of the hidden hate

You’ve been holding, yeah

Did you lose that love

Or have you never had it

A simple house. A poor family. The Roman Empire, 50 A.D

It wasn’t actually Rome. At least, not the one that would be known. It was just an echo of a possible future of it. A fleeting shimmer of a memory that would never actually occur. Reverberating across the waves in the confluence, Sandalphon watched this possibility again from afar. She watched herself approaching the sleeping boy in his bed, his siblings and parents still fast asleep in the only room of their simple house.

Time slowed to a near halt and she sat quietly on the edge of his straw filled bed. She watched his closed eyes darting back and forth as the nightmare took hold of him. Sweat beaded up on his tiny forehead and when the nightmare climaxed with his fall, he sat straight up in the bed, panting wildly and her arms were there to catch him from rolling off onto the hard and cold ground.

"Shhhhh. It’s alright." She consoled him. He tried to pull away from her, shocked at her strange yet beautiful appearance. “Not to worry, little Cassius Densus.” His tiny eyes had grown wide at the site of her towering above him. “I am not real. This is your dream. You’re still sleeping.” She lied, brushing a lock of his golden hair from his dark blue eyes and she tucked it lovingly behind his ear, urging him to lay back down.

"I was … dreaming." He confessed as his lids grew heavy, threatening to close as he relaxed back into the comfort of the bed and stared up into her divine form with absolute innocence.

"What were you dreaming of, child?" She smiled. She already knew, of course. It was always his fall. When his foot slipped on that wet boulder and the violence of his fall cracked his leg in two. He always dreamed of this. It tormented him.

"I was dreaming … that I was strong." It wasn’t a lie. That’s what he wanted so very badly each and every time his fall happened in his nightmares. Careless and young, he wished nothing more than to take that moment back, as he rightly feared his life would be shaped by this poorly healed injury. “I want to be strong again.”

"Do you now?" She asked, placing her palm on his chest as she felt his thunderous and hopeful heart rage within. “And how strong do you wish to be?” He looked ashamed, his eyes darting down and refusing to meet hers. “You can tell me. It will be our little secret. I promise.”

"I want … to be strong … like papa." This little boy respected that grumpy man so much and she grinned at his unwavering devotion. Cassius had no idea that he would already be stronger than his father. This mother’s special lineage had already solidified that matter.

"Really?" Her tone feigned surprise. “Only as strong as him? He’s just a man, you know.” She patted his chest and leaned forward, whispering down to him in hushed tones. “Are you sure that’s it? I thought your ambition knew no bounds.” She leaned further down and her voice grew even fainter. She knew he wished for more than just that. “Come on now. You can tell me what you really want. It will be our little secret, dreamer. I promise it.”

The boy’s face lit up and he clenched the top of his wool blanket in his tiny fists. "I …" He hesitated. “I …”

"Yes?" She egged him on. Oh how she loved to indulge this boy’s imagination. It was spectacular. “Come on then … this is only a dream, right? Indulge me.”

"I want to be as unbreakable as Vulcan." The confession poured forth and his true desires escaped with so much excitement, he might have woken his family had she not plucked them out of the normal flow of time. “I never want to break again.”

"Never again." She nodded, accepting the request. “Alright. Got it. Anything else?” She knew there was more. There was always more.

"I want to be …" He bit into his lower lip. “As smart as Apollo.”

"God of Knowledge himself? Hmmm. It’s a good choice, but nope. Can’t do that one." She refused and his face fell. Poking him in the chest, she grinned madly as she admitted to him. “Can’t do that one because you’re already smarter than he, little Cassius. I will not make your mind shine less than it already does.” This wasn’t a lie. He was absolutely brilliant and that was one of the reasons she was consistently drawn to him, over and over again. She loved to pick through his vibrant thoughts and the smile that spread across his face now was well worth this visit. “What else?”

"I want to be …" He fidgeted under the covers and she could feel his excitement rising; his eyes darted to the single crutch leaning against the wall next to the bed. “I want to be as powerful as Hercules!”

"Hercules?!" She feigned surprise again for she already knew this. This hero was always his favorite. He beamed. “Are you certain?!”

"Yes!" Upon her question, he sprung straight up, standing on the bed and grabbing at his crutch as he swung it wildly in the air like a sword. He swung it around and around as he fought an army of invisible foes all around him.

"Remember that Hercules was made to suffer for his strength, dreamer. Perhaps a different deity might suit your needs better?" But his enthusiasm did not waver from her words of caution and she knew it wouldn’t. “He paid a most terrible, terrible price for what he was. In fact, his family paid that price. Those around him, those he loved the most, suffered greatly for who his father was. The gods took everything from him.”

"If I could save everyone, I would pay the price! I will slay the Nemean Lion and the Lernaean Hydra." He was young and foolish and even with his crippled leg, he was full of so much hope. “I will steal from the Amazons. I will capture Cerberus.” She beamed as he danced around, hopping without mind to his weak leg. “And I will climb to the top of Mount Kazbek! As Aeschylus foretold, I will free Prometheus himself! I will undo the injustice upon him!” He had been completely obsessed with that play since he’d seen it three weeks ago. Since then, his crutch had become his go-to sword and he had hobbled around in the grass as he pretended to free the Titan from captivity.

"Free Prometheus himself?! You wish to defy the gods, little one?" She giggled. “That is either a brave endeavour, or a truly foolish one. Why would you want such a thing?”

"Someone has to! I would stand against the tyranny of the gods and--" He had spun, swinging wildly again and his leg finally gave out. The twinge of pain that jolted across his little frame sent him collapsing back down onto the bed. Even through the pain of it, he didn’t whine or make any noise at all. His strength and fortitude, even at this size, even at this age, was greater than most grown men could even dream about.

It seemed the sudden collapse caused him more emotional pain than physical. "Papa says I’ll never be the same again." Cassius sighed as she took the crutch from his little hands and set it against the wall again. “He says I’m broken.”

"Your father speaks the truth to you. Appreciate that. He loves you. He knows your life will be hard. And he knows that you must understand if you are to find peace with it."

"He’s says I can’t be fixed." The boy continued to struggle with his father’s demand that he let go of hope for a better life, for a miracle.

The pain in these words were such agony to her ears. If only the child knew the truth of it. That the fact that he was strong is why he still breathed at all, because that fall would have killed a mere human. An adult much less a child. Plummeting twenty-five feet down that slippery crevice, cracking his head on the rock from side to side as he tumbled. Had his leg not caught between two jagged rocks near the bottom, his fall would have continued straight down, head first. It would have crushed even his skull upon impact.

"Ignis aurum probat, miseria fortes viros, Cassius. Those who break are not weak. In fact, those who break are very often stronger than those who have never." She pulled the covers open, encouraging him to lay back down and he melted into the bed. The excitement died away as his eyes grew heavy again. “You know, dreamer, you remind me of a little girl I hope to know someday.” She pulled the blanket up and tucked it around him snugly.

"I do? Why? Is she broken … like me ... too?"

"Oh yes. Very much so. And she will break many times. More than even you will." Sandalphon nodded as she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his forehead. “And it too will make her stronger. Fire tests gold, little one; adversity builds the strongest of us all. Painful but necessary.”

"Just like Hercules."

"Yes." She laughed. “Just like him.”

"Can I … meet her?" His eyes were growing heavier and heavier. His mind was dancing around the possibility of her words and she felt him beginning to daydream about it all. “Do you think she’d want to play with us? Is she good at swords?”

"Silly boy. She isn’t even born yet ..." She took a deep breath in. “Not for a very long time, in fact.”

"Oh … I can be her friend still?" His pure disappointment amused her endlessly. “Is she pretty?”

"Pretty? Why on Earth is that important?" She poked his side and a sinister giggle escaped him. He was on the very edge of true childhood and she knew his mind struggled with maturing thoughts. “You’re such a little lover boy, aren’t you?” The giggle erupted from her without warning and she touched the very tip of his nose. “Not everyone will think so. You see, she’s very unique. But I do think she’s lovely. Yes. And quite brilliant I assure you, just like you are, Sun prince. Smarter than Apollo himself.”

"I don’t like the sun. I burn easily." He was dozing now. His words sloppy and slow as he struggled to stay awake. “I think she’s probably good at swords too then.”

"Would you like to meet her, Cassius?" The question was fleeting and she wasn’t sure why she had even asked it, but as the smile danced across his face, she was intoxicated with the idea of it. Aurora would like him. She would like him very much.

"Can I?" He was nearly out and she could see the images dancing across his mind. He was imaging all sorts of little girls now. His mind raced with unvoiced questions of what she might look like. Tall, skinny, or plump? Dark and light skinned? Straight or curly hair? Smooth or bumpy? Flawless … or lavishly spotted. The thought of spots obviously amused him and he smiled. His imagination was on fire with simply the possibility of her. “I don’t think she’d like me …” He mumbled, glancing down towards his leg, shame and disdain for his own body thick in his dark blue eyes grew nearly too heavy to open again.

"I think she would. Your leg aside, you’ve traits that are to be admired, little one. To be sought for, in fact. Plus …" She smiled madly. “Girls love scars, do they not?” The angel touched the side of his head and fixed his changing vision of the little girl and his eyes closed slowly. The little girl, as she really was, or would be, stood perfectly before him in his blossoming dream. He grinned, uttering one final gasp before he’d fall back to sleep entirely, taking the fixed vision of the girl as they ran off into the high grass together. “Oh … She is pretty …”

"Yes." She smiled. “I think so too, my little dreamer. I think so too.” There was something in the innocent way he admitted it that crushed her angelic resolve. He hadn’t imagined anything like Dawn, and that’s what made her beauty so much more profound to him when he actually saw her.

She laid her hand on the top of his head, atop the obfuscation mark that had been placed shortly after his birth and she kissed him one final time as the entirety of his sad little life flashed before her eyes. "I’m so sorry, little Cassius. I shan’t be bothering you again." She stood from his bed and the vision of that possible future ended abruptly. She was back in the twilight of the confluence sitting before that undying fire.

"You like that one. You keep going back to it." Lilith could read her like a book. After all this time, she supposed that was expected. “What did you see? Can we use it?”

"It’s nothing. I was just looking at the Al-Mudhib Abba Deebaj line." Sandalphon explained it away with a wave of her wrist.

"His daughter … again? You are still holding out hope that Uriel’s affection for her can be harnessed? We have been down that path … countless times. You’re wasting your time. His loyalty to Heaven is unflinching. Even for love, that soldier does not stray."

"I know. I know." She shook her head and chewed on her lower lip. “But I mean … maybe there’s more to it?”

"You weren’t looking at Honoria though." Lilith sniffed out the white lie. “You look at her boy again.”

"You watching me now?" She already knew she had. They both watched each other very carefully.

"I’m always watching you. I watch everyone. I am starting to doubt this path. We should consider another child. I think it is time to consider a new path. She is weak. There is no--"

"No." Sandalphon knew the argument would revert to this again. “I’m not ready to give up on this path yet.” She was not yet ready to give up on Dawn. “There has been no soul that affects the Morning Star as she does. Perhaps your reluctance is rooted in jealousy rather than logic?”

"Hmmmm. Whatever." Lilith squinted at her. She had struck an obvious cord. “Anyways, a crippled, quarterling Marid will not help us in any way. Let it go. Let him go. There are more important things to focus on.”

"I know. I know. It’s just … It’s such a wasted life for such a vibrant soul." Sandalphon stared into the fire and it danced back and forth as she pondered the possibility again and again.

Was there something there? Something picked furiously at the back of her mind.

"I know that look." Lilith squinted again, leaning back against the log as she dug her bare toes into the sand. “What is going on in your swirling mind now, wheelie wheels?”

"It’s just … He thought she was lovely." They had looked at so very many possibilities. Nothing was lining up. Nothing was going the way they wished. Free will was skewing the results. Each and every damn time. Dawn’s sacrifice would sway Lucifer’s heart, yes, but the little bastard had a backup plan they couldn’t figure a way out of, and Dawn couldn’t be in two places at once. Anyone sent into the pit never returned. Even Hayyoth. “I think we’ve been going about this the wrong way.”

"Oh?" Lilith tilted her head inquisitively. “How so? Are you ready to try a different child?”

"Yes and no." The Wheel looked across the fire to her accomplice and a smile spread across her face as she remembered his excited eyes when he said he wished to defy the gods. And then when he saw the little girl, when Sandalphon had showed her to him. She kept coming back to the same thing in her mind: He’d thought she was lovely. Truly. Purely. Honestly. Smitten. A broken prince for a broken princess. She thought of Zeus, and Hercules ... and … Prometheus. Everyone they sent into the depths of the pit never succeeded. “There needs to be two. Hayyoth work best in pairs.”

Avalanche - Zola Jesus

In the end I saw you

Visions of something I wasn't used to

And I let it all go, oh

With my heart, with my body, with all

And it all falls down

And it all comes around

And it all goes down

And it all comes

Oh, it all comes around

And I knew it will be you

Coming at me like you do

Feel my heart, my soul with fire

And I won't know

No, I won't know who you are

In all of the horrors that he had seen and done, none had prepared Quinlan for what he would witness next. The myth behind this legend was far more accurate than he assumed, but the reality of seeing it in person had distinctly more weight that just hearing the words of this poor creature’s fate.

This myth was not an exaggeration at all. In fact, it was clearly an understatement.

The cave itself was both the cell and the rock to which the titan was chained. The giant sat upon the ground, his knees pulled tight to his chest, his massive arms wrapped around them, and his face pushed into the darkness beneath his forearms.

There were six silver lengths of the metal, each link larger than Quinlan’s entire head. Four extended from a metal collar securing the titan’s neck to the ground, holding him in place in the center of the very room, at the very bottom of the pit. Each wrist was bound with the same metal, each chained to the rock floor to prevent him full movement of his arms. Bits and pieces of the same vibrant silver metal laid strewn across the ground.

There was no movement. No sound. Nothing. At first, he was not certain if the creature still lived. As Quinlan tried to make as little noise as possible, stepping from the final stair in Hell, onto the stone ground, everything started to vibrate. At first, he was certain he caused it, but this was obviously not the case.

The pieces of metal twitched and then rolled together into four separate piles as they began to fuse together. Quinlan’s mouth opened agape as he realized what they were. He watched, unmoving, as they formed clockwork eagles. Entirely mechanical in nature. Their gears crawled with silver sparks as they came back together and then descended upon the titan in vicious unison, tearing at his flesh.

The myth was wrong. It wasn’t just one eagle; it was four. And it wasn’t just the liver that was rent from the titan’s body. As the mechanical beasts descended, they tore savagely at all of his golden flesh and then the titan finally moved, bringing his head up and Quinlan finally saw the giant’s face. He began to fight his attackers. He stood entirely erect and he was easily over twenty-five feet tall.

He looked nothing like the other phoenix Quinlan had confronted in Heaven. There were no wings. No, this creation was more like an ape than a bird or a reptile. His arms much longer than the proportions of a man’s and his back slightly hunched from the bulk of his upper body’s mass. His head as bald as the dhampir’s usually was. Though he clearly had the physique of a man, his body was as smooth and bare as a strigois. No phallus. No nipples. No belly button at all. His skin was an iridescent, metallic gold. He had no wings, though it was clear that this likely didn’t stop the titan from flight as fire began to erupt and burn from his body. Prometheus’ body hovered above the ground, the heat of his flames pushing him up as far as his chains would allow and a spiderweb of ember ignited across his skin.

The eagles were not deterred and they tore at him from below and above, taking flight as they picked at his face, his eyes, his chest, his ears, his fingers, his toes. Talons pierced him everywhere, tearing chunks away. The fire god cried and screamed, reaching for the attacker on his face and pulling it away as the others carried on their endless, programmatic torture.

And then the titan’s fire erupted fully, pulsating away from him in a rippling explosion. He raged and sparked, sending his attackers in all directions. The remaining three eagles hit the far walls and shattered from the blast, chunks of them disintegrating with the force of the detonation and Quinlan regretted stepping into the singed room as the heat flooded across his body. His arms came up to shield the outburst, but he felt his skin singe and melt. He was thrust back to the wall.

The ground shook as the Prometheus collapsed back down to his knees. The wounds across his body began to smoke and all of the flesh and organs that had been torn out burned into ash in the air. It swirled around, dancing in circles before returning to the titan’s body, reforming him.

Deodamnatus.

The titan pulled his knees to his chest, back into the same fetal position, burying his head from view, just as when the dhampir saw him when he first entered. And then he wept.

Ozyrel had done this to him and Quinlan felt shame over it. He felt shame for her actions. She created these mechanisms, these machines to torment him because Prometheus could end any other soul with his divine fire. Once destructed, they simply pulled themselves back together and began again. Endlessly.

Thus was the poor titan’s punishment ...

Damnation … quite literally.

Quinlan remained motionless on the ground where he fell, watching the beast tremble before he was entirely still and silent again. It was clear he hadn’t noticed the dhampir yet and there was still a possibility of retreat. One which the dhampir considered very, very carefully.

He could just wait until the torment began again and slip back up the stairs and …

It was no more than a few seconds until the metal pieces on the ground began to shake again. Even the molecules of the metal that had been turned into nothing more than ash began to swirl in the air and their atoms reformed.

Oh gods. No. No! Not again. He could not, he would not, permit this to happen … ever again. Quinlan reacted before he realized what he was doing.

The first of the four eagles came together and lunged towards its prey as he flicked the sword up and through its left wing. The mechanism felt no pain and paid the attack no attention as it continued its programmed path toward its huddled and shaking target. The next flick of his wrist severed its legs across both knees and the creation fell forward, flailing into the dirt and then clawing forward with its remaining arm.

Quinlan placed a boot upon the center of its back and he raised the blade, execution style, as if it was an axe, and Ozryel’s divinity first sparked out the corner of his eyes. The energy arced over his face as his anger mounted. It flowed up and into his arms. The silver light surged across the surface of the metal and the machine’s head rolled as he rent it asunder.

"Never again, lupae filius." He wasn’t certain if it might move again. He half expected it to pull itself back together, but somehow he knew it would not. He was of Ozryel and it remained still, obeying the divine command.

But he had paid too much attention to just the one, and the titan’s screams spun him around as the other three had already begun to tear the creature to pieces again. Quinlan moved like water, swinging for the head of one, stepping between and through the giant’s legs, through the center of his stance and decapitating the third with the same broad stroke of his vorpal sword.

There was only one remaining now and it was already upon the giant’s chest, too high for Quinlan to reach from his standard human height. He would have to leap from the ground, but as the dhampir crouched and his quadriceps flexed, the titan’s skin glowed with amber fury, and Prometheus began to burn again.

Damnation.

He was too close! He was unsure if he could even survive the titan’s fury and Quinlan swung at the chains instead, hoping the face of god would not burn if he could simply tear his attacker away.

He targeted the chains that held Prometheus’ arms at bay. Accepting that with this action, there was no longer room for any doubt and he hesitated no longer. First, the blade sparked with Ozryel’s light and sliced through the massive link holding down the Titan’s right hand as if it were butter. And then he sliced the left. The metal melting away, surrendering to the power of its creator.

This was the first moment Prometheus laid eyes upon the dhampir, a sudden change in his monotonous eternity and the glow of his skin abated. There was a moment of strange reflection as his entirely black eyes rolled over Quinlan’s features and the titan’s lip curled up slightly. Anger flooded over him. His face and his mouth opened, clearly preparing to speak, when the remaining eagle tore into his chest again.

With his arms now free, he grabbed each end of the machine, gripping its head and feet. His biceps flexed as he ripped the creation in half, throwing its still-moving pieces away from him. That would not be the end of it and Quinlan moved in unison to remove its head from its twitching form, the sword prickling with silver lightning as he dismantled it for good.

All was still and he froze, peering at his companion from the corner of his eyes. He felt the quiet yet angry gaze of the giant. He took the deepest breath he thought he ever had as he held his blade steady and turned, facing the scrutiny fully. He presented himself for full inspection of the god, his arms out to express no aggression.

"איר וועט האָבן אַ געלעגנהייט צו געבן איר עמאָ יאָ? רענאָיטאַסע ים .טהעעד עטהוועד פֿאַר ניס"

Uh oh. This was Enochian. Of course it was. He really should have expected as much and Quinlan regretted not learning more of the archaic language from Sempronius before his rushed escape from Heaven.

"Προμηθεύς." Quinlan attempted his greek name and he took a step forward. The titan twitched in reaction to perceived advancement and his golden skin began to burn with amber hue again.

Damnation. Quinlan’s free hand was up, palm out, attempting to convey peace, but the Titan pulled furiously at the chains still holding him to the ground by his neck. The fear that poured from his eyes nearly crippled the dhampir from taking another step.

Quinlan could still try and run now. Flee the cave. Escape from the inevitable fire. He considered it, as the heat began to rise and he felt tiny drops of sweat beading up on his forehead, he hoped. He had come this far and he would get back to Earth. This choice was already made and he took another brave and unwavering step, this time showing more confidence in his stride. "Prometheus ..."

The titan paid no attention to Quinlan’s open left palm; his eyes were locked onto the blade in his right.

"I am not here …" The glow increased and even the sweat upon his brow, that had started to trail down the his cheek, now began to evaporate into the heavy, stagnant air. “ … to harm you. I am here--”

Another step and the titan’s panic only increased further. Quinlan’s skin began to singe and crack. The intensity of this heat reminded him of the lava and his heart raced. He disliked being burned more than any other pain. He took another step and the skin began to flake off of his face, turning to ash the moment that it hit the air. The open wounds did not last long, as his divinity sparked across the raw flesh and reformed his spirit.

Another step. And then another and Quinlan was finding it increasingly difficult to move against the force now emanating from the giant. As waves of flames pulsated from Prometheus’ body, he stood his ground against it, but for each two steps he took, every painful and burning inch that he came closer to the titan, his body was pushed back, his boots grinding back in the dirt against the power.

Though he feared, Quinlan was not deterred. For there was a prophecy he knew all too well. It was said that Zeus would permit Prometheus freedom from punishment if two criteria were met. The first was that an immortal must volunteer to perish for him. This choice must be freely made and not coerced in any way. The second was that a mortal, many thought would be Hercules, must kill the eagle and unchain the titan.

If the Maiden was being honest in her sacrifice for coming to Hell. If she had really come to Hell for him, then her freedom did perish. She was indeed the immortal of this payment.

The dhampir had always felt a curious fascination with Hercules. He had found that he had much in common with this mythological half-breed. Quinlan, no more mortal than Hercules himself, was the second part of this payment.

He stepped forward, taking one final, agonizing step to be in the range of the first link which attached the titan’s collar to the ground and his body tensed, preparing to move against the heat. His bicep flexed with great intent and he flicked the crackling sword up. It glided with ease through the force, the fire, and ... the metal.

An audible gasp escaped the titan and the fire eased, allowing Quinlan to step right and sever the next chain … and then next. With each swing, the fire and fear abated further and Prometheus spun, watching him, specifically his sword, with careful, expressive, and confused eyes.

There was now only one remaining but Quinlan paused. This was the moment of absolute truth. This was the moment where he could still leave him here. His hesitation was easy to read, and in hindsight, perhaps he should have moved out of the giant’s reach. The titan stretched his shoulders back and stood fully erect and Quinlan stared up into his face like a child, his mouth agape while he was struck thoughtless by his menacing size. Prometheus’ massive hand instantly cupped around his entire jaw and the upper portion of his spine and neck.

Quinlan gagged and the sword slipped from his grip as his hands instinctively clutched at one of the single fingers around his throat. The titan began to squeeze gently and Quinlan felt his feet leave the ground. Damnation. He was entirely powerless to stop it and he was lifted to the titan’s eye level. Thunderous thoughts invaded his mind.

Give me your tongue.

Oh gods!

He should have definitely stepped out of reach. Quinlan kicked violently into the air and flailed against the grip, but he was tiny against to titan’s will. He imagined the next part would be the violent extraction of his tongue, but Prometheus pulled him close and gently their foreheads touched.

In a brief and tortuous spark, Prometheus ripped knowledge from him and Quinlan became rigid, his mouth stuck in a silent scream, as the pain of it paled in comparison to when Michael had done the same.

Everything danced for a brief and torturous moment before everything turned black.

Cut and Run - Yoke Lore

Find a way

Say her name

Keep her there

Don't let it fade

The slope of your neck gives me something to believe in,

but when the beat hits the base it takes away my aching

You make me forget myself,

but I love you I don't want anybody else

He smelled her. Musty and floral. Deep and powerful. Angelica.

Oh … gods. Yes.

It had been so very long since he had dreamed. Really dreamed. Freely. Naturally. Not the illusion that Persephone had forced down his mind, spoon-feeding him memories to control his actions.

He didn’t even think it possible with just his spirit, but after the Titan’s fire touched his mind, he found himself back in that training room. He found himself atop her. His body pressing his weight to hold her down. She had failed the technique and he had taken her to the mat to make a point of it.

"Submit." He urged and she struggled under his grip, half-giggling, half-grunting. Wait … was she the one giggling? Or had he? But really … Did it even matter?

"Never."

"Submit." He spoke down, his breath hot on the skin of her ear. Enjoying her body as she pressed and fought uselessly against his will, he knew he should stop this. This wasn’t how a teacher should act. This wasn’t a lesson he needed to teach, but he pushed harder and repeated the words. “I will release you … when you submit … to me.”

What had been the point of this lesson?

Oh gods. Her head came up in a failed attempt to butt against his and her defiance flared. He could see it spark in her wild eyes. "NEVER."

"Move." The voice was distant and his vision swayed. He was being urged back to the present, but he clung to the memory, relishing in it.

Not yet. He wasn’t not done here yet ...

"You have lost. I am stronger." His weight pinned her and he resisted the urge to laugh at her slipperiness as she twisted furiously beneath him. “Just surrender ... I can remain this way all day if necessary.” It was a terrible bluff. He would have to get up very soon or they were both going to be incredibly embarrassed, but Quinlan hoped he could bluff his way into a victory before he would give in.

"Wake up."

The look of absolute refusal was both foolish and beautiful. Her lip curled up; her nostrils flared; she clenched her jaw shut as she hissed the word through her teeth. "NEVER."

Damnation. Why was he remembering this now?

"Move."

He heard the word again, distant and curt and he felt something nudge at his shoulder, rocking his body side to side against the dirt. His head pounded with abating waves of pain. He was nudged again before his brows knit and he opened his eyes.

He was laying on the ground, entirely on his side. The light invaded and everything came sharply back into focus, or at least the ground did, as his face was shoved squarely into it.

"Weak baby …"

The back of a giant hand, equipped with elongated primate fingers, nudged him again, pushing its knuckles against his shoulder and sternum as if it was prodding him for life. Quinlan’s face ground against the dirt as he groaned.

The titan grunted at his small movement and the dhampir rolled over onto his back, his body throbbing still. He wasn’t even sure if he could move again but the clanking of metal against metal concerned him enough that he finally forced himself to sit up as he grabbed the back of his neck and cracked it from side to side, cursing lowly under his breath as he did. "Deodamnatus. Auribus teneo lupum …"

Prometheus stopped whatever it was he was doing and gazed upon the dhampir, tilting his head to the side. He brought his right fingers to his lips, confusion flashing across his ape-like features while he squinted. "Wrong tongue?"

Quinlan might have questioned the meaning of the short query, but as the giant grabbed his ankle and began to drag him across the dirt, the dhampir waved his hands back and forth, crazed to not go through that pain again. The titan had clearly taken only English from him.

"Not tongue! Language! It is called language!" He corrected in haste, panic pumping through his chest. “Please! Do not! I will speak English! I WILL SPEAK ENGLISH! Do not!!!” He could not remember the last time he had begged anyone for anything, but that pain was something he did not wish to experience ever again.

"Yes. English good." Prometheus grunted a disturbing laugh and released his grip of Quinlan’s foot before returning to his previous task and the sound of metal on metal emanated from his lap. “See … weak baby.”

The titan was sitting before him, legs crossed like a child, and as Quinlan sat up again, he was able to see he was holding the dhampir’s blade in his left hand, gripping it like tiny twig in his left fist. Using clumsy caution, he ground the sword’s edge and pushed the tip against the locking mechanism of the manacle on his right wrist.

Prometheus bit his tongue, trying to be as careful as possible, but failing clumsily to force the latch open with the tiny instrument. Thrusting it into the latch, the manacle spun about his wrist and the blade pierced into the giant’s wrist in the process. Raging in frustration and pain, when it was obvious the metal would not give for him, he screamed, the volume of his voice shaking the walls and the dhampir shielded his ears from the noise. The fit of anger was followed by a simple sneer and Prometheus tossed the blade into the dirt at Quinlan’s feet.

"Useless." It was half-defeat, half-melancholy.

"No. It is not useless and I am not … weak." Quinlan responded to the ape’s earlier quip as he forced himself to his feet, dusting off his black jeans and retrieving the discarded sword. “Nor am I …” Even uttering the word revolted him. “... a baby.” He pointed to the titan’s right hand and the giant lifted both wrists to him, without hesitation or question, though the tiniest of chuckles did escape the giant.

"Heh. Heh. Weak baby. Tiny baby." The titan grunted the words again, rich in simple amusement and the dhampir slid the sword between the titan’s wrist and the manacle. As his biceps flexed, the vorpal blade went snicker-snack and the metal melted like butter against Ozryel’s divine command.

The look of amazement on Prometheus’ face was more childlike than anything. His eyes grew wide, in pure awe, and his mouth opened slightly. Remaining entirely still, he watched with bated breath as Quinlan cut the other from his remaining wrist.

What came next froze Quinlan. For he knew this feeling, though he imagined, even in all the years of his own enslavement, it likely paled in comparison to what this poor creature had been through. He knew this feeling. That overwhelming and powerful rush of freedom. Touching his newly freed skin, Prometheus took turns rubbing each wrist. He stared down upon them, touching the skin that had been hidden from him for god knows how long, and then the tears came. Freely and without hesitation.

The relief that poured forth shook the dhampir to his core as he recalled his own tears after his chains were shed. He had shamefully hidden them from Ancharia, weeping silently into his blanket that first night.

But the giant was unable to prolong or hide his. He was unable to wait and his shoulders heaved heavily as he gasped the stagnant air. He wept in front of his saviour, with no concern for shame or showing such raw and untethered weakness.

Quinlan took a deep breath. It was clear this was not a creature he needed to fear. In fact, he felt such intense connection to him that the doubts about fleeing were entirely gone. He moved to slide the blade through the final chain.

"No." The titan’s sudden movement shocked him and Quinlan pulled back in confusion. Prometheus grabbed at his chain protectively and held it away from the dhampir. “No! Chained. Chained!”

"I am quite aware you are chained. I am here to remedy that situation."

"Executioner … No! Son of White Death … Go! Now!" Prometheus pointed to the stairs.

"No. I am not an executioner." Quinlan’s word were firm. “I am not here to end you.” His brows pinched. “I am here to free you, Great Titan. I am not--”

"No!" The giant shook his head, using the back of his hand to push the dhampir several steps away from him. “Forgotten. Forsaken. Go. GO!” Pointing a thick finger up towards the stairs, he nudged Quinlan again. He attempted to stand his ground, but he was moved several steps before he could fully protest.

"Stop that! I have come here to fr--"

"Leave me. I am …" Until this point, Quinlan wasn’t entirely certain if the giant was even capable of complex language beyond that of a single word at a time. “Villainous.”

"No. You are not villainous. Stop this."

"Go!" He flung his hand hand towards Quinlan, hoping to scare the dhampir away, but he did not flinch. “I am a villain … in his eyes … In all eyes! I am treacherous. Forgotten. Leave me.”

"No. You are not a villain." How long had the Titan been down here? “And you are wrong. You have never been forgotten or I would not know of you. The World would not know of you ...” Quinlan understood the way into Prometheus’ heart now and it was obvious: how Heaven truly viewed Prometheus’ ’treachery’. “You were once a hero ...”

"Hero?" The titan mocked the work, snorting madly as he rattled his chain to make his point painfully clear. “This is ... hero?!”

"The World knows of your deeds, Great Titan. In fact, history remembers you as a hero. Do you not understand what that implies?"

"Means nothing ..." Prometheus grunted, turning a shoulder to the dhampir as he continued with his childish reaction. “Villain.”

"It means everything." The giant stirred, peeking back at him out of the corner of his eye. “I know, better than most in fact, that history is always written by the victor.”

"I lost."

"Precisely. Even with your perceived treachery, even after your judgement and punishment, when they could have wiped your memory from known existence. They did not. They could have written whatever they wished about your actions; they were the victors. They could have dragged your name through the mud, but they never let your memory be tarnished. They did not allow you to be forgotten or vilified."

"History … ?" Prometheus’ shoulders slumped and he stared down into his open hands. The breadth of his grip was easily half of Quinlan’s entire height. “Man … remembers me?”

"If your maker truly thought your actions corrupt, then why would he have allowed history to remember you as a saviour? As our saviour."

"Saviour? Lies. You are--"

"If you cannot believe my words, then believe my mind." He really didn’t wish to make the offer but he did. Quinlan tensed considerably, preparing for the jolt as Prometheus turned back and touched his forehead with his index finger.

Stealing a single fact wasn’t pleasant, but it was far less painful than an entire lexicon. Quinlan took one step backwards as he steadied himself from the intrusion. The giant’s shoulders slumped further and he collapsed to his knees on the ground before him, staring at his open palms. "I am not … villainous?"

Pinching the brow of his nose, he fought the throb. "No. You are remembered as an advocate of mankind."

"My children … I gave them creation, but they saw only the weapon."

"They are young and foolish, but they have grown much while you have been … away. While you pity yourself down here, the Morning Star marches upon Earth, seeking to destroy them all."

"My morning child. I felt him …" The titan looked up the staircase. “I felt him come to the door. I felt him. He did not free me … he …” Prometheus looked upon his dirty, open palms again. “He left me here …”

"He fears you." Quinlan knew this statement to be true. It was unlikely Lucifer would have left such a strong ally locked away. “And I am very curious to see what could possible make a Hayyoth afraid.”

"He … " There was a spark of rage and the Titan’s upper lip curled with burgeoning anger. “He left me … here.”

"Yes he did. Shall we go? Shall we ask him why?" Quinlan offer his hand, though he imagined if the giant took it, there was no way for him to help such a giant, but Prometheus made no movement. “Will you stand with us? We could do with your help right now. Can you help us?”

"Us?" The titan looked up, confused by the word. “We?”

"We." Quinlan nodded. He planned an explanation, but there was no need as another voice joined him in the assertion.

"We." It was feminine and he was grateful. Their conversation had stolen all of their attention, and he hadn’t noticed her sneak into the chamber. She was nearly down the steps entirely and both turned to see her at once, the raggedy old man following closely behind and Quinlan grinned.

"Sister? You …" The titan’s voice cracked. “Why are you here? Why … did you … You came ... for me?”

"Amiran. Of course I did. So very long ago." Her tone quaked with the same emotion as his as she walked to him. Their familiarity was clear. “You may have been lost …” She had definitely been listening to the entire conversation. “But never forgotten.”

"So … what says you, Creator of Fire? Do you wish to stay down here and cry?" The titan turned back to the dhampir, his lip curling further with growing anger and Quinlan held his blade up for the last chain. “Do you accept my offer?”

"Do you offer me freedom?" Prometheus asked, tilting his head inquisitively. “Or revenge?”

"Neither." Quinlan said. “I offer redemption.”

Raum reached for the shackles again but Asbeel pulled away … again. This task was proving far more difficult that he assumed it would be. How hard must it be to free people?!

"You think you offer us freedom, Lord." The fallen Djinn laughed. “You offer us further pain. More punishment.”

"You know me, Asbeel. You know I would ne--"

"Knew." The Djinn Commander corrected. “We knew you, Lord. But when you ran free, we came … here.” Raum didn’t like the emphasis placed on the title. It was condescending and purposefully so.

"I did not wish you all to this fate. We had no idea this would happen. That was not my choice--"

"It does not change what happened. We came here. You did not." Asbeel interrupted him. “We came here … without true choice. Without … freedom.” The Djinn’s brows knit together. “You have no right to ask this of us.”

"The time has come." Raum looked around at his chained men. “Don’t you understand?!” He called out. “The prophecy is here … now. Everything that we worked for … everything that we sacrificed for--”

"We sacrificed for a prophecy that does not exist." Asbeel shook his head. “There is no hope, Lord. There is only subservience. When our penance is paid, he has promised we will be free to return to the top--”

"Free? How is that freedom? Serving him is not freedom. And then what?" Raum spit at the concession. His disgust painfully obvious across his face, though he knew he had no right to judge them. He had no idea what they had been through. “And what then?! Huh?! Will you bow to him? Will you fall to your knees and kiss his feet?” He spun around and screamed his growing disgust. “You would not even bow to God himself, and yet you concede to his foolish child?!? You are The Rebellious! Never forget tha--”

"Concede?" The tears in his man’s eyes stung his merciful heart and Raum regretted the harsh words immediately. “Concede?!? You have NO right to jud--”

"I know I have no right, but you misunderstand, my brothers. I’m not asking you to follow me. I would not do that." Raum took a step back from the Fallen as he felt that familiar presence enter the room from the door on the ledge from above. “I’m unworthy of your allegiance. But I will prove myself to you all again.” He saw the shadow of the dhampir across the ground before him and in a wave of unison, his men’s heads tilt up to the ledge as a flurry or words danced across their minds.

                             "Is he …"

                                  "That’s …"

         "He’s of …"

              "Ozryel …"

    "The Prophecy."

                   "The Prophecy. It’s real … It’s … "

                        "The Prophecy."

         "The Child."

                                  "Could that be the child?"

                        "The Prophecy."

              "He’s of … Ozryel."

    "Ozryel."

                                       "Ozryel."

                        "Angel of Death."

                                  "Ozryel."

         "Ozryel."

                        "The First."

                                  "He is Hayyoth.”

                   “He is man … "

    "Is it … really possible?”

                                       “After all this time … Is it possible?"

Thousands of voices, all at once, and the faintest hint of hope sprinkled across just a handful of them. Yes. This was a good start. His pride in the boy billowed out in a rich smile. The whispering thoughts spread like wildfire across the vast room and there was as stir of uncertainty.

"This?" Asbeel laughed. He was not swayed at all. “This is what you offer us?! A god-child?!”

"No." Raum looked up and nodded to Quintus. The nod was returned before he turned back to face his weary commander. “Not him.”

The next shadow was curvy and she didn’t remain as quiet as the dhampir. Her patronizing tone echoing against the rock walls as she stole Quintus’ line. "Are we going or what? Chop chop, boys! Don’t tell me you’re afraid!"

"Persephone? Really? You think she can raise a hand to the Rainbow King?!" Asbeel raised a hand and all his men grew complacent. “Lucifer PUT her in that cage. He can do so again.” The demon laughed. “You offer a us a cowardly commander … a halfling hayyoth … a defeated seraphim?! I am sorry, Raum, but we will remain--”

Insurrection (Instrumental) - Tommee Profitt

"No. I’m not asking you to follow her either." The words trailed off as the ground rumbled and Raum grinned slightly at first. “No, brother. I’m not asking you to follow us ...” He looked up, and for the first time caught the dhampir’s triumphant grin and he matched it as his eyes followed the figure that slowly walked into view from behind them. The figure from which all the shadows were illuminating. “We’re asking you to follow him.”

There were no whispered words. No mad flutter of furious thoughts across the chained fallen. There were no sounds of even the slightest movement or even breath as Prometheus came into view above. There was only silence and absolute stillness. The Titan looked out across the vast room and Persephone reached a hand up to lay on his wrist in quiet support.

"Good. Fire children don’t burn easy." Goodness. The titan had always been a man of curt phrases.

Turning back to Asbeel, who had not yet torn his eyes from the Titan and whose mouth hung slightly agape at the revelation, Raum cocked his head slightly to the side. "So what say you, brother? I mean, you are more than welcome to stay here. Or--"

Asbeel raised his chain to Raum, still not tearing his eyes from the fire god. The Marid moved to unlock the chain but Prometheus raised his hands, palms up and then he made fists of them as he growled into the dank air. The room filled with glorious light as all the chains melted away with his focused fire. Before turning to leave the room, he uttered only a single word.

"Come."

Quinlan watched from above as Raum waited at the base of the stairs below, greeting each and every soldier that walked by. Thousands of them. His relief was obvious and it was coupled with happiness to see them all again. He shook each hand and remembered each name. Each one. Their beaten and broken souls sparking with the tiniest hint of hope. There was an immense respect shown between them that Quinlan envied and a clear history he longed to know more about.

As the marid followed the last one up the stairs, he found only Quinlan remained. Raum grinned as he moved to step past and Quinlan found his prideful amusement confusing. "Why are you smiling? You thought it not possible. You assumed I would fail."

"Oh my boy." He chuckled. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you … in all of your brief two thousand years …” The marid gripped Quinlan’s shoulder again and for the first time, the dhampir didn’t cringe at the contact nor the title of ‘boy’. This gesture was actually beginning to grow on him though he would never admit it. How he hated this man and his contagious smile. It displayed a level of affection to which he was uncomfortable.

"And what … exactly ... is that?"

"That the best way to get you to succeed at something difficult. In fact, to get you to succeed at anything ..." Raum smirked even wider. “Is to tell you that you can’t.”

Quinlan now stood alone in the vast room for just a moment and he gazed down at the thousands of chains, melted and scattered across the chamber’s floor. Raum’s words had annoyed him at first, but as they sank in, the smallest of grins crept at the left corner of his wide mouth and slowly stretched the full length of it, to his right.

"Heh. Irrumator." No one would see him smile as he wiped it from his face before he joined them in the corridor. Nor would anyone hear the genuine grunt of a chuckle, except for that quiet wind that blew across the room.

"You look …" Adam scratched his chin as he grinned and leaned heavily against his staff; his eyes seemingly stuck on a point on the ground two feet in front of Quinlan. “Relieved.”

If was obvious the blind man had been waiting for him to exit the room after the large cohort of soldiers, who were already making their way down the long corridor and up the winding stairs.

"I am …" Quinlan wasn’t sure what it was that he felt, but if wasn’t exactly relief. “Hopeful.”

"So am I." Before they walked, Quinlan paused and looked at the other doors sprinkled around the area. This level, the level right before the very bottom, was reserved for those considered the blackest of souls. Those who had committed atrocities unmatched. These were the ones judged like none others. There were five other doors and the dhampir gazed upon them, his mind racing at the possibility of who else might be housed within. Except for the one that they had just exited from, none of the others were open or empty.

Lucifer had chosen to leave all of these soul behind.

"If Prometheus and The Fallen were down here …." Without much thought behind his action, he approached the oldest one. It was large and black and oddly menacing. A strange sigil was carved into its front and a flood of bumps prickled across his skin as he touched the engraved mark. He could now hear the crying of a man within and he reached for the knob, leaping at the opportunity to free another tormented soul. “... perhaps these others souls that might be usefu--”

"No!" Adam’s hand was upon the door. The force of the slap shocked Quinlan and he took a step back as the prophet’s unusually rattled voice surprised him. “No. No. Not this one. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to … I’m … just … no … Not this door.” Adam was rattled. His hand moved up to the mark and his fingers prodded the grooves delicately. “Some souls … some are not ready for redemption yet.”

"Not ready for redemption?" Quinlan tilted his head. “Or perhaps you mean some souls are not ready for forgiveness?” Who was behind this door was now obvious to the dhampir and he took another step from it.

"Forgiveness is not always an easy thing. I think you understand this better than most." Adam whispered the words as they caught in his throat. “Some actions … cannot be so easily forgiven … ”

"I meant no judgement. Only understanding."

He turned to leave the man to deal with his solace and reflection in his struggle for forgiveness. His hand still on the door, and Raum nearly bumped into the dhampir as he rounded the corner back into the area.

Both stopped in their tracks and the marid spoke first. "Well? Are we going?"

"Yes. We are." He nodded. “Adam just needs a moment and--”

The voice was tiny. Young and masculine. It cracked with trembling pain. Almost inaudible, its cry leaked from the door directly to the right of him. The last door in the level. The newest door. Black, shiny, and metal. Without any marks. "Mister … Quinlan?" It was followed by what sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard and Raum’s brows knit together. “Is that … is that you? Mister Quinlan?”

"Who the fuck is--" Raum began but as familiarity rolled over Quinlan, his mouth curled up with rage. He grabbed the Djinn by the arm and turned him around.

"It is no one. We need to go now."

"Please …" The word was rich in pure desperation and the scratching began again. “Don’t leave me here … please. Where’s my dad? Please. I’m so sorry … I’m so--”

"We are going. Now." He only took one step when he heard Adam shuffling up behind them.

Though he waved the prophet by, Adam tilted his head down, listening to that private voice and nodded. "Yes. Yes. I agree. Yes. He’s had enough." The prophet reached for the handle of the black metal door.

"No!" Quinlan slapped the door much the same way Adam had done earlier, although much harder. His words were just as firm. There was a sound of something falling to the ground on the other side of it and he imagined the boy had been listening with his ear pressed to the metal.

"Quintus ... I do not think you realize who is behind this--"

"I know who is behind this door." He slapped it hard again. “I KNOW.”

"His punishment has been enough. He is--"

"His punishment?" Quinlan snorted. His eyes grew wide and slightly mad. He poked the metal with his gloved hand. “This soul was responsible for more deaths on Earth than any soul that has ever lived before. Billions of souls. BILLIONS.”

"What happened from his actions were not his intention. Intent is important when--"

"Intent?" The dhampir laughed. “Intent? I saw the pain that resulted from his actions. You think ignorance alleviates one from responsibility? Or perhaps it was his age that you feel his actions forgivable? In my time, you were an adult at 12. Age does not preclude you from evil deeds. I witnessed, first hand, the death and destruction he caused. I was there. We had the Master. It was over. We had won and … none of this would have happened.”

"None of this?" Adam sighed. “Exactly. If he had not done what he did, you would have never met her.”

Quinlan turned his pointed index finger towards Adam. This was the first time the prophet had ever provoked his usually dormant temper. "Do not use her as a weapon in your argument against me."

"We are all pawns in this game of Gods, child. Don’t you see that? He was a pawn the same as you. The same as her."

"I’m sorry." He tilted his head and squinted. “I believe your words were: Some actions cannot be forgiven. Is that not right, Adam?”

"This is hardly the same--"

"If you wish to bargain, prophet. My terms on this matter are simple." He pointed back to the metal and touched his finger to it. “If you open this door.” Quinlan then pointed to the old door with the ominous mark. “Then I open that door. The choice is yours.”

There was audible gulp from Raum and the marid stared at the direction of Quinlan’s threat. Clearly, he was very familiar with that mark. "Let’s … uh … yeah. Umm. No. Let’s not open that door. Please?"

Adam shook his head and stepped out of the room. His disappointment in the dhampir was clear, but Quinlan didn’t care. Not one bit.

"Please … Mister … Quinlan … Please. I’m so sorry." The voice trembled and that pathetic scratching began again. Raum stared at the metal as the dhampir turned to leave. The Djinn’s heart was clearly torn at the pathetic plea.

Quinlan was having none of it and he turned back and uttering his catchphrase one more time before he would escape out of sight and up the stairs. "Well? Are we going then?"

Ambling back up the stairs took more time than he had hoped. Their speed dictated by the much-slower time of those at the very front. Adam didn’t seem as talkative this time, but the two still walked side by side. He did not regret his tantrum over the uncomfortable situation concerning that miserable brat and Adam’s first born. Quinlan’s words had been right and true. Regardless of the boy’s age when he died, he was not easily swayed by modern day’s definition of child, nor over the infantilization of children in general. He’d seen many horrors that humans of all ages were capable of.

"So …" They had made it up ten levels in silence when Adam finally spoke again and Quinlan was grateful. “Why do you still look like that, Quintus?”

"I …" He had no idea, actually. “It is not me. He still--”

"He still lingers? You still think that?" Adam stole the statement swiftly. “He was you, Quintus. He will always linger. That is a deflection of my question and I think you know it.”

"I …" Quinlan stuttered. “I do not know how to answer your question. This is not my doing. I …” Was that true though? He could force his appearance, but didn’t that mean that he was in control of it? Could it have been his unconscious that was doing this? “I …” Was it shame? His shoulders fell and he nodded. “She liked this. She liked me being … human. She--”

"Can you blame her?" Raum snorted from ahead and Quinlan shook his head. He was eavesdropping. Damnation. “Maybe she just prefers a man with a little hair on his head?”

"Quintus …" The prophet’s hand was on his shoulder. “She will like you any way she can have you. I think that should be painfully clear by now. Would you have wanted her to stay as the disingenuous Elaine?”

"No. Of course not! That face was …" He had disliked it intensely. He prefered her uniqueness and suddenly the consideration of it hit him hard. “That is not what I … I just … ” His head flicked suddenly to the right as he stopped dead in his tracks and stared down a long, dark corridor.

His head tilted right, then left, then right again. On the way down, they had been in a hurried rush and now, as they were delayed a bit, the noises of Hell beared down on them with all their volume. In the midst of it, he heard something ... familiar. He heard someone familiar and his heart billowed with relief.

Oh gods … Could it be? Could it really be?

He had searched for this soul in Heaven. When Hathu had explained his fate, Quinlan regretted pulling him into this battle. The cost of the revenge he had promised turned out to be eternal damnation, and this was all Quinlan’s fault.

"What is it?" Raum asked, turned to investigate the sudden pause.

"What is down there?"

"The next several hundred floors are the Breaking Rooms. Where the human souls were broken so that Lucifer can convert them to his will … to convince … to seduce them to his side. Any left here are the ones he found entirely unusable."

"Why not move them to purgatory?" Quinlan stared down the darkness and tilted his head as the sound looped.

"I think you know why, Quintus." Adam smiled. “The ones left here could not be controlled.”

"Your men …" Quinlan turned to Raum. “Are they completely loyal to you or are they also loyal to your brother?”

"That’s …" Raum swallowed. “That’s a difficult question. I--”

"Yes. A difficult but an important one." The dhampir agreed. “No matter how good you clearly are, you know you will need help getting into that tower.”

"I think I know who I’ll take. I’ve already been consider--"

Quinlan cut him off. "You will need a team unloyal to Shaitan. A team well-trained. Surgical. Incorruptible to Lucifer’s will."

"That would be nice, yes, but the Djinn and Gregori are all we have. Human souls cannot be--"

"My soul is human." Quinlan finally began to smile and he looked down the corridor again. He heard the old man’s voice. In fact, he even remembered him uttering that same sentence when they first met.

Raum sighed. "We’ve been over this. Your soul is bathed in the divini--"

"Yes." Quinlan took a step toward the hall. “My human soul is not the only soul in Hell bathed in Ozryel’s divinity.”