The Fires of Summer (first draft)

When the morning comes, Smock is relieved to be awoken by Abbey's voice and not his own crying. Still, he sits up for a while, listening out for the sound of thunder until he's assured there is none.

Summer is far from his favourite season: all across Aldelis it brings more frequent storms than any other, though it's worse the further into the middle you travel. He's beyond thankful that these past few days have only had good weather, especially with how frightening the thunder is in his dreams.

Like he did the day before, Smock gets up and get dressed, but this time he returns all of the belongings he'd laid out to his coat and takes a deep breath. With luck, this will all go smoothly, and they'll be out and safe by sundown, though he's got no idea where they're going to post for the night.

For some time Smock finds himself standing at the top of the stairs, staring down, not wanting to move. When he steps down, the plan starts, and it's all on him to make sure this mother and daughter get out of here alive. If something goes wrong, will they ever forgive him? If one of them doesn't make it out, will anything ever end his guilt?

Thinking about it doesn't help at all. Eventually he forces himself to take the first step, and from there onwards it isn't so hard.

He's all smiles as he walks into the living room, and like before he goes through into the kitchen. Today's breakfast is some buttered toast paired with a range of berries and a banana. Smock is thankful for the light choice of food, knowing his stomach surely won't be able to take too much with how it churns with anxiety.

Not wanting to tip Dawn off to anything, Smock takes his place by Klaus' side again instead of hers like he would've liked to.

Klaus seems to be back to his usual self, all apart from some light bags under his eyes. He wears his long hair tied into a messy ponytail, doing little to keep it out of his face. "Heard you're going out with Darla for something," his voice lowers to a whisper, "what's that all about?"

Smock, also quiet, leans in and replies, "No clue, maybe she's taking out to finally get rid of me."

The boy smirks. "Wow, and Dawn's saying I was gonna be the one to stab you."

Much to his surprise, Smock manages a genuine laugh through his otherwise unpleasant mood. "How the turns table."

Klaus laughs too before returning to his food, and Smock does too, managing to get through it quite fast. More than anything he wants to get the visit to the village out of the way so they can get to the real plan. There is nothing more unbearable in that moment than the tension rising in his body. He's unsure why this in particular is so nerve-wracking for him - he's dealt with life or death situations a thousand times before. Perhaps it's the fact he's barely known Darla and Dawn for a day or two and has promised them too much, or perhaps it's the impossible chances, or perhaps he's just rusty and out of practise.

Or perhaps, above all else, it's that he's surrounded by people who had been discussing his murder the night prior, all acting as though there is nothing wrong. Smock suddenly feels like a trapped prey animal about to make a dash for freedom despite being surrounded by predators ready to pounce at the slightest hint of movement.

Smock manages to finish his food after some time of struggling through it, and he takes his plate back into the kitchen. There he sees Abbey, who had come in just before him.

She turns to regard him with a frown. "You don't look very well. Are you okay?"

Trying to compose himself, he manages a false smile. "I'm alright, just sleeping issues y'know."

"I get that," Abbey says kindly, "I used to have awful nightmares when I first came here, but they pass soon enough."

"That's strange. What, does everyone around here have crazy nightmares?" Smock raises a brow, half humorous but half intrigued.

"Yeah, come to think of it. I always put it down to a test of our devotion to Vampiris," Abbey answers, though to be truthful she doesn't sound as though she believes it all that much, and neither does Smock.

"Has it ever driven anyone away?" he asks.

"No, but any of us would be lying to say it didn't test us deep down," she lowers her eyes to the ground with a firm frown. "But oh well. We're all still here, that's all that matters really."

Smock hums thoughtfully to himself, then he turns to the exit. "I'm glad to hear it. I'll get outta yer hair now anyway, it's been good talking to you."

"You too, Smock. Be safe with Darla and Dawn today," her expression shifts and she manages to send a smile in his direction, which he reluctantly returns as he slips out of the kitchen.

For a few moments he ponders what Abbey said. He'd had a nightmare before coming to God's Lake, but his nightmares changed after he arrived. Twice he's dreamed of the raven now - will that come to an end too, once he escapes with Darla and Dawn? Have they been having nightmares as well? Have they seen the raven?

Smock approaches Darla, who is sitting with her eyes closed, seemingly not awake. He reaches out and very gently shakes her shoulder, which awakens her with a groan.

She opens her eyes and looks at Smock for a moment before averting her eyes. "Please excuse me. I'm an old coot now, always falling asleep."

Dawn doesn't say anything. The three of them know the reason is far from old age.

Smock offers his hand to help her up, which she takes hesitantly. Quite a lot of weight is pushed onto him, but he manages to hold it fine, mindful not to display to the others how much she needs the assistance. "It's alright, happens to the best of us. Let's get going so we can get back and you can nap."

"Yes, let's be off then," Darla agrees, and Dawn says a quick goodbye to Klaus, standing up to join them. Nobody questions them as they head outside, engaged in their own business. Seems like the plan is going well so far: nothing is suspected, and if anybody is wondering why he seems so tired, Abbey has an answer. Now just the rest of the plan...

The threat of Blight's blood magic looms in Smock's mind like a dark cloud, the potential of thunder and lightning alone enough to instil fear despite the possibility it might not happen at all.

Outside, they slowly pull out the cart by hand until it sits in a position where it's ready to be attached to the horses upon their return. Then, they get up on the brown and black stallions, Smock once again taking the latter whilst Darla and Dawn sit upon the former. Dawn hugs her mother's waist.

"It's been a long time since I've been out on just the horses and not the cart - I hope you don't mind if I keep the pace quite slow," Darla says with a mournful expression about her.

"Not at all. Take it easy Darla," Smock responds warmly. He's not exactly in a rush to get back.

"Thank you," she nods as they begin down the slope.

Smock notices that more ravens have gathered around God's Lake. He frowns, trying not to think too hard on it.

It doesn't take long for Dawn to drop off like she had the former day. When Darla notices, she smiles, genuinely and fondly, and after some time she speaks, "She's always sleeping on journeys. I think she gets it from her father."

Whilst it's a genuine statement, there is something testy about her tone. Smock isn't quite sure how to appropriately respond. After a few moments, he manages to find his words. "I don't blame her. Doing this journey so often must be tiring."

"Indeed it must be. Sometimes she doesn't sleep well, so I'm just glad she gets in her rest," Darla's tone settles a little. He hopes that means he gave a good reply.

"Nightmares?" he asks.

"Indeed," she sighs. "Sometimes she wakes up in the night and checks on me, crying. I hate to see her so worried for me."

"I guess it's only natural, when you're in a situation like this," Smock says sympathetically. He can only imagine the stress Dawn must be under.

"I suppose so," she agrees neutrally, her face becoming solemn once again. "You're nice for a high elf, Smock."

Taken aback, Smock shoots her a confused glance. "I am?"

Darla laughs at his reaction, "Yes, you are. Most would insist I should just leave with Dawn and see a doctor despite the danger, and even more would be cruel about Dawn being a half-elf, especially half wood elf."

"Oh!" Smock smiles, a slight blush upon his face. "Yeah, you're right... I assure you I couldn't disagree with them more, though. Ain't no shame in being with someone of a different species if you truly love 'em."

"I take it you weren't raised by high elves," she observes.

"Nope. My dads are... very progressive," Smock chuckles.

Darla's lips curl into a light smirk. "What, did they do that new sort of magic they made?"

Smock goes bright red. That's not the reaction he'd been expecting. "Oh- uh, no, no they- my dads, they found me, adopted me."

"Found you?" she pries, though there's nothing forceful about it.

"Yeah. In the ocean," Smock looks down at the horse, watches the way its mane bobs as it walks, reaches out to touch it, enjoying the texture of it beneath his fingers. In truth, he doesn't remember much about that day - his mind has long blocked it out. All he recalls are vivid sensations. Pain, searing pain, and the wet dragging him down. A heavy ache in his chest, tears in his eyes.

"I won't drag up poor memories for you," she seems to catch on to the melancholy air washing over him.

"I appreciate it," he takes a breath, pushing it back in his mind.

"You know, Dawn's father, he was a wood elf named Arwyn - it means 'handsome', at least that's what he told me. You can't really see much of him in Dawn's appearance, but somehow she's got his free spirit," Darla speaks of him with a fondness in her voice.

"There's no doubt about that. She's a very bright kid," Smock looks to her. She's fast asleep, looking completely at peace, blissfully unaware of what lies ahead.

"Indeed she is, yet it's always those that are the brightest that end up suffering the most for it. You see, it was my Arwyn's free spirit that ended up getting us caught," she smiles, but the look about it is not a joyful one. "He was so... open about the relationship we had, but being in a place full of high elves and humans and the like, people didn't take so kindly. Once they found out I was pregnant, they chased me out of town and punished Arwyn."

"I take it that's how you ended up at God's Lake with the others," Smock hums, disappointed in the cruelty of people to drive out someone with child and unable to comprehend what's so bad about being with a non-human in the first place.

"Yeah, it's what they do - take in those in need them help, give them a family, make them feel safe, loved. I fell for it for some time, until I had Dawn, and I realised I couldn't put her through all I'd seen, all I'd been through. I can't wait to finally see my girl make a life for herself out there, away from these people," Darla's smile turns a little brighter and her eyes light up. There's nothing quite like the love a parent has for their child, huh?

"Whatever she does, I'm sure she'll be incredible. I'm so glad I got this all moving," Smock says softly, beyond happy to change lives for the better.

"Maybe she'll finally be able to meet her father," she muses, "I know for one I'll be making the trip to find him again. That fool better not have moved on after all the romantic nonsense he spouted to me."

"I hope not, for his sake," he jokes, earning a pleasant chuckle from the lady.

"Yes, certainly for his sake," she agrees, settling her eyes on the road ahead, a light air about her now.

Darla speaks after a while, a thoughtful tone to her voice. "Well, Smock, you must forgive me for being curious, but what is it that you're doing here? Abbey was clearly covering for you when Blight asked."

"Well, uh," Smock weighs out his options. He's not sure how Darla will react to the truth, but lying now and the truth coming out later would be far more damaging. With a deep breath, he looks to the path ahead, "I was actually running from some guards. Back in Deadeast I got caught by the knight I stole this coat from, and he was not happy."

"You're a thief?" she raises an almost accusatory brow.

"No. Or, uh, not usually," Smock frowns. "I was just travelling in regular clothes, and a coat is always handy to have. That, and it turns out there was some stuff in the coat that was putting people in danger, so it turned out to be a good choice. I only steal from rich merchants and those bloody Sanguises."

"Some would say you're no better for that," Darla hums neutrally, as though unsure where to stand on the matter. "Do guards and knights count as 'bloody Sanguises'?"

"Anyone who joins 'em is good as the Sanguises themselves as far as I'm concerned," he answers confidently, not even thinking twice.

Darla purses her lips thoughtfully. "They do pay well, though. I suppose if you've got the skill, you might as well get in for the payout."

"That's one way to look at it," Smock says light-heartedly, though his stance is firm.

"What's your business with the Sanguises? I get the feeling you dislike them more than the average man," she chuckles warmly, seemingly not put off by it.

He pauses for a moment, unsure quite how to answer that. They crashed my wedding? They killed my entire crew? They murdered my wife? "They... took away some things that are - were - very precious to me."

"I see," Darla nods with understanding, choosing not to press. "I haven't had the worst experiences with them, I suppose. But I know nothing is so straightforward in this world."

Smock isn't quite sure what to make of it. He's never met anyone who's had that to say about the Sanguis family. No, everyone else has been discriminated against, attacked, threatened... Even the guards who had found him in Deadeast had provoked him just for fun. "Yeah, guess it's not."

"Never mind those lot, I want to know who you really are, and your real name. Smock is so fake it hurts," she laughs, and he can't really argue with that.

"It was... on a whim," Smock scratches the back of his neck, a little embarrassed. Lucky Meru wasn't wearing a scarf or something. "My real name's Haley. Only my friends call me it, really, and it's safer to go by Smock in the long run."

"Understandable when you're running around being a thief," Darla nods humorously, no ill will in her voice. "I suppose you're used to that sort of thing, then. You don't seem troubled by taking on a new name - in fact, I'd say you're a natural."

Smock's impressed by her observance. "You'd be right about that. I've had a couple identities in the past, just so I could live, nothing criminal. I've been a tailor, and after that and before this, a pirate."

She doesn't seem entirely surprised by the notion, barely offering a visible reaction. "Makes enough sense. You do have an accent, and I doubt a pirate's going to get along with the Sanguises all that much."

"Yeah... though, we never made it easy for 'em," he does his best to remain light, though thinking about it makes him feel quite the opposite. Fire flickers in his head, the faces of men he'd loved like family now existing only in memory, bodies reduced to ash and skeletons beneath the sea.

"Well I assure you that doesn't matter much any more. It sounds to me like you were the kind of outlaw I can understand, and you're doing the world of good for me and Dawn," she finally smiles.

The small shift in expression puts Smock at ease. "I'm glad. I promise I'm gonna do the right thing for you both."

"I'll be holding you to it," Darla chuckles as the entrance to the village comes into view.

She rides first, leading the way in, and Smock follows evenly behind, an unease settling into his stomach as he passes all the houses he had the former day. Klaus' almost desperate offer sticks out in his mind, and given the current events it makes far more sense. Part of him wants to go back and grab Klaus to bring him with them, but it feels too much of a risk to take Blight's son, as much as it pains him to think of leaving the boy behind.

They ride down the middle street and leave the horses. Darla gently shakes Dawn awake. The girl stirs, murmuring something incoherent as her dark eyes flicker open and take in her surroundings. With a gasp she sits up and then hops from the back of the horse, rubbing her eyes. "Why didn't you wake me up mama? I can't believe I've slept the whole ride!"

"Don't worry darling, you didn't miss much," Darla assures her, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss to the girl's head. Dawn smiles a warm smile at the affection. "Be good and help us with the shopping please."

"Of course! What are we getting?" she beams, clueless to anything the two have planned.

"Just some food and things, for the event tonight," Darla says.

Unspoken between her and Smock is a sense of guilt for the lie. It can't be helped, he tells himself.

"Okay," Dawn nods, looking to Smock with her bright expression, which he just about manages to return.

First they visit the market, and Smock hands Darla some money so they can both get to work on shopping. She goes to one side of the market with Dawn and Smock to the other. He comes to the vendor with the fruits and other goods. The man at the stall immediately perks up at the business, no doubt having a quiet day so far in the little village.

Smock gets just a few apples and peaches, knowing if he gets too many they'll surely not get eaten and spoil, and with that some wrapped cabbages and carrots. Lastly he looks over the stall and, with a smile, points to the cheese labelled 'κασέρι'.

The vendor puts it all into a small sack for him and he pays, moving to the next, a hunter's store. It doesn't occur to him to get anything at first, figuring a pelt to sleep under will only be uncomfortable during the summer, but there are skin flasks which he figures Darla and Dawn won't have, and the hunter has some medical supplies at hand too, no doubt for trouble out in the forest. He fits all of it into his satchel this time. He meets Darla back in the middle, and she smiles to him. Dawn is carrying what appears to be a heavy bag of meat, and Darla has a smaller and lighter one, assumedly goods from the baker. They decide against the wood and stone store, figuring it'll have little use for them, and make for the post office.

In there, he is greeted by the warm smile of the clerk. She waves to him. "Mail for you, Smock."

"From Seafarer's Shore?" he asks, approaching the desk as Darla and Dawn go to gather supplies from the back.

"Yep. From your 'Anguilla'," she says, heading into the mail room. She leaves the door open and Smock sees just how barren it is in there, devoid of parcels or letters, only a couple on the shelves. She finds his easily and comes back to slide it across the desk.

Smock decides to open it there and then.

Anguilla's handwriting is surprisingly neat and beautiful for a pirate, and he's very well-spoken. Whilst it's a surprise, Smock must admit he's thankful.

To Smock,

Thanks for the notes. We've already dug out some weeds around here since I got them, and we'll be making damn sure none of them set foot on Pirate Island. When I set sail for it, I'll have an audience with the Pirate Lords to let them know about the boldness of these assholes. No doubt they'll be looking forward to seeing you, so stop by soon.

From Anguilla <3

Smock can't help but smile at the letter. Of course, the success of his letter was most important, but such a friendly exchange in such dire times is always welcome. He tucks it into his coat. "Thanks. It's all good news from him."

"I'm glad to hear it. Seems urgent with how fast it's all been," she comments, clearly intrigued.

Smock doesn't want to risk others hearing about his plans, so he decides against elaborating, as much as he'd love to give her some drama. "You could say that, yeah."

Darla and Dawn join him at the counter and pile on numerous supplies like rope and lamps and soap and tinderboxes - things that will no doubt come in handy on their travels. He pays for it all gladly and they take their leave from the post office, the air becoming thicker and thicker upon their path back to the horses.

Dawn's hands are occupied so she casts an uncertain glance towards Darla with a frown. Her mother says nothing.

They put down their bags at the sides of the horses and Darla goes to the blacksmith. She returns with saddle bags to set upon the backs of their mounts - wide, bulky things that should hold the sacks fine if evenly distributed. They manage to equip the horses and fill the packs, and Darla attaches the two lamps she bought to each horse before climbing on. She's careful when she pulls Dawn up to not dislodge the bags, and Smock gets up on his steed last, wanting nothing more than to just run away now and never look back, but they need Darla and Dawn's belongings and the much larger, much more convenient cart. Reluctantly they steer onwards and out of the village, starting a slow pace back to God's Lake.

They proceed for a while in a tense silence, and Smock's mind can't help but wander. Axel's magic creeps into his head, twisting like red weeds out from his hands, borne of his dripping blood, crawling to its victim. He sees the screaming, writhing navy man, his pores exploding, his whole body reducing to nothing, torn apart from the inside out.

Axel's brutality is an undeniable contributor to his sickening methods, but Smock worries that perhaps others have found a way to do this, that maybe Blight has discovered the violent ability to turn a man to nothing but what's inside of his physical body.

Smock wonders what it'd feel like. Would he just feel the agony, or would he be sickeningly aware of what's going on inside of him, of how his veins burst and his organs pool with blood and how his body leaks it like it's being exorcised? Would he feel every second of his death, taken by someone without an ounce of mercy?

Pursing his lips, he waits for Dawn to drop off with her travel tiredness before asking a question, unable to hide the unease in his voice. "How did Blight get his magic?"

"From his God," she responds with a strange tone. "That's what he says, anyway. I don't know how all that works."

"Right," Smock hums. Gods granting others magic is not out of the ordinary by any means. "Do you know why Vampiris chose him? Or anything about their relationship at all?"

Darla lets out a sigh. "My guess is that it's because he's the one that established this whole family. He was the first, so Vampiris must have took to him. Their relationship is strange, it looks... intimate, and when they speak it's gentle, but every visit is brief, and only for certain events."

"Like the one that's happening today?" he asks apprehensively.

"Yes," she frowns. "I've always kept Dawn away from everything. I think they're growing tired of me."

Smock doesn't like that notion.

"What's the sea like?" Darla asks suddenly. There's a strange, sorrowful hint to her voice.

"The open sea?" Smock hesitates for a moment when she nods, looking to the black mane of his horse, touching it, running his fingers through it. He manages to picture it, picture a good memory out on it. "It's beautiful and unending and wild, and takes a hold of all that it touches. It's addictive and powerful and unyielding, and it feels like freedom, like holding your hands out to the wind and feeling it brush past you." The fire flickers in his mind. "But it can turn on you in a flash. It can swallow you and drag you into its depths, helpless."

"Definitely not for me, then," she laughs a reserved laugh, "though I guess the beaches would be less intimidating."

"In the summer and spring, when the weather is good," he nods.

"I'd like to go," Darla says, "before I die."

"C'mon Darla, yer gonna be alright," Smock's stomach sinks. He doesn't want to lose anyone else.

"Well with hope it won't be something that comes soon. But I'm okay with it, I've made peace with it. I just don't want to leave Dawn until she does too," her expression is solemn as she speaks.

"I'll get you both outta here, and we'll go to the beach. I'll take you down to Seafarer's Shore so you can try the street food too," Smock jumps in, the thought of loss too much for him to bear in silence.

Darla seems to brighten a little. "A beach day with a handsome gentleman? What a treat."

He blushes, petting the horse's mane with both hands now. "It's nothin', really."

The two laugh together, settling the air about them, turning it from tense to comfortable, from heavy to friendly. Smock is barely able to fathom that Darla is the same woman that was so cold to him days ago - now he only sees her genuine adoration for her daughter, her will to protect her, her kindness and humour. It feels almost cruel that such a woman should be made to seem so callous by her situation.

Smock wishes the trip could last forever, but alas he finds himself recognising their surroundings as they approach God's Lake. The two slow their gait as far as they can, drawing out every last step until the bottom of the hill, which they climb with a shared reluctance and a mutual understanding of what this means, of the risk they are about to take. Outside of the church, they get off the horses, take off the bags, and open the storage beneath the front seat, where their goods are placed. Darla takes the lanterns from the horses and attaches them to the front of the cart, then she wakes Dawn, who groggily gets down and observes the situation around her.

"Why are we putting the cart on the horses?" she asks as Smock and Darla go about putting on the harnesses.

Darla answers. "Don't worry about it, dear."

Dawn looks to Smock for some answer, but he just smiles apologetically. Whilst Darla hasn't said too much that incriminates the family, Smock can't help but feel as though there is much more below the surface that she's waiting to reveal when they're on the road away, things that would shatter the reality that Dawn had spent her fifteen years of life living in, blissfully unaware. He doesn't doubt that it'd eat her up completely.

They re-enter the church, thrumming with tension. Darla and Dawn go immediately upstairs, whilst Smock stays downstairs. Everyone seems to be in the church from what he can see, putting up decorations and cleaning the windows. They're occupied.

Smock sits anxiously, tapping his boot on the floor. Time passes slowly, ticking torturously, enough to surely drive him crazy if prolonged. It's surely no simple feat, packing their things and figuring out what to leave behind and what to take.

Finally he hears footsteps coming downstairs, and breathing a sigh of relief he stands, walking towards his companions. But the person that comes into view isn't Darla nor Dawn. No, it's Telfan, who lunges towards him with a clutter and pushes him to the ground. He's stronger than Smock, and before he can even fight back, his head is launched with brutality into the ground. Black flickers in his sight. He tries to shout for Darla but nothing leaves his mouth as his head comes into contact with the ground again. With one more slam, he swears he sees a raven perching on the railing of the stairs, and it tells him to sleep.

There's no ravens in his sleep this time. No fire, no ship. Black expands in all directions around him, and he's strangely aware of it, as though he's dreaming but somehow not at all.

"Smock!" he hears a voice scream, somewhere behind him and to the far right. It sounds young, terrified. He turns in the darkness, twists against it, but there is nothing. He hears it again and runs towards it, trying to find the source of it, and before him the darkness begins to break away like light through leaves, beaming through, and then breaking out into a full glow that blinds him.

Smock closes his eyes, and then when he opens them, when he's sure he's ready to adjust, he sees the stained glass windows, red and white and black. He tries to speak but there's something in his mouth. It feels like cloth and the texture in his mouth and against his teeth makes him feel sick. He tries to move only to feel someone's back against his own and his body bound, tied to the person behind him with tight rope. It digs into his skin, rough and almost painful.

Quickly he understands now is not a good time to try to free himself as he takes in his surroundings. Blight is standing in front of all the pews, right at the front of the platform. Smock and whoever he is tied to are close to him, just over an arm's length away, leaving the middle and the back empty. In the front pews sit Klaus and Abbey, with Telfan holding Dawn back in between them, standing. She's shouting and screaming, "What are you doing to my mama? What are you doing to her?"

Immediately Smock understands the person tied to his back must be Darla. He hears her muffled cries, makes out 'Dawn' among them.

Blight is holding the dagger Klaus had bought the other day in his hand. The light cast down by the moon shines white and red through the windows, down onto him and the people tied before him. Despite the noise all around him, he raises his voice to speak. "Vampiris, I have brought before you today two people worthy of your divine mercy. One," he gestures the dagger towards Darla, "is afflicted with terrible sickness, and the other," to Smock, "is without direction, in need of your kindness. Please, spare them of their suffering. Klaus, please now assist me."

Blight waits for Klaus to stand. The boy's hands are shaking horribly and he's unable to lift his eyes to look at Smock as he's handed the knife and guided to step towards Darla. Dawn shrieks at the top of her lungs and immediately Smock knows he has to do something. Desperate, he writhes and writhes, and pulls at his binds, considers even pulling at them with his teeth, until he feels something give around his arms. With ferocity he frees his arms and then swiftly afterwards his feet, getting up and lunging for Klaus. His hands manage to find the right place and he wrestles the dagger from him easily, the boy near enough just giving in to him, terror in his eyes.

Quick as a bird taking flight he turns and plunges the blade into Blight's throat, horror striking him as blood splatters onto his hands, arterial spray coating them when he withdraws the blade. Blight's red eyes roll back and he collapses to the ground in a bleeding heap. Abbey stands immediately and shouts to Klaus, who lets out a sound of pure terror and pain, running to his father's side.

He turns to Abbey and Telfan, who holds Dawn tight in his arms, more than prepared to take the fight to them, when suddenly a light fills the room from behind him and the two freeze in place.

Smock turns and regards the entity there with wide eyes.

Beautiful and slender and tall, the angel with long red hair lands, feet touching the ground with utmost grace. Their white robes settle evenly, perfectly, and their alabaster skin almost glows beneath the moonlight. When they open their eyes Smock sees they are black, and he makes out a beauty mark under the bottom right corner of their mouth. Their features are narrow but their expression is gentle as they look to the scene below.

When their eyes rest upon Smock's, a moment of mutual recognition courses through them both. That is not Vampiris.

"Azrael," the angel hisses.

"Abaddon," he returns.

"Not Abaddon any more," they correct venomously, "Apollyon."

In his mind Smock - no, Azrael - stands in a library. His library, to be exact - or at least his section of it. Ravens perch on the rails of the stairs leading to his pavilion, silent observers, a constant source of company and comfort to him. He scribbles something down in one of the open books on his desk with his raven feather quill before turning to another, focused intently on his work.

Surrounding the pavilion on all sides are bookshelves, populated head to toe in books, sorted by the date they were finished. Purple light filters down through his grand stained windows, painting everything in its soft hue.

He's dressed in long black robes decorated in golden swirls that twist down to the bottom, which covers his feet. Golden ravens are on the long sleeves, rolled up just slightly as he writes. A pale purple sash tucks into the neck of his robes and drapes down across his one side. And, most unfamiliar to him now, a black veil sits upon his head, covering his eyes and laying across his back, sitting between his six beautiful raven black wings.

Across the room, the huge doors open. In strides a red-haired angel, their black wings pulled tight to their body. There's an air of irritation about them as they approach the pavilion. Azrael doesn't turn to face them, aware of their presence but too busy to regard them properly.

"Hello Abaddon," Azrael greets them.

The angel brushes against him as they pass behind him, a hand drifting along the six wings, the sensation subtle but enough to make them twitch. They circle around to the opposite side of the desk and slam their hands onto it, demanding the Archangel's attention. "The Raven Queen is overworking us. Everyone is unsettled and riled up, we barely have a moment to breathe Azrael."

"I'm up to my ears with it too, Abaddon, I don't know what to tell you," he returns politely, placing his quill in the inkwell. "Work is work. We're probably just hitting a rough patch. Is Hell causing trouble again?"

Abaddon puts their hand to their forehead as though stressed. "Everything and everyone is causing trouble. We're so overworked that people are defecting."

Azrael finally meets their eyes. They're black and shimmering with something unkind. "I can try to speak to the Raven Queen. Maybe she can request angels from Baphomet, if they're not fighting."

"Baphomet's angels are dicks," the other remarks bitterly, leaving the table to pace, making their way back around to the other side, using the open space to kick their feet about. Azrael watches them go about their tantrum. "All goody two-shoes - they'd rather push us around than work with us as equals."

"They're hard workers though, and they'll do a better job of it than Tiamat's angels, or Kelemvor's," Azrael expects the frustrated huff that comes from the other.

"Why don't you help us for once?" Abaddon approaches him and sweeps him around with a wing, pushing him into the open space, towards the railing of his pavilion. "You sit up here all day writing away on your own. Come do some proper work like the rest of us. We all know how the Raven Queen coddles you."

"I'm writing all day, and I have to go out all the time - just because you don't see me doesn't mean I'm not working," he protests, backing up, his eyes skimming over the red-haired angel, checking them for weapons, uneasy all of a sudden. But there's nothing on them to indicate any plans for violence.

"Why doesn't the Raven Queen help then? What does she do all day - lounge around on her ass whilst we slave away?" Abaddon flares their wings wide, fills his view with raven black feathers.

"Don't you talk about her like that," Azrael warns, his back hitting the railing, knocking the breath out of him as Abaddon towers over him, hands on the railing either side of him, boxing him in.

"What are you gonna do about it?" they hiss, their face close, intimidating, glaring daggers at him.

Azrael pushes Abaddon away with all his strength and they stumble off. He paces down the stairs and towards the doors, and calls behind him, "Well why don't you come and tell the Raven Queen all about your gripes with her to her face?"

Abaddon is silent for a moment, then they frown, and follow.

Before Smock now stands the same angel, in all the glory he remembers, all apart from those two black wings that had twirled him towards the railing. He glares at them, and with a conviction he speaks his next words, "Apollyon, huh? What's spurred that little change?"

"I figured a change of identity was in order after certain events," they answer, pacing forth in long, graceful strides, coming to stand above Smock like it's some sort of victory.

"You mean after you fell? Did the Raven Queen finally get sick of you being an insufferable asshole?" Smock laughs bitterly, watching the other's dark eyes for any glances to the others, any movement at all.

"The Raven Queen?" Apollyon raises a brow, a smile creeping onto their pale lips. "Haven't you heard, Azrael? She's missing."

Smock goes completely pale, bile rising in his throat, his hands shaking. "What did you do to her?"

They chuckle like he's stupid. "I didn't do anything. She simply disappeared one day. We searched long and hard until the Gods decided there was no point in it any more. They replaced her with a new God, someone strong and capable and dutiful, and they had no need for us any more."

"You mean they had no use for you," Smock bites back, watching the dangerous look that overcomes Apollyon.

"Rich coming from a fallen Archangel," they taunt, and at once he swings at them, but they move quick as lightning, swooping around and grabbing the still tied Darla by her hair, pulling it back, exposing her throat. Smock realises all at once he'd forgotten to untie her, and he takes a deep breath as he hears Dawn scream.

"Don't hurt her, Apollyon. Your fight is with me," Smock turns the knife in his hand in threat, "do anything to her and I will kill you."

"I'm not scared of you hurting me," Apollyon smiles, their expression turning gentle yet sinister. "I just need her blood," they grab her throat and blood begins to pour from it as she lets out a choked cry, pooling from an unseen wound, dripping between the angel's fingers and onto her clothes as tears fall from her eyes and her skin goes pale and wrinkles. The sound that comes from Dawn is raw and violent. Smock is unable to move, frozen in fear, in shock, in horror, as he watches Darla die, knowing his promise is broken, that he failed. Apollyon speaks, sugary sweet, "And now I can take care of you."

Smock comes to his senses, trembling, and throws himself at Apollyon, thrusting the knife wildly at them, missing every time. Like a branch a thick scarlet substance flows out of Apollyon's hands, solidifying, twisting like nerves, before it bursts with a force that sends everyone and everything flying backwards viciously. Smock is sent flying in between the pews, where Abbey and Telfan have been launched, and he hits the floor hard. He feels the heavy weight of blood splattered all over his clothes, clinging to him, Darla's blood. Dazed and mortified, he can hardly even bring himself to stand, his body aching from the impact.

Apollyon lets out a giddy laugh, approaching Smock and grabbing him by his hair, pulling him upwards, He goes without resistance, then sees Dawn running towards them and realises that he's still got a life to save.

"Dawn, run! Get out of here, you're gonna die!" he calls to her, and she pauses for a moment before darting in the other direction, away from Abbey and Telfan who try to jump at her. By the altar he sees Klaus has gotten to his feet, staring at the scene, not a clue what to do. He calls to him, "You too Klaus, get out of here, go!"

The boy doesn't move, glued in place.

Abbey and Telfan abandon their charge for Dawn and instead come to assist Apollyon, who throws Smock to them. They hold him and drag him to the altar, where he meets Klaus' terrified eyes, and Apollyon approaches, his back now to the pews. They look frenzied, a feral look in tjeir gaze and their lips curling into a sadistic smile. "Oh how I've dreamed of killing you."

As they reach out their hand for Smock, their head suddenly swings to the side. Smock looks up to see a piece of broken wood, and then Dawn, holding it, eyes puffy and her hands shaking. She swings it for Telfan first, striking him hard, and he goes limp, then Abbey, who is sent flying to the side, only dazed. Klaus backs up, regarding the girl with terror, and Smock finally stands, disregarding the boy and sending a solid kick into Abbey's head, rendering her unconscious. In Dawn's other hand is a lit lantern which she swings and throws at the stunned Apollyon.

At first nothing happens, but within moments a fire is crawling up the angel's robes and across the floor.

Smock freezes at the sight of it. It's happening all over again. It's happening again and he can't lose anyone else.

He takes the piece of wood from Dawn and, as Apollyon stumbles to stand up, thrusts it through their chest, driving it deep inside their unholy body and out the other end. They bleed like a human, like fallen angels do, blood once black now tinged with scarlet, flowing freely from their injury and onto the makeshift weapon. Initially they try to wrestle it from Smock, but they're weakened, unable to do much at all. The fire is eating at them, singing their clothes, their skin. It eats everything, eats the wood all around them, tears at it.

"Fucking burn in Hell!" Apollyon finally screams as Dawn grabs Smock's hand. He reaches for Klaus but the boy backs away, his mind somewhere else, refusing to come.

"Klaus!" Dawn screams for him.

He's unresponsive. Smock yanks her hand and pulls her towards the living room. "It's too late, we need to go!"

She lets out a devastated sound but moves with him, sprinting out the front doors of the church.

Behind them comes a terrible roar, and when Smock turns he sees the body of Apollyon contorting, their skin twisting and bursting, bleeding, into something new, something as fucked up as their heart is, as they drag their changing body out, after the two. They're slow at first but as their legs and arms transform into something deerlike, then they grow more legs, and picks up their speed.

Smock knows the horses on the cart won't be able to outrun them. He squeezes Dawn's hand and pulls her towards the edge of the cliff. She understands.

She tucks herself against Smock, wraps her arms around him. He holds her tight, turns his back to the edge of the cliff, and steps off. As he plummets he sees Apollyon, or what used to be them, a ravenlike head staring down at them.

Smock closes his eyes as his back hits the water.