The Grey Chronicles Part Two: Under Siege.

Chapter 29: Burn.

North end of 31st street, capital city of Machinae One, August of 8096 AL.

The drop ship tumbled from the sky, scraping into the side of the building as the pilot desperately tried to aim for the top of the skyscraper. The stump that used to be her wing shattered the windows, showering the street below in shards of glass and bits of metal. The Phantom dipped, barely making it far enough to land on the roof of the apartment complex ahead of them. It touched down, bouncing twice before skidding to a stop at the edge of the roof. The nose of the ship hung over the street, several feet of the front end stuck out past the edge. The pilot heaved a sigh of relief, leaning back in his seat; the ship keeled over to the right, but it wasn't going anywhere.

"Is everyone alright? Sir?" the pilot called over the intercom in the cabin, unsure about how his passengers had fared.

"We're fine," Briarios answered, shouting through the door. "We need to move, how far are we from our drop zone?"

"Well, actually," the pilot checked his map, "We're about a hundred stories above it."

"Perfect," Briarios looked to his sister, she had clung to Alex during the drop; he'd been the only one of them to buckle his seat belt before the Phantom took off. "Let's go."

"It's a hundred stories down?" Alex undid his seat belt and stood as his friend stepped out of the back of the crooked ship. "It will take forever to reach the bottom, even if we take the elevator."

"We're not taking the elevator." Briarios walked around the bird and stopped at the edge of the roof, looking down at the street. Several blocks down he could see them; a mass of Nephilim heading towards the end of the street, cars and trucks were strewn about the streets as if a colossal toddler had kicked them unthinkingly. There were thousands, at least, too many to truly count; a veritable horde that flooded towards something. His eyes cast farther up the street as he noticed gunfire; a platoon of marines fired at the horde, mostly in vain. The marines were split, half of the platoon on either side of the street, taking cover among the overturned cars and in the buildings.

"We're not? Then how are we getting down?" Alex looked at him, confused. He stood in the back of the Phantom, Soluna beside him.

"Parachutes, grab the parachutes." Briarios examined his hand; charcoal and soot was smeared across his wrist. In places, his clothes were tattered and burned. For the most part he'd been able to control the flames and prevent them from burning his clothes, but it seemed he'd lost himself a few times. Fire had never hurt him, heat never bothered him. He noticed pockmarks in his sleeve; presumably from the explosion in the hospital, the shrapnel had torn his clothes but not his skin. The fire had protected him, he realized, perhaps even healed him.

"There's only two of them," Soluna said, handing one to Alex. She strapped on her own, the gunner watched Briarios curiously.

"I don't need one," Briarios grunted, then leaped from the roof. A thought ran through his head, a combination of a prayer and a challenge; You're so determined to keep me alive, that doesn't mean I'll make the job easy for you. Save me from this, if you care so much, "my queen."

Briarios heard her chuckle, but no words followed. It seemed the Raven Queen was watching him, he wondered if she would intervene or if she would send her demon to do that work for her. He heard Soluna and Alex yelling, but paid no attention to their words. Briarios set his eyes on the pavement, and the horde that roiled on it. He felt the hunger returning, some animalistic need to devour. The ghost of a smile touched his stoic features. I just set a starving wolf free in a petting zoo, he thought as he fell, plummeting towards the pavement.