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Malice would wait a few silent moments after being addressed, before he would turn his body to face Lucind directly, turning his attention away from the helicopter. He would let his sword hang a little lower, the tip barely scratching the dirt.

The grass within a foot or so around him would quickly brown, crinkle, and die.

"wwWhhaat ddooo iIi wwwaanntt? iiIii... iiIii..."

...

"iiIii hhhuunnngeerrrr sssooo..."

He would begin to take a step forward, though still some distance from Lucind, but he seemed to hesitate, and return his foot to where it once was.

"iiIii wwwaannnt thhoosse drrraaggoonnnss. iiIii wwwaasss ccoommiinng ttoo fffiinniisshh ooffff thheee sssuurrviivoorrsss aaannnd ccaapttuurre thhee sssaallaammaanndeerrr... bbuutt... nnnoowww iIi hhuunnggeerrr fffoorrr thhoosse drraaggonnnss iiinnssteeaad."

Malice would turn to gaze at the helicopter, and seemed to be looking around for something, like something he was trying to see that his line of vision was being obstructed. Like he had just lost something.

Seemingly giving up, he turned once more to Lucind. "trRraannsspoorrtt... wwwiillll iitt brriinng mmmeee thheerrre? iiIii... hhhuunnngeerrr..."

--------------------------

Hitting the call button on his intercom, John would voice to Lucind. "Ah... we're not actually going to let him tag along with us, right? He's one of the enemy, so shouldn't we just put a bullet in his head and be done with it?"

It had only just begun, but Lucind already considered this to be one of the weirdest conversations this year.

Her voice even seemed to soften a wee bit when she answered this time, keeping the speaking button of the comm pressed so John would be able to listen.

"Okay, just to make sure I get this right: you want to eat the dragons?"


Why did she feel like she was talking to a child? (A dangerous child, for sure, but still...)


"And no, right now, this helicopter won't go anywhere. Plus, truth to be told, I couldn't allow you to just go and harm those dragons, nor one of the people traveling with them, anyway."

Why was he left wandering around alone? Had Victor - or Ra'kar? - just lost interest in him? Honestly, he wasn't to be underestimated. Yet, Lucind doubted he alone was able to snatch Sunstrike.

"How about that: we find you something else to sate your hunger.

And no, that won't include this man here or me.

What about...sea food?"

Lucind supposed that, if he this dark guy really craved for getting a good bite of the dragons, or of their brains or whatever, then because it might be able to elicit additional energy or otherwise heightened abilities. Which again left her wondering if any food he got just worked as a power boost - which would grade her idea to present him some big fish being not so recommendable.

Lifting the walkie talkie to her mouth she almost grinned - but just almost - when saying to John while never taking her eyes off of Malice: "To come back to your question: go and try it. But don't say I didn't warn you if it makes him a little disgruntled."




"By the way." The Siren returned to address the swordsman.

"What is your name?"

The walk to the bike wasn't all that far. It was maybe 30 feet away from the building.

The bike itself was 8 feet in length, was a deep blue and black in coloration, and had multiple compartments along it's long frame. Two seats adorned it, the first of which Quinn mounted before turning the bike on. He would opt for the wheels instead of the bikes' hovering capabilities.

As he awaited Stephen to get on the passenger seat, he leaned up and grasped at his old dog tags, four sets of them for each of his stints in the military.

Contemplative for a moment, he decided that he would get closer to the man. "So you have a daughter?" he asked, smiling within the helmet, his voice really only transmitted through a speaking device which made it sound like Stephen was listening to someone through a walkie talkie.

Stephen walked out to the bike, looking at the machine with a boyish smile on his face. He had a soft spot for machines, even though he wasn't exactly a fanatic - he knew what he liked, and thats all that mattered. "Nice ride." he said cheekily, as he climbed onto the passenger seat. He shifted his weight as he got himself organized on the bike, making sure he wasn't going to fall off at random.

"Yeah. I've got a daughter." he said. "I'd do one of those movie moments where the guy flashes the picture of his family, but I don't have one on me. Besides, they're usually the ones to die, so I'll just stick with telling you about her and kicking a** when we get there. Good enough?" he said to Quinn amiably.

There wasn't really much reason to be happy or upbeat, but that attitude tended to keep people sane on the battlefield. With so much seriousness, cracking jokes and acting positive even in the face of sheer hell was all that kept most people from blowing themselves away from the stress. The man was empathic, so he fed off other peoples emotions and reading people for their feelings. He wanted them to feel better despite the stress, and so he did what he could.

God knows they'd need it.

"later...."

Now that was real. Maximos caught it and held it close with a smile. Later. And later it would be. He didnt say, anything other than to look her in the eyes and give a quiet nod. When she was ready, he would be waiting.

"Max."

His head turned automatically to face the sound. And then a note was offered him, automatically he accepted it. He didnt even offer a second thought to the pat on his shoulder. His eyes met Stephen's with a bright smile. But...something was off about Mr. Lasanti. He couldnt quite place it, but before he could ask Stephen was gone.

He would of course wait until Stephen had left before opening the note.

And then he froze.

In an instant Maximos felt a tremendous weight on his shoulders. His mind split, one half said to accept, the other said to run out side and toss it back at Stephen. People die everyday, what makes this one little girl so special? He didnt even know her full name! Why should he go out of his way to protect...

Teira.

A lost girl on the edge of existence. A stranger given a new life, a new family. She had shown him a sort of warmth he was previously trying to let go. And now where was she? Lost to an enemy that was never even his fight to begin with.

He had been a good sport about it all, but with the idea of a new addition his calmness, his composure teetered now on a knifes edge. His eyes shut. Memories swirled through his mind, he hadnt known her that long, but long enough. And it was the kind of love he knew had placed this note into his hands.

Where would he go, what would he do ?

Slowly his eyes opened and he caught something new.

If something happens, take care of her for me.

If. Something happens. If. Nothing was sealed in stone, Stephen was not dead. Or dying. A wise friend of Maximos' once told him he needed to look at the positive, the good side of things. Maximos needed faith in his friend. He folded the note shut and slid it into his back pocket, his smile slowly found his way back. And he turned, making his way to the bar and ordering fresh tea.

Not 20 minutes upstairs and already Damion had found his way into a room and into the realm of sleep, his head laying flat ontop of his book in an odd splayed out position on his chosen bed. Motionless but for the steady lifting of his body with each breath and his right foot twitching. Though he looked peaceful enough, Damion's dreamland was far from peaceful at the moment....

He crouched over the next body, his clawed hands pinning the shrieking male child to the ground as his head ducked down towards it's wiggling stomach. For amoment, there was resistance as fang pressed to clothe and flesh before the dryness of said clothe was replaced by the coppery flavor of blood. If the shrieking had been loud before, it was only increased tenfold by the inclusion of this eviceration.

To bad it was lost amongst the multitude of other screams that rose from the burning village, humans and demons running about in chaos, the latter chasing the former with very clear intentions. Damion didn't waste time to think about such things however, preffering to finish off his snack. His neck and jaw muscles flexed as he began to chew and shake, trying to tear free the bit of intestines and human flesh he had managed to grab.

With a sound roughly akin to clothe ripping, He got his tasty treat free, quickly ripping it into more managable peices by chewing. Normally, this would disgust the Human, but oddly enough it was far more appetizing than it should have been. Nothing else struck Damion as wrong, not his claws, not his fangs or the fact that he recognized the village he was....well...that wasn't right. Now he noticed how wrong everything seemed, as the Demons of the island began to circle around him with their various meals held in appendages not meant for gentle motions.

"One of us! One of us! One of us!"

A Chant, not unlike what one would expect from a schoolyard group or cult, complete with the lifting of their Grisly prizes in the air, blood still dripping from ligaments and rent torsos. He could feel the blood of the boy child still at his feet running down his face and chest. It was disgusting yet....felt sooooo right...

With a sudden surge of strength, the creature that held Damion's mind screamed to the sky, accepting the monsters around it, rejoicing in their praise, while in the real world.....

While in the real world, Damion awoke screaming bloody murder, rolling out of his bed with a thump as he thrashed, trying to make sense of his location, trying to make sense of anything! It didn't take long for the earth elemental to realise where he was, that he wasn't home, that no blood stained his skin or clothes, just sweat, and that it had been one ******** up nightmare, but only that. a Nightmare.

That didn't alleviate his fear, or his thundering heart however. He was still caught up in the dream with adrenaline racing through his veins. His feet carried him from his room and into the hallway hurriedly, fear driving sore muscles.

"Alright..." John spoke to himself, nodding to no one in particular, reaching up and hitting the button for his comm. "Quinn, you there? ... Quinn? Copy if you hear me."

Well, s**t. He turned off his comm. What, it had only been a minute, and he already gave up on a response? Lazy b*****d. "Alpha 4-9..." he stated, to leave a recording of his own.

"Quinn, John. Some creepy ******** showed up and Lucind seems to be trying to deter him from going to that tavern. He's one of the baddies, but she seems to think just gunning him down ain't gonna work. Wanna head over for backup? Over and out. Alpha 3-9."

-----------------------------------------------------------

"yyYoouuu sssaaiiidd thheee trraannssspoorrtt wwwiilllll nnnoott ggoooo wwwheerrre iIi deeesssiirrre... thHeennnn teeelllll mmmeee wwheerrre."

He would lift up his sword into the sky, light from whatever source in the sky shining off of it... before he would bend his arm and place it into the sheathe on his back.

"aaAnnniimmmaallss aaarrre hhaarrddllyy sssaattiiisssffyyiinngg. iiIi hhuunnggeerrr fffoorrr thhooosse iiinnn mmmyyy ooowwnnn iiimmaaage... ooorrr othheerrrr beeiiinnggsss oofff eeequuaaall pooowweerrr. bBuutt aaarrre yyyoouurr 'ffiiighhtteerrsss' rrreecoovveerreed eennoouugghh ttooo fffeennd mmeee ooffffff?"

Malice would bring his left hand to his face once more, but this time, he would bite down on his index finger immediately after the first knuckle. With a sharp tearing motion with his head and a yank of his hand, he would flense the flesh and tissue from his finger almost completely, leaving just a bloody bone on his wake. Reaching over with his right hand, he would grip his bloody bone of a finger, and in a quick snap, would break it off clean from his hand.

During this, there would be no indication of pain whatsoever.

He would suddenly raise his right right hand, boney digit caught between his index finger and thumb... and fling it right at the window of the Chinook. John would fall back as the boney finger impaled itself through the thick glass of the vehicle; not penetrating it completely, but it came to rest within the window ********!" John would exclaim, sprawled on his back on the floor of the cockpit, eyes wide as plates. Immediately, he would begin to try to raise Quinn again.

Swallowing deep the rended skin and muscle in his mouth, Malice would speak once more.

"tTeelllll mmmeee whhaaat cciiittyy thheeeyyy wweennnt, aaannnd iIi wwwiiillll llleeaaavve uuunnndderr mmmyyy ooowwnnn poowwweerrr. yyYoouuu ccaannn hhaaavve ttiiimmme oonnn yyyoouurrr sssiidde."

Reaching up casually, he would unsheathe his sword with his right hand and lower it to his side once more. The flesh around his bloody would would start to bubble like a chemical reaction in a science lab.

"ooOhh, aaannnd bbeee hhhoonneessst nnnoowww. thHeerrre iiissss oonnnlllyy ccceerrrttaaiinnn ccciiittiieesss iiinnnn thhaaat ddiirreeccttiioonnn."

And with that, Malice would begin to follow Lucind. Not hurrying to catch her, but rather, keeping pace with her.

Meanwhile, John was getting ready to jump ship so-to-speak, when he saw where Malice had gone. Grabbing such a weapon, he would wait a few moments, before pulling open the sliding door the coptor's cockpit and hop out, watching the man stalk the woman along the path they travelled, debating on whether he should leave the copter behind or not to follow.

((Feel free to pick up John again, Quinn, since I'm not familiar enough with military technology to arm him appropriately.))