66 CHPT 65: Death Walking

The wait felt like it lasted forever.

It many ways it was. The time between life and death could feel that way. The years— the feelings, the experiences.

What they felt beyond the bank doors was just that.

If they were alive inside, then death stalked on two legs from beyond. Closing in. The end all ends.

The reaper dragged his scythe along in the form of fang and claw. And the already collected death in his wake had a physical stench that ripped and tore at all things pleasant in the air.

Deaton fainted behind them as he sat beside Marco's mother, bite wound steaming as if the incoming Alpha's very distant presence had an aggravating effect on the newborn spark within.

Marco's mother began to shake as she lay silently.

"Here he comes."

The black marble floors went a little colder as the doors pushed open. Sweeping winds got the scattered rubble fallen from walls and scaffolding rolling across the floor. It made his steps feel even more silent— made his presence feel that much more detached from reality.

He was alone.

No Alpha legion at his beck and call to herald his emergence like some god.

Just him, bathed in a black suit and the backdrop of midnight moon glow. The desert sands sparkled behind him.

Just him.

Somehow that was far worse.

It told Marco he knew things. He was smarter than his ego was grand. And to even attempt to lord over Alphas of all kinds, your ego had to be nothing short of a worldly power all on its own.

He opened his arms as if to embrace them. But he was still too far away.

He was embracing the moment.

The calm before the storm.

His brown hair was parted down the middle and meticulously combed. The stray strands told him despite his efforts towards cleanliness things along the way brought out a rougher side he couldn't avoid.

Marco couldn't make out much less behind his shadowy black shades and pale inconspicuous skin.

Even in build.

He was relatively plain.

But that feeling.

"The Wolf…. The Coyote…. And, The Beast with Blue eyes. Truthfully, I am honored."

"You aren't here for me." Marco replied.

Deucalion turned his head towards the sound of Marco's voice. A very inhuman and unsettling movement, "Do you think I took your mother because I wanted her?"

"….."

"I hear you're not close with people. No one is not close with anyone— especially our kind. We all have a pack. The only way I could bring you here is if I truly took who you were close to. And it wasn't anyone from Beacon Hills— maybe we could've grabbed your blind neighbor. She was invested enough…."

Marco growled.

Deucalion smiled. "None of you understand. You're young. You're full of youth…. And ignorance. If I wanted you dead you would've died. But here you stand."

"You can't kill me."

"No? You sure your brain won't take you down before me?"

Marco tightened his grip on his spear.

"Are you sure I'm even real?"

Stiles in his quadrupedal Coyote form barked at Deucalion— affirming his physical existence to Marco.

"And you, Scott. How's your hand?" For the first time, the blind man seemed to see with his eyes as he looked down to Scott's arm.

The fur was thinner. The black skin underneath was undeniably scaled— lined with veins given a purple glow.

"It seems I'm not the only Demon-Wolf here tonight." Deucalion looked down at Stiles, "What do you really know about what you are? Do none of you see the point? You NEED me. You have so much potential. I've sent mine to bring it out of you. I'm the final piece. We could run the entire world. All of it. Just us four. But you need to let go, and learn. And most importantly, you need to fol—"

His words fell short as a spear ripped through his chest following Marco's blinding speed.

Blood spilled and his skin steamed from beneath his silk threads as he stumbled backward.

Coughing…

Choking as his own blood flooded his lungs.

Dyin—

"Is that what you wanted to see? Do you think I'd come here alone if I could fall to a…." Deucalion looked down at the spear running through his stomach and casually pulled it out, tossing it to the side, "Toothpick…?"


Marco shrugged, "No. I'm just tired of you talking."

Deucalion smiled. His laughter echoed with the crackle of thunder and flash of lightning outside. The repeated flashes held firm in the eye of his glasses.

"This should be fun."