Sneak

The catwalk suddenly broke loose from its mounting. Victoria scrambled to hold onto the railing, but her feet couldn't get a grasp on the grating. She was going to fall. Victoria closed her eyes briefly, trying to think. Her messenger bag swung into her side roughly. She looked around. There, beneath her, was a small staircase, leading up to a windowless door. There was a small platform before it as well. Victoria looked down where her feet dangled, aiming. She swung her body around to move the messenger bag to a more ideal position and paused, collecting her breath. The drop was far, but she had fallen further before. Once, she had jumped off a roof. This wasn't too much different.

1...2...shit, I'm falling.

Victoria landed on her feet, but the force of hitting the concrete below buckled her legs, and she fell to her side, scraping her elbows. The bag came tumbling after. Her head spun at the impact. The drab green door stood before her, and the catwalk dangled above. Victoria sat up quickly and scanned the alley for signs of demon activity. Nothing. Tentatively, she got to her feet and walked toward the door. She reached into her bag for one of her hand-made smoke bombs. Just to be safe. She eased toward the door, tested the knob and quickly pressed her back to the wall beside it. No obvious sign of life. No sounds.

No, wait. There were sounds. And quite a lot of them too. She should have kept walking, but there was no way to be sure that she would be safe walking in the open street. This warehouse would keep her hidden just a little bit longer. Victoria's grip tightened on the smoke bomb as she prepared to go in. She caught the door with her foot as it swung closed, and peered inside.

Sounds

The chaotic sounds from the previous day had been absent for some time now. There were two ways to interpret the silence: one was that the demons were content with the destruction they had caused; The other was that they were ready for more. Interpretations of silence were often wrong, so most of the time people were more comfortable hearing pain and suffering on the wind rather than nothing at all. Silence meant plotting, and the longer the silence, the more intricate the plot.

Kioki decided to pack up and help outside. Kio's wings had mended nicely. They weren't quite as strong as they used to be, but it was about time to put them to good use again.

As the pots and pans were being packed away, the last pot seemed to make a bigger clang than the other supplies. Kio stopped and listened intently. The noises inside the warehouse all seemed to be accounted for except for one extra sound scraping around the catwalks outside. Kio did not quite know what to feel. These days a stray sound could be anything: friend or foe, angel or demon, and not necessarily respectively.

Kio decided to wait half of an hour. If nothing happened the sound would be investigated. If the roof suddenly caved in, and a demon sweetly and ferociously erased the contents of the warehouse in a matter of seconds then that would have to be dealt with appropriately. Either way, zhe was ready.

psssst

>.>
is anyone alive out there?
<.<

The Ninth Circle

            Fate… Fate is a tricky bitch. 

            The Boston industrial district, a glowering pinnacle in the battle to prove that without outside assistance human beings could trump the most awful things from every child’s nightmares. In the dark of the factories hidden between the hundreds of carcasses of dead animals, put through impossible tortures in life, and worse in death there was a beautiful artistry to this place, in the efficiency with which the human soul was broken into tiny pieces and blended back together into a slurry of fuck. It was the Mona Lisa of human depravity painted in blood, sweat, and shit…

And they say nothing beautiful ever lasts…

            The area stretched for miles and miles and endless collection of huge warehouses steam powered distilleries gathered like wasps around the equally endless docks and piers. It was a good three days as the crow flies from the center to any of the, bridges that connect the huge island of East Boston to the mainland.

            It’s almost a pity that it’s so removed from the mainland, the place unlike the rest of the city lost none of it’s original charm when things went bad, but nobody comes here. In most of the world the demons starved and died out but here, here in this maze of mesh and metal and fermented death. Here they were still quite alive. Here there was nowhere to hide or live or go but that they would fine you. Here the heat of coal fires that still burn quietly keep them warm in the winter, the rotting flesh feeds them, the echoing streets and warehouses give away you’re steps, and your breaths. Here the only thing that lives are them. The only thing that could live here are them.

            Cross knew better than anyone in the world that this was a hunting ground for demons an inescapable harem of death and slaughter. Cross would never, have led himself to this godforsaken place…

            But Fate… Fate is a tricky bitch.