Rebirth of the Nephilim

Laughter rose up inside of her, loud and clear and full of malicious glee. It trembled up and down in pitch, maniacal and deranged in its abject pleasure. It continued on, and on, and on, filling her soul with its overwhelming delirium, constantly nearing its crescendo yet never peaking, never ending.

She hated it so much she wanted to puke.

Maeve clenched her approximation of a jaw, grinding her replicated teeth together. Destarious was laughing at her. She could feel it as clearly as though the mad god was standing at her shoulder, his mouth pressed against the temporarily pale ear she had made. She wanted to tear the fucking useless things off to make it stop. Not that doing so would make any difference. If anything, the impotent, ineffective tantrum would probably just make him laugh harder.

Besides, she deserved to be mocked. She had fucked up. She had fucked up so unbelievably badly that she wanted to throw herself off the roof. The fall wouldn’t kill her, but she had no real defenses beyond a high health pool. With all those Demons down there, her body would be torn to shreds in seconds. Surely fast enough that no one could save her. Not even Jadis.

Glorious Jadis. That beautiful vision of apocalyptic chaos. She couldn’t even look at the trio of giants without feeling pain after her fuck up. She hated her now. Maeve was sure of it. Was it recoverable? Could she change Jadis’ opinion of her? Probably not. Certainly not enough to ever gain any trust. So, what was the point in continuing?

She should do it. She could do it that very moment. She could jump. Should jump. Just jump. Just do it. The step over the edge would be easy. She could close her eyes and pull her skin inside and she wouldn’t even feel the pain. It would all be over so quickly and—

Fuck.

Fuck!

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Maeve smashed her head against the lip of the roof. She had fallen to her knees, hands clenched against the rough stucco surface of the waist-high barrier. With each mental repetition of the four-letter curse, she drove her head into the wall until her forehead was as flat as that one Dryad’s chest.

She’d done it again. She’d let herself go down the wrong emotional path. The shame Maeve felt was deserved. She had nearly gotten her god’s champion killed because of her own stupid panic. Shame was the right emotional response. But the suicidal depression was too far. If she let her soul take on that aspect for more than just the smallest taste, she would spiral. She wouldn’t be able to control herself and she’d be lost, with little chance for recovery. She knew how hard it was to get out of that pit.

She had done it before.

A rancid giggle tickled at Maeve’s insides. Destarious was still laughing at her. The wrongness of that laughter made her so angry. So very angry. She was no clown or court jester. She should not be the focus of the Mad God’s amusement. Never her. She would cut the ugly dangling scrotum from the bloody fucking shit-sniveler who dared to—

No.

Stop.

Anger was a good emotion for the situation, but it was flying off in the wrong directions. Anger was so hard to control. It wanted to burn and eat up everything else and she couldn’t let it. If Maeve did, she’d be just as lost as if she were to embody self-loathing. And considering where she was and how unsuited to battle she was, she’d be just as dead.

There was no point in getting angry at her god. Doing so wouldn’t change anything. It was better to side with him than oppose him, that was certain. She was supposed to bring him the entertainment he craved and, while she had always done her best to fill his twisted desires, she had never meant to do so by making herself the brunt of the joke. What had that miserable old piece of dried piss always told her? It was better to have the Mad God laugh with you, than at you.

Madoc’s advice had always been good, even if the ancient ass smear of a Fetch deserved to be shoved straight up a dragon’s anus for a few decades.

Other bits of aged wisdom floated around in Maeve’s head as she struggled to get her emotions under control. She had no center. She wasn’t sure that there was even such a thing. But she could usually contain her passions better than the mess she had become that night. She wasn’t sure how long it took. Maybe a few seconds, maybe more, but eventually she took a deep, unnecessary breath to mimic the calm that she was seeking and leaned away from the wall.

Looking around, Maeve was glad that she had retreated to the rooftop away from Jadis and her party of beautifully, disgustingly loyal followers. No one would have seen her at her weakest. She could maintain her illusion of competence. Everything was fine. Everything was—

Maeve looked up to her right and nearly fell out of her skin. Kerr, the crude and lusty therion, was staring right at her.

Why the fuck was she looking at her!? Didn’t the bitch have anything else to do? Shouldn’t she be shooting Demons or something?

Maeve struggled to hold onto the strands of emotion she had gathered in her mental fists. The idea that Kerr, out of all of Jadis’ companions, had seen her idiotic display made her flesh crawl. Kerr was easy to understand. Rude and crass and filled with an insatiable libido; the therion would take any opportunity to fuck with another person, just to get a laugh. Honestly, she would have made a great priestess to Destarious.

That was the last kind of person Maeve wanted to know about her stupidity. She could handle the teasing. There would be plenty of it, and Maeve could take as well as she could give. But Kerr would tell Jadis. That couldn’t happen. If it did, the champion would hate her even more than she already did, and Maeve couldn’t handle that. She’d break. She knew she would.

And then who knew what she might do.

Kerr was waving at her. In between shots of her overly large bow, the woman was pointing and waving her hand, like she wanted Maeve to join her on her higher roof. How had Maeve forgotten that the archer was on a higher roof? Because she was rather more than a little distracted, that was why. The reason for the mimed request wasn’t readily obvious. Maybe Kerr wanted to start the teasing insults right away?

No, that wasn’t it. Maeve had not had too much chance to observe Kerr or the others in combat, but she could tell that the archer wasn’t the sort to prioritize a joke over a life and death situation. Which was probably part of why she wasn’t a priestess of Destarious, despite her penchant of foolishness. There was probably some sort of legitimate purpose to the request. Legitimacy wasn’t a great argument for Maeve to do anything, except that she had already severely gone over the line of being unhelpful that night, so she needed to do something of use to Jadis. Not that she was of any use to anyone at all in this sort of combat.

A particularly strong feeling of self-loathing rushed through Maeve at that thought. It was so strong that she almost thought that Destarious had pushed the emotion at her. But, no, it had come from her own soul. The idea of being not only useless to Jadis, but an active hinderance, made Maeve want to—

No. She needed to stop circling. She needed to focus. She needed to act.

Maeve waved back at Kerr, letting the therion know that she had seen her and acknowledged her. Doing so helped her take on the function of someone who belonged on the battlefield. She had a mission, and a goal. She would be that person. For a time.

Moving over to the southern edge of her rooftop, Maeve leapt over the side and quickly scaled down to street level. She had shifted her hands and feet to make climbing easier while walking, though she was careful not to make the changes too obvious since doing so would bring even more attention to herself than the ruined priestess robes were doing. Not that the men and women forming the shield wall she was darting behind were paying any attention to her. Still, she really needed to steal some armor off a dead body. But so far, the local soldiers had done a good job of gathering their wounded and dead so that the Demons wouldn’t have readily accessible material to work with. She supposed she might have some luck if she rummaged around in the nearby abandoned buildings, but that would have to wait until after she saw to whatever Kerr wanted.

Running was always an option, after all. Even though it truly wasn’t.

Climbing up to where the archer was overlooking the embattled intersection didn’t take much longer than climbing down had. In a few seconds, Maeve stood next to Kerr, a blank expression on the face she had stolen from some woman she had met twenty years ago.

“Need something?”

“Yeah,” Kerr breathed out after releasing another arrow.

Maeve’s gaze was drawn to the way the lean, athletic woman’s body moved so smoothly while raining death down on her enemies. Strong yet agile, a perfect set of curves in tight, leather armor. It made her want to bend the sexy woman over the side of the roof right there and—

“Are you okay?”

The question broke Maeve out of the lust-induced line of thought. It was so easy to go down those paths, especially when her focus was scattered. Her mind was doing that far, far too often ever since she had met Jadis and her frustratingly attractive companions. What the fuck was she supposed to offer when the Nephilim could have women like Kerr or Aila or Eir any time she wanted? All at once? Scum buckets, Jadis could fuck her own perfect pussy if she felt like it. She couldn’t even appeal to her ego. Turning into a replica of the divinely gorgeous pale beast did fucking nothing. Jadis already had herself whenever she wanted, too.

“I’m fine,” Maeve replied in a monotone, not trusting her brain to choose a tone that would put Kerr at ease rather than freaking her out. “Do you need help?”

Kerr squinted her green eyes at Maeve in a way that indicated she didn’t buy the bland response. That was all Maeve was going to sell her, though, so she had no choice but to accept it unless she wanted to turn her focus away from the battle. Something that she knew Kerr wouldn’t do. Not when the danger was so great.

“Yeah,” the archer said after shooting an arrow and hitting a distant demonic figure to the east. “Do you see those horn-headed gilipollas on the roof across from us?”

Maeve looked where Kerr indicated and saw a group of twenty-five therion bowmen on the roof of the intersection’s southeastern corner. They were dressed in brown leathers and furs, and had many of the traditional charms wrapped around their arms and legs that indicated they were from the Verdant Sea. She hadn’t paid much attention to their arrival due to her… personal issues, however, Maeve could tell they were all of the same tribe since their horns were all decorated with the same style of dyed cloth and jewelry.

“I see them.”

“Go tell them to focus their arrows on the dead heads and the simulacrum that are coming our way. Don’t waste the ammo on the small bitches.”

“Why would they listen to what I have to say?” Maeve asked, her curiosity piqued.

Kerr bared her sharp fangs for a moment, her expression pleased as her latest arrow felled a tentacle-headed figure at a frankly impressive range. Then, her lips curled in distaste, or possibly even revulsion. When she turned her attention back onto her, Maeve could see that Kerr wasn’t happy about the words she was going to force herself to say.

“Talk to the big one with gray fur and a black blotch surrounding his right eye. Tell him Kerr of Clan Nox told them to. And make this sign with your fingers.”

Maeve watched as Kerr moved her right hand in a quick but complicated series of gestures.

“You can point me out, if he hasn’t noticed me already. But for the love of Lyssandria’s perfect tits, do not pretend to be me. He’ll know you’re a fake if you do, so he’ll probably kill you.”

Maeve stared at Kerr for a moment, then performed the same gestures the archer had made to show that she remembered and could replicate the movements. When Kerr nodded her head at the display, Maeve moved to the east side of the roof top and prepared to climb down. Before she put her foot over the side, she turned and stared at the therion with a wide, predatory grin.

She couldn’t help it.

“You know the kind of shit I could get up to with this pass sign, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do,” Kerr shrugged with one shoulder. “But I don’t really give a fuck. My horns are bare.”

That was true. Kerr’s long, black horns were bare of any ornamentation. Considering she was from the Verdant Sea, that said quite a lot. Maeve had assumed it was a statement showing her loyalty to Jadis, however, that assumption looked like it might have been hasty.

“Good. Then I’ll be right back.”

Maeve wouldn’t pry. Kerr had just given her a gift. A wonderful, delicious, glorious gift. She might not be able to use it to its fullest potential for a long time, but it was the kind of information that she would find the chance to use no matter what. The opportunity was just too good. So, out of courtesy to a fellow agent of chaos, she would let Kerr keep her secrets. Those, too, were an aspect of her god, after all.

As she made her way down the side of the building to deliver Kerr’s message, feeling a lot better than she had a moment ago, Maeve stopped for a moment to consider that change. Had Kerr chosen to give her that pass sign because she knew someone like her would love to have it? It wasn’t as though she couldn’t have just delivered the message herself. Kerr was an elite warrior, well past the CLR sixty minimum and had been further empowered by Jadis. She could have dashed over to talk to the band of therions fast enough. Abyss, she could probably jump the distance, no need to climb.

The idea that Kerr had done something for her just to pull her out of her own fucked up headspace was… nice. It made Maeve want to thank the therion for her consideration, if that was what the intent had been. She also still felt like bending the sexy woman over a table while a crowd watched, preferably with Jadis front and center, but that was just the strand of lust talking. Lust was always hard to ignore once it took root.

At least she wasn’t thinking about throwing herself down into the horde anymore.