Itâs the sort of day when the cold seems to blanket everything. Thereâs a steady wind that breezes through the streets and in between towering buildings until it crashes around you in a gust of coldness and wrong. No matter how many layers are worn or how tight scarves are there is always a chill.Â
Like the world is holding itâs breath in acceptation for something; War, the Nephilim absently thinks.
Jude turns his eyes from the sky to the pile of books in front of him. The market has been quiet recently, not that itâs ever really busy. But he can usually expect a person or two. Now there is nothing but silence and the whistling of the wind. With a longing sigh he shuffles some papers around eventually deciding that going home is probably the only option. He doesnât bother to count the cash, it hasnât changed and really if anyone tried to steal it, heâd know.Â
Instead he grabs his coat and scarf and keys, locking various windows and doors until the little market stall is boarded up. Itâs an ugly little thing and Judeâs heart misses the little shops back home. Now everything is bleak and grey.Â
He makes it half way home; coat billowing behind him in the wind and his wings spread out. He has no shame about them, no desire to hide them. He used to. Spent years learning the magic it took for him to appear normal. But in a city like this, wracked with a desire for blood and war. His wings make him feel safe.Â
Theyâre the only thing that he has of his home.
He turns a corner to take a short cut down the side alleys, he doesnât feel at first which is rare. Instead he stands at the foot of the alley staring at a blurred image of what he thinks is a person. Theyâre shape is darkened by the lack of light, no distinguishing features. Jude can hear the muffled words he speaks but no words jump out. Itâs the only time he doesnât understand anything.
The figure lunges forwards and Jude instinctively reaches out. His hand brushes through nothing, the image dissolves like smoke before becoming solid again. The vision in front of him shifts. Below him, near his feet lies a body.Â
Still he canât make out a face, all he sees is darkness. Shadows shifting against shadows. Jude takes a step forward his foot lands in a pool of darkish blood but his shoes remain clean.Â
He doesnât hear himself shouting all he seeâs is the dead body at his feet and the body moving away. He knows itâs wrong, that something terrible is happening but he canât stop it. The world around him closes in until itâs nothing but his heartbeat and the heavy breathing of the person below him.Â
Kneeling down he runs a hand through over the man, and now that his vision is cleared he can see the pale skin. The manâs messy hair sticks to his face and while itâs unkept he can still make out little horns poking through.Â
Death chokes him and Jude struggles to breath.Â
Leaning his head down he catches the manâs last words hands curling up in fists, maybe to stop himself from lashing out or maybe its to stop the trembling. So close to vision he feels the manâs emotions bleeding through, even through time he still feels so much. Itâs overwhelming.Â
Between the unwanted visions and the emotions he lets out a sound somewhere between a shout and a cry.Â
Suddenly the world is bright again and Jude looks down at the empty ground. His hands tremble in fear and the wind around him picks up again. Instinctively his wings curl around him trying to protect him. From the world or himself heâs not sure. He still canât breath properly; suddenly wishes he where somewhere else instead of kneeling in a disgusting alley next to trash and garbage.Â
The Nephilimâs body shakes and Jude closes his eyes trying to ignore the pain it causes him. But all he can see is the blood that the man was spitting, all he can feel is the clammy skin under his fingers. All he can hear is a prayer to a God Jude knows will not help.
âNo one is safeâ he hears over and over again.Â
