Armored boots made an audible squelch as they tread upon the wet earth in front of the grandiose church. An unearthly light illuminated the stalks of grass that were burdened by droplets of water. High above, the skies were roiling with brooding clouds, shook by peals of thunder and illuminated by searing flashes of lightning. The pouring rain was a curtain that refused to cease, blanketing the land with a melancholic haze that the howling wind did nothing to quell. The screaming gale was accompanied by the creaking limbs of the trees, now seemingly stripped of their leaves. Hundreds of little pieces of detritus flew every which way, leaving tracks of mud on whatever surface was unfortunate enough to be touched. There was a resounding clang of steel upon stone when the strange figure strode onto the marble pathway that led up to the Church's pallid front steps. The stone gave off a diffused milky glow as the stranger walked by, illuminated by his celestial light. Through the slats of the church's shutters, flickered the puny lights of candles. Their yellow-red flames danced, protected from the wind that would kill them. The power was out. Even the religious weren't protected from the wrath of nature. The stranger smirked at the thought. At least the Lord did not waste energy protecting the pathetic, inferior beings that were known as the humans. He strode up the stairs and threw open the heavy wooden doors of the church. They banged against the wall so hard that the gilded handles got dinged. One by one, the candles died as the raging, bitter wind blew through the doors that still stood ajar. Pretty soon, the only light left in the church was that of the robed, hooded stranger. He strode forward, past the empty pews, across the marble floor, through the fluted colonnades and under the crystal chandeliers, paying no heed to the symbols of the church's power and wealth. Apart from the streams of water that ran down the stranger's clothes, a steady dripping echoed in the sacred place. drip... A dark crimson droplet rolled off of the stranger's hand, staining the pristine floor with its sanguine hue. By the time he stood in front of the blessed sacrament, there was a trail of blood all the way down the center aisle. He looked up and gazed at the sacrament, its gold coat and delicate engravings illuminated sinisterly by the occasional flashes of lightning. "Bless me, Father..." he whispered. He threw back his head and laughed. It was a deep, resounding laugh that echoed off the domed ceiling as the church bells began to toll to signify midnight. Their tolling was a sonorous clangor. Every note shook the foundations of the church and caused a fine rain of dust to fall upon the stranger's shoulders. Looking up, the stranger yelled "Bless me, Father, for I have s--" "Who are you?!" came a strangled yelp from nearby. The stranger did not pay any heed to it. "I'm going to call the police!" "Bless me, Father, for I have severed the life of your foe!" With a deafening clap of thunder and a blinding flash of light, two radiant wings, dripping blood from the tip of every feather unfurled behind the stranger and in an instant he was gone.ALEXANDREWHITE <hr> Alex frowned. The recent murders had had him sitting on the edge of his seat in grim anticipation. His hackles were prickling at the back of his neck and he wanted nothing more than to destroy whoever killed those humans. For the first two, he had been pretty apathetic, but Dr. Moore's death was something that struck a little closer to home. Literally. He remembered the professor from his years at the university, though he had never had him as a professor himself. More recently, the pack's dealings with the Hand had brought him back into contact with the professor. Whoever had done the murder did not seem to show any interest in covering up his/her tracks. There was blood everywhere, and even the sigil burned into the floor had been pretty obvious. Of course, the current story, at least for the humans, was that Moore had been dabbling in the occult and had perhaps wronged someone who would do such a thing to him. Anyone who knew of the darker side of the world would know better. Even Alex, who had never really had any propensity for studying the Sigillum systems, knew that this was probably beyond the abilities of just some "occultist." In fact one of the druids that was wedded into the pack and happened to be on the police force had pointed out to Alex that there were some rather powerful wards surrounding the house. Unless someone was willing to expend the energy required to create sigils that would counter them, the crime could only have been committed by a really powerful creature of magic. He thought back to the gilded dagger that he kept safe in a place he knew none but his closest friends would ever bother to look. He buried his face in the palm of his hands and groaned into them. There was a sinking feeling in his gut that this was the beginning of the events that Jason had warned him about. This was one of those days that he wished his lover was still alive. Jason could've helped him decipher the sigil. Jason could've helped everyone. But alas, Jason was no more, probably being tortured in Hell. Alex shook his head as anger began to well in his chest. He would have vengeance for Jason, God will fall. He also had a sneaking suspicion that it was God who had killed Moore too. Perhaps further examination of his journal would bring to light more clues. Alex walked out of the break room and went back to work, flitting through the pages of the journal with tweezers and a magnifying glass. If Alex's suspicion was right, they would need the help of the True Feeder Covens and the Drakkan Holds. He both hoped for and against what would probably be the beginning of war.