[ Nathan's coming down a stairwell when he first feels it. Rumblings, then shrieking. It's chaos over the turn of a second. He stares, wide-eyed and shock-still, out a third-floor window: something in the distance explodes. An animal-like shriek erupts nearby. Nathan holds his breath and watches a huge, leathery monster fly by the glass, skin stretched taut over the skull without eyes or a face. It's a horror, and a flinty, shameful shard of something like hope sparks up in his chest.
Because it almost seems familiar, right? Seems like— like something he might know, like something mutated by myth and the warp of magic.
He takes the stairs two at a time. All the way down, almost eating shit as he stumbles over his own feet. The street outside is more of the same. A monster with claws comes to land on the side of a building, sending debris and concrete raining down, then lifts off into flight. People are screaming. Things are falling apart.
Regroup. He has to get back there— back to the bunker, back to Red Wings, somewhere. Nathan runs, half stooping to help as he passes by some woman who's trying to run in heels. Consistently, it's been adrenaline, so maybe that's what helps him clock it: that bat-like thing makes a circle, flies back around. They're right in the path of it, in the middle of the fucking street like this.
Nathan doesn't think about it too hard. Barely has enough sense to tug his sleeve down and over his forearm, limit skin contact just in case. He just moves, all but body-checks somebody into the opening of an alleyway. A full-measure effort, the meat of his forearm pressed tight against Ian's mouth, the flat of one hand splayed over sternum — to cut off any potential flailing at the pass, to get him to be still.
Eyes meet. The blue glow from Nathan's chest brightens then dims, leaving them in the dark of the night, breathing quick and paced and uneven. Nathan frowns and stares and can't risk saying anything, not right now, but it's a message that's easy enough to read.
Stay fucking quiet.
There are other screams, too. The sound of earth cracking open, and then something with wings landing close. ]
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Because it almost seems familiar, right? Seems like— like something he might know, like something mutated by myth and the warp of magic.
He takes the stairs two at a time. All the way down, almost eating shit as he stumbles over his own feet. The street outside is more of the same. A monster with claws comes to land on the side of a building, sending debris and concrete raining down, then lifts off into flight. People are screaming. Things are falling apart.
Regroup. He has to get back there— back to the bunker, back to Red Wings, somewhere. Nathan runs, half stooping to help as he passes by some woman who's trying to run in heels. Consistently, it's been adrenaline, so maybe that's what helps him clock it: that bat-like thing makes a circle, flies back around. They're right in the path of it, in the middle of the fucking street like this.
Nathan doesn't think about it too hard. Barely has enough sense to tug his sleeve down and over his forearm, limit skin contact just in case. He just moves, all but body-checks somebody into the opening of an alleyway. A full-measure effort, the meat of his forearm pressed tight against Ian's mouth, the flat of one hand splayed over sternum — to cut off any potential flailing at the pass, to get him to be still.
Eyes meet. The blue glow from Nathan's chest brightens then dims, leaving them in the dark of the night, breathing quick and paced and uneven. Nathan frowns and stares and can't risk saying anything, not right now, but it's a message that's easy enough to read.
Stay fucking quiet.
There are other screams, too. The sound of earth cracking open, and then something with wings landing close. ]