The Six

A Gathering of Enemies

"That is the most idiotic thing that I have ever heard!" yelled the aged Knight. He was absolutely furious, and for good reason. "They will rip each other to shreds as soon as they lays eyes on one another! And I thought all you Castors were supposed to be smart." His heavily wrinkled face was bright red from shouting at the equally old man sitting at the other end of the old wooden table. The man's violet eyes narrowed at the Knight's offensive words.

"They aren't," said a third man who was leaning lazily against the dark stone wall of the castle. His heavily tatooed arms were crossed against his chest, which was unusually large. His short silvery hair was styled into a mohalk, giving him the somewhat comical appearance of an elderly biker. Not very frightening, you would think, but his cold, onyx eyes and the large, black, leathery wings that protruded from his muscled back would make any mortal tremble. Not that it mattered, of course, since none of the six biengs in the room were mortal.

He smirked slightly, a rather childlike gesture considering his age, status and species. Although, bieng the 10,000 year old Demon that he was he acted like all of his fellow creatures of the night: immature and extremely proud. Ah, pride. Damian thought to himself, gazing over the six other creatures scattered in the damp room. He loathed each one of them to the core. That's the only thing I have in common with these idiots.

He continued his statement, looking into William's-the Knight- dark blue eyes. "They aren't smarter per say. They're just a little bit less stupid than you and your stick-wielding nianderthals."

William was overtaken by rage, even more so than the fact that these creatures were in his house on his land. And frankly, he was tired of them. Using speed that no mere human could duplicate, William unsheathed his trusted sword and aimed it at the Demon's chest.

"I'll show you a stick-wielding nianderthal you souless cretin!" he spat angrily, touching the tip of the sword to where Damian's heart would be, if he had one. The Demon was caught off guard, but gave growl of rage and raised a hand full of long, razored talons, about to bring it down onto the Knight's face. But he was stopped.

"ENOUGH!" shouted an almost bell-like voice that was somehow neither loud nor quiet. Though it was obviously irritated. Every eye darted to the elderly, white-robed figure that seemed to be emitting a faint glow, that lit up the dim room. "You are all INSUFFERABLE!" The man yelled. He had been doing that a lot lately, the years of war had changed him.

Oh, My God, he prayed silently to his one and only master. Please, I ask you to give me the strength to not want to murder these....these...He struggled in vain to find a word that wasn't too offensive. He was an Angel after all.

"We will not get anywhere if we continue bickering like children." Gabriel said, truly trying his best to refrain from getting angry and doing something he was sure to regret. It was extremely difficult. Not only for himself, but for everyone in the room. No one wanted to be there and they each knew that.

"Now, Aldrick," Gabriel said, turning towards the bearded wizard, his rounded glasses settled on the end of his upturned nose. "Let us see if we understand your suggestion: You want one child from each species to travel to The Valdrenian castle to destroy Kishon....together?"

Yells of protest rang through the great hall, shaling the old walls. Gabriel waited for a break in the yelling for Aldrick to confirm what had been asked. A blood-curtling roar ripped through the room, causing all of the men to grow silent. Aldrik gratefully nodded his head to the enormous red dragon who's body took up much of the room. You could see a mix of tirdeness and annoyance in it's large, piercing yellow eyes. Drakaron, leader of the Shapeshifters, was a surprisingly patient man, hundreds of years of fighting, training, and of course becoming immune to the terrible pain of his Change had made him that way. But he had only been in the presence of these six men for a mere 5 minutes and he was already starting to feel years worth of wrinkes forming on his already old face.

Aldrik answered the question simply, "Yes."

More angry shouts.

Another irritated roar.

Aldrik sighed and continued, "I know that none of you wish to endanger the lives of the rest of our kin, especially children, but we have no other choice! They are the only ones left to fight against Kishon and you all know that we cannot. We are old and have far passed our fighting days. We must ensure the survival of what's left of our races at any cost. We shou-"

"HELL NO!" Damian shouted at Aldrik, practically foaming at the mouth in anger. How dare this Castor suggest that one of his people work together with them?! "No way will I let this happen! I would rather be dead than see a Demon be all chummy with the likes of you!"

"That can be arranged." A melodic voice sang out from the shadows. The man it belonged to was as beautiful as his voice with raven-black hair, ivory skin, and deep, deep crimson eyes that even the most heartless fiend would get lost in. He wore a black suit made of fine silk, despite the fact that his race, like all of the others, were living in poverty. Several wrinkles cursed his perfect face but not nearly enough to give away his true age.

"Really? Well, how about I arrange your face Leech? It looks far too feminine." Damian snarled at the man, who remained unfazed by the threat. "Now, now, remember your temper my dear Reaper, we wouldn't want you to break a hip." He grinned widely, showing his large, gleaming fangs. Once again, Damian was ready to strike his enemy down. But just like the first time he was stopped.

"Cease at once you fools!" Aldrik shouted at the bickering men. He had had enough of them. Of all of them. He just wanted to go home to his own people. "Now, unless you all want your races to become extinct, I suggest that you each go and choose your apprentice and return back here no later than tomorrow morning." He ordered. With a quiet incantation and a puff of wispy purple smoke, the Wizard dissappeared from the castle, leaving 5 angry immortals in the room.

"Stupid Castor." William muttered under his breath. The others would have silently agreed with his statement but were too busy thinking about something far more important: the warriors they would choose to destroy Kishon and his elven empire. Their champions that were supposed to save not only them, but Valdren.

The 6 children that would undoubtibly, not return home.