Sooner Nation - FICTION

Hey... thanks guys for all the comments.

You may not have any idea how much the comments mean, but I really appreciate them. All day I was checking back and seeing what everyone said. It really means a lot that you take the time to let me know that you stopped in.

Today's rather lively conversation in here really made my day.

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Part X

Six-Four's Apartment
Six was just settling down with a nice double shot of Johnny Walker Blue. He really enjoyed spending time with the young trio of heroes. He was surprised at how much he enjoyed the role of mentor, and he genuinely liked each of them. They had the makings of great heroes, and their work as a team would make them a nearly unstoppable force as they matured. But, he had to admit that one of the reasons he liked spending time with them was that he didn’t have to think about what he’d lost when he’d been suspended from the Ghosts. Now, alone in his neat apartment, he could do nothing BUT think about it.

It was an endless loop. How could he prove that he deserved to rejoin them? Did he deserve to rejoin them? Did he even want to rejoin? Maybe he was never meant to be a hero in the first place? For just a moment he was filled with a fierce longing to return to his simple life on a fishing boat with his best friend... then his thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of his phone.

He recognized the number instantly and was already smiling as he lifted the phone. “Hey hey, what’s up?” he said in greeting.

“Six, get over here, to my apartment, now. We've got trouble,” Pipe Hitter said. It wasn’t the words so much as the tone that reached out and grabbed Six. He dropped his glass, spilling the expensive scotch in a splash over the hard wood floor, and stood as ice shot up his spine. A pilot with an engine out, a surgeon with a spurting arterial bleed, a combat vet under fire all spoke with that flat emotionless crispness. Something very bad was happening to his friends. He could hear Rosemarie chattering in the background and while he couldn’t understand her, the frantic pitch and pace of her words sent another jolt of ice-cold adrenaline shooting through his body.

“What is it?” he asked.

“ Some... thing took Moon Dancer, it said its name is Conall Cian. You need to explain what just happened.”


Pipe Hitter's Apartment
It took a lot to overcome Six-Four’s emotional barriers. He was a focused and controlled man, and very little broke through that control. But the thought of that sweet innocent girl in the hands of Conall Cian... his knees gave out and he dropped onto the couch. The idea of trying to explain to her friends that Moon Dancer was most likely going to die in terror and agony put his face in his hands. And it was all because he was friends with them. That beautiful naive girl was in hell because she was his friend.

“You’re going to tell me, right now, what’s going on.” Pipe Hitter demanded again.

“It doesn’t matter,” Six answered, looking up, then standing. “There isn’t time, and the explanation won’t help right now.”

“He called you out. Why?”

“Because he’s my enemy. Because we’ve tried to kill each other several times. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is your friend. And we have to get her back before... We HAVE to.”

Pipe Hitter opened his mouth again, but Rosemarie put a hand on his shoulder. “How do we do that?”

“We have to find where he took her...” Six stopped there. If she was at the Shades of Vengeance's base, her best hope was to die fast. But he wasn’t going to tell these two that just yet. And, it turned out, he thought he might have an idea.

Ciara's Prison
Ciara stood over her crystal ball, her clawed hands cupping its smooth curved surface. The image in the globe pleased her. The fact that it would distress the daughters ó Floinn pleased her even more. Their great-grandmother lay dead on the floor of her home, the spreading blood forming a deep red corona around her body. Ciara suspected that the local authorities would assume she'd been killed in a robbery attempt, and the ransacked condition of the house would support that.

She hadn't been concerned about the artifact. It wasn't in play and had been misplaced by the family for generations. She'd seen no need to search for something when it was best for her if it stayed lost. But recently she'd felt it, felt the magic of the artifact moving. It had reached out to the thin barriers still holding her imprisoned, then subsided. The old woman must have found it, and that worried Ciara.

The demon was forced to admit to some admiration for the old woman. She had refused steadfastly to reveal anything at all about the artifact, despite being put under considerable duress by the imps. Ciara didn't even know what it looked like. But whatever the old woman had managed to conceal, Ciara was confident the artifact was no longer in Ireland. She was also certain that she would have felt the magic react if the artifact had come into the possession of the daughters ó Floinn. That meant there was only one place it could be. The mother had the artifact, and Ciara must take control of it before her enemies did.

It was time to let Conall have some fun.

Conall's Lair
The terror rolling off the beautiful blonde human woman was palpable. Conall circled her, watching her blue eyes track his movements. Every tail twitch or rustle of his wings elicited a tiny whimper or wail from her. She was panting like a terrified cat, her skin was pale, her body tremored. Her eyes kept flicking about the room seeking help, and each time she was denied, her despair rose. He allowed his smile to spread slowly, knowing that would deepen her fear. His lips first stretched, then parted to reveal his fangs. When she began to sob, he smiled even wider.

His followers were gathered to watch. Excruciatrix was fixated on the woman like a hungry cat at a window watching birds. Arano stood back with his arms crossed and an utterly bored expression on his face. A handful of his most trusted Hellion converts were watching with an interest Conall suspected had more to do with the woman's appearance than anything else. A few of his more trusted companions among the Shades of Vengeance were there as well, Spinedancer chief among them. That particular wonderfully insane young woman had promise, and had shown an encouraging initiative by throwing herself firmly in his camp of supporters.

"I suspect this will not take long," he said. He laid one clawed hand on the soft skin of of his captive's belly and leaned over her. She cried out again and tried to pull away from him. She turned her head away from him, but he reached out and took her jaw in his hand. He squeezed firmly as he turned her to face him, letting the claw on his thumb press in firmly enough to draw a point of blood. Her blue eyes widened even more and tears leaked out of the corners. Behind him, he heard Trix giggle. "Ah... we're going to have such a good time." he purred at her.

He flexed his left hand, the one on her belly, so the claws rested with their needle sharp tips on her so-tender skin.....

....and that's when he felt the call. "Oh... You miserable *****!" he bellowed. The woman screamed, but he took his hands from her and turned away, raising both fists into the air. "Leave me alone, you vile harridan! Not NOW!" At his protests, the pull became sharper, more painful. He growled, furious, and turned to Arano. "Keep her safe," he snarled. "Don't touch her..." he glanced first at the Hellions, and then firmly at Trix, "but don't let her get away, either."

With helpless fury roiling in his gut, he tore open the portal to Ciara's prison and stepped through, "What do you WANT?!" he demanded, even knowing she'd likely punish him for it. "What do you want, you wretched pox-ridden harpy!"

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Loved it all... but this:

Part XI

Ciara's Prison
"What do you want, you wretched pox-ridden harpy!" Conall bellowed as he stepped into her home blazing with his demonic fury. Ciara smiled fondly. He was magnificent. He was everything she'd imagined he might become.

"Conall, my beloved pet. Come to me." She cocked her head, waiting. "My prize. Come to me."

He stood, his shoulders and chest heaving from the force of his breathing, with his head lowered and his tail darting around his ankles. The rage rolled off of him like fog off a lake in the early dawn - no... no his fury, it was hot. It was like the dark greasy smoke spilling off of burning pitch, filling the room, making it hard to breath. Then he took his first step, and his second. He approached her slowly while his eyes burned. She waited on her raised dais so when he stood before her, he looked up to see her. His frustration was clear, no matter how he tried to make his face an expressionless mask.

"What is it you want from me, Ciara?" he snarled.

"Ah, my Conall," she reached out with one long fingered, clawed hand. She stroked the back of her hand along his jaw, smiling at the way his eyes narrowed and his wings twitched at her touch, then continued the motion to trail her fingertips under his chin and across the other cheek. Her hand drifted away, an airy motion that twisted her body away from him. She could see in his eyes when he knew what was coming. The way he braced himself as she swung back toward him. Her palm struck his face with a smack that echoed off the stone. She could feel his fangs cut into his lips and his skin split under the force of her blow. His head began to turn and she flexed her fingers so her claws sliced into his face. His blood exploded from his lips, his nose, his cheek. His head rocked back and he stumbled back one step, then another. He swayed, then dropped to one knee. His body slumped and she was afraid he might collapse.

He was still for a moment, folded over one knee. His wings draped over his shoulders and folded around him like a heavy cloak. Blood dripped from his injuries and in the silence of the room, each droplet's splat! seemed loud. Then she watched his fury consume him. With his head still held low, his eyes rolled up to see her. Fire erupted from deep within the wells of his eyes and, under the force of his rage, spread across his face. Flames oozed from his mouth and ears, licked up along his horns, snorted from his nostrils. His scalp smoldered. His entire body seemed to swell with his anger. Every muscle in his body jumped and quivered, the veins snaking along under the skin engorged.

She smiled broadly and stepped down from her dais. She was confident in her dominance over him. He was hers. Everything he was, she had caused him to become. Oh, the clay had been of excellent quality, but she had shaped and molded it, she had glazed it and fired it till it suited her needs. She crouched and reached out to take his jaw gently in her palm and turned his head from one side to the other. He could easily heal the damage she'd caused him even without the aid of his imp, but it was another display of stubbornness that he left it. It didn't matter. She stroked her fingers along his jaw then tapped one finger lightly on the tip of his nose. His eyes shut slowly and he took one deep bracing breath.

"Conall, my pet. You cannot get away from me, you cannot defy me. We are sealed together, forever. You are my Conall Cian. Never forget it." She took her throne on the dais, watching him there, still on one knee. His battle was with himself, for control, to hold his rage.

She relished it. She savored the taste of his anger. She loved what she'd made of him. All the blood he'd spilled at her command. All the lives he'd taken. The cruelty, the tortures, the destruction. And all that time, she'd been guiding his path, forging him into her instrument, her hunter, her wolf. And now she was going to loose him on the mother of the daughters ó Floinn. She would send her wolf walking the razor's edge of his control after Colleen Nation. The carnage would be glorious. Once the sisters learned how their mother died, they would come after her. And once Conall took the artifact from Colleen, the sisters would be powerless against Ciara. She would send Conall after the mother, as she had sent him after so many of her enemies. In his fury, he would destroy not just Colleen, he would likely destroy the home, the land, and any unfortunate passers-by as well.

"Come, Conall, I would have you at my feet."

His hesitation was brief. His shoulders hunched slightly before he gave in. She rested her hand on his head as if he were a favored hound and began to fondly stroke his head, his shoulders, the shuddering muscles of his back and the delicate membrane of his wings. "My Conall. My darling pet. You will take your rage and frustration and you will use them for me, as you have so often before. The mother of the three sisters ó Floinn, a human woman, named Colleen Nation. She has something of mine. It will be small, perhaps an item of jewelry - a pendant, a brooch, with three red stones. I must have it if I am to be free. Make her reveal its location to you, and when you lay eyes on it, you will get it and bring it to me. And... you will bask in your fury, you will indulge your anger on her until your dark heart is satisfied. You will take care of this for me, will you not, my Conall?"

He was still, motionless but for the tiny quivers running through his muscles. She would have loved to have been able to hear his thoughts, but she could feel his determination. "I will do as you say, Ciara." he answered finally. "May I go?"

"You may, my prized pet." she said indulgently. She watched him stalk away, imagining the destruction he would wreak and smiling.

Conall's Lair
He returned to his lair still seething, but stopped in his tracks just inside his portal. His captive, the human woman, was incoherent with terror. Trix crouched over her, trailing her claws just above the human's fair skin. Conall grabbed his imp by the scruff of her neck and lifted her high. His low growl rolled over the room and utter stillness followed it. "I. said. not. to. touch. her."

With golden eyes wide, Trix hung limp as a kitten in his grasp. She slowly raised her hands, showing him her clean, blood-free palms. "I did not touch her!" she squeaked.

The urge to snap Trix's neck rose through him until his shoulders and arms shuddered with it. He rolled his head on his neck once, and he saw Trix's eyes sharpen as she recognized the injuries to his face. With little more than a flick of her wrist, soothing and warm healing energies washed over him and his face was healed. He knew without looking that there was not even a scar. He growled and tossed her away. "Stay away from the human," he ordered.

He turned to Arano, leaning casually against the wall. His ally's human appearance inflamed his anger further. "Why did you allow that? I instructed you to keep the woman safe."

"You forbade me to discipline your imp." Arano responded. "She did not 'touch' the human. Therefor, I did not stop her."

He heard Spinedancer mutter under her breath, "V-e-x-a-t-i-o-n" she said, rattling off the letters like they were the digits of an often used passcode. She tried to fade back, but she was already pressed into a corner. She ducked her head and hid behind her dark fall of hair. "O-u-t-r-a-g-e." she went on, and, "P-i-q-u-e."

Every eye in that room fixed on him. Excruciatrix wasted no time seeking the shelter of the shadows, and Arano's bored expression faded to wary watchfulness. The humans in the room shrank back and a few of them simply fled. And his captive, the helpless human still waiting for him began to pant with terror. He didn't have time for that one just yet, she could continue waiting and wondering.

"Arano... to me," he commanded and stalked from the room. His oldest ally raised a brow and followed. There was a small room, hidden in the maze-like corridors, covered with magical runes. If Ciara was watching him in her glass, he would vanish from her sight as soon as he entered that room.

"I need you to work magic for me, old friend," Conall said, his voice low.

Arano lifted a hand. "Conall, you WILL free yourself of Ciara, correct? Her interference in our plans is becoming intolerable."

"It is indeed," Conall agreed. "That is why I need your assistance now. Your magics will have the flavor I need."

Arano listened as Conall explained what he needed and nodded. "Easily done, Conall," he agreed. "I'll bring it to you shortly."

"No, not me." Conall knew Ciara would be watching him. She'd want to see him work. "Not me. Give it to Trix."

Colleen Nation's Home
Excruciatrix flew high over the nice suburban neighborhood. It was pretty and green and quiet in the fading light. She had a job to do before her master arrived. It was very important; he had told her so. She circled until she spotted the human home her master had described to her, then activated the spell the rancorous and spiteful Arano had given her. A dark greasy ball flared in her hands, then she dropped it on the house below. The ball expanded and grew, and then vanished. She hovered there, poking at it with her magical senses to make sure it was correctly in place. With her master's current temper, she couldn't risk an error. Once confident that it was all as her master had instructed, she called out to him magically and felt him respond.

Conall Cian was coming.
---

Ciara stood at her crystal ball, ready to enjoy watching Conall kill the mother. She'd sent him away so full of fury that she expected a spectacular and gruesome death. Her palms rested on the glass and she watched as Conall changed into human form and stepped into a portal... and her glass went dark. She sent more magic into the sphere, but try as she might, she could not see Conall, or his target, or even the home. She pulled her vision back, and then she could see the peaceful suburban street lined with houses. It was late, and there was only one car puttering slowly down the street, splashing the bricks with its light. And right where the home should be, there was a dark ball. She probed at it, pushed at it. There might as well be nothing there.

She roared with fury. The eldest daughter, it must have been. That one controlled dark magics like this. Ciara hadn't realized the girl could perform this sort of magic, but there it was. Somehow, the eldest of the daughters had place a shield over her mother's home. Ciara cursed, kicked an imp that had not scurried away quickly enough and settled herself on her throne. She would just have to wait for Conall to report back to her that it was done.

---
Conall lurked in the shadows outside the peaceful split level home, while Excrutiatrix quietly hummed a happy melody perched in the overhanging branches behind him. Warm, welcoming light spilled from the windows while laughter and spirited conversation drifted up from the ground floor. The aroma of a delicious meal wafted from the vents. His target was inside, unaware of the danger that loomed. He peered in at the party guests, an even dozen smiling, laughing people. The evening wore on for Conall as within the home the guests shared stories and engaged in spirited but good natured debates while sipping wine or beer. It appeared that everyone was having a wonderful time. Unfortunately for the hostess, however, the evening would not end well.

Later, with the moon high overhead, the dinner guests began to make their exits in ones and twos. When the guests were all gone, leaving his target alone in her home, Conall still waited, to be sure that no one had forgotten keys or a jacket. He did not want to be interrupted. This night was crucial. It must be perfect.

He slipped silently across the manicured yard wearing his form of a human cop. He tried the front door and smiled when he found it unlocked. Careless and foolish, but it did make his job easier. He glanced back to where he'd left his imp. She was out of sight, but he knew she waited for his call. He raised one finger in a signal to stay put, and then stepped inside.

Once inside the homey entrance, he transformed back into his full demon form and let his wings flare. He could hear running water and clinking glassware, and a pleasant alto singing “So Happy Together.” Using the sounds to cover his nearly silent passage, he crept down the half-flight of stairs and peered around the corner.

Colleen Nation puttered in the kitchen, rinsing dishes and glasses before placing them in the dishwasher. She wore dark jeans with an oversized white shirt belted around a narrow waist. She was singing and moving her feet and hips to the melody, oblivious to the danger that had invaded her home. Her reddish hair, accented with the occasional white strand, was held back in a tail. With her tall, slender frame, she could have been one of the sisters, the resemblance was so strong. There was a certain cast to her nose and jaw though, that made him suspect the basic shape of her daughters’ faces came more from their late father. She seemed happy, and he watched, waiting patiently as she finished her chores.

The wall phone rang as she hung her washcloth neatly on a hook inside the pantry door. She raised a brow when she made note of the caller ID and glanced in surprise at the late hour on the clock before answering. After just a moment, her face went pale and her eyes wide. Her mouth dropped open in a shocked "O" and she said "Oh my God, oh my God... Gran... " She listened a few minutes more, thanked her caller and hung up. She leaned back into the wall, her face still pale and tears starting to well in her eyes.

Conall stepped out into the bright fluorescents of the kitchen. She turned towards him, slowly, her expression full of grief that turned quickly to surprise and then fear. He expected her to turn and run, but instead she lifted her right hand and pointed at him. Golden light flared around her hand and struck against him futilely; a weak impact, a brief sensation of heat. She had power, but it was weak and pale compared to her daughters. And it would help her not at all.

Two fast strides brought him face to face, and her fear turned to terror. He backhanded her once, sending her spinning away from him to slam into the doorway behind her. He let her recover her balance and turn to run from him. She darted into a large, warm, family room, maneuvering to put the overstuffed sofa between them, but Conall’s size was such that he easily stepped over it.

“You… you’re not The Beast, are you?” she gasped as she moved along the wall towards a quintet of lit display cases. “What do you want?”

“I am not…. your Beast, Colleen. And I will tell you what I want…. when I am done with the first part of my task here.”

“What is your task?” She was still moving, but he didn’t concern himself with it, there was no place for her to go.

“I am to make you hurt. Make you bleed. I am to make you know the wrath of the Beast.”

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Can you see this in your mind's eye?

Any sane person would soil their shorts.

Ciara's a *****.

I can't wait for her to get what she deserves.

You and me both, T, you and me both.

Layer upon layer she builds a WONDERFUL story!

Part XII

Crowne Memorial Hospital
Vir stood staring down at his brother. They were considering placing his brother on a ventilator. The nurses had asked him if Seamus had an advanced directive. If not for the machines busily working, it would be easy to assume he was dead already he was so still and pale. Worst of all was the faint odor that lay underneath the hospital smell. It was death. Vir could smell death in the room, circling his brother, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He let out one resolute sigh, squared his shoulders, and went to find his father's assistant. Lauren had claimed a small corner of space in the ICU waiting room and was working steadily away on her laptop.

"Has my father even called to check on Seamus?" he asked as he settled down beside her.

Her thin, serious face turned to him, and she paused before answering. "Mr. Campbell has not been given any reason to think he needs to check on Seamus." She answered finally. She went silent, but he could see she had more to say. She struggled with herself, then spoke again, "....and.... he is in a .... difficult to reach location."

He raised a hand and nodded. "It's time to call him, I think." She nodded and reached for her phone, but he touched her knee to catch her attention. "No, Lauren, it should be me."

One eyebrow rose imperceptibly, which for Lauren was tantamount to a swoon, and then she jotted down a number on a sticky note and handed it to him. "His personal phone. He'll answer if he can - but... he's away working on a... well... very sensitive negotiation. He may be unavailable, Micheal."

"Thank you." Vir took the slip of paper and walked away a few steps. He punched the numbers into his cell phone and his finger hovered over the 'dial' button. What will I say? How do I tell him, when we haven't talked for so long? He hesitated, Will he even listen to me? and his finger lifted away. "I'll call him, Lauren. I just need a minute."

She glanced into Seamus's room and back at him. "Don't wait too long..." she urged.

Collen Nation's home
Colleen's eyes widened and her already pale face turned white. The red marking on her cheekbone where Conall had struck her stood out starkly. Her fear spiked, but she seemed to be keeping her wits.

"Was it you, then, who killed my Gran?" she asked with a quaver in her voice.

"Your grandmother? Not I, Colleen. Though I suspect the Beast had a hand in that as well." He casually tossed a coffee table aside as he relentlessly followed her path.

She backed into a corner and he watched her eyes dart frantically about the room. There was no escape for her, no way out except past him, so when she darted towards the display cases, he just followed after. He was completely taken by surprise when she straightened up, holding a pump action shotgun as if she knew how to use it. He started to lunge forward even as she racked the action, but he was too slow. The buckshot slammed into his chest. He felt the impact of each pellet and roared angrily. The shot had hurt, though he was far too tough for it do any serious damage to his magically tough skin. No, it wouldn't do more than cause him some pain. And make him even more furious.

He snatched the weapon and tossed it away just as she chambered another shell. He slapped her, forehand and back, driving her into the paneled wall behind her, then he grabbed her, lifted her into the air and flung her into display cases. She cried out with more than pain when the case behind her shattered, raining glass shards all over the carpet. A triangular box with a folded American flag tumbled to the ground at her feet. She looked up from it and he could feel the despair and terror wafting off her. He smiled.

Conall was made for violence, big and powerful and he had come to her filled with rage. He gave in to his anger at this woman, as he'd been ordered to do. This foolish woman! If only she’d followed her own family’s tradition, if only she’d stopped before having a third daughter, he would still be free and Ciara would be trapped and powerless. But, no… she put the fate of her entire family, and possibly the world, at risk for sentiment over a dead husband. She'd been selfish and self-indulgent. By her actions she had put her entire family in danger, risked unleashing a major evil power upon her world, and, not incidentally forced Conall to fight for his own freedom. And it pissed him off.

If she’d lived in an apartment or a duplex the noise of the destruction would surely have attracted attention. But Colleen lived in a nice house in a nice, quiet neighborhood with plenty of space between homes. No one would hear what happened. No one would know about the violence. No one would save her from him.

When he made himself stop she was still trying to crawl away from him, though ineffectually, and was drawing ragged, tremoring breaths. He crouched beside her, and pushed her over onto her back. She made a frightened whimpering sound, then went back to trying to breathe.

“Colleen… Colleen, I need you to listen to me.” Her eyes rolled as she tried to focus on him. He cursed in several languages when he noticed her right pupil filled the colored iris of her eye. Her left was normal sized, but the right… the right pupil told a story. That combined with the fine spray of blood when she coughed told him he’d gone further than he'd intended.

He cursed again and pushed to his feet. He turned off the porch light before he opened the door, and whistled. Moments later, his tiny imp swooped in the land at his feet. She held the mutilated body of a grey squirrel in one clawed hand. Conall scowled and yanked the unfortunate creature away from her, wringing its neck and tossing it into the darkness. He grabbed her by one dainty wrist and dragged her into the house.

“Fix the woman,” he instructed as he pulled her down the stairs. “JUST enough so she doesn’t die. Do you understand?”

Trix nodded, but she gasped when they entered the family room. Her golden eyes surveyed the destruction with awe and a tiny smile. No two sticks of furniture remained touching. The paraphernalia from the display cases was scattered around the room, and spatters of blood stained everything. The destruction was near complete.

As they neared the body, Conall could see that Colleen's breathing was rapid and shallow and her skin was white as a bone. A thin stream of blood trickled from her right ear, and her left eye had begun tracking slowly to the left and then jerking suddenly back to the right. The woman was dying. Conall urged Trix forward. She scurried to the body of the destroyed human woman, and crouched. She hesitated before reaching out one of her delicate clawed hands. A trickle of dark red energy flowed from Trix’s fingers and into Colleen Nation’s body. For a long moment nothing happened, and Conall was afraid he’d waited too long to bring in Trix, but then Colleen drew a long, painful breath. Conall leaned forward and was fascinated by her right pupil returning to normal. The woman blinked a few times as her color became more pink, and then sobbed when her eyes focused on him.

“No.. no no…” she muttered and tried to roll away from him. He easily held her in place. He noticed Trix trail a claw through Colleen’s blood and then lick that finger clean. Without even looking, he cuffed her away.

“Colleen, I need you to listen and understand. The Beast, Ciara Banenighe, sent me here. It was her intention that I kill you. I am not going to. Instead, I ask you to pass a message on to your daughters.”

She coughed, and he was relieved to see that it was clear “Who…. are..”

“Tell your daughters that Conall Cian did this to you. Also tell them that I spared you. And most importantly, you have an heirloom, an artifact, that came to you recently from Ireland. It is small and has three red stones -” as he spoke, he felt her right hand move and her eyes flicked down. She was drawing that hand up, but he smacked his own red clawed hand down over her bloody and broken fingers. He could feel a ring on her middle finger. But, he had not seen it. And if he hadn’t seen it, he did not have to take it. “Colleen… this is very important. You must give that ring to your daughters. You must tell them it is the key. They must make their way into Ciara's presence with that ring, and then they can defeat her. And we will all be free of her. Tell them that your life is a sign of good faith from me. It is my gift to them. ” She stared at him, terrified. “Will you tell them? Will you give them my message?”

She coughed again, and finally nodded. “I will…” she breathed, "please.... "

He nodded and stood. He surveyed the ruins of the room until he found a cordless phone. While it was spattered with blood, it appeared to work. First, he dialed the Ghosts Reborn public number. When the young Hero at the Ghosts base answered, Conall spoke quickly, but clearly. "Colleen Nation has been attacked and beaten nearly to death in her home. Tell Sooner Spirit. Tell her that when The Beast learns Colleen still lives, she will send another to finish the job. Tell her to get her mother protected if she wants her to live." Before the hero on the other end of the line could begin to formulate a response, he hung up and then punched three numbers into the dial pad. When the call was connected he spoke in a near perfect imagination of Colleen’s breathless, injured voice. “Help me…. I’ve been… attacked. I need…” he coughed, then spoke again. “I need an ambulance. Hurry…. I’m really hurt.”

Conall dropped the phone in Colleen’s left hand, careful to keep his gaze averted from her right. He heard a tinny voice from the phone, “Ma’am? Ma’am? Are you there?”

Conall spoke one last time. “Tell them, Colleen.”

Conall's Lair
Conall ripped a portal back to his lair and ushered Trix through ahead of him. He stepped through, glancing from the horribly injured human woman on the floor behind him to the helpless human woman still captive and waiting for him. Neither mattered a bit at that moment - Ciara would be anxious to speak to him, and he wanted to control that conversation. Therefore, he would contact her before she could call him to her. A large ornate mirror mounted on the wall opposite his captive would do perfectly.

"Ciara!" he called into the mirror and she appeared almost instantly.

"Tell me!" she urged. "Is it done?"

"It is done, as you ordered. By the end, the human was broken and bleeding, and sobbing for me to stop. However, she did not tell me the location of the artifact you wanted and I did not see anything like you described. I do not have it."

Ciara pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I was sure the old woman sent it to her. Where is it?"

"I did not lay eyes on it, Ciara." Then he shifted, a deliberate move that would appear casual, so that his wings no longer obstructed the view of the room.

Ciara's eyes flashed and raised a brow. "Oh, my pet. What are you doing with the pretty human?" she asked with a smile.

Conall turned as if he'd forgotten the human were there, and smiled. The *****'s fascination with cruelty had distracted her and saved him from questions he'd prefer not to answer. "That one?" he shrugged. "She is friends with an enemy of mine, and she will tell me everything she knows about him before I'm done with her."

"I won't keep you from your fun, then, my Conall."

The mirror went blank again and he turned to the human. He approached her, looming over her, catching her and holding her eyes. He leaned down, placing one hand just beside her neck and with the other cupped her face, tenderly and gently. She began to cry hopelessly.

"You, human, have helped me. In gratitude for that, I will not hurt you." Her eyes, a pretty bright blue, flicked to him. She wanted to believe him. She so desperately wanted to believe that she would survive this and return to her life. He let her believe it until he felt Trix press into his legs. His little imp knew the game. He took his hand from the human's face and reached to stroke Trix's hair. "Trix. You may now touch the human."

Read my stories!

[Treguard]Oooh, NASTY.[/Treguard]

Wicked...

(...and no, I don't mean the new kewl wicked.)

Very.

*shivers*

Very nicely done, indeed. The dimension you give Conall demonstrates what a great writer you are

Found this thread in my travels yesterday and took the time to sit and read what's been posted so far. I am finding this a very enjoyable read and can't wait for more. I've also read the other stories which have been linked in this thread and found them to be just as good. Keep up the good work Sooner and the rest of you too. Might attempt to write a story myself again if I can get rid of this writers block I keep getting hit with, but in the meantime I'll be sitting here in anticipation for the next chapter

hehe i am, plus it helps im not sleeping very much atm (2 hours last night) so yeah, gave me something to do while listening to my partner snore his head off upstairs. Think it was 6 or 7 threads i had open at one point rofl

Well, since you enjoy Sooner's work enough to reall *all* of it in one day, it would be remiss of me not to mention that there are a couple other writers among our group.