January 14, 2004: Alpha Bank

London, England

8:27 am GMT.

January 14, 2004: Alpha Bank

London, England

8:27 am GMT.

Ingrid exhaled, lingering puffs of steam drifting in the air, some childish form of entertainment, yet the girl felt enraptured by the wispy tendrils that dissipated into nothing.

She involuntarily shivered, her muscles tightening as goosebumps rose up and down her arms and legs. Unfortunately for her, Ingrid had dressed for an Indian summer day, with the expectation of sunny skies and a temperature not exceeding sixty degrees Fahrenheit. But there she stood, in a light leather jacket and cropped jeans with sandals that slushed in the dirty mixture of street, snow, and cigarette butts. Yes, sandals.

Beneath the thick wool of her blanket, her heavy feathers rustled and twitched against her thin t-shirt in anticipation. She couldn't help but scowl as she kicked a pebble into the street. Of course Ophelia would make them travel to London in the dead of winter.

Countless cars and taxis rounded the corner on the busy street while mortals on their phones passed her by without so much as a second glance. To the mortal eye, Ingrid was just a normal girl, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, and a denim satchel over her shoulder.

She eyed the bank's door while casually sipping her Caffè Verona. Her wrist watch's alabaster face ticked over thin black lines as it tocked away the seconds.

Twelve minutes.

Twelve minutes since Ophelia had disappeared into the building with Meiren. Twelve minutes that she'd been left with the patronizing job of 'lookout,' code for 'useless watching for supernatural creatures that won't dare show up.'

In a span of twelve minutes, she'd treated herself to overpriced, weak coffee, taking a stroll from the bank back to the cafe and had stood shivering in the winter air for the vast majority of that time.

Not that she minded being on the lookout. It was a fairly easy job and she doubted she'd be of much help with sandals as her only shoes in the winter. Her numb toes weren't half as nimble as they'd be in decent weather with decent shoes. It made her the best candidate for lookout, meaning the worst possible candidate for anything else. It was okay, though.

Besides, she'd been up for nearly twenty-four hours straight without coffee. It was high-time she treated herself to the rejuvenating, hot beverage.

"What's taking so long?"

Regardless of the coffee, Ingrid still took no enjoyment in standing in the freezing cold. Snow began to fall, and she debated waiting inside the cafe as the dandruff like specks melted upon touching her bare skin.

Before she could make up her mind, the radio walkie crackled in the pocket of her jacket. A muffled voice broke the radio chatter, and she pulled the communication device out.

"Ingrid? Ingrid, can you hear me?"

Ingrid breathed in relief. She wouldn't have to wait much longer. She drew out the antenna and spoke into the walkie. "Yeah, Phee, what's going on?"

Ophelia's warbled voice continued. "We're leaving the bank premises now. The shadow was about to feed."

"On a mortal?"

Mortal or no, souls were souls, after all. Only, mortal souls were more like a McDonald's meal, and the half Spirit souls like her own were equivalent to entrees from five-star restaurants.

Did Ingrid mind being an entree? She'd say, yes, quite a lot since it meant certain death by the supernatural.

"Meiren grazed it, but the damn beast got away. Look, it doesn't matter; it's gone, and we're leaving, 'kay? Have a portal ready for us. We're returning to the isle."

"Yes, milady."

Ingrid smiled to herself as Ophelia disconnected from the radio. They were leaving London. She got to go home.

Home.

With a new found purpose, Ingrid collected herself, a mental checklist imprinted within her brain.

Aspirin, check, dirty clothes, check, half-eaten bagel from this morning, throw away, my staff--

The cool, smooth feel of her staff greeted her fingers. Crafted from soulbane iron, it was the only metal that could do collateral damage to Underworldian creatures like shadows and hunters and the rest of the Undead. It was hard to find and make, so keeping her staff around her at all times was essential on these hunts. She couldn't imagine what Ophelia would do to her if she lost it.

No, she could imagine it, vividly. She would be so dead in Downside, even Death itself wouldn't want her inhuman soul.

Ingrid dumped the remains of her coffee onto the snow, staining the white with brown splatters. The beverage had already gone cold in the short time she was outside. It was no matter, as she was awake now and no longer craved the caffeine.

She was just about to ready a portal for the others when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She nearly resisted turning around. Nearly.

"Oh?"

Ingrid whipped around to see a crooked backed gentleman behind her. He leaned on a white cane and wore a large black trench coat over his clothes. His piss colored tufts of hair seemed to be falling out, and his eyes hid behind dark sunglasses.

"'Scuse me, miss," he wheezed in a British accent, his mouth moving at odd angles, like she was watching a video off-sync with the sound. "Help me across the street, dearie, will you?"

Why me, universe?

Ingrid internally groaned. She sighed at the blind man, then glanced at the bank across the street. There was no sign of Ophelia and Meiren, not yet. Ingrid figured helping an old man cross the busy pavement wouldn't hurt her time. Although she didn't want to draw attention to herself, she feared she'd be in the spotlight for having turned away a disabled man.

"Of course," Ingrid said after a moment's hesitation, eyeing the bank still. The man's wrinkled face lifted into a toothless grin as they started towards the road. Ingrid shuddered, yet not from the cold.

Old people are creepy as hell.

"Watch your step." They neared the curb, and she guided him to the crosswalk. His weathered hands felt like ice in hers.

She kept her eyes on the road, but every few seconds would look to the bank's marble entrance. Still no sign of her friends. Where were they?

Of course, Ophelia did like to be thorough about things. She checked every nook and cranny for something out of place, lingering shadows, or their hunters, or for half-dead mortals. She was not one for failure, and ever since Ingrid had joined her years ago, Ophelia had been that way.

As they drew to the other side, Ingrid noticed a patch of ice and in response rested a soft hand on the old man's crooked back so he wouldn't fall backwards. She nearly jumped when she felt something warm and sticky that clung to his coat.

"What the--" Ingrid pulled her hand back to reveal they were covered in thick, black liquid. She audibly gulped, her freckled face paling at the stench. The girl stopped in her tracks, backing away from the man.

"Something wrong, miss?" It was in that moment Ingrid noticed the red fangs the shadow had so cleverly tried to hide.

Shadow.

Without a moment's hesitation, Ingrid drew her staff and swiped at the Underworldian creature. The shadow had anticipated her move and shot upward, the black trench coat revealing his reptile-like backside and webbed bat wings.

Mortals screamed from the street and their cars as the creature revealed itself. Fortunately, mortals were very much not immune to complete oblivion, so who knew what the hell they were seeing. Ingrid, too, revealed her wings. Her blanket was cast onto the road before she lifted herself into the winter sky.

Yes, she could only imagine what the humans must be thinking. She didn't give it much thought because a column of fire came her way.

Ingrid had to dive to avoid being scorched, her body concaving as she was nearly hurled into the ground by a gust of wind. She lost control and somersaulted downward, her golden wings shielding her as she landed in a pile of snow that had been plowed into the sidewalk.

Wet snow bit into her bare feet and ankles. It soaked into her jeans, and her clothes clung to her like a second skin. Nonetheless, Ingrid quickly stood, wary the shadow would send more fire her way. When it didn't, she looked up and saw she was no longer of its interest.

Well, shit.

The Underworldian creature circled above the town, its black wings sending a thrumming beat over them. It'd been awakened, thirsty for flesh and souls and blood. 

Blood, blood, blood, blood.

Mortals ducked and ran for cover. Vehicles swerved to avoid the swooping beast, and buildings caught fire as it wreaked havoc on the London street. All in under less than twelve minutes. Far less than the time it'd taken Ophelia to find it and contact her. Just another example of how big of a threat they were dealing with.

Ingrid scowled and wiped a hand over her numbed face. They always did this. They always did this.

Shadows just loved to keep them occupied with saving helpless mortals by destroying everything in their path. They liked to play little games of clean-up, seeing who was faster. They made the mess, and watched to see if their pursuers could fix it all in time. That's what they did. And they were terribly fantastic at it. They were slaves to Chaos, slaves to the lord that defined destruction.

Not to mention it's a damn Elite, too. Ingrid's day couldn't get any worse.

Not all shadows were risen the same. Elites. The shadow subspecies that were smarter and more efficient in soul devouring. It was human looking enough to hide in plain sight, like when she first saw it, minus the fangs and the bat-like wings, and the bloody talons for feet that could shred her to bits. Not to mention it breathed bloody fire.

It could speak in human tongues, and had enough of a brain to disguise itself with mortals. Had it not been slashed in the back, the cursed creature would've already devoured her soul.

For one insane moment, Ingrid smiled. She knew that gash had been courtesy of Meiren, as Ophelia had told her.

From where she could see, the ugly wound still spurted obsidian blood. While all shadows were given different features and abilities at birth, much like Matus, they had a single trait in common. They were initially soulless, dead, dead beings that were sent by the lord of chaos to destroy the Phenomenal races.

They had all their organs, all except for a heart, and with nothing to pump their cold blood, it was pitch black like the hellhole they had been reared from.

And it reeks of Death, and Ingrid tried to wipe away the shadow blood on snow, scrunching up her nose.

Phee. I need Phee.

Killing shadows was possible, but no use. They were already dead and would just be reincarnated into a more frightening monster. They would never stop until chaos was achieved. There was only one way a shadow could be contained.

But Ingrid was only a trainee. She was under Ophelia's instruction, and learning to stop shadows and hunters was the final step in becoming part of the Council and a full fledged Sayidat; a Lady of Time.

Ingrid reached into her jacket. Her fingers brushed against sharp, plastic pieces.

Great. Just fantastic.

She threw the remnants of the broken walkie to the ground in frustration. Ingrid bit her lip to restrain the string of curses that desperately wanted out. The device must've broken during her rough crash. She was on her own.

Sirens began to wail, and Ingrid figured she should do something instead of standing around. She needed to keep the shadow distracted until Ophelia arrived.

Ingrid rose back into the air and focused solely on stopping the shadow. The task would keep her mind off how numbingly cold her body had become. Though it was nowhere in sight, she headed uptown. That was where the path of destruction seemed to flow. Smoke began to rise over the architectural buildings on the London street. The shadow was making a trail for her, which only unnerved her more. She soared higher to get a better view of the city.

Where is it going?

It wasn't long before she caught sight of the winged beast. It held two female mortals between its talons. One hung limp in its right claw with blood dripping across her face, but the other was very much alive, proven by the fact that she was screaming bloody murder.

Ingrid took a deep breath. She clutched her iron staff and descended to the shadow's level.

"The little girl has come at last," the shadow taunted.

Its twisted features looked odd on the humanoid face. It sounded much different from when she'd been tricked by its human disguise. The deep and raspy voice resonated in her bones, and the British accent no longer tainted its words. It was as though someone had reached into its throat and vigorously shaken its voice box, as its vocal chords seemed to vibrate, making the shadow's voice sound surreal.

At some point, it must have lost its sunglasses for three pairs of red eyes burned with hatred at its mortal enemy. Otherwise known as her.

"Please!"

Ingrid drew her attention away from the shadow and to the girl that still wriggled in its death grip. Her blue dyed hair whipped about her face in the icy wind.

"Please, help me!!" she shrieked at Ingrid, and streaks of tears wetted her ruddy cheeks.

The shadow brought her near its hideous face which made her sob louder. "Death will be sweet to you," the Underworldian creature reassured, flashing its bloodstained fangs at her.

"No, no, no, please don't," she choked. "Let me go!"

At that the shadow waggled its bushy white eyebrows at her. "Let you go, eh?" it sneered, and shook her like a rag doll. "Why, I'll let you go, dearie." Then to Ingrid, it shouted.

"Let's see how fast your wings can take you!" Its talons gave way for the crying and unconscious girls to drop into the street.