Pandemonium

“Your world is ending as we speak,” said the tall stranger barring Elliott's passage from her room.

There wasn't much she could do about it, really. At five-foot-four and a hundred and fifteen pounds, she had no chance of escape through main force. She'd tried- the stranger hadn't even had to move to knock her back. She had felt a familiar sort of thrumming energy in that moment, a sure expression of power, constructing a solid, unseen barrier without visible effort.

As a mage herself, she knew any contest of skill would inevitably turn explosive. Magic interacting with magic was a recipe for disaster, sure to wake the entire house and cause a scene. She would have to talk the stranger down.

“Look, I don't know what you've been smoking,” she all but spat, planting her fists on her slight hips, “but if you'd just look outside, you'll see that the sky is not falling.”

“They have a saying about appearances, where I come from.” The stranger's lips turned up in a wry smile, good humor reaching all the way to his almond-shaped green eyes. They were a good match for the mane of red hair and trim goatee framing his long, gaunt face, lending him a distinctly old-world appearance. She might have figured him for a mad Viking-enthusiast burglar if it weren't for the ears.

Their narrow tips just barely exceeded the auburn cascade, hinting at their unique nature. Her first attempt to remove him from the premises, a powerful, blunt projection of force, had done little but set his hair and long wool coat to billowing, revealing a frame like a willow tree, all long and lanky limbs, and distinctly inhuman ears, closely resembling the head of a spear.

“I don't care.” It took an effort of will not to try smashing his face in again. Nothing could be gained by involving her mother and brother- it would only escalate the situation. “Please, just leave me the hell alone.”

“I simply can't oblige you.” That infuriating smile remained as she choked on her retort. Her face reddened, only somewhat visible through her russet-hued skin.

It was the tone, mostly. He didn't sound desperate or despairing. He was perfectly calm and collected, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe, never looking away. He radiated smugness, and it pissed her off.

“Yeah? Well, that makes two of us.” Abruptly she turned away, gesturing quite rudely as she did so. “I'm not going anywhere, asshole. Leave before I call the cops.”

Thus far he had made no overly aggressive moves- other than breaking in, of course. He hadn't laid a hand on her or even truly entered the room. She was banking on that trend continuing. Perhaps if she just ignored him, he would go away.

She found herself in front of her writing desk. The usual disarray was comforting, in a way. Sheets of notebook paper covered in the runic language of the arcane, proof of her continued attempts to understand magic's seemingly infinite complexity. She sat in her sturdy old wainscot chair, plucking a pen from the inkwell and focusing on an unfinished translation of Solemarch's Theories of Energy Transduction.

Minutes passed in deafening quiet. The fountain tip's scrawling was the only noise she made. Eventually she chanced a look over her shoulder-

He was gone. Elliott exhaled explosively, laying the pen down and approaching the door with careful, measured steps.

The hallway was empty, the lights were off. Taking a moment to listen, she stopped and closed her eyes, reducing her breathing to near-silence.

Nothing. He was gone.

Pumping her fist in triumph and projecting a stream of colorful, whispered expletives upon the intruder's memory, she flung herself into the all-consuming sea of handmade quilts layered upon her bed. That's right. Don't screw with me, buddy-

That was when the call came through.



---



It wasn't entirely unheard of for Meredith to call her at two in the morning. They'd been dating a year and both kept odd hours, especially during vacations. Still, Elliott felt just a little nauseous seeing her name lit up on the phone's high-definition display; the coincidence was simply too jarring. Still, there was no sense in waiting. Something might actually have been amiss.

She tapped the screen with a long, slim index finger and pressed it to her ear. “Hey, Merry. What's up?”

“Uh, hi, Elliott? There's someone here asking for you.”

The bottom of her stomach plummeted. She took a moment to draw in a deep breath, forcing herself to ask.

“Yeah? Who?”

“Dunno. Tall guy, red hair?”

Damn it! “Don't let him in, Merry. I'm coming over right now!”

“Wait, what? He's-”

She was out the door in record time, stopping only to wrestle her boots and wool jacket on.



---



The city night was a blur as she sprinted headlong down Commonwealth Avenue, the impressive towers of Boston College rising up in her view. Meredith was seeing a friend near the campus, the first night in weeks they had spent apart. How the hell does he know where she is?

She reached Waverly Apartments in under ten minutes. Too long for her taste. If Meredith was harmed in any way, the sky would absolutely light up. There would be no helping-

Elliott skidded to a halt outside of the first floor apartment's bay window, quite unable to process what she was seeing.

Meredith and the stranger sat at the kitchen table, by all appearances engaged in friendly chatter. Merry was offering him a drink, of all things. No danger, no hostility.

They seemed to notice her as she pressed her face up against the glass, tapping the window frame rapidly. The stranger smiled, gesturing in her direction; Meredith rose, walking to the smaller window beside the bay and pushing it open.

The sound of classical music drifted into the darkness of early morning, along with melodious laughter. Elliott couldn't help but smile as Meredith leaned out, dark brown hair tumbling down over a sweet, heart-shaped face.

“Hey, come in, dorkus,” she said, extending a hand. “He says he's been looking all over for you.”



---



Five minutes later they were all seated around the kitchen table. Meredith's friend- Alicia something, Elliott couldn't quite recall- had managed to pass out on a nearby sofa, half-empty bottle of whiskey still in hand.

She found herself unable to stop glaring at the stranger, even as Merry began to tousle Elliott's hair, running her fingers through the black mop, clean shaven on the sides and gathered forward on top.

“Don't be rude, Elli,” she chided. “He's been nothing but a gentleman this entire time.”

“Oh, yeah?” She folded her arms across her chest, still glaring- but not proud enough to keep from leaning into her lover's ministrations. “What's his name, then?”

“Ma... Mazidur? Is that right?”

“Exactly,” said the stranger, laying his hands flat on the table. His gaze shifted from Meredith to Elliott, and that smile returned. “Mazidur Isloniu, at your service.”

“What brings you out here, then?” Meredith interjected over what was certain to be something vitriolic from Elliott. “How do you know Elliott?”

“A mutual acquaintance. I need her assistance with something direly important.” He stood, looking out the same window she'd crawled in through. “In fact, miss, I suspect you would be able to help me as well.”

Meredith paused in the middle of stirring her coffee with a slim rod of quartz- entirely hands free. The rod rolled to a stop as she lifted an eyebrow. “What's the problem, then?”

He didn’t respond immediately, instead steepling his fingers and looking between the two young women seated opposite. It gave Elliott a chance to study him, and she picked up on a few things- in the dim light of her room, for example, she hadn’t seen the scars. Seven or eight by her count, most of them clean, leaving behind only thin, discolored lines. They stood out against the natural folds and creases of his aquiline conformity.

Though he didn’t look a day over thirty, in that moment, with his shoulders slumped under some great weight and his eyes narrowed to slits, he looked like an old, world-weary man.

Much more unnerving than an infuriating smirk.

When he finally spoke, it was in a low murmur. Locking his gaze with Elliott’s, he took a moment to ponder her brilliant blue eyes, then-

“Your world has drawn the attention of an ancient, impossibly powerful intelligence.

“A great gate, one which connects our two worlds, has opened somewhere far beneath this city. As it stands, the random pulsations of energy it generates serve only to fray the boundaries between your physical reality and the realm of spirit.

“However,” and he paused, reaching up and stroking the length of his beard, “it will not be long before something from my end finds the gate and attempts a crossing.”

To their credit, the pair held their questions until the end of the lecture. Meredith could see how Elliott’s jaw was clenched, though, and knew she was fighting to keep herself from drumming her fingers on the table in sheer agitation. When Mazidur came to the end of his explanation, she leaped at the chance.

“Okay, look,” and she crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair and regarding him with a level, unwavering stare, “first of all, you’re making insane claims. Realm of mortals, realm of the ‘supernatural’? Sure. Anyone with an internet connection can figure that one out.

“But it kind of sounds like you’re telling us there’s another world entirely, and that’s

bullshit.”

“Elli.” Meredith shot her an exasperated glare, then glanced at Mazidur. “I’m sorry. She gets a little... brusque when she’s agitated.”

“Son of a bitch broke into my house, Merry, so yeah, I’m a bit agitated.”

“To be quite honest,” he interjected, allowing himself a smile- this one possessed of good humor rather than arrogance, “I had no intention of making your second floor hallway my point of ingress. Translocation is a specialty of mine, but I failed to account for just how strong our sympathetic arcane attraction would be.”

“You hitting on me, Mazidur?” It was Elliott’s turn to grin as Meredith groaned, planting her face squarely on the tabletop.

“Hardly.” He couldn’t suppress a chuckle, though. This girl was easily exceeding his expectations. Willful, intelligent, talented; how much of the latter was due to her heritage remained to be seen, but he couldn’t help feel a burgeoning affection. A defiant nature would see her a long way in the coming days.

“The nature of our magic, though, is rather similar.”

“Oh?” She quirked a brow. “What do you know about my casting?”

The words began to shake the apartment block even before they were spoken, and they rocked Elliott on a much deeper level: the name of her father-

“Malak al-Maut,” Mazidur intoned, unmoved by the sudden quake. He sat in perfect unconcern, his pleasant tenor flanged by the raw power suffusing his voice. “Great Thanatos, Azrael, I beseech-”

“Okay, okay, enough already!” Throwing up her hands Elliott cast her gaze about frantically, watching for the appearance of that telltale concentric seal. After a moment of silence, the shaking ceased completely and no Visitation occurred. “I get it! You’re not bullshitting us.”

“Quite.” He nodded once, satisfied. “Now, will you help me?”

“What do you want us to do?” Now quite convinced of Mazidur’s seriousness- if not his sanity- Elliott looked over at Meredith, trying to get a sense of her feelings in her expression. Not a chance; pensive as always, completely calm and collected. Grace under pressure, that was Merry, and one of the many reasons Elliott admired her so deeply.

“Nothing you have not already done,” he replied, standing. An offhanded gesture at the apartment’s window drew their attention to the nightmare waiting outside. “And I will, of course, assist you to the extent that I am permitted.”

There was a- thing, humanoid in shape, standing perfectly still in the morning twilight. Better perhaps to say that it was an absence of a thing, a black, searing hole in their perception with eyes like brilliant stars transfixing them with an unwavering stare. Its boundaries were unclear, ever-rippling and casting ephemeral ribbons of its dark substance into the air around itself.

They were silent for a long, terrible moment. Consulting her extensive knowledge of the arcane, Elliott could not come up with anything in her memory even remotely resembling the entity standing just beyond the bay window. Meredith spoke first.

“Uh, Maz?” Elliott made a note of the nickname. Easier than that vaguely Middle-Eastern mouthful his parents had graced him with. “What are we dealing with, here?”

“Trouble.” The words were accompanied by an unfamiliar sound, a chilling hiss of steel against leather. “The first of many.”

Meredith glanced over her shoulder, unable to refuse her curiosity, and could only wonder how did we not notice this before?

The sword in his hand appeared completely lethal and exceedingly well-taken care of. Its straight, single-edged blade must have been at least two and a half feet long, and in place of a crossguard, his forefinger braced against a single quillion. He lifted it smoothly until its narrow tip was aimed at the creature’s center of mass (or lack thereof).

“I need you to lock, it down, ladies.” If it weren’t for the natural authority in his voice and the abject terror she felt staring into the thing’s eyes, she may have taken offense at his presumption of authority. For now, it seemed wiser to heed his advice. “Keep it from moving.”

The pair exchanged a glance, and Merry even managed a smile.

“Just like drills, huh, Elli?”

“Yeah. Just like drills.”

What did she have to worry about, after all? Elliott felt herself relax, reaching for the inside pocket of her jacket. Therein lay an item not quite necessary for her spellcasting, but certainly helpful. A single, elbow-length purple glove, its forearm, knuckles and the back of its hand padded with sueded leather. Into the palm was stitched the same seal she feared, her father’s calling card. It had never failed to constitute a spell, though, especially useful for those times when she had to deal with distractions such as fear or a self-preservation instinct screaming run! Run, you idiot! directly into her ear.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Merry shaking a certain bracelet down from her forearm. Of her own make, consisting of flowing bands of silver, gold and copper, it was hung with fine-cut amethyst stones representing the natural magic she was attuned to: that of the earth itself, of stone and soil.

“I wouldn’t wait too long,” Mazidur remarked as the entity lifted one void-black hand, touching its fingertips to the windowpane- much of which promptly melted away into a steaming puddle, leaving only reddened corners attached to the sill. It made a sound, then, which Elliott suspected she would never forget.

Simultaneously it issued forth a long, sibilant tone and a deep, despairing, bleating rhythm. Unpleasant on its own, but simply hearing it seemed to scatter hot coals onto their minds. The roasting agony drove Elliott to her knees, clutching the sides of her head and crying out piteously.

Damn it, damn it! You are not some little girl, Elli! Get up and fight the son of a bitch!

The effort was in vain, though. So long as it made that sound, the pain was ceaseless. How was she supposed to stop it from approaching if she couldn’t cast?

Abruptly the sound cut off, or at least was sufficiently muffled that the effect subsided. Regaining her feet uncertainly, she was alarmed by the distinct copper flavor of blood in her mouth. Evidently, she had bitten her lip.

Meredith stood completely upright, unfazed by the creature’s mental assault and indeed unimpressed with its efforts in general. The amethysts strained against their fine silver links, pointing parallel to her outstretched hand at the cocoon of rich, dark soil and garden flagstones encapsulating the thing's upper body.

“Are you okay, love?” The concern in her voice stung Elliott’s pride. A retort would have been forthcoming if Merry hadn’t been in the middle of saving their lives.

“I’m fine, Merry,” she breathed, grinning as the creature began to wander aimlessly in circles. “Thanks to your quick thinking.”

“Nothing like a blind, deaf assailant.” Merry’s words were clipped, professional. They didn’t suit the self-satisfied smile spreading across her face as Mazidur stepped forward, nodding in approval.

“Very resourceful.” He made his way to the window carefully, shedding his coat onto the couch en route. His silk shirt and vest were at least a fair match for the sword he carried. “How did you know that only living soil can blind it?”

He left through the door before Meredith could quite respond. The next they saw of him he seemed to be positioning himself at an angle to the creature- then lunging forward, spearing it through and through the hard-packed tomb of earth. It froze, spasmed viciously as its form fell away to nothing, a gradual process from the head down. Quickly Mazidur stepped away, a ribbon of the odd black gas clinging to and scorching a shirtsleeve.

“Yes, well done,” he continued, sliding the sword into the scabbard at his hip before returning through the apartment door. “I fear that for your friend’s sake, Meredith, we must leave- and quickly. They will have noticed this.”

“They? Who are they, and how did that not bring you to tears, Merry?” Elliott shot her an inquisitive look. The woman’s pain tolerance had never been the best.

“Demons,” Mazidur cut in briskly, slipping into his coat once more. “Specifically, hunters bred to seek Azrael and his kin.”

Though there was no accompanying display of power to the name, it still shook Elliott. Demons were never small time. Even the weakest of their number outmatched your average human male, and apparently someone, something, had it out for anyone related to her father. So, angels. Archangels. I’m glad I know so much about either of those.

Major divine players on either side of the fence were difficult to get a read on. They generally made a point not to interfere directly with mortal affairs, limiting aspectual incarnations to almost zero occurrence. Even her own sire, whom she had spent hundreds of hours researching, remained a mystery to her. Common wisdom among supernatural scholars stated that at higher echelons of divine authority, it became ludicrously impractical to target individuals. They could wield unbelievable power of their own, possibly even commanding vast hosts of celestial or infernal troops.

“Why?” The word escaped her lips with more heat than she’d intended, running a hand through her hair and staring at the space where the demon once stood. “What could they possibly hope to gain by targeting Archangels directly?”

“You, of course.” He held the door open for them, glancing at the still form of Alicia, blissfully unaware of the damage to her property. Mazidur had thought ahead, thankfully, and rung up a few contacts on this side of the bridge to secure a little funding. A few thousand dollars ought to do the trick.

Out on the street, her questions continued. Far from irritated with Elliott’s manner, he was in fact quite pleased; curiosity opened the door to understanding.

“Why me? I’m nothing, don’t even register on that scale.”

“Oh, of course not. For now, anyway.”

“What- what? Could you please just give me a straight answer?”

“Happily. You know what they used to call your kind, Elliott?”

Her response came after a few moments of thought. She knew a great deal about the reputation of her disparate ancestors, including the celestial wrath which smote them.

“Yeah. Nephilim.”

“Exactly. Where I come from, that would not be so unique. Here on this Earth, however,” he made a sweeping gesture with one arm as they walked, indicating the city skyline rising up before them. “You are a rarity. Indeed, my superiors tell me you are the malak al-maut’s only child, Elliott Misra.”

“Your superiors?”

Silence.

“Fine, fine. We can get to that later. Now where the hell are we going, anyway?”



---