Retribution, Devotion (3 page)

Khamun quietly stared into the darkness. He could swear that he saw sparks of light, only known with his kind, surrounding the pair in spurts, mainly around the Dark Gargoyle.
Interesting. There was some change in that one.
He could taste it in her blood. Something airy and sweet mixing in the typically pungent acidic taste of their Cursed kind. There was something about it that forced him to store that awareness to memory, but for now he couldn't care less. They took from him and now their putrid husks of a heart were slated to be his.

With a quick shift upward to stand again, the Reaper paced back and forth on the rooftop's ledge, listening to the pair argue with each other. He observed as the Dark Lady slapped her Protector, and then laughed in crazed delight while she gestured with her hands.
That bitch is clearly crazy.
She limped around the tight alleyway, circling her protector, yelling about her faults in the battle. The woman was berating her about her lost arm, telling her that she was useless as a Protector. The scene was comical to him. Like a dramatic screenplay or something on reality TV. He watched his crazed cousin turn back around and kiss her Protector on the mouth, her tongue snaking out to part her bloody lips. Battle lust could amplify a lot, but this crap was insane. He had to spit in disgust over the disrespect the Dark Lady put on the Medusa.

A part of him felt conflicted. That holy part of him that knew that if she were an innocent he would fight for her behalf, but this was the Medusa. She was a beast known for her incredulous tracking skills and a renowned kidnapper and murderer of innocents and Nephilims alike. She was indiscriminative in her pursuits and ruthless. Any pain she felt or disrespect she felt, he was sure that the Medusa enjoyed it too, in her own sick way. Therefore, he watched them and narrowed his eyes.

He would be just as indiscriminative and divinely ruthless in his pursuit of the pair. A quiet reprieve made him chuckle deeply while his locks flew around his stern and handsome features. Eyes glowed like amber jewels sitting in the sun. The sun itself represented the gold ring circling his iris, which pulsed with his power. He licked his lush lips and ran a khemetic-angelic tattooed inked hand over his crisp-cut goatee that only lined his jaw. The Reaper swore he saw, as quickly as a wink, the Medusa's hatred for her Mistress. He swore he saw a razor's edge of Light flicker behind her irises. Ready to slice the other in pieces, but as quickly as he observed it, was as quick as it had disappeared.

Again, that was something stored to the dome. He really didn't care what he just witnessed because he also saw that sick love and devotion for her Mistress at the same time. He remembered the satisfying look in that bitch's eyes before she sliced at his beloved. And for that, an eye for an eye was, yet again, his right. So he quietly watched. His wings rested against his back; his blades slid from his gloved hands. The darkness and the kiss of the moon acted as his invisible cloak, shielding him from their view before he dropped behind the bickering women. The sound of his Timbs hitting wet puddle-lined pavement was his entrance. Its echo had the women turn his way in a hiss. Their wide-eyed shock amused him as he dropped his invisible shield. The moment they turned to run, the rush of the hunt had his blood rising causing him to sprint after them to their dismay.

A husky laugh projected out from him. They pushed a garbage bin his way. It scraped against the asphalt of the alleyway leaving a caulk outline against its surface. Rushing him as if it were a living body or a team of linebackers, he jumped over it. He lifted in the air then landed behind the gliding bin with ease. Sweat sprinkled his brow. Both women, his prey, ran faster, having heard him and sensed him behind them. Their blood dripped wherever they moved and he traced it as if it were a neon paint trail. The blood sung to him and made him thirst, made him crave.

He knew they only ran because they were severely weakened. It wasn't rocket science that the closer they got to their home, the more support they could have in protecting themselves. This was why he leaped over them and made them run in another direction. Not because he assumed he couldn't handle their army on his own, but because he wanted to hunt and this was fun for him.

“Hey. Hey! Yeah, we are not done, cousin, and you know it!” the Reaper taunted in a boast to let them know he was still stalking them.

Not knowing where he was, he could see that they were clueless and that they were off track. He noticed that they took to another alleyway in the streets of Chicago. They climbed over fences and threw poison-tipped daggers while shooting off rounds his way. The need to survive caused one to make erratic choices and the wasting of ammunition was one of them, in his opinion; but again, whatever worked for his advantage was a plus for him. He dropped low like that of a panther in order to scan his surroundings then lunge forward in a run.

“I smell you both and I am so hungry; let me get a taste,” he cajoled with a toying smirk. He then briefly rubbed his hands together in taunt. Thumb pressed against his nose, he flicked it in cocky amusement then propelled his body into the wind again. His dark wings innately expanded into the night, almost swallowing the alley before dropping down in front of the two stunned women. His locks fell over his handsome face, accenting the danger lurking beneath the surface of what he was. Muddled tension filled his surroundings and he enjoyed it. He used it to his advantage, connecting to the very air around them, manipulating it to become thicker, so that it became harder for his prey to breathe while his eyes shined in the moonlight.

“You and your kind have taken from us for the last time. The balance has been broken for eons and for coming after what you had no right to try to take from me. You and your bitch are mine. Fair exchange is no robbery, so say your prayers.”

He watched the reality of who and what he was resonate within their eyes, before it quickly was replaced by cold malice and pride. As he stepped forward, they stepped back.

Now this was interesting to him; it caused the Reaper in him to maliciously give a fang-dropping grin. He saw the one called the Medusa hold her bloody, dripping stump. She clearly was in pain. Sweat dripped down her face. Her pupils were dilated. Her breathing erratic in between the reptilian clicking of her tongue. However, through it all, her instinct to fight was right there on the surface of her being. Her nails lengthened and, as if on cue, the smell of pungent poison saturated the darkness.

“Now I wonder where that part of you went, baby? Come give me your other arm, I'll cauterize it for you.” In a manner of seconds, he was in her face, reaching out for her.

Her poison-filled nails swiped at him and her blade-heeled foot sent him sliding backward. Her legs moved as twin windmills while she struck out with one hand. Droplets of her blood kissed the pavement. It came out so fast that he noticed that she had to step back to gain her energy. He gave a throaty laugh again then ducked from a blow to his head by the Dark Lady.

Both women moved in sync to help each other. One was behind him. The other in the front of him. Their hisses and grunts made him think of the Williams sisters playing tennis while they swiped, kicked, and punched at him. Pipes burst from their places bolted on the side of random buildings. Their metal shafts flew at him, seeking to impale him.

Slick move, cousin.
A brush of the Medusa's nails cutting across his chest, seeking out flesh she could not get to made him turn. He moved up and down, ducking and deflecting while he heard his cousin give a gleeful laugh and clap of her hands in joy, watching.

“
Dios, diablo.
Gosh, devil, it looks as if we have you in a bind, primo cousin.
Escucha!
Listen, your precious Oracle looked as beautiful as a living doll when she lay dead by my hands. I wanted to take her precious body then and there and make her mine; you know, eat her plum and tongue screw her until I cum, but you interrupted that, primo.” The Dark Lady brazenly sulked using her fingers and tongue to illustrate what she wanted to do. Her voice turned into a sickening whine, sauntering toward him.

Her silky hair curved around her body as if it were a curtain to enhance her deep-set curves and ample attributes. A jewel-covered hand with its stiletto-shaped nails seductively ran over her sweat and blood-covered bare bronze stomach. She licked her ruby-dusted lips, her own steel-colored eyes glinting in the moonlight. “And now I want my fair exchange.”

She swung toward him. Her asp ring seemingly came alive then tried to bite at him. A blow from her razor-sharp nails gashed at the side of his face. The sting of it caused him to curse with the taste of his own blood.

He wiped at his cheek and sidestepped each of her weakening moves. Sometimes she'd make contact against him, causing him aching blows. Other times, her hits came in exhausted blows. He knew she was battle worn so he decided to hurry this up with a punch to her solar plexus. The blow made her pitch a black charge that cut across his side before it disappeared. He glanced down in astonishment and slight amusement at his torn shirt. Blood spilled in a thin trail over his toasted-nutmeg skin.

Both foes stood panting waiting for the other to move. The Reaper's eyes focused on a gye nyame symbol necklace that suddenly appeared resting against his cousin's heart before fading away. He had no idea why that appeared to him as it did, but he slowly flashed a knowing smile. He was very familiar with that necklace. He wondered if she remembered that her brother still wore his, too.

An opening of a side door caused music to spill in the alley. The atmosphere filled with static, making both women pant faster for air then quickly clutch their chests at the same time. Pain centered in their torsos and a deep jerk resonated around their hearts. The Dark Lady glanced at the Medusa and she glanced at her mistress. Both women clearly understood that they were now staring their deaths in the face. That survival to eliminate a man they had underestimated was now on the back burner.

“Try something different to use as a play against my mental next time, cousin,” the Reaper coolly replied. He clutched both fists at his sides then reached deep within his spirit. What he collected from within himself was then casted outward at both women. As if time had slowed down, he sent both women flying into a brick wall in front them. Pulsing lights spilled into the dark alley, the drifting singsong voice of Azealia Banks rhyming about the “212” drew his attention. A public domain, he needed to be careful.

The Reaper stepped over strewn bricks and debris with a smirk, cracking his knuckles. Both women lay unconscious against a booth in the building. Bricks, debris, and dust covered them. As he made his descent into what seemed to be a club, clueless humans, random Nephilim civilians, and Cursed entities danced while the music pumped. The Reaper made note of the many humans and Nephilim who were not of the fighting castes as was evident by their auras and insignias glowing on various parts of their flesh.

Back in his past, he had once wished he were just a civilian Nephilim, one whose only concern was the general Society meetings and keeping an eye out for mundane vices. Not hunting down hardcore sinners or demons, as he was doing now. But, that was then and this was now. He accepted what he was born to do now and right now. Music made him bob to the beat and pull out his sword. Everything would be done on the low but to a soundtrack, he could dig.

While he scanned the club, a deep voice interrupted his musings behind him, to tell him that whoever it was had his flank covered. Dr. Eammon Toure stepped from the cloud of soot. The elder stepped over crumbled bricks with a gun in his left hand and his right clapped on the Reaper's broad shoulder. That look in the man's eyes matched his own. Wrongs were about to be settled tonight and both men moved as one. They separated to flank a set of stairways that led to the waking women. The music seemed to feed the Reaper by giving him energy. That signature vibe let him know his boy Calvin was there, fusing the music into his team and innocents within the club.
Much respect,
filtered through his mind.

The Reaper lifted his blade, ready to battle. He rammed it down onto the Dark Lady hitting nothing but the club floor.
Bullshit!
He let out a roar of frustration. Had he been totally blinded by his rage, he would not have noticed his target's unconscious form sliding across the floor by an invisible rope. A tether, which ended up connected to the now–red haired Winter, the Dark Lady's personal Witch. She stood with a sad expression in her gaze that let him know she was sorry. However, for good measure, he guessed, she thought by sending the urgently psychic plead over the music,
“You can't!”
would help matters.

Pillars and equipment began to shake. He was furious and that was an understatement. The Reaper was over the games. A blast of power flew toward the Dark Lady and Winter. He saw the shock in Winter's eyes and then the feel of a boot slamming into his temple, knocking him to the floor. Pain echoed through him. Then the quick flash of a female's shadow passed by his peripheral. He knew who it was before she opened her mouth. His own nails scraped at the dance floor under his chest. He glared upward at the Medusa.

“Touch my mistress and you die. You understand?” the Medusa snarled.

Spitting out blood, the Reaper, astonished, bobbed his head, and then pushed up on both hands.
Chick has to be out of her damn mind.
All he could do was study her from the side of his face, ready to battle. “Yes. I understand. Touch your mistress, then you die.”

Swift with purpose, he tiger-clutched the Medusa's chest and dropped her to her knees in astonishment. The sound of her scream in terror made him laugh. A flicker of calm scurried over her features, almost softening them the moment her gaze fell on Calvin, who now stood behind a DJ booth watching them closely.