Paragon

⊰❉⊱ 60 ⊰❉⊱

We were not placed here in our vast numbers for the scenery. So there wasn't much time to think. To reflect. To assemble something in my mind that didn't end with me deliberately sabotaging a warhead with Elias still inside that mountain with it.

"I need you to vanish back into whatever life it is you want..."

I snorted as the red filled cargo hold of the transport plane shuddered around us. A few flicked their gazes over me before returning bored stares to the windows beyond. It was hardly thrilling. The mortals that waited unaware five thousand feet below us would be nothing special. If anything I wondered at all why Vanilla had deployed so many of us at all. The only thing that could challenge–

And then I did pause. 

Paragon briefed every variable in excruciating detail as always. But what if they did not. What if the reason these short fused immortals were here was because what waited below was not mortal at all.

The exit ramp began lowering. The tone in the aircraft turned marginally eager.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and checked my chutes as the walking fodder strode past me in streaks of bleach blonde hair and other unmemorable faces. I watched six immortals approach the edge and five drop without ceremony when the interior flashed to green. The blonde gave me the curtesy of flipping me off before letting gravity take her.

I watched the black sky where she once stood and felt sorry for them all. 

If I had known anything about elders it was their complete lack of empathy. But if I had to guess, what was left of the founder's soul was not worth thinking about–and he wouldn't hesitate to take whatever he wanted in order to succeed.

He wanted a perfect monster. He would damn well get one.

I'd be whatever hell he needed. I'd let those immortals find whatever fate awaited them. I'd even let this despicable creature beside me live. Because my scope was so much bigger than petty revenge.

It was Quinn Adams.

I felt the aircraft pitch hard and start its slow circle above our coordinates. They would have five minutes to cause enough hell to draw whatever resources those mortals–or otherwise–had before we made our move.

Elias was silent the entire time in an eerie calm. His refusal to wear anything less than his finest suit was almost as impractical as it was moronic. But that was not my problem. My problem was dismantling weapons. Obtaining weapons grade plutonium. And keeping an elder that deserved nothing more than death–alive.

I preferred the Cold War, honestly. 

"A great mortal once told me that a successful war was not one where you killed the most enemies. It was one where you did not need to pull the trigger at all." I had said the words so calmly to Quinn in her flat in London that day, yet her stillness in response spoke louder.

"It makes me wonder all the more about how much human darkness you've had to endure, Fletcher..." She had answered. 

But what I had not told her, was that I had seen far worse in immortals. It was an immortal I had faced at the edge of the world when it was all ready to burn. An immortal wishing annihilation upon a world of unknowing souls purely because he had lost his own. It was nothing more than a coward.

I didn't trust any of them. I only trusted their capacity to do either great or terrible things in whatever new path they forged. I was a monster for them yes, but for her...