Fantasy Soulless, Breathless, Heartless || IC Thread

[ValidEmotions]

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Season: Winter | Time: Late Evening | Weather Condition: Snowing

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[ValidEmotions]

Imelda | Werewolf
Current Mission: Find being responsible for a series of deaths. Maintain secrecy from humans and their officials. Any and all personnel available to assist in resolving this as quickly as possible are desired.
Current Team: Zarall & Da'wan
Note: [Brackets] mean Imelda is speaking in Spanish.

Imelda smelled the air. The wind played against her, lifting the loose strands of brown hair that had fallen free of her braid. Light from the gibbous moon dusted the city pale. Her back prickled beneath it.

“Anything?”

She glanced at Da’wan as he spoke and caught the red glint in his dark eyes. He already knew the answer to that—the vampire’s nose was just as sharp as hers. She shook her head anyway and peered around the building again. There was no movement anywhere on the street, only slumbering cars and exhausted streetlamps. Snow smothered it all, adding weight to the late night.

She strained her ears, listening as far as she could for the crunch of a footstep or the rhythm of labored breathing. Imelda heard wingbeats instead.

Looking up, she watched Zarall’s silhouette streak by overhead. “She’s seen something,” Imelda said. Pushing away from the wall, Imelda followed at an easy run, Da’wan keeping pace. She motioned with her hand. He smiled, fangs peeking from beneath his lips, before veering to the left and disappearing down a side street.

As she turned to an alleyway on her right, she glimpsed Zarall dropping from the sky, massive black wings arched back. Imelda lost sight of the angel behind an office building in the next heartbeat. Spotting a fire escape, she slipped in the snow as she twisted towards it and leapt. Her hands fumbled to grip slick metal, and her chest greeted a bar on the side of the first platform. A grunt rose into her throat. She continued upward, jumping to the next platform and the next until she climbed onto the roof.

A short-lived cry jutted through the air, smothered into a whimper.

Imelda slowed her pace, grasping the stone ridge at the lip of the roof, and peered down. Below, she could see the top of Zarall’s head, a myriad of black braids pinned back from a dark-skinned face and adorned with wooden beads. The angel’s wings flexed and folded, glimmering out of sight. Mostly.

Angels could only hide completely from humans when they wanted to. Anyone who wasn’t, like Imelda, could see through Zarall’s glamour. It was like looking at an afterimage or a ghost, the faintest hint that she had wings.

Briefly, Imelda glanced at the streets and nearby rooftops. When she saw nothing, she returned to her teammate. Da’wan eased around the corner, lingering a few steps behind Zarall but only sparing a cursory look before facing towards the street. Moonlight made his olive-toned skin even paler than it already was, casting an almost ghastly complexion.

The being pressed against the wall squirmed under the barrel of Zarall’s pistol, jacket collar bunched within her fingers.

He looks just like a child. Imelda tried shoving the tension from her shoulders into her stomach. She knew better. Two years on a team of supernatural creatures—she knew the job and what was at stake. So did the creatures that lived in or passed through the city. It was neutral territory and had to be kept that way with strict laws.

“Please—” The child’s blonde hair melted and browned, blending into pink skin that warmed and hardened into scales. Bronze glinted under moonlight and fabric stretched across a body much larger than before. Chimeras took on whatever shape they desired and no one, Imelda had learned, knew what they truly looked like. “I had no choice. You must believe me.” His words slurred together, mingled with a hiss.

Zarall’s silence was uncomforting.

“Zarall, maybe hear what he has to say.” Da’wan’s voice was soft, but it carried easily. “Part of this is to gather what information we can. There are victims still to find. What’s your name?”

“R-Rayip. But I go by Raymond,” the chimera said, voice tight.

Imelda searched the rooftops again, the braid of her hair sliding off her shoulder. She squinted at one near the end of the street. A figure darted from one building to another and Imelda’s lip curled. “Either be quick about it or let’s take this home. It’s about to get complicated.”

“Fuck.” Zarall sighed. “They always know.”

Taking a heartbeat to look down and catch the angel lowering her pistol, Imelda cracked her knuckles. “Oh, come on. It’s never a party without ‘em.”

Zarall’s gaze snapped up to her, green eyes narrowed. Imelda glimpsed the centuries that lingered within. “When you’ve been fighting demons as long as I have, get back to me on that ‘party’ of yours. Da’wan! Take the chimera and find somewhere the demons can’t bother us.”

Imelda turned away from the others. She tracked the shape that sprinted and leapt, racing towards her. A demon. They were always inconvenient, thriving on chaos and creating it in turn. Appearing anywhere they could, just to torment the world. Rolling her shoulders, Imelda listened to the wingbeats that stirred layers of snow and made her clothes writhe. In the next second, Zarall landed beside her. “Fast and hard?” Imelda asked.

“Before any more show up,” Zarall said.

“Go cover Da’wan, then. I got this one.”

Zarall stepped away and left, leaving behind nothing but disturbed snow and scuffed footprints. Imelda twined her fingers together and stretched her arms forward. The demon’s ethereal form was more distinguishable the closer it got. As if created without a solid outline, the demon’s body shifted like smoke and oil. Shaking her arms out, she heard the shifting of snow and shot a glance to her right. The claws of a second demon dug into her shoulder and side as the impact knocked her down.

Hissing from the pain, Imelda snarled at the creature that had blindsided her, grappling with its incomplete form. Its blue eyes glowed and teeth flashed. Water-aligned. Her boots found purchase on its belly, and she kicked. They both rolled and the demon tumbled over the edge of the roof. It wasn’t going to be gone for very long.

Blood splattered to the snow as she hunched over, peeling her torn shirt off with a grimace. The wounds would start healing in a moment, but her shirt was just going to have to be a casualty of the night. “[Fucker]...” Imelda pulled on the moon’s song, focusing on the tension in her back while keeping her awareness of the demons. Her skin crawled and her bones began to ache. Mentally, she reached out to her pack bonds, asking for more strength to quicken her shift into wolf. Matthias, her leader, fed it to her.