"Of course the prophet has a name", Taerael responded. Whatever it was, she did not provide it as she glanced around the foyer of the hospital. The place was fairly busy, but not overly so. It had the look of just about every hospital. Lush fake plants, chairs that were probably far less comfortable than they looked, and elderly patrons sat about to help any people that might need directions.
Taerael stood in the center of the foyer, and merely closed her eyes to the humanity surrounding them. After several long moments, and just as one of the patrons seemed to have noticed the two standing somewhat awkwardly in the entrance, Taerael opened her eyes and said, "Fourth floor, in the mental health unit." She looked toward Dominic, and then glanced at the stairs. She nodded in that direction, and strolled toward the door.
After they entered, she began climbing the stairs and actually apologetically said, "I will always prefer stairs Dominic. I don't enjoy the sensation of elevators." She shrugged, as it truly seemed silly for her to admit to, being what she was. They quickly ascended to the fourth floor, and she tested the doorknob. She frowned as they discovered the door was secure. She muttered, "Figures." She closed her eyes, waited for a few moments, and then forced the door open with an effortless appearing shove. The crack of the dry wall and sound of the broken door assembly clattering down, caused her to pause and wait for the sounds of blaring alarms or questioning voices, but none came.
She pushed the door open, waved her arm grandly passed herself and said, "Shall we?" Taerael entered a sterile hallway after Dominic, and looked up and down its length. The hall was uniform. It was white, tiled, and possessed the exact same number of doors on each side. She nodded toward the left and said, "This way." As she walked purposefully along the corridor and ignored the doors, both became aware of an annoyingly soothing muzak being piped in from the intercom system, which may have saved them from discovery of their noisy entry. Each door had a small viewing window, and Dominic could see each room contained either one bed or two, but all were empty.
As Taerael and Dominic rounded the corner, she stopped. This corridor was not empty. There was a desk situated in front of the bank of elevators, and it wasn't empty. There was a moderately attractive nurse sat behind it, and several orderlies leaning against the desk facade talking to her. Taerael turned her head to say something to Dominic, and both winced as a whining feedback filled the corridors through the intercom system. Taerael scowled as the door opposite them in the corridor opened, and a man in an impeccable black suit stepped through.
If Dominic's sight of Taerael's brightness had been painful, the sight of the man's darkness was pure agony to look upon. The sheer blackness boiled forth from the man, in a constantly roiling cloud of darkness, which reminded Dominic of Taerael's celstial form in heaven, though it filled him to the core with despair and longing. He saw the orderlies all sag in place before they began crumpling to the floor, and the nurse slump forward onto the desk. Taerael drew her sword with her left hand and said, "Heaven be merciful, it's Asmodeus. One of Hell's princes." She looked desperately at Dominic and practically shouted, "This is not a fight for you. Find the prophet!"
Time seemed to slow down, almost as if movie-like, as the man took each slowed step down the hallway toward the pair. The sound of each booted footstep resounded off the hallway, and the slow scrape of metal was heard as the Hell prince impossibly drew forth a wicked looking, black two-handed claymore from within the confines of his black suit jacket. A grim looking Taerael, lifted the hilt of her blade before her face in an almost humorous swordsman's salute given the situation. Time seemed to return to normal, and Taerael raised the blade upward and behind her head, poised in an overhand strike. The silver blade erupted in white fire, and she charged down the hallway toward Asmodeus.
As much as Dominic wanted to help the angel, he realized she had ordered him to do something more important. He reluctantly turned and fled in the other direction as he heard the tremendous crash of blades striking each other. He soon located a large room, which seemed to be housing the patients of the mental health ward. Something was wrong, which seemed ironic, and Dominic immediately discovered what it was. The patients were all corralled into a corner, gazing in fear and confusion at three individuals, who were shouting at a male patient.
The three appeared very dark to Dominic, though not nearly as baleful as Asmodeus. He discerned red glowing glyphs branded into their foreheads. The leader of the trio shouted, "If you don't tell me where the prophet is, it'll cost you buddy!" The patient babbled in incoherent fear, and the leader shrugged and said, "I warned ya buddy." He lurched forward, and latched his teeth onto the screaming man's ear. The patient shrieked as the leader bit his ear off, and spat the bloody flesh out. The two cohorts cackled gleefully at the man, who looked over his shoulder, with blood running down from his grin. The grin faded as he saw Dominic, and he said, "Company boys... seems a choir boy is here."
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The woman lifted her head and regarded John as he tapped her shoulder. She smiled and said, "Could very well be. I'm not exactly a recluse or anything, and have been around campus. Classes and what nots, you know?" Her eyes traveled passed John's shoulder toward Mary, and then returned to John's face. She said, "You might be speaking about last night though is my guess. I hope you're both OK."
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The meeting was quick and to the point. A year's contract, with all of the perks that Matthew had offered. The non-disclosure was also straight and to the point. Michael was not to talk about his business, or what was purchased privately with any other individuals not associated with the team he had assigned to him, or Matthew himself. After business was completed, Matthew was interrupted by a phone call. He answered, listened for a few moments, and then looked at the two. He cupped the mouthpiece of the phone, and said, "Excuse me you two. This has to be private."
Devon smiled at Michael as she stood up. She waited for him to lead the way out of the office. She chose a plush seat in the hallway, sat, draped one leg over the other, and asked, "So, Mr. Soundern. I've read your dossier. You have a very impressive background, and I'm truly looking forward to working under you." She frowned slightly, blushed and squirmed in her seat slightly as she said, "I mean working with you. Sorry... I sometimes have issues with speaking before thinking." She shrugged congenially, and smiled.
