10804/An ill-fated meeting

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An ill-fated meeting
Date of Scene: 17 April 2022
Location: Jumping Jack power plant
Synopsis: A demon hunting angel gets more than he bargained for when he decides to hunt the Ghost Rider
Cast of Characters: Robbie Reyes, Hayal




Robbie Reyes has posed:
It's sunset on Brooklyn's waterfront, and the shadows are lengthening. A couple of curlews are wading at the water's edge, among the reeds and flotsam. And the menacing hulk of an old power plant looms nearby, all graffiti'd walls, broken windows and crumbling masonry dipping into the Atlantic like a giant sagging into the sea.

He's tracked them here, where he knew they'd been squatting. Watched them over the course of weeks to learn their habits; and tonight's the night. There are five of them; they're huddled against the steel grates of a second floor catwalk. And while the stairs are risky due to their state of decay, Robbie can hardly *fly* his way up. So he ascends slowly, testing his footing with each step.

The first of the men is dead before he knows what's happening. The boy's booted foot slams his head to the floor as he tries to get up, and with a sickening *crack*, his neck's broken. The next rushes him, tries to grapple him to the grating, and is immolated on contact with a blood-curdling scream. The other three scramble to their feet; one has a gun. He starts shooting wildly.

Hayal has posed:
The terrible, terrible irony is that Hayal locked on only *after* the battle at the gates of the Silver City. He's been down in the world of matter for too long, like a soldier abandoned in the trenches. No news has filtered to him of the Archangel's destruction, let alone that among the perpetrators numbers one young mechanic from Brooklyn. So he has no idea that his target is anything beyond another human who's made a bad bargain with a dark spirit.

But that's enough, more than enough. He caught the "scent" of it not long after noon, up in the air as he circled lazily like a hawk on a thermal. Burning metal and the sulfurous reek of Hellfire, strong enough to have him drifting slowly down, skipping rooftop to rooftop with the silence of an owl until he was sure of his trail. Found the young man and followed Robbie's tracks, keeping enough distance (he hopes) to avoid detection.

All the better to work his way down from the roof to observe this little exhibition, crouched above like a gargoyle and peering through holes in two floors. The angel suffers not a twitch of temptation to intervene. Saving humans, innocent or profoundly otherwise, is not his job. The apparently demon-ridden is, however, and the flare of Hellfire glimmers reflected in blue eyes as Hayal watches raptly, as if all of this were for his benefit. He doesn't twitch even as a bullet whines like a wasp past him, close enough to stir his hair. All that's missing is the popcorn.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Up until now, he hasn't taken his demon form. Hasn't *needed* to; he's more than capable of fighting, killing, without the Rider to aid him.

But once the weapon comes out -- a semi-automatic, surely higher caliber than your average thugs hiding out in abandoned buildings should be able to get their hands on -- the transformation's coaxed out of him.

His face begins to sear and burn as it's ignited; flesh eaten away as hellfire races across his skull like burning acid. What remains is a horrific, utterly inhuman looking skull; not bone, but gleaming metal housed inside the raging inferno.

He's hit before the change is complete, and for just a moment he even *bleeds*.. until the bullets pop right back out of him in a shower of used metal shells, and the wounds simply.. disappear. The thug with the gun has his head taken off by the demon's chain. One of his buddies leaps out the window in horror, and breaks his neck after falling the three stories to the ground below. And the last? Well, he's forced to relive every terrible thing he's ever done in slow, excruciating detail. Until his body simply.. stops.

He's discarded to one side like a ragdoll, and the demon turns slowly to look in the direction Hayal came in through.

Hayal has posed:
Slowly, stealthily, the angel edges back, just a fraction. Still trying to stay hidden, since it's always better to choose the time and place of an attack, rather than have it dictated to him. His expression is still one of pleased fascination, for all the world like a wildlife photographer that's finally caught sight of some rare creature he's been meaning to snap.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
It's like he can smell him, unearthly thing that Hayal is. Like calls to like; they couldn't be more similar, or more different.

The demon snort-pants as it looks around, trying to find what it can sense, but not see. Its senses are no more highly tuned than its human host's, and Hayal's hidden himself rather well.

After a minute, it turns and prowls off, flame streaming from its head into the damp, mildewy dark. Until that firelight vanishes too, leaving only the boy making his way out of the building and down to the street.

Hayal has posed:
He waits a little, to let his prey come out of the building, become convinced that he's gotten away scot-free. Then the angel's leaping up through the broken floors, scattering shards of tile, sending curious rats scampering back to their holes.

Once he's back on the roof, Hayal peeks over the top of the wall that edges it, before launching himself over and gliding to the roof of the next building. Keeping low, relatively speaking, lest the demon glance up and see him silhouetted against the amber-tinted glow of a city's night sky. Trying to keep himself still, as well, despite his wings' urge to spread and test the evening breeze.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Robbie pauses at the sound of splintering wood and tile, and the crash of masonry tumbling into the water. He turns slowly, backing up a few steps to watch the roof of the building he just came out of. Then the next one over.

Nothing.

After another half a minute of waiting, listening, the boy pivots again with a crackle of boots in the dirt, and prowls off once more. Hands in his jacket pockets, the occasional glance over his shoulder to ensure he isn't being followed.

Hayal has posed:
His wings are soft-edged and soundless, ashen gray in the absence of light strong enough to bring out their iridescence. Strong enough to take him skyward in a leap, not laboring up like a vulture, for the angel's lost patience and yielded to his own predatory urges.

Hayal gains just enough altitude to have time to draw and transform the blade he carries. It looks more like rough-knapped crystal than a knight's sword, gleaming in the light of the streetlights as the angel comes down in the arc of a stoop, rushing parallel to the street for the last little distance. He's aimed himself right at the mechanic's back, bowling Robbie over like a hawk binding to its prey. An impression only heightened by the way his wings arch protectively over the fallen boy.

"I'm sorry - it will be over quickly," he assures the human softly, apparently sincere, as he sinks the blade home right at the solar plexus. All the way down until the tip grates though vertebrae and sinks into the asphalt beneath them, peering solicitously into Robbie's eyes the entire time. There's no hate in his gaze, no fury or cruelty, even as he twists it in the wound, presumably trying to find the Rider's heart.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Hayal's lucky in one sense of the word: his prey does not hear him coming. Does not keen to the snap of feathers, or the way they catch an updraft as he swoops down from the rooftop. Does not hear the step he takes, an instant before he crashes into the boy and the pair of them hit the ground, rolling together a few feet before coming to a standstill.

But this demon, too, is a hunter. A killer, with the blood of the guilty on its hands. It's groomed its host to be a weapon made for slaughter. The weapon of Light plunges in with a wet, horrible sound as it slices through tissue and muscle and organ, black blood-smoke curling out of the wound as it's made.

Robbie's body jerks under the assault, mouth open but no sound coming out as more blood pours out of his mouth and nose. A gloved hand claws at Hayal's face, his eyes ringed in molten red as hellfire bursts from his palm and explodes over the angel's head.

Hayal has posed:
It hurts. Hurts bad enough to make the angel shriek, and it's a terrible sound with nothing human in it at all. The strike of fire is enough to have him stop his attempts to find the demon's heart, and he rears back, wings flaring wide, yanking the blade free.

But Hayal doesn't flee. He stumbles back, and says something in an inhuman tongue. The words are full of strange resonances and echoes, as he lifts his left arm. A blue shimmer enfolds it, spreading out into a rough oval: a shield.

Then he's attacking again, even as his hair smolders, trying to sink the blade into the Rider's throat. It seems to sing through the air, as he finally speaks in English, impatiently, "Give in. I am only trying to take your burden from you. You will be free of it." As if Robbie were being a stubborn little boy.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The shriek emboldens him, though the blade tearing free of his body hurts about as much on the way out as it did going in. Robbie rolls away, coming up on his hands and knees with an equally inhuman banshee's scream as the demon reasserts itself, igniting his body like a torch in the night.

The Ghost Rider whips around when he hears those strange words being spoken; words he doesn't *understand*, but they resonate in some way his mind can't grasp. He's on his feet again in a flash, and parries the attempted stab, attempting to break his assailant's arm before delivering a swift, hard kick to the gut. And he hits like a *truck*; more than enough force to slam Hayal into the side of the building fifty feet away.

"By the likes of you?" hisses the demon in that strange, distorted voice like a scream overlaid with a growl. He starts to walk toward him, unslinging the length of steel chain from his shoulder, the wound in his chest still leaking liquid black smoke. "I don't think so. Yield."

Hayal has posed:
Maybe unsurprisingly, the angel's surprisingly light. The blows send him first staggering and then flying back. There's the tinkle of shattered glass as the window of a body shop breaks. But he's bouncing back up without a second's hesitation.

"Yes," he replies, as if it were a matter of course. "By the likes of me." His clothes, a worn army jacket, old jeans, battered jump boots, are dotted with embers, but he doesn't seem to notice in the least.

A few beats of those impossible wings, and he's stooping on Robbie again, hurling himself down blade first, trying to grapple the demon again.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The demon's human host, on the other hand, favours a black leather racing jacket and faded jeans with holes in the knees. And hi-top converse, of all things. He rolls his shoulders out as he moves, chain gripped in a gloved hand, circling slowly even as Hayal swoops in for the kill.

Then a quick motion of his arm sends the chain snaking out, catching fire as it writhes skyward, in an attempt to tangle it around the winged creature and bind him in hellfire.

Hayal has posed:
The chain fouls his strike, and rather than a controlled pounce, Hayal simply comes crashing down like a snared pigeon. There's a sudden flare of light from him, the angel's form suddenly limned in a blue-white glow, harsh and actinic. That light seems to keep the chain from immolating him entirely; where it contacts him, it sparks and glows.

But he's still caught, struggling with it in spastic motions of wings and arms and legs. Not that it succeeds in doing much more than sending him tumbling against the curb.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Rather than approach his subdued prey, the demon pauses to wrap the end of the chain around his wrist for leverage.. and pull Hayal toward him along the ground, hand over hand. It seems to take him no effort at all. And throughout, those sightless eyesockets remain focused on the angel. Just the sound of him breathing hard, like an animal slavering for its food; and the crackle and hiss of flames guttering out into smoke and ash.

Hayal has posed:
It's not fear in that pale face, but a kind of consternation. *This* has never happened before, and Hayal's bemused more than anything. He doesn't protest as he's dragged, giving up the fight and going almost limp. As if the cost of maintaining that armor required that he focus on it.

But he does speak. "Let me go," he says, and his voice is still light. The night breeze stirs the feathers in disarray, as he tries to bring the blade to bear on the chain. Maybe he can cut through it.

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Of all the weapons that have tried, Hayal's is probably the only one that could manage to break it. Not that the demon's in any hurry whatsoever to bring his food to him.

"And why would I do that?" he answers in that terrible shriek-growl. One final tug, and Hayal practically tumbles to his feet. "Tell me your name," he says, sinking into a crouch slowly, and leaning in until no more than six inches separates one from the other. The hellish heat coming off of him is enough to warp the air as the flames create a slight updraft. "If you even have one. I want to know who sent you."

Hayal has posed:
"I don't have a Name," Somehow the capital letter is audible. "I am a soldier. I was sent out into the world by Michael." Hayal doesn't bother to specify beyond that. This creature will know who he means.

The heat shimmer stirs stray hairs, makes the angel's primaries flutter. "You can't destroy me," he says, still calm...though there are cracks around the edges of it. "We are at an impasse."

Robbie Reyes has posed:
The fact that the angel has no Name doesn't seem to surprise him in the least. And it gives him some valuable information: this one is merely rank and file. One of the many, many legion of Heaven. Fallen? Probably not, or he'd not dare invoke *that* name.

Which, speaking of.. the demon's fist is slammed into Hayal's face with enough power to split it open and shatter his skull, were he human. "Don't ever say that name to met again," he snarls, shoving back to his feet. The chain's given a hard yank as he attempts to dump his adversary on the ground, and simply prowl off without another word.

Hayal has posed:
He bleeds red, does this creature. The blow snaps his head back and there's the snap of bone breaking. A spasm of nerves firing as they're severed makes him writhe and shudder in his bonds, before he goes entirely limp. The blue eyes are wide and blank, empty.

Surely Robbie didn't just kill him? But then, he's helped to slay the general of the Host. One foot soldier is surely no trouble, right?

Robbie Reyes has posed:
Well, one of his doubles, anyway. The real Michael would probably take more than one impertinent -- if volatile -- demon can deliver.

Not that he's sticking around to explain any of this. Once again, the flames gutter out; and once again, all that remains for a split second is that terrifying metal skull, before the boy's flesh starts to reform slowly where it was burned away. He doesn't stop walking, doesn't turn around to see whether Hayal rises again. Simply gathers up his chain and slings it over his shoulder, and is soon swallowed up by the dark.