Gargoyles rightfully belong to Disney, and this is a non-profit fan
fiction. All original characters belong to Disney, except for Jericho,
was created by Christine Morgan. The rest were created by Rina. Email me with your comments at firstname.lastname@example.org.
From “The Awakening”:
Demona: “Then their descendants should pay! I will have blood for blood!”
From “The Reckoning”:
Demona:” My vengeance is all that you've left me!”
Long before life existed, there was only Chaos; the empty, black
thing that filled the universe with destruction…
Like a panther in the night, she waited. Waited
to feel the warm flesh of the living tear under her nails, waited to use
power her evil mistress had given to her. As the undead creature moved, twitched, within its underground tomb, waiting and
vowing to free her satanic master from its prison…
The sun slowly dipped behind the horizon, streaking
the sky with bright pinks and violets and illuminating the tall Nightstone
in vibrant hues. From behind the tinted windows, Dominique Destine watched the New Yorkers hurry about, sneering scornfully at the mass far
How she despised humans.
Turning away from the window, the scowl still planted on her face, she headed toward her office’s door and made sure that it was locked.
Good, Dominique thought, turning away from the polished black door and reaching up to undo her hair bun. Waves of shimmering scarlet curls
fall down over her delicate shoulders as the darkness of night oozed across the sky. As she moved to take off her high heels, a burning pain
ripped through her side, like it did every night. Doubling over, Dominique groaned in pain, her creamy skin quickly gaining a deep blue tint and
her expensive suit tore noisily. Muscles bulged on her legs, her feet curving into hooked claws and blades spurting from her knees. A long tail
and leathery wings grew up from her body as she hissed in agony, clutching her horned forehead. Her talons dug deep into the tiled floor, and
a final spasm made her shudder.
Then it was over.
No longer stood Dominique in the office; now the winged creature known as Demona crouched, like some tense lioness. She stood, and
then padded over to the window, opening it. A cool breeze drifted in, and she opened her bat-like wings, gazing down at the street far below.
Gracefully, Demona plunged out of the window, her wings opening wide as she caught a warm thermal.
She narrowed her emerald eyes as she contemptuously watched humans far below, going home to their families. Because of them, she had
no family herself, save for her beloved Jericho. To wipe out those vermin, to rid the world of those undeserving scum-that had been her mission
for the last thousand years. A dark shape caught her eye, and she swooped down beside her son. He was so much like her-with his blue-gray
skin and dark red hair, though his face reminded her of his father’s. Demona’s face darkened at the thought of Goliath. Damn him to hell, she
thought, and that female-friend of his.
“Hello mother.” Jericho interrupted her thoughts.
“Did you sleep well, my son?” Demona asked, trying to smile.
He noticed the anger in her green eyes and quickly muttered yes, turning his head away.
She flared her wings and moved toward him.
“Don’t be worried, Jericho. Tonight is a going to be a good one,” she announced, baring her sharp in an inhuman smile, her eyes flashing
Jericho quickly returned the grin.
It was so damn cold in here, the air
stinking heavily of rot. Darkness enveloped the room, dimly reflecting
off of the large orb and it gnarly
hands, set deep into the iron and bone throne. He was forced to the icy ground by one of the black-clad guards, whose dead skull faces leered
at him. His head slammed against the floor, but all that he could think about was the familiar swoosh of cloth in front of him.
“Kial Jurnne,” a voice hissed, like some horrible snake. He looked up at the mention of his name, into the dark eyes of the priestess, her
garments flowing around her body. On her shoulder perched one of her evil mistress’s demons, a hairless beast with sloping horns and watery
black eyes. The priestess stopped down beside him, her long purple fingernails digging into her vulnerable flesh as she forced him to stare into
her soulless eyes. Kial nearly choked on the rotting smell of the woman, as though she had used old blood like perfume.
“Beg Sairthi for forgiveness, and your death will be quick,” the priestess told him, her hot breath playing over his face. She was, of course,
talking about the terrorist attacks focused on the sadistic followers of the monstrous entity. When he didn’t answer, her talon-like nails sank deeper
into his vulnerable flesh. It didn’t matter anymore; his family was dead, fed to the dark entity’s malicious offspring. Atlantis itself had fallen, the island
nation enslaved by Evil…
“To hell with your goddess,” Kial growled, spitting into the woman’s twisted face. The gray-skinned demon, vaguely reminiscent of Sairthi’s
larger children, hissed and leaned forward, thick drool dribbling down its chin.
The priestess’s face contorted in rage, her violet lips curling downward into a furious frown. Her pale hand drew back, and she slashed Kial’s
face, snapping his head violently back.
“You shall be the only one going to hell around here,” she spat, the little demon on her shoulder shrieking wildly.
“Skin him alive,” Sairthi’s priestess ordered, and she snapped her spindly fingers.
Kial did not respond as he was dragged away, beads of dark blood dripping sluggishly from the crimson streaks on his cheek.
Fool. Did he really think that he could stand across Chaos itself?
The priestess watched him go, then turned toward the altar, a large table composed of stacked skulls. Dipping her emaciated hand into a small
clay bowl, she smeared oily fluid across the altar top and murmured an ancient spell, lighting the thick liquid as she did.
“Sairthi kai aris,” the priestess whispered, as dense black fog curled up from the altar, swirling wildly as it rose. The ebony cloud formed into
the hideous face of a serpent, the blood-red eyes boring into the priestess’s own corrupt soul. The relatively young woman had never done this
before; the task had always been assigned to the former high priestess, Uraii, who had been said to dance nude in the forest with Chaos’ demonic
children and drink the blood of infants. No one knew where the old priestess had disappeared to, though some rumored about the possibility of the
cleric directly serving her wicked queen.
“Soon,” the icy voice cackled, “soon this world, this universe, will be mine.”
“My mistress,” the priestess said humbly, her head lowered, “but what about Oberon and Titania?”
“What about them?” Sairthi roared, the small demon atop the priestess’s shoulder bursting into flame. The woman screamed in terror and flung
the burning beast off, even as it faded into white dust.
“My-my queen. I-I met no har-harm-but they could pose-,”
“A threat?” Sairthi, chaos embodied, laughed, “what threat could they pose to me? They have lived for only a few millennia, while I have existed
since the beginning of time itself!”
The priestess looked down at the charred remains of her demon minion.
“Of course you will, my mistress.”
Demona and Jericho landed outside of The New
York Museum of Natural History, and the female gargoyle made her way toward
of the windows. With one razor claw tip, she cut a large hole in one of the windows, her eyes slits as she concentrated. Behind her, Jericho
waited patiently, the warm night air ruffling his dark red mane.
“There,” Demona said, carefully placing the pane of glass beside her. She lithely crawled through, her son quickly following. It was dark
in here, though that was of no consequence to keen gargoyle eyes. They moved past the display cases, Demona’s long tail lashing excitedly
as she saw her goal. It was a gray-black gem, carved into the shapes of twin hands holding a silver orb.
“The Orb of Ze’aih,” she told Jericho.
“What is it?” He questioned, stooping down to study it.
“It supposedly is a cursed object crafted by the demon Ze’aih and is capable of mass destruction.” She smiled. “Which is why I want it.”
Demona then turned back to smash the case holding it. Immediately, a shrill alarm sounded, echoing through the building.
“Oops,” Demona chuckled. Tucking the heavy orb under on arm, she turned to leave.
“Hold it right there!” A voice shouted. The two gargoyles spun and saw the quivering human guard, who timidly held his weapon before
him. Jericho’s eyes lit up like two beacons, his lips pulling back to reveal needle fangs. Before the human could properly react, the male was
upon him, slashing his stomach, streams of blood spurting out. The man shrieked in fear and agony, and Demona stepped forward, her broad
Jericho, holding the dying man up by the collar, looked at her, perplexed. Demona stopped before her son and ran a single claw over the
“Let me do it,” she instructed him, then her hand flashed out, ending the pathetic human’s life in an instant. His hot blood sprayed across
the orb, and Demona felt a bitter cold run through her. She shook her head and glanced down at the limp body, laying face down in a pool
“I would give anything to wipe out those vermin,” she said aloud.
“Did you say something?” Demona demanded, as they walked back toward the window in which they had come from.
“No mother,” he answered. She felt a shiver run through her spine, but ignored it, her face bland as she slipped the orb into the leather pouch
at her waist.
“Come. We have much to do,” Demona said as she climbed up the wall, her talons digging deep into the wood. After they had both gone
outside, she opened her wings and leapt off of the building, Jericho doing the same. The night was pleasantly warm, and Demona’s heart raced
at the thought of finally being able to rid herself of these human brutes, who had nearly wiped out their species.
As they headed toward her mansion, a feral, cougar-scream made her pause in mid-flight. Jericho heard it too, for he turned his head in the
direction. It was the angry shriek of a gargoyle, Demona knew that much, though it was quite unfamiliar.
Without saying anything, mother and son swooped down toward the shadowy alleyway, where two raggedly-dressed humans with various
piercings on their ugly bodies taunted a strange female gargoyle.
“What are you going to do now, beast?” One of the men spat. The female’s eyes lit a hellish scarlet and she screeched in fury. Her tormentors
took a step forward, but Demona crashed into them both, slamming their heads to the ground with an audible thump.
She landed gracefully, hissing as she spun to face them, claws clicking on the pavement.
“Oh, shit man,” one said from the ground, eyes as round as saucers.
The two humans, dazed, fled like spooked deer. Normally Demona would have give chase and tore their eyes out, but this new gargoyle
fascinated her. She was huddled in the corner, a beautiful creature with power-blue skin and short gold hair.
“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you,” Demona promised, studying the other gargoyle. She didn’t look like she belonged to her old clan - two ram
horns curled around her large elf ears, a row of curved spikes trailing from her neck to the end of her twitching tail. Her serrated wings reluctantly
opened as she looked up at her savior, deep purple eyes gleaming in the white light of the moon.
“Do you have a name, young one?” Centuries of living with these foul humans had forced their odd concept of names onto her.
“Kit. I’m called Kit,” the gargoyle said shyly, her soft pink lips curling up into a terrified smile.
“Kit. Such a pretty name,” Demona commented, gently resting her hand in the female’s shoulder, “where are you from? I thought our species
were all gone…”
Kit lowered her head sadly.
“They are. All except for me.” She lifted her young head, fresh tears running from her violet eyes. Demona felt her heart break, then fill with
burning hatred for the humans.
“My-my clan. We were nomads-we-we moved everywhere. Then the humans-the Hunter-found us. They were all killed during the day, except
for me.” She wiped a tear away. “And once I heard about gargoyles in America, I knew that I had to find you. I-it has been so lonely…” With that,
she sobbed, and Demona held her in her arms.
“There, there, child. You have nothing to fear. You’re not alone anymore.” She looked up as Jericho landed in front of them.
“Jericho, this is Kit,” Demona announced, and Kit raised her lovely head, purple eyes watching him through a river of tears.
“Kit,” he repeated softly, and the way that he looked at her sent a peculiar stab of jealously through her heart. Demona ignored it, though.
“Her clan was destroyed,” she started to explain, before Kit angrily cut her off.
“By the humans! The damned humans!” She yelled, her hands balled into tight fists. Kit could not see Demona secretly smile at her son, the
way the devil grins about gaining a new soul. She helped the young gargoyle up, who shook slightly.
“Poor thing,” she said softly, then turned to her son, who was still staring. Another eruption of rage threatened to overwhelm her, but she kept
her envy down.
“Come with us. We will help you,” Demona told her, hand still on her shoulder. Kit sniffed, the red glow vanishing from her eyes.
“How I would like to kill them all,” she said weakly, the bracelets on her upper arm jingling as she unclenched her balled hands.
“You’re get your chance. Come with us,” Demona said, leaping up to the bottom of a nearby fire escape and gliding off. What luck! She
thought, Ze’aih’s Orb and a new ally, all in one night! It was fortunate that they had spotted her before Goliath and his human-loving clan did.
Turning her head and peeking over her shoulder, she watched the young female, who was not much older than Angela or Jericho. The pain and
suffering on her face made Demona’s hatred for humans grow, and she gently patted the heavy lump in her pouch. Soon, she thought, even as the
three shapes passed over the round silver sphere of the moon.
She saw her mansion, an old Victorian-style one with a considerable amount of land and marble fountains, far from the filth of humans. Her
claws dug into the roof as she unlatched one of the windows and stepped out into the wooden hallway, flipping on a light switch as she went.
Immediately the light illuminated the hallway, and Demona emptied the contents of her pouch.
“When do we start, mother?” Jericho asked eagerly, green eyes lighting with excitement.
“Soon. Be patient,” she said, and looked over at Kit, who was watching with interest.
“The Orb of Ze’aih will destroy this wretched city,” Demona explained, a triumphant gleam in her eye. Kit bared her sharp teeth in a such twisted
smile that the other female found herself startled.
“Good,” she purred.
Demona turned away, glad to look at something other than Kit’s strange purple eyes, though she could still feel their gaze burning into her back.
Something deep inside wasn’t right; perhaps Kit was a spy for Goliath and his human bitch. She glanced through the corner of her eye at the other
gargoyle, who had buried her face in her clawed hands once more.
No, she couldn’t be a spy, Demona was somehow certain of that. Still, she thought, it was better to be cautious, for all gargoyles couldn’t be
trusted-Thailog had proven that much to her.
“You two should bear witness to this,” she announced, her blue hand stroking the smooth orb as though it was a favorite pet. Cradling the demonic
object in one arm, she motioned with the other for them to follow her into the next room. They did so, folding their leathery wings around their shoulders
as they went.
“Amazing,” Kit whispered, reaching up for a last time to wipe her puffy, tear-stained eyes. It was; the room was large, cluttered with the spell
books and potions of a thousand years, all awash in the yellow light from the chandelier overhead.
“It is, isn’t it? I’ve been collecting these books for centuries,” Demona said, pausing before a wooden shelf to grab a red, cloth-bound book.
“The Veneficium Malus ,” breathed Kit.
“How do you know that?” The other gargoyle asked, surprised, still holding the book with its faded pattern of thorns.
The golden-haired gargoyle lowered her horned head.
“My mother. She taught me about sorcery before-before she died.”
“The Veneficium is quite old.” Demona held up the crimson volume, cherishing it. “I stole it from an elderly mage before I disemboweled him.”
“Is that where you heard of that orb?” Kit asked, tilting her head slightly.
“Yes. And that is where I will find the information to destroy those miserable creatures.”
With that, Demona opened the dusty book and flipped through the brittle, yellowed pages.
“When I heard that they would be displaying the Orb in Manhattan, I know that I couldn’t miss the opportunity to steal such a powerful magical
object,” she mumbled, half to Kit and Jericho, and half to herself.
She carefully laid the ancient book down and turned to her son and her new ally.
“Prepare yourselves,” Demona said, her lavender wings flaring out. Stretching out one arm, she focused on the words before her, chanting the
dark spell. Kit and Jericho caught snatches of the spell, the female gargoyle watching with keen interest. A soft green-yellow glow began to radiate
from Demona as her eyes turned a pure white, possessed by the wicked magic. Her hand lit a blinding emerald color, deepening to a hellish green
Demona threw her head back, her mouth in a strange, contorted expression. It was almost as though the spell had reached its climax, building
higher and higher…until the green glow disappeared into the Orb.
Jericho held his breath expectantly and watched as his mother rushed to snatch up the Orb.
“No! That wasn’t supposed to happen!” Demona wailed, clutching at her red hair.
“Mother, I-,” he began, before turned around, eyes aglow.
“Shut up!” She howled, before knocking the orb to the floor in a fit of rage. Jericho stepped back, frightened. Demona growled angrily and then
took a deep breath.
“It was supposed to work. I’ll never wipe out those humans,” she said sadly.
An icy hand gripped her shoulder and sent a supernatural chill through her body. It was Kit, all her despair changed into dark lust.
“You still can,” she whispered, her breath oddly cold.
“Ms. Maza. How are you?” Owen asked politely from behind his
large desk, watching as the raven-haired detective pushed open the glass
“Fine.” She shoved her slim hands into the pockets of her jeans.
He raised one blonde eyebrow.
“You certainly don’t seem that way tonight,” he said, adjusting his glasses.
“I need to talk to Goliath,” Elisa explained.
“I see. Well then, come with me,” Owen replied, walking across the floor toward the elevator. She got in as well, pausing to rub her eyes sleepily.
God, she was so tired. And the last thing she wanted was to be here, but she had to see Goliath right away.
A warm wind whipped her long dark hair back, revealing her large dark eyes as she stepped out of the elevator. The clan had already awoken,
the stone fragments of their skin testament to that.
“Elisa,” Goliath, the leader of the clan, said, stretching out a purple hand to greet her. He saw the worried expression on her face and frowned,
folding his bat wings around his broad shoulders.
“What is it?”
“The chief’s been telling me that there’s been a series of robberies lately,” she said slowly, even as the rest of the gargoyle clan swooped down
to watch her.
Goliath raised a horned eyebrow.
“The bodies of those found at the scene had talon marks in them,” Elisa stated.
“Most likely. At least, that’s what the Quarrymen have been saying.”
“Demona and Jericho?” Goliath asked, answering his own question.
“I think so. It certainly wouldn’t surprise me,” she replied.
Goliath paused, then continued.
“Has your chief said anything about other potential robberies?”
“She thinks that they might be attacking Southside Chemicals, since all of their other robberies have taken place at chemical plants.”
“What could they want with chemicals?” Brooklyn wondered, turning his red-horned head.
“Nothing good, I can tell you that,” Lexington told him.
Goliath looked at the others and nodded.
“Then we must stop them.”
Oberon stared out over the horizon, where the dark troops
of Sairthi marched through the streets, their swords and sickle-shaped
with human blood. It worried him deeply, even as his wife, Titania, walked up behind him.
“Why do you worry about these mortals?” She asked, staring down at the ragged slaves disdainfully. Oberon turned.
“ How long will it be before Chaos has her own claws dripping with fae blood? She-it-is more powerful than even we.”
Titania scowled, placing her hands on her hips.
“Do you truly think so, husband?”
“Oberon does,” he said, “ever since she arrived from the other realm-,”
The queen of the fae was quiet, placing one thin, greenish-blue finger on her sharp chin.
“Then how can Chaos be stopped?” She asked, looking into his azure eyes.
“We don’t know, but we might have an idea.”
It had begun to rain, the cold drops splattering
lightly on Goliath’s wings as he soared over New York, the others following.
Elisa had stayed
behind, though after much convincing.
“There,” the leader announced, pointed toward a heavy steel door that had been punched in.
“Demona, alright,” Brooklyn said, his eyes flashing white.
“Let’s go,” Lexington said, spreading his arms wide and soaring down. They landed outside of the door and then crept in, past the ruined equip-
ment. Goliath heard a soft rustle, but before he could turn, a bright red laser sliced into his shoulder. Two pairs of glowing eyes appeared, and
Jericho and Demona stepped out from behind a desk, the female gargoyle brandishing a laser.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Goliath and his do-gooders,” Demona hissed. Jericho grinned evilly at his sister, who snarled back. Smiling, Demona aimed
the laser at Goliath, who was clutching at his damaged shoulder. There was a sudden noise as a bullet struck the laser, sending it flying.
“Goliath’s human whore,” Demona spat, her eyes narrowed, then motioned toward her son. Elisa took another step forward.
“Hold it right there,” the detective ordered.
“I think not.”
Demona’s tail lashed out and sent a computer hurtling toward Elisa. Broadway dove in time and pushed her out the way, even as the machine
shattered on the floor. The clan went to help Goliath, but Angela turned, fury in her eyes.
She took off after the two, her anger leading her on into the outside, where puddles had begun to form. Angela was about to spring, but another
shape leapt off the low building, knocking her to the asphalt. She tasted blood, and craned her neck to see a female gargoyle, one with ram horns
and odd dark purple eyes. In the stranger’s hand was a knife, and she was poised to slash Angela, who lay pinned beneath her.
“No!” Demona said, seeing the other gargoyle. The female raised one gold eyebrow, her eyes revealing her wild blood lust. She paused, looked
at Demona, who was obviously defending her daughter.
“We have what we need,” she called out.
The female frowned and slammed Angela’s head into the concrete, hard, and then the world blacked out.
Kial sat within the damp cell, trying to ignore the
rotting body next to him and the burning slashes on his face. He was dead,
sentenced to die
within the hour. But he cared little; he had defied Chaos, had defied Sairthi, and had avenged his family. What other reason was there to live?
He glanced over at the children in the cell across from, eyes sunken deep within their skulls. A pang of guilt momentarily touched him, but he
shook his head. There was nothing he could do against the forces of destruction. He lowered his head, auburn hair falling down over his face. A
skittering caught his attention. Startled, he looked up into a human face, albeit with pointed ears and snow-white hair.
“Shhh,” the man warned.
“Who-who are you?”
“My name’s Puck. But that’s not important,” the stranger said.
“What do you want?”
“Come with me, before Sairthi senses my magic.”
Before Kial could properly react, the pointy-eared man grasped his hand and pulled him toward the stone wall, a glowing green-blue portal
opening in it. It was rather like moving through a cool stream, and he didn’t feel the least bit wet when he emerged from the other side, on a beach.
“Where are we?”
“Avalon. The birth place of the fae,” Puck replied, moving along the damp sand. Kial ran to catch up with him.
“You still haven’t told me what you want.”
“Oberon needs help to defeat Chaos. And for some reason, he chose you.”
“I see. But why should I help you?”
“You want revenge, don’t you?”
Kial was silent.
“Yes. Of course I do,” he said, thinking of his dead family.
“Good,” the white-haired man said, leading Kial to a large stone castle, where a green-faced man with snowy hair stood by a window, three
identical women, one with blond, one with ebony, and one with silvery-white hair, and a tall blue-skinned figure.
“Such pathetic creatures, really,” the blue-skinned woman commented.
“Not now, Titania.” The man, presumably Oberon, smiled. “We are fortunate that Puck found you.”
“I don’t understand how I can help you,” Kial said.
“You won’t be alone,” the king of the fae stated, gesturing toward the rows of statues in the courtyard, hundreds of them, with wings and horns
and razor talons.
“Not just statues. The warriors that will aid you. Come.”
Another cool breeze blew over them, and they were standing outside, amidst the rows of gray statues. Kial studied them. No two were the same,
except that they were horribly inhuman, some with curved beaks and others with pointed ears. With a wave of Oberon’s hand, the statues began
to crack. One by one, they burst from their stone shells, spraying rock on Kial and Puck.
“What are they?” He whispered with amazement.
“They are called gargoyles,” Oberon explained. One of the females, a quite beautiful creature with sea-green skin and dark copper-colored hair,
moved forward, her deep blue wings rustling.
“She will be your second in command,” the fae king said.
“Does she have a name?”
“No. Their only purpose is to protect,” Oberon said, though the female’s emerald eyes gleamed with intelligence, her overall color reminding him
of the Mediterranean Sea.
“Why me? Why did you pick me as the leader?” Kial asked, confused.
“Why not? You want to destroy Sairthi, just as we do,” Oberon responded.
“That’s true,” he agreed, watching the gargoyle, who for some reason he identified as Emerald.
“Are you all right?” Broadway asked Angela, who was
nursing a dark bruise on her head.
“Yes.” She groaned. “ But who was that gargoyle with my mother?”
“I don’t know,” Goliath replied, his thick purple arms crossed across his barrel chest.
“Well, I intend to find out,” Elisa stated.
Dominique smiled cruelly as she flipped through the
readouts on her sprawling desk. They showed data about the toxic chemical
that she planned
to create and dump into Manhattan’s main reservoir. Her other plan had failed miserably, but this time…
“Ms. Destine?” Stephani’s voice crackled over the intercom.
“I’m busy,” she snarled.
“But…there’s an Elisa Maza here to see you and she says that it’s official business…”
Damn that wretched human!
Quickly stuffing the pile of papers within her top draw, Dominique sat up in time to see the human bitch walk through the doors, Stephani vainly
trying to stop her.
“Ms. Maza. What a….pleasure to see you again,” she said, folding her hands and trying hard to grin.
“Cut the chit-chat,” Elisa said, and Dominique stood up, motioning for Stephani to leave. Once she had locked the black doors, she turned around.
“Coffee?” She uttered, through clenched teeth.
“If you didn’t put the cyanide in it,” the detective said dryly.
Dominique smoothed back her red hair and took a deep breath. She leaned close to Elisa, her polished nails nearly touching her.
“What do you want, human?”
“What were you doing near Southside Chemicals?”
She laughed, feigning innocence.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean, Demona,” Elisa said quietly.
“No, I don’t.” Dominique narrowed her eyes. “May I see your warrant, Detective?”
“I’ll be back, I promise you that.”
Elisa spun around and left and Demona realized that as soon as this race was destroyed, the better.
The fire crackled softly within the marble fireplace as Jericho crossed his legs, leaning forward to sip from his plastic mug. The bitter liquid was
something called coffee, and since he had never experienced it on Avalon, he found it to be exotic. Demona had left for the Nightstone building to
pick up several important documents, and he was left alone. Well, not exactly alone. Kit was here, taking a shower upstairs. His mind drifted as he
thought of the female gargoyle, so mysterious and cold, like his mother, the thought of her slender legs sending shivers down his back. He could
never have Demona, but Kit…perhaps…with her deep purple eyes…
“Hello Jericho,” a sweet voice interrupted his thoughts. Jericho turned his head, nearly spilling the hot coffee on his lap. It was Kit, leaning
against the doorframe, her wet blonde curls plastered against her head. It was so bizarre, as if she had heard his thoughts…Slowly, she unfurled
her wings, revealing her gloriously naked body as she slunk forward, the orange-red flames reflected in her dark eyes. Jericho was taken back,
filled with a mixture of shock and desire.
Kit stood before him, tracing his lip with her claw.
“Mmmm. Your mother is quite lucky. Such a handsome fellow,” she whispered, her curved breasts inches from his face. His chin in her hands,
she pulled him forward, gently licking his ear as her violet eyes bored into his, full of cold beauty. Jericho shivered, and the mug fell to the floor
with a splash as Kit began kissing his mouth, her left hand reaching down for his loincloth.
“So handsome indeed,” she seductively said, voice low as he moved forward, touching her smooth, soft skin and velvety wings. His lips pressed
firmly against hers, and he saw his own reflection in those large purple eyes. Something deep inside screamed that it was wrong, but heavenly warmth
filled him, muting his senses.
“Yes. That’s it,” Kit said, her long tail twirling around his as he slipped off his loincloth and moved to meet her…
She shut the door behind her, the thick stack of
files in one hand. It was strangely quiet in here, and Demona listened,
not daring to call out to the
other two. She remained in a half-crouch as she stealthily moved through the darkness, peering into every room. A thousand years of life had taught
her that enemies could strike at any time-MacBeth, the Hunter, Goliath. There was nothing, until she reached the living room, the flickering light from
the fire illuminating two figures, joined at the waist. Her mouth dropped open as Jericho, her Jericho, groaned, Kit below him, her gold curls draped
across the worn couch.
“What are you doing?” She shouted, her voice strangled. Her son looked up, his face twisted in shame. Kit’s pointy teeth were bared as Jericho
“Mother,” he began pathetically, trying to pull up his loincloth. A rage was boiling up inside of her, one that she couldn’t understand. Her hands
shook, and she stormed out of the room, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Kial looked out over the barren wasteland that was
once Atlantis, the magnificent structures reduced to soldering ash. The
sky was a deep crimson,
with splatters of oily black, and the air stank of fire and decay. Truly, he thought, this is the end of the world…
Beside him, Emerald looked down at the ruined island.
“Horrible, isn’t it?” Kial asked, absent-mindedly.
“Yes. Sairthi must be stopped,” Emerald agreed, lashing her thin tail. She crouched down on one of the granite rocks overlooking the valley, her
claws digging into the stone. He found himself staring at her, the sharp curves of her body and the greenish maiden face, with all of its warrior beauty.
Emerald saw him looking at her and smiled, locks of dark coppery hair falling along her young face. They had spent weeks together, planning and
surveying the area. The gargoyle had an avid interest in human culture, and seemed curious about everything.
“It must have been such a pretty world,” Emerald commented, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her curving brow ridges.
“Yes. My wife used to say that.”
“She was a lucky woman to have you,” the gargoyle said softly, gently squeezing his hand in her own. He grinned down at her and felt a welcome
warmth that his life had been so devoid of. His hand reluctantly left hers, and he turned away. As the sun was rising above the horizon, Kial went to
talk with another warrior, a male with amber skin and bull horns.
“You love him, don’t you?” A voice hissed behind him. Startled, Emerald turned around to face one of the others, a towering gargoyle with cobalt-
colored flesh, sloping spines, and yellow cat eyes set into a human, which earned him the nickname Puma.
“I don’t know-,” Emerald protested weakly. Puma just sneered, his thick white mane falling down over his broad shoulders as he stepped forward,
bat wings flaring.
“He’s not even your kind,” the male said.
“He belongs to a species that has us risking their lives for them. Perhaps it might be better to just serve Sairthi,” Puma growled.
“I don’t believe you. Get out of my sight,” Emerald spat. Puma just stared back disdainfully, then gradually moved toward the clan once more,
only looking over his shoulder once.
The warm sun felt good against his skin, and Puma watched the bright orb as it floated high in the afternoon sky, dappled with light blues and violets.
He looked back toward Emerald, perhaps the most beautiful female in the clan. She was snuggling against that feeble human Kial, who was talking to
who over a map. Jealousy burned up within him, and he lashed his cobalt-colored tail angrily. He would kill that infernal human, if the opportunity arose.
He looked toward the dark spire in the middle of Atlantis, where Sairthi, where Chaos, waited.
Perhaps that opportunity had just arrived.
He leaned closer. The sweet scent of lilacs filled the air, and his talons gently clicked on the hardwood floor as he peeked into the open door
where yellow light was spilling forth. It was Demona’s room, but a powder-blue tail, much lighter than his mother’s, was twitching from beneath
the Chinese-style screen. Jericho stopped, knowing now that it was Kit, and that he couldn’t betray his mother again…
But when the other gargoyle stepped out, clothed only in a deep yellow and black silk robe that matched her golden hair, he felt his senses become
dulled. She crawled onto the large bed, her slender legs spread out majestically beneath her.
Come to me, Jericho…
He could only stare helplessly as she ran her hand over the robe, her fingers playing with the straps as she revealed one bare breast, her eyes half-
closed as she flicked her tail coyly.
You can’t resist me…
Jericho stopped in front of the bed, and Kit reached past him to pluck a deep red rose from its crystal vase beside the dresser. She laughed quietly
and reached up to kiss him, rose still in hand. He closed his eyes, savoring the kiss until he felt a sudden pain in his wrist. To his surprise, the rose had
scratched him, drawing round beads of blood. Before Jericho could even move, Kit had taken his wounded hand and sucked at the crimson liquid,
her pale pink lips brushing erotically against his skin.
“You’re wonderful, Kit,” he said softly, cupping his head in his hands. She smiled mysteriously and closed her lavender eyes. SLAM! The door
shut with a loud thud, and the lights flickered out. Jericho felt the flesh in his hands go horribly cold, and he raised one red eyebrow as he glanced
down at Kit.
“As are you, Jericho,” she hissed, her eyes snapping open. He nearly jumped, for they were blood-red, spilt down the center by a vertical pupil
that drew all the light within to itself. Her mouth opened wide as she screamed with wild laughter, her talons turning jet-black, digging deep into his
shoulders as her back crunched, expanding, thick plates of bone bursting forth. Jericho tried desperately to pull back, only to see the black, skeletal
snakes erupt from her skin in streams of bright scarlet, burrowing themselves deep into his own. He shrieked…
And opened his eyes. He was curled up into a fetal position on the couch, his skin slick and clammy from cold sweat. With one trembling hand,
Jericho swept back his damp hair, trying hard to think like a warrior, trying to keep his heart from pounding in his chest. He felt eyes boring into his
back, and he sat straight up, noticing the dark silhouette standing against the velvet curtains.
Her purple eyes gleamed with malevolence, and a strange grin contorted her blue face.
“Wha-what are you doing here?” Jericho gasped, mouth dry.
“No-no. Of course not,” he sputtered.
“That’s good,” she responded softly, the breeze from the open window blowing her shimmering hair.
You can’t resist me…
“I want you to begin work on the toxin immediately,” Demona said,
cradling the phone as she settled down on the wooden chair, watching the
television near the toaster. There was something about a car wreck, and the reporter was droning on about the casualties. Normally, she would have
been watching avidly, but her phone call was much more important.
“Of course,” the voice purred at the other end. That voice, with its strange huskiness, belonged to no other than Sophia Henry-better known as
Sophia Servarius, the daughter of the infamous doctor. Demona has meant her several years ago, a black-haired human with soul-piercing eyes and a
sadistic smile. She has inherited her father’s penchant for the dark side of science. She, much to Demona’s delight, also liked to experiment on humans,
though it was rumored that she often used herself as a test subject.
“Good. I will forward the money to you right away,” Demona promised, hanging up the phone. She flipped off the television and headed out the
room, hoping that her son wasn’t with Kit. Somewhere deep inside, she knew that it wasn’t right for her to think this way. Jericho had a right to be
happy, though it hurt her deeply to think of Kit and him together, not when she had been alone for so long…
Fortunately, he was alone, his tail draped over his legs.
She smiled, and moved toward him.
“What is it?”
“Don’t worry about the humans, Jericho. They will soon all be dead.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
Demona didn’t pursue the matter further, except for asking one question that her son didn’t know.
Kit moved through the large room, toward the
Orb of Ze’aih that lay discarded by Demona. Her serrated wings flared out
as she caressed the
object. An eerie glow filled the room as her eyes lit up, far brighter than those of a normal gargoyle. Freedom. It was so close that she could taste it.
The high priestess of Chaos frowned and tapped her long
nails against the stone window frame. Not since her mistress Sairthi had
arrived two years
ago from the other realm to once again take its/her place among the universe had she felt so uneasy. Chaos has promised her that Oberon’s forces
would be stopped, but she was still uneasy after seeing his winged creations.
“You shouldn’t be,” Sairthi said, reading her thoughts. The priestess turned to face her master, who now took the form of a hideous woman with
long spikes for hair and burning gold eyes, her spindly hands folded at her black robes, the cartwheel of skulls, the emblem of Chaos, embroidered
on the silky material. Her face, little more than a gaping skull with those unnerving yellow eyes, was in the direction of the priestess.
“But-but mistress…the fae and the gargoyles…they are…”
“They are nothing. Besides,” she gestured toward the large, ogee-arched door across the shadowy room, “we have a trump card.”
The priestess’s mouth dropped open as the gargoyle stepped into the room.
“Meet Puma, dear servant,” Chaos hissed.
The lab was sterile and reeked of ammonia. Dominique kept her
arms folded over her ironed suit, glancing about at the milling humans
Dr. Henry, or Dr. Servarius, as Demona often called her, walked over to where the disguised gargoyle was standing. Sophia was a short woman, but
her dark green eyes and the sharp angles of her pale face gave her a wolfish look.
“Is it almost ready?” Dominique asked impatiently.
“Yes. The chemical, though, is quite…difficult to make,” the doctor replied.
Sophia was quiet, then spoke, her odd eyes boring into Demona’s.
“I know that this is none of my business, but what exactly is this chemical for? It’s quite lethal, you know.”
“I know that. And all you should know is that I want it,” Dominique snapped, her high heels clicking on the tiled floor as she left. It was five,
according her watch, and her head was throbbing. She was looking forward to getting home and perhaps taking a hot bath to calm her nerves. Of
course, Kit and Jericho wouldn’t be awake yet, and she enjoyed the thought of being alone, if not for a short time.
When she arrived home, she kicked off her confining shoes and went upstairs, pausing to gaze outside at her son and Kit. Jericho was on all fours,
his face almost serene, while the other gargoyle was frozen in a chaotic posture, talons spread wide and wings flared. Demona smiled; it was like
having a real clan again, and she would retake this world as its leader.
She turned on the antique faucet and slipped out of her clothes while the thick steam filled the room. Dominique looked into the mirror, repulsed
by her human face. She stepped away, into the bathroom, and sighed with relief, sinking into the hot water. Her worries faded away as she sank into
a half-conscious state, remembering bits of her past. They were disturbing; she could remember being taunted as a child by the humans, always feeling
inferior until the death of her mother…
She had been young then, having just attained flight. At the time, she had no name, though would later be called Angel by her mate
and Demona by Macbeth. Her life, though hard at times, was at least not so lonely; she had her clan and her rookery siblings, who were
also her only friends. The humans, of course, didn’t bother with her, because they thought of the young gargoyle as an ugly beast.
It was during one of those times that the human children had taunted her and hit her with sharp sticks had she first met Scarlet, the
name given to the old outcast female who lived by herself. She was an outcast, accused of speaking against the humans. The young Demona
has studied the female, who had amber-colored skin and the same characteristics as she, down to the mane of dark red hair.
“Elder,” she said, for she did not know how to address the female, “why do they hurt me so?”
“They do not understand,” replied Scarlet.
Demona had been silent.
“Come with me,” the old one said, motioning with a claw.
Scarlet had shown her to her tiny hut by the sea, the inside smelling sweetly of herbs.
“We are the humans protectors,” the elder had said, stooping down to pick up a calico-colored cat, “but they do not appreciate this.” She
sighed. “I lost my mate in a battle protecting a village, and they repaid me with disgust.”
“It must be terrible being alone,” Demona commented, petting the purring cat.
“Aye, but at least I had a hatchling before my beloved died. All I can remember was that she had hair like my own…”
Demona, being raised in a clan where parents didn’t matter, thought little of this at the time. Everyday, she would visit Scarlet and hear
stories of the world. One night, however, she found that the hut was empty, the cat mewing in hunger. Picking up the little animal, she hurried
to find Scarlet, only to see a crowd of humans.
“I’m glad this rogue gargoyle’s dead,” a blonde-haired man announced, poking at a dead body like one might disdainfully finger an animal
carcass. Demona’s eyes widened, and tears ran down her face as she recognized Scarlet, her red hair thickly matted with blood.
Dominique opened her eyes, wondering if she had fallen asleep. She stood up and toweled off, shaking despite the warmth. She felt so vulnerable and
shut her eyes until the familiar cracking of bones ripped through her body. Moments later, she was a gargoyle once more, and she changed into the loincloth
that hung beside the tub.
She walked slowly, the dark memories haunting her. Visions flashed before her eyes, of the death of her clans and the loss of Goliath. Demona bit
her lip and saw the hot tears begin to blur her vision.
“What’s the matter?”
Whirling, she came face to face to Kit, whose large eyes gleamed with sympathy.
“Nothing,” she responded, her wings folding over her shoulders.
“It will tear you up inside if you don’t tell me.”
“I’ve dealt with it for the past millennium.”
“And it hasn’t affected you at all?”
Demona sighed and moved toward the window, the white light of the moon catching her bright hair.
“Yes,” she said quietly.
The other gargoyle stood beside her, noticing the strangled tone of Demona’s voice.
“It’s been so lonely…You don’t know what it’s like…”
“But I do. My clan was destroyed as well.”
“Sad, isn’t it? And I’ve been doomed to that fate for eternity,” she whispered, moving over to the couch. “I’ve lost everything to the humans-even
Goliath…. and my innocence.” Kit could see the tears brimming from her green eyes, and she hastily wiped them away.
“That is why you long for revenge?”
“Yes,” she muttered, clutching her head in her hands. The other female seemed to sense her suffering and drew ever closer.
“What happens if I told you that I had the power to make your vengeance a reality?”
She lifted her face, confused.
“I am a more powerful mage than most think,” Kit said.
“You could destroy them?”
“Of course. But for a price…”
Demona’s eyes flared crimson.
“Anything! I would give anything!”
“Then it shall be done,” Kit said, and turned to face the window once more.
“What is that?” Emerald asked, running one sea green
hand over the gold object.
“It’s the key to Ze’aih’s Orb. It will be used to trap Chaos,” Puck explained to the group gathered around him. Since Sairthi had returned, his love
of mischief had vanished, replaced by solemn quietness.
“But how will we-,”the female gargoyle began, before a wild screech cut her off. Above, darker than even the night sky, dozens of Chaos’s twisted
minions, their bony wings and drooling heads snapping wildly, flew.
“How could Sairthi have found out?” Kial asked.
“I don’t know,” a yellow male shouted, “but we have to stop them.” One of the creatures, flames shooting from its open mouth, landed next to the
human. Emerald, seeing her love in danger, leaped up onto the monster’s spiked back and forced it to the ground. Elsewhere, the others were doing
“Where’s Puma?” Emerald called out, but to no avail. The cat-eyed gargoyle was nowhere to be seen. A sudden rumble shook the ground and the
earth shook. A clawed hand, each massive finger larger than a building, erupted from the ground, throwing stones and entire trees onto the frantic
creatures below. It had the muscled torso of a man, but the legs and bladed tail like some giant dragon. A huge head, with greenish-yellow snake eyes
and dripping fangs, glared down at the gargoyles that swarmed beneath its reptilian bulk…
With a frustrated snarl, Dominique hung up her cell
phone. Cursed Servarius! That damn woman couldn’t even produce a simple
“Another plan ruined,” she mumbled, heaving the phone at her window. Shards of glass rained down as the glass shattered, and Demona angrily
marched into the house, nearly pulling her hair out. She would slit Sophia’s throat as soon as possible, she was promising herself, before she felt the
coldness slither across her foot. Instinctively, Demona brought her foot up as the black snake squirmed by, leaving a thin trail of dark liquid, presumably
blood, behind it.
“Just a snake,” she thought, though an eerie feeling filled her. She moved slowly, knowing well that the other gargoyles were not yet awake.
“What is it dear?” a voice rasped, horrible and shrill, like the sound of bones breaking. Demona dropped down to the floor and grabbed for a lamp,
her only weapon. She spotted the shadow on the floor, a strange black color that seemed to swirl with a life of its own. Frightened, she gazed up.
The creature that floated above her was not human, nor gargoyle, nor even a fae. Perhaps, in a sense, one could call it a female, for its wore a black
garment, laced with bleached bones and barbed silver, that covered its sickly white breasts. Violet hair curled down from beneath a horned helmet, the
green feline eyes burning into Dominique’s as she noticed the dark snakes writhing over their mistress.
“Who-who are you?” Demona gasped.
“Don’t you recognize me?” the creature said, baring sharp teeth. Its face melted into that of Kit, the blue skin dark against the white flesh.
“But I am better known to you as Uraii, high priestess of Sairthi. Oh, how we have waited centuries for one such as yourself to find us,” the woman
replied, and the name sent shivers up Demona’s spine. Sairthi…the ancient name for Chaos…
“What do you want of me?” Dominique said, terrified. The creature landed to the ground, its black clothes, with their jagged silver edges, gleaming
dimly in the light.
“You made a promise, gargoyle. Now my mistress wants her payment.” The green snake eyes were mere slits as Uraii tilted her head, brushing
one sickle-shaped nail lightly over Demona’s flushed face. “And now it’s time to pay.”
“You can’t be serious. What deal have I made with your master, Chaos?” Dominique was backing away, eyes wide.
“You told me that you would give anything to destroy the humans.”
“They’re not dead yet!” Demona protested.
“Of course not. Sairthi will kill them all once she returns,” Uraii grinned wickedly, the poisonous snakes curling over her bare feet.
“Time for the payment,” the priestess ordered.
“No!” Dominique wailed, and hurled the lamp with all of her strength. Uraii raised one pale hand, and the expensive object veered away and slammed
into the wall. Without looking back, Demona sprinted for the door, only to find the demoness standing there, her eyes aflame with hellish light.
“Your life…your soul is hers,” the dead priestess declared, violently grabbing onto Dominique’s cheeks and lifting the struggling woman up. Demona
felt icy tendrils snake through her body as she tried in vain to scream, something bursting within her chest as the servant of Chaos shrieked with mad glee.
Owen, hands behind his back, turned around
as the door opened, David Xanatos and his red-haired wife, Fox, stepping
through the doorway.
“How was the show, Mr. Xanatos?”
“Fine,” David replied, as Fox reached down to pick up their son, Alex, from his cradle. Xanatos immediately recognized the look of worry on
Owen’s usually stoic face. Afraid that his wife might notice the look of apprehension, he pulled Owen aside.
“What is it?”
Owen cleared his throat.
“Something is very wrong, sir, and I’m not sure what.”
Stretching his leathery wings, Jericho looked out over the city, where dozens of red and white lights lit up the black horizon. He yawned and moved
back to open the window. It was surprisingly cold inside, and he involuntarily shivered as he jumped inside.
A shape moved in the darkness, and he called out to it. When the figure did not reply, he followed into the living room, where a fire was steadily
burning, washing the room with brilliant orange light. He could see the familiar hair of his mother, as she sat staring at the crackling fire, the Orb in her
Demona turned her head and smiled mysteriously at him, her eyes soulless and pitch black. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up,
and his tail went rigid. As he stood there, cowering, the other gargoyle moved toward him, the two bottomless pools of black that were her eyes piercing
through his soul.
“You’re not Demona.” Jericho spoke quietly.
“How astute,” she sneered, still holding Ze’aih’s Orb.
“Who are you, then?”
“I am Uraii, but better known to you as Kit,” the creature rasped, and latched onto his arm with its free hand. Demona’s deep green eyes turned
into the slitted ones of a snake, and she hissed with laughter. Nausea filled him, and he tried in vain to pull away.
“Kit, but why-,”
“Your mother’s body is my vessel,” the priestess said, gradually pushing him toward the large windows, where murky twilight had settled over the
city. It was at that instant, just like in the sweaty nightmare, that the snakes uncoiled from under Demona’s loincloth, leaping forward in a flash of
shimmering onyx scales to rip through the membranes of Jericho’s wings. Roaring in pain, he spun around and collapsed, the demon laughing hysterically.
“Demona-mother-if you’re in there, help me,” he pleaded.
“Ha! You really expect her to help you, don’t you? Demona has no chance against me with the corrupt soul that subsides within her.”
With that, her clawed foot lashed out. It caught Jericho with supernatural strength, sending him crashing out the window in a helpless tangle of
damaged wings. He slammed to the earth far below, and lay there, his head twisted at an odd angle.
Caring little about whether Jericho was alive or not, Uraii, in the body of Demona, spread her dark wings wide and jumped off the building, into
the cool night air.
The gargantuan beast’s tail, wider than even a castle, struck the earth with enough force that the unfortunate gargoyles left on the ground were
“We must get out of here,” Kial shouted, as Emerald carried him away. Snarling, the giant turned its ugly face and pulled back thin lips to expose
needle teeth. Spiked tail lashing, it dove forward, snapping at the air. The man could actually feel the moist warmth of the titan’s breath as it lunged
blindly for him, Emerald’s wings flaring out as she tried hard to stay in the air.
“You cannot ssstop Sssairrthi,” the drooling monster boomed, as it struck another gargoyle, like a man might casually swipe a pesky bug. Emerald
immediately turned her copper-haired head away, fighting nausea as she flapped away, struggling with the burden of Kial’s weight. Beside her, the fae
known as Puck flew by on a trail of glimmering green, his eyes narrowed in intense concentration.
They were moving toward the spiked tower, gray and black against the swirling red sky, that belonged to Sairthi, Mistress of Chaos, when the
bolt from the demon armies below struck Emerald. Her hold on Kial remained tight, and together they fell to one of the tiled roofs of the tall spire,
falling in a heap. The human, though dizzy, could see and feel the warm blood on his hands and shirt. On closer inspection, though, he could tell that
it was the gargoyle who had been bleeding. A ragged hole in her wing dribbled blood onto her gold armor, but she pulled herself up with the stubborn-
ness of a true warrior.
“Are you alright?” He asked, rushing over to her.
“I’m fine,” she said, watching as the surviving gargoyles landed on the spire roof and crouched in battle positions. Emerald motioned for the
others to go, and she turned, surprised, when Kial cut a length of his clothes and began to wrap her hurt wing.
“What would I do without you, Kial?”
“The question is, what would I do without you?” The man smiled.
“Perhaps, later…” Emerald whispered, and held his face close to her pale green one.
“The armies of Sairthi know that we are attacking!” An orange skinned gargoyle with fin ears and a shapely body called out, disrupting the moment.
“Later,” Kial promised, and they hurried to join the others.
The sky over Manhattan was usually a deep indigo at night,
occasionally spotted with twinkling stars or gauzy patches of clouds. This
the sky was striped with strange slashes of crimson, bathing New York up in an eerie deep red color. A winged shape stood out against the peculiar sky,
one that was darker than night itself.
High priestess, in the guise of Demona, flew overhead, smiling evilly at the humans far below. She longed to bring destruction and anarchy upon
these fools, but she knew that the true goal lay ahead. The demonic Orb in her hands glowed and pulsated with supernatural heat. Closing her eyes,
the servant of Chaos breathed in the darkness of the city, rejoicing in its cruel wickedness. This could actually work.
Now, to find that Titania…
“Aye, ‘tis a strange night indeed, boy,”
Hudson said, as the putrid wind swept up his white beard. Bronx growled
and looked up at the old gargoyle.
“The sky-I’ve never seen anything like it,” Angela replied from behind him, folding her wings around her chest as she thoughtfully studied the red sky.
Hudson, still stroking Bronx’s head, sat down and closed his eyes.
“’Tis a dark night, lass. And I’m afraid that we might not survive it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am afraid that this may be the Night of Blood that the Elders spoke of long ago,” Hudson said, the scarlet light reflecting off of his scarred, yellow
eye as he opened it.
“The Night to end all Nights.” He sighed and said, in a very low voice, “Evil magic is all over tonight, lass.”
It was cold in here, and Kial’s teeth chattered as he fought
to keep from passing out from the rank odor of death. Towering statues,
polished obsidian and with bright ruby eyes, hunched in the shadowy corners, their multiple heads sneering and their deformed limbs clutching for the
intruders. The chilly chamber was silent, save for the muffled footsteps echoing on the gray-tiled floor.
“It’s too quiet,” someone said, before a high-pitched shriek sliced through the icy, dry air. Kial’s head snapped up, and he barely cut the figures
skittering amongst support beams of the arched-ceiling.
“Sairthi’s maidens. The Aanerai,” Puck tried to explain, before several of the screeching creatures landed in front of them. They were seductively
beautiful, with colorless, white skin and swirling black, red, or deep purple hair, their fiery orange eyes lit by demonic forces. Gauzy, slate-gray robes
covered their lithe bodies, and they snarled, spidery arms reaching for the group. These women had once been high priestesses of Chaos, and had
given their soul to her. They were now little more than bodies, puppets to be worked by Sairthi to achieve her wicked goals.
“You cannot enter,” one of the creatures threatened, its voice the deranged mixture of a tiger’s bellow and a dying cry.
“Don’t let them near you! Their touch is lethal,” the fae warned.
“Shut up!” One of the Aanerai burst out, and blindly dove at Puck. He managed to move aside, and the monster landed on the wall in a crouch,
sticking to the surface like some overgrown bug. Her head twisting all the way around, she howled and a stream of energy erupted from her hands.
It didn’t hit anything, save for a large chandelier that rattled with dried bones. It fell to the floor with a heavy crash, spraying debris in all directions.
The Aanerai shrieked in rage and jumped back, the shattered chandelier creating a blockade between them and the gargoyles.
“C’mon!” Puck shouted, above the demonesses’ infuriated wailing.
One of the sneering women reached out and grasped hold of an auburn-haired male. With a choking gasp, he fell limply to the ground, his skin
drying and flaking off of his crumbling bones. Before the rest of the grasping demons could touch them, the group had slammed the iron doors shut,
trapping the maidens in the other room.
They pounded and cursed, though they obviously couldn’t get through, sealed in by their own mistress’s unholy magic.
“Welcome,” hissed a voice from the darkness. They all whirled, eyes flashing a variety of colors. A lanky figure stepped out of the gloom, her
raven braid trailing behind her black-clad body. A lifetime of evil had destroyed her once exquisite features and turned them into a twisted mockery
of beauty. Lifting one thin hand, the high priestess beckoned them forward. The gargoyles, of course, didn’t budge. Instead, another familiar figure
stepped forward, his wings folded like a shimmering cape around his broad shoulders.
“Puma!” Emerald gasped.
“What are you doing here, brother?” Someone choked out.
“I’m not a fool, like the rest of you. I decided to join Chaos,” he answered.
“Better to be a traitor than dead,” the cobalt gargoyle coldly replied, as a thick, inky mist began to drift out from the enormous sacrificial pit behind
him. It formed into a tangible shape-a horrible creature, a beast with thrashing heads and several pairs of jagged wings, all sparkling with razor black
scales. It rose up on a cluster of writhing tentacles, spitting and growling as it turned its multiple heads.
“Sairthi will savor your blood,” the priestess whispered, her violet lips twisting into an insane smile.
Gabriel called out to the others on Avalon
when he spotted the shape, gliding toward them. It made no sense; no mortal
could come here, without
first chanting the spell. But this gargoyle moving toward them, her features hidden by the white mist, had not done that.
Then he recognized her.
Everyone knew the warrior who had attacked them, who had been allied with the fae. She didn’t even glance down as she flew by overhead, a strange
black orb in her arms. Demona seemed intent on something, that was for sure, and when three gargoyles glided up to meet her, she simply swept her
arm in a circle, sending the others flying backwards, as if heaved by an invisible wind.
Mary launched herself in the air. After Angela, she had been one of the most popular females, with her coral-colored flesh and the row of horns that
rose from her ivory hair like a tiara. Her eyes flashed scarlet as she moved toward Demona, only to be mysteriously pushed back as well. With a groan,
she slammed to the ground, spraying sand everywhere.
Gabriel decided to follow the rogue gargoyle at a distance, chasing her at a safe distance until she reached the castle. There, she disposed of the
others with ease, and proceeded inside.
The monster attacked.
This time, there was no room to glide, and many of them were slaughtered by the snapping heads and the razor tentacles that swept the floor. It
wasmadness; even with their strength and speed, the gargoyles had no chance against Chaos, the Destruction and Darkness that had existed before
the universe was even a thought. Kial gaped up at the triumphant creature, and then screamed out an order that seemed lost in the pandemonium.
“Now Puck! Now!”
Before the fae could even move a muscle, one of Sairthi’s heads slammed into him and knocked him to the ground. He slumped, unconscious,
and Chaos turned the same hideous appendage to face Kial. She seemed to recognize him as the leader of the attackers, and grinned maliciously
as he trembled.
“You thought that you could destroy me, mortal?” Sairthi chuckled, her single, poisonous green eye glaring into both of the man’s wide ones.
From the corner of his sight, he could see Emerald running for Puck’s still body, saw her stooping down to grab the magical object that would
imprison this hellish bitch.
He answered, his reply containing a single word.
Sairthi had time to turn all of her ugly heads in shock before Emerald held up the key to Ze’aih’s Orb, her damaged wings flared out in defiance.
The tiny gold object opened, emitting a brilliant white light that lanced through Chaos like a knife through hot butter. Screeching, the enormous monster
was pulled backwards, toward the Orb that sat atop the throne. Puma and the high priestess tried to flee, but Sairthi’s tentacles latched onto them
and dragged them, screaming, in.
Like some swirling vortex, the Orb began to suck up everything in the room.
“Puck! Puck, get up!” Kial shouted, even as the fae groggily opened his eyes.
“Right. Of course,” Puck said dizzily.
The gargoyles were already flying away, hopping atop moving debris and smashing through the blue-tinted windows. As he was helping the fae up,
Kial noticed the section of the wall give way, letting the Aanerai through. Eyes flashing orange, they shrieked for blood and revenge for their dark
Puck began to float above the floor, Emerald and Kial with him. Several of the maidens sprang at the group, trying to catch them. The wounded
gargoyle saw one creature, a tall female with crimson hair that resembled wet blood, fly toward Kial. Without hesitating, Emerald shoved the Aanerai
away, the demon’s white fingers inches from the man’s exposed skin.
“No!” Kial screamed, as Emerald looked up at him, her eyes wide.
“I love you,” she said, her last breath before she died and plummeted bonelessly toward the vortex. Kial watched her through unshed tears as
they rose high above Atlantis, the island vanishing, folding in on itself until all that remained was the Key, floating atop the churning waves, and the
Orb, which had sunk far below the surface.
There had been a large gathering of fae the night before; now Oberon and his wife were alone. The king of the fae sat on his large throne,
chin in hand as he thought.
“Something is wrong tonight.”
“Yes. I feel it too,” Titania replied, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, just as the carved doors burst open, revealing a lone gargoyle,
her eyes lit up.
“What’s the meaning of this? Who dares interrupt us?” Oberon shouted angrily, his eyes narrowed.
The female smiled crookedly.
“Oh, Oberon. Is that anyway to welcome the servant of an old friend?” Venom dripped from the gargoyle’s silky voice.
It was at that second that the king of the fae saw the darkness in her eyes, the void where a soul should have been.
“You,” he said uneasily.
She lifted one finger, and instantly his airway was blocked off. Titania, her face contorted with fear, rushed to help him, only to find her legs
“You trapped my mistress in that realm, fae. You! A child compared to her! Well, your insolence is about to be punished,” Uraii snarled,
her dead, bluish-purple lips twisting into a hateful grimaced, watching as Oberon collapsed to his knees, gasping for air.
She walked past him and violently tore the Key from Titania’s headband, then sat down in his magnificent throne, her eyes pools of nothingness.
“It’s time for Sairthi to retake the universe.”
It was nearly morning when Tom arrived from Avalon,
the unnatural red light illuminating his worried face.
“Avalon is under attack,” he said as Elisa helped him out of the boat.
“By who?” Goliath questioned.
“’Tis Chaos,” he replied as they walked.
“Who?” Lexington asked at his feet.
“Chaos. Literally.” He sat down on a park bench, his face hidden in shadows. No one was outside now; everyone had fled home or to church,
frightened by the ill omen in the sky. “She-it-the nothingness that existed before time and space-it’s come back to reclaim the world. But I dinna
know if it can stopped.”
“But we must try,” Goliath said, and moved back toward the boat.
“Wait,” Tom protested, “it may be too powerful-,”
But the gargoyle had already stepped into the boat and had obviously made his mind up.
“Ah. It’s good to be
back,” Uraii said, smirking at the suffering that she was causing Oberon.
The vessel that she was using was that of a normal
gargoyle, except for the eyes. They shone through the shadows of her face, dark crimson with vertical pupils that narrowed with cruelty.
Titania was hunched on the floor beside the hellish priestess, her arms and legs fettered by iron chains, her lovely head drooped. The servant of
Sairthi just laughed, her voice oozing with hate, and stood up, holding the Key in her azure-blue hand.
“Won’t it be just marvelous when the rest of the fae find out? I know they’ve missed me as much as you have,” she sneered, stopping before
Oberon. The demoness had stopped suffocating him, long enough to draw blood. He just grimaced but didn’t respond, a thin trickle of fluid leaking
from his torn lip.
“So proud, aren’t you?” Uraii frowned deeply. “Well, you won’t be for long.”
The skiff made a gentle
landing, and there was a gathering of gargoyles standing on the beach as
Goliath, Angela, Tom, Brooklyn, and Lexington
stepped out. The boat had been too small for the others, and the clan’s leader had decided that the risk was too great for all of them to come.
“Sister!” Gabriel said joyfully, rushing to meet Angela. After the brief embrace, Goliath interrupted them.
“What’s happened?” He asked, folding his dark wings.
“We’re not sure. But there has been a lot of activity in the palace ,” Mary replied, glaring at Angela. They had been rivals for years, always trying
to out compete one another.
“Then we should go there,” Goliath decided.
She gently brushed
her talons over the silver globe of the world, her serpent eyes wide with
“Now, where shall I begin?” Uraii asked herself, as Oberon watched her through one bruised eye. He could have smiled as well, for the priestess
of Sairthi had not yet overcome her arrogance and her own vulnerability. If she had freed her dark deity earlier, all would have been lost. But by remaining
in that host body, by staying as prideful of her own power as ever…
“There,” she said, and her fingertip glowed with a dark power. The king of the fae closed his eyes, knowing too well that whatever mortal town
had been there was gone, destroyed by some freakish weather or act of nature. Sairthi had come to reclaim the world, and it was hers.
“Not so fast!” A voice shouted, and the doors burst open to reveal a ruddy-colored gargoyle with a long beak and twin horns.
“Well, isn’t this interesting?” Chaos scowled.
“Halt, villaness!” Brooklyn shouted, then turned to Lexington. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”
“I think not.”
With a twist of her hand, she sent them crashing to the ground and triumphantly held up the golden Key, her eyes burning like two hot embers.
“It’s too late for that,” Uraii announced, even as a light emerged from the magical object, trailing over Ze’aih’s Orb and swirling around it, creating
a dark passageway.
It was Angela, and she had regained her footing, her deep brown eyes wide.
The deceased priestess paid no attention to her.
“Mother, don’t! Please!”
“Shut up, you wretched fool! Your mother cares about no one but her own self! Why else do you think I chose her, when I could have visited any
mortal on this planet?” Uraii hissed, spinning around as the portal widened. Her words seemed to cut through Angela like a sharp sword, and the cleric
just glowered at her coldly.
The passageway moved and rippled, as if alive, as the shadow-like thing sailed out, a black ooze that seemed to drew warmth and life into itself.
It seemed to melt as it became solid, taking on the shape of a beautiful human woman, whose ashen skin, black lips, and ebony and crimson hair seemed
to contrast against the fine features. Save for a dark loincloth, decorated with bleached white bones, she was nude, her milky white breasts adorned with
silver rings and tattoos of fire-breathing dragons.
“Mother! You don’t have to do this! I know that there’s good within you!”
“You are starting to annoy me,” the demon said, turning her attention away as her twisted deity paused. As she began to raise one clawed hand, a
tremor ripped through her, and her face twitched.
“You can’t stop me either,” Uraii spat, even she shuddered again. Sairthi moved toward Demona, even as the gargoyle looked over her shoulder
at Angela, eyes wet with shining tears. Angela was sure that the lips moved, perhaps to say some farewell, but before she could move, her mother had
leaped into the vortex, carrying the dark entity with her.
“Mother!” she screamed, but the portal had already closed.
“It’s good that
Chaos was stopped,” Oberon said, looking out over the remaining gargoyles
and Kial, who had not yet gotten over the death of
his beloved Emerald.
“What shall we do about the gargoyles, husband? It’s obvious that they are treacherous beasts,” Titania told him, speaking about, of course,
“We will turn them back to stone forever,” Oberon decided.
The human had overheard this, and hastily ran to the two fae, without even the slightest hint of respect.
“Please, I beg of you, spare your creations this fate. They are good creatures-Emerald has proven that,” Kial said.
“True,” Oberon started, before Titania abruptly cut him off.
“They are pesky mortals. You should just get rid of them all.”
Oberon’s eyes narrowed.
“Our queen, you have empathy whatsoever. Perhaps you and the children are in need of some.” He turned back to Kial, who was waiting, “I will
not return them to stone forever, then. Only during the day, as a mild punishment for their betrayal.”
“Thank you,” the human said softly, even as the first rays of sun shone through the stained-glass windows and the species saw their last sunrise.
Harold Michael muttered
furiously to himself, sweeping the museum floor as he walked. God, how
he hated that damn Peterson, who was always
telling him what to do. Like now, when he could have been watching the latest information on the bizarre earthquake in France.
He was moving toward some display cases, where that orb thing was kept. It had mysteriously been returned, and now it gleamed behind the
polished glass. I’d do anything to get that Peterson, Harold thought bitterly. Then there was a voice, a soft, tempting woman’s voice.