The Wielder: Death Curse (part one)

By David Gosnell

Now with revenge handed out against Maldgorath the Collector, Arthur MacInerny has pulled himself “out of the game” of being one of Earth’s protectors. He’s enjoying life and the most intimate talents of one particular succubus. Arthur doesn’t have a care at all.

That is, until he realizes he didn’t beat Maldgorath’s death curse. A curse that could potentially change him into some kind of unspeakable monster. A curse that is subverting his very nature.

Events plunge Arthur back into service as one of Earth’s protectors. Both with The Protectorate and as a double agent working with the hunted Dzemond, Ahtsag Znuul.

Unfortunately, the Dzemond found a way around the life for life lock to Earth’s realm. They’re coming and potentially in great numbers. Mankind is not quite ready fight back that kind of invasion or those kind of heartless conquerors.

This novel is part one of the Death Curse storyline and third in the series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Gosnell
• Release date: Jan 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310786839

David Gosnell

David Gosnell is a former ad-man, now full-time insurance adjuster who writes a bit to keep his sanity while working away from home. David is a terrible, but loud musician, a fair tennis player, and an avid fan and participant of fantasy MMORPGs. The Wielder: Betrayal is David's first novel. He is currently working on the second part of the third installment of the series - "Death Curse."

Book preview

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 1

Riyadh, Saudi Arabia – 2 months after the fall of Maldgorath

After providing his assurance that the process will be safe, the good Dr. Javrg then points out how to use the entertainment system within the transfusion pod.

So you assure me I will not be harmed?

Yes, replies Dr. Javrg as he points to the cuff on the man’s left arm. We are constantly monitoring your vitals through the cuff. Should there be any indications of danger to you, the pod is programmed to automatically shut down the taking of blood and begin the infusion of the blood you previously donated along with saline.

And I will be paid? As we have agreed? The man’s nervousness is palpable.

Of course. 3,750,300 Riyal in the bank account you specified.

And the demons will not harm me or my family?

That question gets a sigh from Dr. Javrg. The Dzemond are a much maligned collection of races. The purpose of our endeavor is to allow the representatives here to be known. These are not demons; they are highly evolved beings from a separate dimension of existence. They are flesh and blood – just as you and I are. They will bring you no harm; that would be counter to their reason for coming here. I must ask, though – are you having doubts? If you are, we can unhook you from the apparatus and send you on your way.

The donor considers his words. Then he replies, No, I will do it.

Dr. Javrg smiles at him. Good. You will meet the ambassadors after they arrive. While they do not look like us, I know you will find them pleasant, approachable and honorable.

He closes the pod, thankful that he will not have to repeat the performance again today. His gaze falls upon the bank of six pods. Five closed with donors already; one left open as that donor ended up having cold feet.

Ideally, they should only require three donors if everything follows the intended schedule.

He walks over to the control panel and the technician attending to it. We are ready. Make sure the sedative is applied after the ambassadors come through. We can’t have our donors seeing them coated in their own blood.

The technician acknowledges his direction and the good doctor opens the metal door leading to a long chamber and at the end of it is a black frame with large metal glyphs welded to the perimeter. Two men are in the chamber with the doctor, though these two are on the floor on their knees within ornately drawn arcane circles. They hold incense burners and are swaying slightly while humming in meditative prayer.

The doctor takes a piece of chalk and draws a feathered line from one of the arcane circles towards himself, finishing it off by drawing a circle around his left foot; he repeats the process for his right foot.

The speaker on the wall over the metal door announces. ETA one minute. Engaging pods in 25 seconds.

The doctor’s hands go through a strange and deliberate number of gestures and his eyes change, followed by the pallor of his skin to an almost translucent grey, as he allows his true nature as a tainted human being to show through – a human body with Dzemond spirit. Javrg is old for one of the tainted, approaching three hundred years in age. His pale almost translucent flesh is marbled beneath with black, webbed veins, one sign of many that shows how his body has long since adapted and changed to his true spirit.

Pods engaged. Time approaching, squawks the speaker.

Norgam Ibessuit! commands Javrg and the two men’s rhythmic humming step up in volume and intensity. Their swaying becomes frenetic in time with the mantra.

The gate begins to gleam and drip with a light sheen of red. Then the small hum of a motor is heard and a steady stream of blood follows, creating a wall of blood inside the frame, a viscous, sanguine curtain to engage their arrival.

Blood and life given! Messigurist! Jartzoon! Bmzkltrdz! Our world to yours! Your world to ours! Come - this realm beckons you! shouts Javrg.

The glyphs glow and the wall expands as the contours of horned, elegant faces begin to press through; the vitae almost acts like a thin membrane. The two creatures push forward until the barrier breaks, causing the blood to fall downward, engulfing the two that now stand before Javrg.

The humming men pass out and fall over, unconscious.

Javrg regards the two naked, blood covered beings in front of him, one male and one female, both carrying what may be considered boxy luggage. They have wings, folded tightly to their backs, small horns, slender tails, and piercing green eyes.

Welcome to the Earthen realm, Cubati ambassadors, he proclaims.

They both set down their luggage. The female takes a moment to taste the blood coating her, licking her palm. She smiles at Javrg.

Greetings to you master of ceremonies, replies the male.

Emperor Zbelbuub himself sends his deepest appreciation for your efforts, chimes in the female.

My understanding is that there would be refreshments, the male queries.

We have, of course, made arrangements, good ambassador E'Fenk. Javrg reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small device, then speaks into it. Please send the greeters in.

Another metal door on the wall opposite the pods opens and two humans enter, dressed in bathrobes. They start at the altered appearance of Dr. Javrg, who smiles to them, but are not startled by the blood covered, winged pair in front of them – they were well briefed as to what to expect from the portal and what would be required of them.

Javrg proclaims, Ambassadors E'Fenk and Jneailith, please meet Martin from the area known as the United Kingdom and Jennifer from the area known as the United States. They have traveled far to greet you in the most intimate of manners – as your customs call for.

Both ambassadors glide forward to the greeters. E'Fenk takes Jennifer by the hand and guides her away towards a corner of the room near the gate. This is so very exciting for me, he says, beginning to ply his neuromancy upon her through the direct contact of their hands, I have never been with one of this realm.

I’ve never been with anyone from yours, either, she says back to him breathlessly.

He swiftly unties her bathrobe and removes it from her, turning her to face him.

Your beauty, I am overwhelmed, he says - because that is what she wants to hear. He kisses her deeply and pushes her strongly with his neuromantic craft, exciting her, preparing her. So enthralled, she’s not even put off by the blood smeared on her body from their contact.

I must have you now, he whispers in her ear.

In a thoughtless, breathy tone she responds Yes, you must.

He turns her around, and draws his hands down her arm, leaving more bloody trails. He turns her to face the wall and takes her. She gasps and leans forward, her face pressing in the wall, her hips in perfect timing with him.

E’Fenk is feeling no arousal himself, but continues to work hers to a fever pitch. So good, he mutters, but really he is sending a telepathic suggestion how she should feel. He pushes harder with neuromantic craft until she climaxes.

He smiles as that is his in. Fully in control now, he makes her climax over and over again and with each one, he drinks down more and more of her life.

She screams, Oh God, please don’t stop!

He doesn’t stop – taking of her. Her head arches up in ecstasy. Soon after her hair grays, skin wrinkles and eyes become milky. After a few more moments, she releases a rasping wheeze and shrivels, her face contorted into a death mask with a smile.

Yech, says E'Fenk pushing the dried husk away. It falls to the ground, limbs and dried flesh breaking into brittle pieces. He turns to regard Ambassador Jneailith who is straddling her refreshment on the ground, riding him slowly. The young man of twenty something now appears more like he’s in his late fifties. He is totally enraptured.

Silly E'Fenk, always rushing through your meals like it will be your last, she purrs to him.

Are you actually taking pleasure with that animal? he spits back.

I do as I wish. With that, she raises herself off of Martin leaving bloody stains on his torso. She stands before E'Fenk.

More please, Mistress Jneailith… Please, Martin pleads.

She looks down at him with sympathy. Don’t worry, we’ll finish later. For now, you get to wash all this blood off of me. Poor E'Fenk, who will wash you?

Her eyes turn to Jvarg, Such hospitality. Thank you. Now, is it true that clean water is so abundant here we may stand under endless streams of it?

Yes good ambassador, Javrg responds, That fact is true and the showers are this way. We’ll need you both clean and presentable for the donors. It’s essential that they think this is one of the best things they’ve ever done. After all, we hope to be able to do this many more times.

Chapter 2

Omaha, Nebraska – 5 months after the fall of Maldgorath

Lukas Vanahanen strides into the restaurant unimpressed. It is a chain, and in his eyes not one of the better ones either. He had flown across the Atlantic to make this meeting. The polite thing would be for his host to feed him properly.

The waitress greets him and asks if he needs a table.

I am here to join the Newell party, he tells her matter of factly, looking out across the sea of tables.

Right this way, hun, the pleasantly round hostess tells him, and she makes a bee-line for the back of the restaurant. She opens the door to their Community Room and tells him that Rebecca will be their server. He acknowledges her coolly and enters, only be greeted by a pleasant surprise.

By God! He got you, too, booms the voice of a man in overalls. That voice belongs to the friendly face of Bobby Newfield, once formerly known as Q’rul Ez, The Deceiver.

Lukas' granite veneer shatters as he strides across the room and they hug as friends do that haven’t set eyes upon each other in ages.

Old Master, it has been too long, says Lukas.

Bobby says, I told you to wipe that word from your vocabulary millennia ago, did you forget?

Lukas just smiles and gestures for Bobby to sit back down. I will never forget my bond to you. I am Hjulak and I have served you since I was but a whelpling. Have you forgotten? Your kind did breed us to be loyal.

Bobby nods to him, Yes, loyal to a fault. Still, it's good to see you, though age appears to be catching up with you.

I may have another good eighty or ninety years left, says the graying Lukas.

Well, if you want to see them, you may want to leave, responds Bobby. That son of a bitch threatened my family and all that I hold dear. I plan to tell him and the fucking emperor to go get stuffed. I am out of the game. And I don’t care if the bastard can kill me, or worse - I’ll still leave a mark.

Lukas’ concern registers immediately. You’re going to tell Ahtsag Znuul to get stuffed?

We can’t live free if fear dictates our actions, old friend. I’ve told my family to scatter if I don’t return. I’m confident that if he kills me I’ll be going to a better place.

This reunion is interrupted by the doors opening and the entry of a very large man. Well, two of five isn’t bad I guess, he says striding to the table. Neither man rises, but instead just glower at him.

The waitress follows him in and asks Lukas if he would like coffee.

Yes, please – black he answers with a bit of distraction.

The large man sits down at the table and looks at the server with a smile, Coffee here too, Rebecca, and breakfast buffets for all present and anyone who joins us.

She tells him okay, lets everyone at the table know that plates are at the buffet and leaves to fetch the coffee. Silence around the table follows with dour looks all aimed at the very large man – none other than Ahtsag Znuul himself, The Destroyer of Hope and Devourer of Souls.

Thanks for coming on such short notice, says Znuul.

Like we had a fucking choice, you threaten my family and all I hold dear, says Bobby with more than a little venom in his tone.

Me also, chimes in Lukas.

You and the emperor can both jerk each other off, continues Bobby. I’m not having anything more to do with either of you. Bring it on. I’m making my stand right here. Bobby folds his arms across his chest and his eyes dare Znuul to make a move.

Znuul takes that statement in, noting that Lukas appears ready to pounce. Neither action bothers him, and, instead, a huge smile crosses his face.

Gentleman I think you may have misinterpreted the information I shared with you. And that was not entirely by accident. You particularly, Mr. Newfield - I would not expect you to take a meeting with me and I figured showing up on your doorstep would be taken even worse. So, a little deception was in order… You assume when I tell you the Emperor Zbelbuub is going to destroy all you hold dear, that I am his instrument of destruction. I am not. He threatens all I hold dear, too.

What in the name of this realm’s God are you talking about, Baalig, exclaims Bobby, now coming to the edge of his seat and bristling with agitation.

The door opens again and Rebecca enters with a tray of steaming coffee mugs and a pot for warming up Bobby’s. The room becomes more quiet and civilized until she leaves.

This is horseshit, Mr. Newell. Time you started talking plainly, says Bobby more quietly, but not wasting a moment.

I am not threatening you or anyone, says Znuul back quietly, in the same fashion. But we both face our home realm sticking its nose into our lives. I personally have an issue with that and thought you might too. Before we get started, though, there’s a buffet out there with all-you-can-eat bacon. No small thing, bacon.

Bobby is just starting to rip on Znuul’s response when the door opens again. In walks a quite attractive man with red curly hair and piercing green eyes.

Sorry I’m late, he says.

By all that is holy, you invited that psychopathic freak, spews Bobby at Znuul.

Good to see you too, the good looking man answers. Thought you were dead.

I am and intend to stay that way, says Bobby.

By this time, Znuul is standing and shaking the newcomer's hand.

Glad you could make it, Znuul says, Where’s your sister?

The man shrugs. I have her proxy.

Lukas stands as well, chuckling and reaches out for the man’s hand. More like she told Mr. Newell here to go fuck himself. Is it now Paul, yes? And how did you ensconce yourself in the good graces of the Protectorate? I almost had a seizure when I heard that. You were on the most wanted list, like, forever.

Yeah. It’s Paul now. I guess I'm just lucky.

Paul slaps Lukas on the back and steps around to sit in the chair across from Znuul. Everybody reintroduces themselves by their human names.

You’re in the good graces of the Protectorate? asks Bobby his face scrunching in confusion. How, by the true hell itself, does that happen?

Just lucky, Paul says again dismissively. Good friends, old family made new, having my ass kicked by a Gypsy Curse.

Sorry for being rude, Znuul interjects, but I’m going to put a halt to the social time and lay all the cards on the table, since nobody is up for the buffet. Having everyone’s attention, he continues in a lower tone, I have it on very good authority that portals to our home realm are being opened. My sources indicate that Helterzen may have developed a work around to the life-for-life lock on this realm. If that is the case, gentleman, our new home may be at risk. Particularly if they find a way to open a massive gate that can allow an invasion force in. All of you, as I understand it, care about this world in one way or another. That’s why I called you here. We may need to defend this realm from our own.

Bobby’s eyes take a laser focus on Znuul. Why should I believe you? You – the emperor’s hatchet man?

Znuul lifts his coffee cup, breaks eye contact with Bobby, takes a sip and then meets his gaze again sincerely.

I found love, friends, fear, and a life worth living.

Bobby holds the gaze for a few more seconds, and then breaks it – shaking his head. God bless. Those words should have never come out your mouth. Not yours. Not ever.

But they did and I claim them all, even fear. You know I can be a deceiver at times, sure, but never, ever a liar. What I told you is true. All I want from today’s meeting is to know if I can call on you for action should the time arise. That, and to feed you endless amounts of bacon for the inconvenience of calling you here.

The bacon sells it for me, says Paul with a sly laugh. Besides, I have way too many friends that don’t deserve what Dzemond domination offers them. Sissy and I are in.

Damn Fex, have you changed. Never in a million years would I have thought to hear you say anything like that, says Bobby shaking his head in disbelief.

It’s Paul now, please. And for the record I have always appreciated bacon.

Lukas looks across the table at Bobby. I’m in only if Bobby is. And he should be.

All right then, I’m in, says Bobby, looking at Lukas, then leaning back and hooking his thumbs into the straps of his overalls.

Znuul’s smile is a mile wide. Well then, business is done. I plan to ravage the buffet now. I hope you’ll join me and maybe we can take some time getting to know each other better.

Paul stands up and slaps Lukas on the back again. Come on, you werewolf looking hound man… It’s baaa-cun!

Chapter 3

Omaha, Nebraska – next day after the restaurant meeting

Ahtsag Znuul takes in the rolling Missouri River, leaning on the rail of the Kerry Pedestrian Bridge. He is rather pleased that he chose to take an extra day in Omaha. Karen and Kitten can take care of themselves for the day – and probably much longer, he muses.

Watching the Missouri River roll on, Znuul considers the bounty of his new home: the air is clean, the water is plentiful and non-toxic, there is no lack of food or prey, and the majority of the human population is, potentially, good company.

Though not all of them - after all, no place can be perfect.

Halfway across the bridge is enough for him, and Znuul turns around, taking time to engage random people for ideas on places to eat and even more importantly where to get a good coffee. He uses one of his newly acquired skills – a smile and the ability to seem unassuming despite his size. These social graces are entirely counter to all the skills he learned before coming to the Earthen realm.

Leaving the bridge, he hails a cab and scrunches himself inside.

To Caffeine Dreams, if you would, he says with a smile and enthusiasm.

A short drive later, Znuul pays the cabbie and unfolds from the backseat to stand and face Caffeine Dreams – the coffee shop that was sold to him so well on the bridge.

Entering, he takes it in. There are about eight circular tables, booth seating that wraps around the wall, a generous pastry case, and nice book nook. It's all very cozy and very coffee shopish, he thinks.

He strides up to the counter and beams a smile at Patty or so her employee badge proclaims.

Hi! What can I get for you? Patty asks.

Znuul makes sure to make eye contact and beams a smile before glancing at the board. I know it’s out of season, but any chance of getting a pumpkin spice latte?

I bet we can do that for you, Patty responds with a big smile of her own. Anything else we can get you – the pecan blondies are really good.

Pecan Blondie and Pumpkin Spice Latte, I'll take it, says Znuul as enthusiastically as he can without seeming totally over the top.

She takes his order and payment then turns around to make his latte. While his eyes are on her making his latte, he can’t help but notice the three men that enter the store. They separate; taking positions to surround him.

Ahtsag Znuul! the man to the right corner of the room exclaims. You will submit to the protectorate for trial and summary execution!

Patty turns around from making his latte and looks at him with some concern. That thing from Rome and YouTube?

Znuul’s posture deflates a bit. Not Rome, but YouTube, yes. Maybe make that to go? Znuul starts to turn to the man who called him out, but comes to a stop as the tile floor grows tendrils, which wrap about his feet and fix him where he stands.

Really? Znuul asks feeling a little agitated at being rooted in place.

You are surrounded here, and from outside also, the man says with authority. He tosses a pair of black manacles at Znuul’s enveloped feet. Submit or die now.

Znuul regards the manacles for a moment then turns to Patty, Probably best if you head to the back of the store.

Patty takes his advice and scampers off.

Submit for trial and summary execution? he asks, just to make sure.

Yes.

Why take the time with a trial then, Znuul asks, breaking free of the floor's grasp to fully face the magic caster. He sweeps the manacles to the side with his freed foot.

I agree! says one of the two other men in trench coats. He pulls out a sword and promptly sets it aglow, then charges in.

Znuul carefully times the man’s charge, and then, moving much faster than one would suspect of a man of his size, he spins to catch his assailant straight in the bread basket with a kick that doubles the man over and pushes him across the store.

Tintreach! yells the magic caster. Znuul’s right hand extends and he calls forth a block of shielding, a talent so ingrained it is virtually instinctive. There is a crash of lightning against the invisible barrier, which illuminates it, the power scintillating around its edges. Znuul then propels the barrier towards the mage, careening through the tables. The mage dives to the side to avoid the approaching barrier shielding.

Znuul’s eyes go back to the Paladins. The younger, more aggressive one is getting up. But Znuul’s concern is for the older, more seasoned Paladin, who doffs his trench coat and is now brandishing his sword. His eyes are locked firmly on Znuul’s chest and he steps carefully into a defensive stance. This one won’t be making brash actions.

Znuul hears the rear door open followed by Thoop! Thoop! and two thudding impacts on his back. He turns around and takes in the sight of his newest adversary – a strange, jaundiced man with large black sunglasses, wearing a long gray coat with a hoodie. He is holding a tube with a rectangle at the back emitting a trickle of steam.

Hehehehehe, the strange man cackles in a high pitched voice.

Znuul’s observations are interrupted by the sight of the Paladins closing on him out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, two explosions on his back reverberate and pain shears into him. Pushed forward by the blast, Znuul trips over a small table and ends up sprawled across it.

The strange man rushes forward, a large Kukri knife appearing in his hand. Znuul pops up from the table and flips it towards the attacker, who fluidly responds with a duck and then rolls over to the side of the room. Znuul turns to keep the man to his front and notes that the blast has knocked one Paladin through the glass storefront and the other, older one to the ground, rendering him unconscious. The mage, obviously warded, is picking himself up. So for good measure, Znuul picks up a table and hurls it at the mage, knocking him back down to the ground.

By this time, the hoodie man has changed weapons from the knife to the tube again. He lifts it and it Thoops! again. Znuul is ready and dodges the shot. The man shoots again, but instead of a thoop it just makes a whoosh sound – out of ammo.

That sound isn’t what got Znuul’s attention though; it was the sound of Patty saying Ahhh!

He turns away from the man to see Patty, who had stepped out from the kitchen, standing there with a green blinking blob on her shirt. Znuul takes a step towards her to help, but the blinking mass explodes, spraying the room and Znuul with Patty’s upper torso.

Stunned, confused, and more than a little pissed off, Znuul turns back to the hooded man who responds by feinting towards the mage, then throwing a small ping pong ball to the floor. The ping pong ball explodes into tear gas that fills the room rapidly.

Znuul shifts his vision from normal sight to the one that tracks life energy signatures. He sees the disabled paladins plainly, the mage getting up from behind the table and the freaky guy – where the hell is the freaky guy? And what is he? Is he even alive?

Looking around through the cloud of teargas, refusing to admit any discomfort, Znuul sees another person in the back of the shop. The word Volare! gets Znuul’s attention as a wind gust begins to push the tear gas out of the lobby toward the open rear door.

Znuul taps into his deepest, darkest well of energy and hardens himself. Then he turns to the mage.

Never thought I’d see the day when the Protectorate kills innocent bystanders.

The mage doesn’t reply. Both of their attentions go to the sound of the store manager.

No please. Don’t hurt me, he cries, the Kukri blade now to his throat, held by hoodie man.

Hoodie man forces the manager into the room. They step over Patty’s torn body, closer to Znuul. Then Hoodie spins the manager around and lets out one of his high pitched laugh/cackles.

There’s a device stuck the manager’s back. It’s blinking.

Hoodie shoves the manager into Znuul and takes a rolling dive back into the store room, laughing all the way.

Znuul catches the manager and not knowing what else to do whispers I’m sorry.

The device explodes.

Znuul’s world whites out and his ears ring. There is the feeling of floating, no, flying. There’s a crunching sensation followed by a feeling like falling. The world feels like it stops. Znuul shakes his head and reaches back upon the depth of his energy, to bring some healing and restore clarity.

He finds himself lying in the middle of the street. The crunching sensation was obviously the window of the bus that hit him along the way. As his hearing restores he hears sirens and commotion. Slowly, he rolls over and begins to pick himself up.

Stay down, comes an authoritative voice.

Znuul doesn’t pay any attention to that voice and picks himself up anyway. He looks at the front of what used to be Caffeine Dreams. The carnage to the store is incredible. His gaze turns up, towards a helicopter that is atop the building next door. Crazy hoodie man climbs up a rope ladder towards it.

Get back down on the ground or I’ll shoot!

Znuul turns towards the police officer pointing his service revolver at him from behind the car’s opened door. You have to be kidding, he says in a low, measured tone.

They both turn to the man picking himself up from the rubble on the sidewalk – the mage.

Ahtsag Znuul, he bellows, This comes to an end now. Surrender!

Screw this, Znuul mutters and bends down to a knee – not to appease the police officer but to begin his transformation to his true self.

Holy shit, says the policeman as Znuul sprouts wings, horns, and a tail, and turns his purple-blackish normal color.

There’s nowhere to run, demon! the mage cries out, oblivious to all the commotion he's causing.

Who’s running? asks Znuul smugly, and with a flex of his legs and engaging his levitation magic he takes off into the air.

Flying as fast as he can, pushing himself hard, Znuul banks down one street and begins to elevate only to see the helicopter closing in from the other side, swooping down.

The helicopter bears in and banks to the side, revealing the hoodie man pointing a floor mounted chain-gun. He opens fire on Znuul.

Znuul responds by releasing his levitation and folding in his wings, dropping suddenly. After about a twenty foot drop he reengages his power and unfurls his wings with a snap. He considers taking out the helicopter. It's no match for him, after all, but the potential for injuring innocent people below is too risky. He flies under the Helicopter to negate the chain-gun, noting the carnage to the building behind him.

How many died in that building? he wonders.

He flies past the helicopter in the opposite direction and he almost does a double take as there’s another hoodie man on the other side holding a rocket launcher. Damn near a twin.

And the hoodie twin lets loose with that rocket.

The rocket closes on Znuul and he banks at the last second. The rocket misses him, but plunges into the side of a high-rise building.

Diving, banking, cornering around buildings and using his natural maneuverability to his best advantage, Znuul tries to keep the helicopter at bay. His evasive flight takes him out of the city and into a residential district. With no buildings for cover and only open air, he knows the helicopter’s greater speed is going to pose a problem.

Znuul attempts banking from side to side to keep the hoodie brothers from gaining aim. That doesn’t stop them from trying. The chain gun fires. The hoodie brother with the rockets fires another that lands in a neighborhood.

Znuul decides that maybe now is the time to return to the ground and run. He turns