Sky Dual

DEON

Monday, July 8

Just ruined my brand-new, state-of-the-art kitchen. Over the past six years, I've been saving to renovate my flat, working hard, licking my chicken bones dry.

But it's all love. I keep humming a twenty-year-old pop song, playing Donna's snarl in loops, fully embracing the notion that I am very fucked.

My brain exploded the moment my eyes landed on this wolf chick. It was as if I was inhaling her scowling almond eyes, tasting her smoky voice, and feeling her blazing soul roaring in mine. I didn't think it would get worse, but it did.

And, man, the way she stares at me, daggers in hand, grilling me inside out, knowing well every inch of my body heats up for her when she does that.

"Take my breath away..." Rah, even the towers of black smoke and the explosions under me remind me of the fire in her eyes. There's just something different about them. Even my wings are lighter at the thought of her. I feel lighter. What am I saying? Even the toxic air I breathe is! I'm winging through the sky to pick up Fay, my heart speeding at my chest at everything Donna. I know I need to get out of my head, but hey, it's just too good.

"Hey, you! Stop!"

Gusts cram against my stiffening wings, my tune falling flat because a vibe-killer snuck in. I spin on myself and draw in a charged breath.

A cousin. I mean, technically, not really, but that's how we call ourselves between us.

I'm gonna say hi. "You know what they say, small wings, small pen—" Yeah, no. Nothing but good vibes. "Small problems, bro."

Likewise, he breaks, irrevocably undoing the blissful mood I was in.

I examine him as he drags his torn wings up and down. Skin bluish, slate-like. Probably comes from the northern mountain territories...

Armed. A lovely Berreta M62 rifle in his grip, barrel resting against his shoulder.

"Nice gun, pal."

He grabs it, two hands at the ready. His leather jacket seems stiff. Looks like someone skipped wax polish day... Under his hatchet face sits a sharp set of hungry teeth. They move. "Chipped?"

"Come again?" I notice an armband on his left sleeve: a dragon skull struck by a thunderbolt.The last time I saw that icon was ten years ago. He's a Shredder, one of Fidr's mercenaries.

"Census. Have you been chipped?"

Ain't gonna lie; I've been dodging this procedure for a while now. Hanging on to a contrary wind without a flap, I exhale loudly. "Ah, man, I've got issues with injections, so imagine a chip." The government's been marking magic creatures for weeks, likening the population to cattle. At first, people had a choice, but not anymore. Flying patrols scour the skies in search of those who slipped away. And it looks like my lucky day has finally arrived...

"Follow me. Airborne checkpoint ten miles from here. A five-minute flight if you keep up with my pace." A laugh hitches at my throat, and I'm trying to keep my mouth shut. Keep it in.

He's already flying down as if I was inclined to follow him. He can't be serious.

"Sorry, I would've loved... not. I've got to meet a chick."

As he turns on himself, his ragged wings span at a width supposed to intimidate me, and I knit my lips together, the laugh inside me now scrapping behind them.

He adjusts his weapon, throwing me a stone-like voice. "I'm told to take down those who don't comply."

I try to stay polite, even as my urge to punch his jaw rushes through my body to the very claws of my wings. "Oh, man, you got it all wrong." Seems Fidr's losing patience with her people, the drape of her beautiful democracy falling to unveil what was always a dictatorship.

He jiggles his weapon in a 'you better talk' motion. "Which side are you on? Magic or non-magic monsters?"

It's all coming down to this, then.

Alright, let's open up a little. "I'm a chill guy, you know. Just made a Monstagram for my bro's dog. It's a bummer cos now he's got more followers than me. It's rough, man. So, um, let's stay fresh, yeah?" I wink.

"Side!" he barks.

Bugger.

I run a hand through my hair, blow some putrid air out, and, raising my right hand, solemnly swear, "Hexes, winged exes, furry sex, anything x basically. I'm down for everything, ya know." I give him my best smile because he looks like he needs some love.

"Wrong answer." He grimaces, a tail whipping behind him, and I frown a little because what's wrong with that?

In a flash, he gets the pump action going and takes the shot.

I bank to the right, and there's a sting at the last finger of my right wing, the skin stretched between my two wing digits, holed!

"My wings were flawless," I grunt. Maybe I squeak, but so what? My high pitch is justified because my wings were simply breathtaking up until now.

"You're breaking the rules, dog. Now get your pigeon ass over here and follow me without a fuss."

Pigeon ass... I tuck my chin, sweeping my eyes over my arms before settling them solidly back on him. Heat is awakening over my body, fiery runes twirling from my legs up to my back and torso, and I groan with delight as they reach my jaws in a claw-like grip.

"Boss, can you smell the burner? It's raging hot!" I bow my head, flaunting my horns and shaking like a bull about to charge—little thing our kind likes to do, a sort of middle finger if you want.

He grunts a warning in return, "Be careful who you play with."

"Oh, I play." Angel blood running in my veins speaks to me, awakening through my tattoos. It's endowing me with a strength only given for a life worth taking, every ounce of passion and righteousness fortifying my will.

With pride and a slight curl of the lip because, heck, it's a hell of a rush, chills running down my spine sort of feel, I squeeze my knuckles and crack my neck from left to right.

Worshippers of the Sky Gods believe we're sinless, but it ain't really true. We all sin at one point. Yet watching his dull gray runes worn away on his skin like old grim ink, he must have done vile things in life. "Lost your way, mate?"

He mumbles, eyes fleeting. "Found another."

"Hope it's worth it," I grate, focusing on his barrel's eye. "Because I was just given the right to kill you." I'm grinning so hard I can feel the corner of my lips licking my ears.

With the way he's gritting his teeth and looking at the strips of light curved around my arms and those shining out of my collar, he knows he's on my radar.

His gaze steepens, and a hand on the pump action slowly slides.

As my tail slithers around my waist up to my chest, I try speaking nicely, the slick way, ya know. But it's just growls and grunts at this stage. Clearly, I'm losing my marbles. "Hey, we could hang out tonight, meet at sunset, mingle with some mermaids at Central Arc Lake. You know, loungin' in the waters, toes in the golden sand..."

He cocks his head, a little puzzled. And I understand, I really do. He's ugly as fuck, and what sane mermaid would even want to even look at him without wanting to gouge her eyes out.

I pause for three seconds.

In a flash, the sharp tip of my tail flips my weapon out of my chest holster.

"Nah, just kidding."

Bang!

He's gasping for air, taking to his punctured chest, dark blood pooling down his leather jacket.

"I got a shotgun, too. The difference is, I can shoot straight." I'm snarky, perhaps too much, but I have little sympathy with kindlers. He flops on the right and gives a good wing beat, but it will be his last.

He tips into the depths, and I watch him, my defiant smirk dwindling.

I swallow, park my weapon back into its case, and pull out a couple of flyers I printed this morning, titled, R.M.B., from my pocket.

I revolve, the birth of my horns tingling from anxiety as I glance around. I'm not afraid of a mugshot. I'm a black sheep, the red-flagged, collecting suspensions like an annual membership. But I'm the pain in the ass that works, so I get to stay. No, it's not the police, and in any case, we've all been put to pasture, centrals having closed down and all.

It's those Shredders that worry me.

I dig my badge out as well. Got it back this morning before the gates closed for good.

I stare at it. What a fucking joke.

My first job was working as a keeper at The Heavens' gates. Long story.

My second, as a hired gun—made good money. Chose my assignments with care, but got caught blowing a hole in a fae general's head. My heart's fault for trusting an elf. She threw me to the wolves like it was nothing! I had given her my whole, and she crushed me...

Got a little manhandled, a bit of blackmail in the end, the "You serve, or you die," situation. My life got a taste of its own, so I served...

I just wanted to write my name with justice's blood, but whatever.

Gods, the sky is heavy.

Feel like my boat's sinking.

I fling the metallic emblem, watching its fake shine tumble down the clouds. Always hated this badge, anyway.

Everything's fine.

The wind is blowing east.

The sun is in the west.

And I'm right here, at the start of the war.

The silence of the wind is loud, tousling my hair. It was all preened, gel and all. But then again, hairstyles won't be a priority anytime soon.

And the Super Eldritch Bowl... I guess there won't be any this year.

Bought two front seats, too.

All this money going into smoke... I'm pretty sure my flat will end up in ash.

I was being nostalgic for the good old days, those before the Orcana wars.

But what if the good old days were the ones I was living until now...

I breathe.

I cough.

Okay, buddy. Get your act together. You wanted this.

Next stop, Fay.

A descent into the highest of trees later, I'm now cursing as I lose balance in a tangle of prickly branches.

I'm the ball in a pinball machine, hitting every inch of this bloody tree.

I clench my teeth, meeting the ground in the most elegant of ways. "Mmph." Yeah, flat and hard, nose first, second chest, the shock of gravity emptying whatever air was stuck inside.

There's a soft feminine chuckle at arm's length. Good to know I'm making someone's day.

My wings and pain snap as I force myself upward. Before me stands Fayra, all smiles for me. "Sorry, princess. Got held up," I say, rubbing my neck.

I lean on the left, seeing two silhouettes behind her. One speaks with that arrogant tone we all know. "Officer Deon Stryga."

"Chief."

An anxious smile forms on Fay's face. The woman seems embarrassed. Heck, if anyone should feel bad, it's me. Tyke will take another body part of me if he finds out she flew out here all alone. And it will be my tail; I'd bet my life savings on it!

I watch her walk into her parents' arms and hug them. First, the father. Warmness fills his grip. Getting the chance to see how your superior lives in private is always a treat; it's like night and day... He whispers something into her ear, and Fay squeaks, "I'll miss you, too."

"Me, even more."

I feel unwelcome witnessing a girl burrow her head into him for a few seconds. Weird stuff going on.

After that, she goes to see her mother, and that's a different kind of squeeze. Her mom is gorgeous. Graceful, thin neck, beautifully curved wings, a lovely green tint. As she moves, leaves are shed. How rare, a Tree Fairy...

She cradles Fay's head and presses her forehead against hers, mumbling something I cannot understand.

"I promise," Fay murmurs softly.

"Keep it safe."

"I will."

I catch Fay's eye as she glances at me. Two raindrops on a misty day...

Looking down, I glance at a golden object snuggled in her arms and then flicker them back to her watery eyes. "Magic wand, pretty fly?" Fay's clutching a bloody wand, and my heart is picking up. A high-rank Faerish weapon!

In the back, her mother corrects, "Fake."

Fake... This is gold. Its metal glints heavily; I can feel its weight under my fucking eyes. It would take a fraction of a second for this thing to kill me...

"Beautiful," I say, holding a forced row of teeth. This is a beautiful piece, there is no denying that.

My hand reaches out to Fay before things start to get very weird... "Let's go before it gets dark."

Our feet lift, and I keep my distance between us, wings that span far too wide for a side-to-side. We haven't even breached the tree when her father shouts, "Don't leave her sight!"

"All eyes and body on her!" I reassure.

"You little scum!"

What have I said wrong!?

"Dad!"

I watch her from above, her little wings whirring like those of an insect. And I simper.

"We're not flying over Central Arch? Because it's this way," she says, pointing northwest.

"We're gonna take a long-cut," I say, veering to the left, climbing up. Fay follows, forceful winds pushing her up against me.

"Why?" she shouts across the gusts.

Princess... Wish I didn't think I had the answers. "Things are about to get a little complicated from now on, sweetheart."

She spins on herself, and I have enough time to catch her flicking gaze. It was not filled with questions, but sadness. Donna is wrong about her. The girl has no issues; she has hope, like seventy percent of the population. I mean, Donna went to work today, for goodness' sake. Yeah, no. She's grinding and bearing it like a champ.

"We're going to make a quick stop at Donna's work first," I shout.

I hardly grasp her question. "You know where she works?"

"Yeah," I admit, my ears burning because now Fay knows I tracked Donna like a pervert.

I adjust my eyes to the horizon. As the sun sets and the sky turns purple, darkness poisons this beautiful sky, but all I can see are black fumes shredding the dying day and bright flames licking the towers, city aglow, ominous.

Lines of my face tense, pulling at my bridging brows. I don't know why we're heading back into this clusterfuck.

New Orc is about to fall...

My spear is in a locker on Third Ave. Probably left unguarded.

"Hope you don't mind making a quick detour to the War Museum?" I say as I look down.

Fay's stiff, clutching her wand against her chest, her bag strapped to her back, the loose latch flapping in the wind.

"Fay?"

She doesn't answer. Her pace slows, and I adjust mine to hers. I watch her arm move to her face, covering her eyes...

I drop a few feet, enough to be under her. And revolve as to face her, my back against the void.

"Hey, dove."

Fayra dives down, evading me.

"Fayra." I drop once more and, this time, grip her arms. "You're safe as long as we all stay together." She's hiding behind a cage of fingers.

"Say it," I insist.

But then, as I pull her hand away from her face, I stop breathing.

Fayra's eyes have always been luminous, but what I'm looking at right now isn't a natural shade. They're glowing like a lighthouse at midnight.

And as I dare slant my gaze down, I gasp. Like a heartbeat, a glow pulsates eerily against her chest. I can't get my thoughts together. The only people who can get those dangerous weapons working are pure bloods. Royal fae.

The problem is, they're all dead.

All dead except Fidr.

"I'm safe as long as we stay together," Fay mutters, a little smile lifting. I pull the hardest confident smirk to date. And, oh, am I struggling to keep it.