The Wings Of An Enigmatic
HELLO MY WONDERFUL SUBJECTS READERS!!! I am extremely sorry for the delay of this story, but life has had me on a grip and I have been going through ups and downs recently, as well as utilizing my career more. But pas d'inquietude! I have returned. (Plus I am learning French before I plan to go to Paris). Here is Chapter 5 of the The Wings Of An Enigmatic and this is the longest chapter I have written so far for this season. Expect some surprises.
Notification tags: @rhyslahey, @thiamsxbitch, @unsanedes, @mmoosen, @phantomraeken, @isaac-not-isaac
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Chapter 5: Mistakes Are Learned
"-Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe."
"-Since when you became Einstein?"
"-Since when were you so interested of my input on the matter? I presumed humans were nescient."
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(Flashback - 10 years ago…)
Shouts and chatters of kids in the colorful classroom felt a tad bit intimidating. The lemon and oak scent permeated the classroom, filling his nostrils while the sun illuminated the room. Despite him being ironically the tallest 6-year-old in the 1st Grade, seeing so many of them playing, coloring a crayon book, being rowdy with each other as sneakers and chairs squeaked on the waxed tiled floors made little Isaac feel smaller. The only reassurance is that he sees Matt drawing a picture and absentmindly talking with someone…another kid with light sunkissed skin, who was creating a vertically shaped masterpiece of Lego blocks, vividly styled as a building to have foundation and support. The kid beside the intricate puzzles of blocks was someone that Matt became friends with this weekend.
Isaac takes a closer look at the kid and he notices how orderly and noble the kid is acting. With combed hair, tailored white long sleeve button down shirt, followed by black dress shorts, white ribbed calf socks, and black loafers. He looked like a kid who was a genius combined with the flair and fashion sense of a 1940’s child. A rich kid in basic terms.
“Isaac! Hey Isaac!” The excited tone of Matt reached his hears, standing up abruptly to see him. “Come quick, there’s someone you gotta meet!” The little grubby hands grabs Isaac’s much softer ones, dragging him forward towards the genius-like child. “Isaac, meet my new friend, Seraph. Seraph, this is Isaac, my best friend since daycare!” Matt’s cheerful declaration did not solve the newfound nervousness Isaac developed as the kid, Seraph, stares at him with gray eyes. Gray eyes that held mystery in them, that looked cold and aloof, that could literally scare a kid and have them scram immediately. Yet the innocence in them was visible and they were shining with curiosity, how did Matt become friends with this one?
The ambient noise of mindless chatter and cheers from the other kids served as the contrasting backdrop. It highlighted the uncomfortable silence between Isaac and this debonair kid, a pin drop could have resonated loudly between them. Seraph’s eyes seemingly judging him, eyeing him like he was an experiment that needed to be tested. Seraph lets out a small puff of air, and then he parts his lips.
“So you’re the best friend that Matthew here excitedly chatted about and wanted me to meet? I do find your bravery and choice of friends admirable and intriguing.” The professional and intelligent tone of the boy was unbelievable. How did this kid talk like that? No, why did this kid talk like that? He is speaking as if he were a full-sized adult, it baffled and spooked Isaac. “Do not be afraid. I also wanted to meet you as well and request if I can be your friend too. Can I…Isaac?”
Despite Seraph’s confident tone, he senses a slight uncertainty at the end of his question, along with the innocence lacing the child’s voice, as if Seraph felt like he was scaring him away. He wasn’t scaring him, in fact he was captivated by the way Seraph was talking and…whatever Seraph was building, which looks like a three-dimensional construction of a building that is entirely made out of lego. Not a single impairment within the foundation. The reassurance of his words ‘do not be afraid’ allowed Isaac to drop down his emotional walls to get to know this new person.
“I am sorry, but if I am scaring you Isaac, then I understand if you do not wish for me to be your friend-”
“Wait, Seraph-”
“Um no! No y-you aren’t scaring me…it’s just that Matt here is the only friend I really talk to…” Isaac trails off in shyness, kicking his feet on the tiled floor. “I don’t really talk to the other kids in this class.”
“I see,” Seraph hums, pausing at the playful atmosphere before him. His eyes scatter to see the different kids that are of their ages, playing with toys, stuffed animals, etc. Isaac felt that Seraph was different. He saw that Seraph was different, by the way he looked, the way he spoke, the way those gray eyes observed the room like a hawk. He was very perceptive and for someone who is 6 years old, already advanced and ahead of himself, Matt and the rest of the class. “I suppose we find ourselves in similar circumstances, both not forging connections with our peers or engaging in social interactions within our class, excluding Matt of course.”
The unexpected combination of this kid’s appearance coupled with the swift and adult-like articulation of his words left Isaac puzzled. Just what kind of 1st Grader talks like that? It did make Isaac more interested in the well-dressed child who now has his hands folded neatly on his desk surveying the scene before him.
“Yeah Zac, um Seraph talks like that alot and while it does sound weird, this is his way of talking to other people. He always says “do not be afraid” too.” Matt butts in, his face contorting an odd expression. The privileged youngster tilts his head in confusion.
“It’s the way I present myself and communicate. Is there something wrong with my wording and how I converse?” Seraph asks, and despite how sharp and voidless his gray eyes were perceived to be, Isaac could see hints of nervousness in those orbs. The dapper boy looked composed and concealed with a flair of affluence and suave, yet he could sense just how odd and out of place Seraph felt, just like Isaac.
“My name’s Isaac, which Matt already told you but just in case y-you forgot. Nice to meet you, and I wanna become friends with you too.” Isaac holds out his hand for a shake, a dopey smile on his lips. Seraph looks at the hand, then up to Isaac’s face, before eyeing his hand again. Then he glances back up and suddenly there is a sight to behold in front of him. To Isaac at first, he thought kids like Seraph would never laugh and smile due to their aloofness and callous nature. But Seraph’s faint smile is an anomaly Isaac witnesses, but the most peculiar thing was how bright Seraph’s eyes seem to be from this. He could have also sworn he saw the child’s eyes give out a violet hue within them before shifting back to gray, but he couldn’t tell. Maybe that was the sun’s reflection in the room and it had a mirage effect on his eyes. Seraph shakes the former’s hand with that faint smile being replayed over and over.
“Seraph Kingfisher. Even though by now, Matthew here must have relayed to you my legal entity already but I am merely letting you know who I am at your request of friendship and getting to know you. After all, you and I are alike when it involves anti-social tendencies.” Seraph explains too much for Isaac’s brain to process.
“You forgot about me being here, too.”
“My apologies, and let’s not forget Matthew. In this particular sense, you serve as the bridge to our new friendship and the expansion of a broader, diplomatic relationship to me and Isaac’s emerging friendship, contributing to your more social disposition.” Seraph replies to Matt’s jest.
“Sometimes I wonder how you talk like that.”
“My parents raised me with class and manners. It’s proper etiquette, and a sense of code for respect and to treat others the way you want to be treated.” Isaac could only stare at how dutiful and respectful Seraph is with the intelligent and proper language he spoke with the inclusion of professional body language. Seraph was like a walking book of knowledge.
“Is something amiss, Isaac? You seem quite parched and dazed.” Seraph’s straightforward question startles the young curly haired boy.
“Oh no—it’s nothing. It’s just…I am kind of happy you don’t see me as a kid who is a little taller than most of the kids here. And…I am happy we’re friends now.” Isaac stammers out, gaining confidence at the end of his sentence.
“So am I Isaac, and no there is nothing wrong with you being a tall 6-year-old. To me, I concur that you have been born with blessed genes that make you an able body person.” Seraph compliments, gazing at him softly. “While Matt here is artistic and sociable. An ambivert with a curious and thoughtful personality.”
That compliment made Matt shuffle his feet, a sight Isaac only sees when Matt gets shy or embarrassed. “Um thank you, Seraph.”
Isaac returns his gaze back to the affluent elementary kid, who is now switching the Lego between the hand constructed building. There was something about Seraph that made him admiring and cool to look at. Was it how he was dressed? His posture? How he was easily able to build a Lego building in real world detail? The way he was speaking to him? He didn’t know, nor could he make an accurate decision on what he felt, but all he did know was that he didn’t want to separate from Seraph. He wanted to be best friends with Seraph just like he’s best friends with Matt. Because he can see just how different Seraph was from the others.
Pursing his lips together, Isaac sits beside Seraph. “Can I…play with the Lego? Help you build this building?” His voice comes out soft and shy, despite having just become friends with him 5 minutes ago.
The boy in question glances at Isaac, his gray eyes boring into Isaac’s blue ones, with a gentle gaze that held a touch of bewilderment, contrasting how sharp and cutthroat they looked. It suddenly dawned on him that he might be treading on delicate grounds, the perplexed expression from Seraph signaling a possible misstep in their evolving rapport.
“Sorry I shouldn’t have asked if you wanted to play with me if you wanted to play-”
“No,” The interjection of Seraph cuts off his next words, “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve never had anyone inquire or offer to build something with me, and that is the reason.”
He nods at the former’s response slowly, before his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. “Not even Matt? I mean I know he likes to draw but he’s friendly to ask.” He points to their friend who shrugs.
“I am not really good with Legos, or building something huge like Seraph’s building here.” It’s Matt’s response that Isaac hears. He hears the other kid shuffle in their seat. “Perhaps I can teach you, Matt.”
Seraph speaks to the aforementioned boy who glances back. “I can even help teach you as well Isaac so that you can be able to build impressive toy architects such as this example.” The other two boys look at Seraph in awe, as if they have just seen a video game on the window-sill and as if it’s calling their names to purchase it.
“Sure, I wanna learn how to build!”
“Um, I guess so…I mean will it be hard to build it because…” The shy boy trails off looking at Seraph’s design, “mines ain't gonna come out like yours.”
“That is the exact reason why I stated I will teach you how to build a complete lego set.” Seraph sends him a wry grin, snickering while finding Isaac’s boldness entertaining. Isaac’s cheeks flush in embarrassment at his words.
“There is a saying: practice makes perfect. Hence, I will be helping you, so you can learn and master how to build a three-dimensional building, such as my design concept.” The intellectual words, followed by a formal tone of proper punctuation echoes to both Isaac and Matt. Well more Isaac. He sees just how amazing his new friend is, even wanting to teach him how to build a set of blocks just for fun.
Three 6 year-olds in their own world, learning from their new friend on how to build an actual building out of legos. To everyone else, they were just playing blocks. But to Isaac, it was a new friendship, a bond that felt warm, contrasting the icy gray eyes of his new friend. He was never good at making friends honestly speaking, his introverted personality made things difficult since he was in daycare with Matt, who became his first friend out of sheer courage.
But Seraph…he was different. Different than any kid in the 1st grade, and it wasn’t because of how he dressed, it’s how quiet but observant he was, how smart yet proper he was, how intimidating yet soft he was, and he could have easily said no to him for playing. But…he didn’t, he even surprised Isaac by saying he never had anyone asked him to play with him or build with him before, and to many other kids in their classroom he looked frightening because of his eyes and stone cold face, but not to Isaac.
To 6 year-old, introverted and shy Isaac, he was mysterious and alluring. Plus, he gave Isaac something he never had before: confidence. Because he never would think he’d be in this kid’s presence without feeling shy and scared by his icy looks of condemnation and judgment, but here he is, smiling and laughing with Seraph who is sitting between him and Matt.
And…6 year-old Seraph was sporting a smile of his own. Isaac once again turns his head to the former. “Hey, can I call you Raph instead?”
Now, it was Seraph’s turn to be surprised. Isaac thought he stepped too far again and took advantage of his newfound friendship.
“Yes, you may call me Raph, a shortened version of my name.” The aforementioned kid just continues to shock and impress Isaac more and more. “Only if I can request to call you Zac.”
Isaac smiles at that nickname that Matt gives him, now being asked by Seraph. “Deal.”
(3 years later…)
Friendships are supposed to be forever. Especially when it is a treasured one, especially when two kids have become best friends over time. 9-year old Isaac always thought that he was going to have this friendship with Seraph and Matt. So…where did it go wrong? How did their friendship collapse in the blink of an eye?
He didn't know what happened that night—no, he did. He was aware of his brother’s swim team and his father, who is the coach of the aforementioned team, having a huge party in the backyard of their house. His older brother Camden was one of the star swimmers and the main clique leader of this team. It should have been a celebration filled with good times and happiness. It wasn’t.
He and Matt were supposed to exchange the latest Spiderman comic book, as the duo were very huge fanboys of the character and series. Seraph did adore Spiderman as well, but he was more of a Black Panther and Thor fan, yet Seraph always quoted a famous quote from Spiderman: “With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility.”
It was just the two of them since Seraph left early because he gained a headache that made him groan from time to time and it made Isaac and Matt concerned for their best friend. The affluent child’s cousin, Coriolanus, came and picked him up. It is also ironic how Coriolanus was the best friend of his older brother, because they were the same age but while Camden was part of the swimming team, Coriolanus was in the basketball team since his height overshadowed everyone that Isaac sometimes thought Coriolanus was a giant.
The boy’s comic book exchange went downhill because Matt was nowhere to be found, until he heard screaming and yelling. He runs just in time to see his father, who was holding a soaked and gasping Matt by the edge of their pool, yelling at Seraph who is surprisingly back to their house. But the 9-year old noticed the tense posture, the snarl, and blazing look in Seraph’s eyes—an unusual sight. He never saw his best friend express, it was like looking at a clone who took over someone’s body with their only change being their personality. Isaac began shaking because of how furious his father was getting and the grinding of his teeth, afterall his father has gotten distant and apathetic with anger, going as far as taking it out on him and Camden lately. He didn’t want Seraph to endure that same treatment, yet his affluent best friend looked unafraid, challenging his father’s authority. He never heard Seraph scream and yell with so much anger that it puts the Incredible Hulk’s anger to shame.
His eyes widen as he witnesses his father push Seraph slightly in anger, saliva catching in his throat before his legs carry him over to the hostile scene to stop his father from going to hurt Seraph. The next action freezes him—the punch Seraph delivers in retaliation after his father lets go of Matt. The rough cry of his father, the thud of his body, and the clatter of his father’s glasses on the concrete floor intensified his shock. Watching his best friend strike his father in the face in front of everyone was like watching a movie in slow motion. The chaos that kept rising ended with Seraph’s fist, the silence echoing in the atmosphere as the once thriving party came to an abrupt end.
He watches his father recoil, a hand to his face where Seraph struck, contorted in shock. Coriolanus dashes past little Isaac before halting in front of his enraged little cousin and a wet, dripping, and paralyzed Matt. He could have sworn he saw Seraph’s eyes glow in dark violet hue, but when he blinked to do a double take, they were gone. Maybe it was the pool lights reflecting in his eyes, illuminating the azure color of the water that mirrored his eyes. Perhaps it was the lights around them brightening the atmosphere, giving a luminescent glow. The chaos returns with a vengeance as he sees Coriolanus argue with Camden, rage barely concealed on the surface, while Isaac’s father threatens to call the police for what Seraph had done.
Isaac stood there, aghast and paralyzed with his limbs unsteady and mouth parted open, hearing himself say “stop”, “stop”, “stop”, “please don’t, “don’t call them”. The daunting thought of the police taking Seraph away was horrifying despite how unrealistic it sounded because the police couldn’t arrest little kids. At the same time, he is unable to understand or figure out why his Seraph punched him so hard that blood is trickling down from both nostrils, the vermillion liquid coating the tanned skin of his father’s nose cascading down to his lips and to his hand. Just how hard did his best friend punch him?
He found himself walking towards Matt, who had gone silent, yet his clothes were drenched in water and chlorine, shivering like a leaf in autumn. Something must have happened that caused Matt to quiver and gasp like this because he never saw Matt so frightened, eyes filled with terror. He never saw Seraph aggressive, eyes filled with rage. These are two sights he never wants to see from them.
The ever increasing yells and screams went in and out of his ear, and now he felt himself shaking from the hostile atmosphere.
“Arresting my cousin because he punched you after you were the one who put your hands on him!? YOU STARTED IT!!!”
“You should have been the one to put him on a leash because he’s—!”
“Call my cousin a dog and I will do worse than whack you across the face.”
“YOU THREATEN ME!? YOU WANNA THREATEN ME!?”
“That’s not a threat! That’s a promise Mr. Lahey! And Camden you should have known better than to throw Matt in the pool when he can’t swim!”
Wait…what?
“What kind of man doesn’t know how to swim? He is a sissy!”
“NOT EVERYONE HAS THE KNOWLEDGE OR ABILITY TO SWIM YOU DERANGED LUNATIC—!”
“Stop calling Matt names, you degenerate jerk!” It was the rough and icy timbre of Seraph’s voice that degraded his father afterwards, and Isaac began shaking uncontrollably. He wants this to stop, he is trying to hold Matt close to him while failing to stay calm from the arguing. He doesn’t know what to do, or how to stop them from arguing. Other than drag the eerily quiet yet shuddering Matt away from the macabre of insults and aggressive tension.
“Matt,” Isaac wordlessly says, shaking his soaked arms slightly when he doesn't get a response, “Matt are you okay? What happened?” Isaac glanced at his friend who was still shocked and silent through his wheezing, as if he was having an asthma attack. His condition being a backdrop to the heated arguing of spiteful and hostile words and shouts, with Coriolanus and Camden on the verge of throwing blows.
"ENOUGH!!!" The command sliced through the chaotic air like a thunderclap, an authoritative crescendo that sent shockwaves through the backyard. Isaac, caught off guard, felt an involuntary flinch as the reverberations reached him. The source of the sound and tonality was immediately apparent, as his instinct guided his gaze to the epicenter.
There, amidst the turmoil, emerged the tall and imposing figure of Seraph's father in the doorway that separates the pool and kitchenette of Isaac’s house. His silhouette cut an imposing figure against the backdrop of the heated confrontation. The air seemed to still be around him, as if nature itself acknowledged the presence of a commanding force.
Seraph's father stood with a stoic and collected demeanor, a calm yet intense glare cutting through the tumult like a laser. His eyes bore the weight of authority, a simmering power beneath the surface. The lines etched on his face hinted at experiences weathered, a testament to the resilience that accompanied a father's steadfast resolve.
Isaac couldn't help but be captivated by the scene. The contrast between the authoritative figure and the chaos unfolding created a tableau of tension and consequence. The backyard, once a battleground of heated exchanges, now held an anticipatory hush, awaiting the next course in the unpredictable story unfolding before them.
The click and echo of dress shoes was heard on the concrete pavement, the man’s gaze unwavering. Isaac quickly steals a shaky glance at his 9 year old best friend and a now calmed down Coriolanus.
“Coryo, take Seraph to the car. I will handle this.” Was Seraph’s father’s only words before the taller male nods wordlessly and gently grabs the affluent elementary kid, then begins walking. He could hear his father’s angry shouts and hollers which was followed by Seraph’s father’s calm but firm replies, but Seraph wasn’t looking at him. Isaac kept calling his name, and even went in to grab him but his movements were stopped by Isaac’s furious father, a callous vice grip on his pale wrist that made him wince and knew it would leave bruises.
“You are to never play with that kid again, ya understand!?”
“But Dad—!”
“I said, do you understand!?” His father, appearing enraged and hostile with his nose and lips still coated in his own blood, while painfully squeezing Isaac’s little wrist, made the kid nod hesitantly. He didn’t want to stop talking to Seraph. That’s his best friend.
The rest of the night went on in a blur, as Seraph’s father left, followed by Matt’s parents arriving in a frenzy to pick him up and the party ended right there. But Isaac was only focused on Matt and Seraph. While Matt’s parents stated he was okay and had no physical related injuries, his friend never contacted him back at all. Matt also didn’t want to come back to the Lahey residence per what his parents have told him. Yet, the biggest radio silence he ever received was from Seraph. Since that night, he never received a phone call from the Kingfisher residence, or a visit to his house. It was as if his best friend had disappeared.
He waited…and waited…and waited…and waited until it had been 3 weeks and the nervousness began eating him alive. The menacing and eerie radio silence gnawed at him, his endless fidgeting eroding his uneasiness, Isaac didn't know what to do. Seraph did not contact him at all.
Then, he heard the news of Seraph's grandfather, who was murdered in cold blood in the reserve. The iciness that entered the child's veins was visible through his shaking form. The death of Augustus Kingfisher was an eerie and traumatic death, he couldn't bear to know how Seraph was currently feeling at this very moment in time, but he knows what it feels like to lose a relative he loves. He lost his mother. That led to 2 more weeks of radio silence, until one day, Isaac decided to take the initiative to call him. It's what childhood best friends do, right? To watch over each-other, right?
He got the courage to pull the house phone from the receiver and dialed the number to Seraph’s house. He was finally able to speak to Seraph. But, the call didn’t end well. The harsh and cold voice of his best friend made little Isaac wince and recoil in shock. Isaac tried to ask what is wrong and why is Raph acting like this.
“We cannot see each other anymore Isaac.” The delivery of Seraph’s words were vague but haunting. What did he mean by that? Why did Seraph sound so cold and detached?
Isaac was speechless, stuttering over his words.
“What do you mean we can’t see each other anymore? Why are you talking like that?”
“I am merely saying that we cannot have moments of camaraderie, or in layman terms, hang out anymore. We need to dissolve our friendship from the events that happened at the pool.” Seraph rephrases for the boy. A sudden shift of panic and despair grows inside of Isaac’s gut. Why is he breaking our friendship?
“Why…? Did I do something wrong? I don’t understand, why do we have to stop being friends? Whatever I did I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you or for my dad hurting you? Did he do something that made you punch my dad’s face?” His eyes were burning with saltwater, brimming at the edge begging to be released from his eyes.
"Raph...is it...is it because of what happened to your grandfather-"
“Goodbye Isaac.” Seraph concludes coldly, getting cut off before hearing the line of the telephone disconnecting, its alarm-like sound ringing in his ear. The first tear dropped to the floor, while Isaac’s form remained still. Needles prickled inside of his arm as his grasp on the phone stilled. The air felt heavy, a foreboding silence ringing in his ears all around him, except the daunting and cold echoing of Seraph’s words.
Seraph…don’t leave me alone…
(Present Day)
He remembers it like it was yesterday. The childhood memories he has, once filled with warmth and serene, are now overwhelmed by bitterness and icy callousness that springs tears to his eyes. Yet the painful but sweet memory stopped his dawning panic attack, but it brought upon hurt and emotional discomfort. He’s been in emotional turmoil throughout his life. His friend abandoned him when he needed him the most. When Seraph also needed him as well.
The loss of his mother, the death of his brother in Afghanistan, the abrupt change and cruelty of his father, and the destruction of his friendships, Matt Daehler and most importantly, Seraph. What hurts more is the pain and viciousness of his friend’s words, calling out his abuse and victimization that he hides behind a facade of nonchalance and introvert to be careless and detrimental to him rather than taking action to do something about it. As if he isn’t aware of the agonizing situation that he deals with at home everyday of his life. As if he isn’t aware of the bruises and cuts he receives from his father who shows absolutely no care in hitting him whenever he wants. As if he doesn’t experience pain, drama, and turmoil every month, every week, every day, every hour. Yet his friend did not take that into consideration, but brought it up abruptly and callously.
It doesn’t help that he has to return home to a toxic and unwelcoming environment that he calls home because he has nowhere else to go, or no other relative that lives in Beacon Hills. Plus, his father is all he has left, even if it feels like swallowing lead and venom while he is in his presence, even if his cold and brutal hands break his skin and hurts him before throwing him inside the freezer box, even his father’s words of gaslighting and verbal insults pierce through him like a blade of torture, he still gets back up and moves forward. The terror and fright behind it all hurts and traumatizes him, yet what is he able to do? Who would ever want to aid a weak teenager who cannot defend himself against his father? They may even say his father is right because he does wrong things that are disobedient to his father, despite his conscious telling him that what his father is wrong hundred percent of the time in his actions. Yet his friend revealed the hard cold truth to him that he wished wasn’t true, and is terrified to believe.
He just doesn’t want to be alone, and yet now…he feels truly alone…because Seraph’s words of the harsh, bitter truth came to light and stated it insensitively. Why Raph? Why did you leave me behind?
The sound of chatter in the hallways makes Isaac glance at the clock of the empty classroom and he realizes there’s only 15 minutes left of lunch, almost time for his next class. He wipes away his tears, wincing slightly when he rubs the bruise on his cheek. He can’t have anyone see him with his eyes all red and puffy. Maybe they wouldn’t care if they saw him like this. Just like how Seraph wouldn’t care.
Perhaps...he never knew Seraph as much as he thought he did.
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The school’s main office is usually a place of tension and anticipation for students who are in trouble, or a place of contentment and joy when they are told their parents are requesting them to come home for something important. In Seraph’s case, it was neither. He is a student with an A grade in all of his classes so the first option is out, and he loves school and to do classwork so the second option is out, Well what is it? He missed History class, and to top it off, it’s Free Period. Most students would be questioned as to why they are in the office for so long. But due to his academic GPA and standing, the office was his second study place. Not to mention his father donates to the school annually, cue the favoritism to his chagrin.
The remorse and regret of his cruel and indifferent words to Isaac’s current situation is sinking him into a pit of shame and disappointment. Not to mention he feels Isaac’s aura of melancholy and heartache across the school all thanks to him. But he knows better to approach the teenager right now to confront and apologize for his words knowing that will only make the circumstances worse.
Congratulations, Seraph. You stabbed a dagger through Zac’s soul and drained it all of what innocence he had left. Impressive and fantastic. Now you are left with the repercussions of what you’ve caused. Then you wonder exactly why your deceased grandfather stated you have a provocative mouth. The sarcastic and impervious thoughts of his conscience mocks him. A harsh scowl plasters his face, not in the mood to deal with his conscience or be reminded of the horrid trauma of his dead relative. The consistent clatter of typing on the keyboard behind the desk, along with the telephones ringing in the atmosphere and the chatter of students in the hallway outside was just minimal background noise.
Seraph was in his own conscience, reeling over his harsh encounter with Isaac, his…ex-friend he assumes now that he probably squashed any chances of reconciliation, and the premonition he received of a future; a future of him and the others alongside new faces in Beacon Hills, which he is unable to decipher because he is aware that those faces aren’t familiar. WAIT— the one who was wearing the Jersey that had the number 9 on it, is actually familiar. But where have I seen that face before?
A quiet hiss leaves his mouth from remembering the bewildering premonition, rubbing his two fingers on his temple. This is one huge drawback with his precognitive powers. This can occur in two separate ways: either through getting successive premonitions within a 24 hour period, or receiving a large premonition that reveals many adversaries and outcomes at once and can travel in said realm of precognition such as the one he had minutes ago. The result of taking in such a drastic premonition lands him with an irritable headache that will last for a few hours. He should have turned off his premonition this morning if he didn’t want to receive such future obstacles. Now he understands why his father shuts off his precognition when he is away in his locations such as Alaska or San Francisco, or during his political work in Beacon Hills Town Hall. Now he understands why his family remains a neutral party in all conflicts, such as the Hale Fire, Scott’s transformation, the Largest arrival, and the unknown identity of the Alpha.
Speaking of turning off the power…
Seraph closes his eyes and turns off his ability, inquiring about the possibility that the headache may disperse much sooner with his special ability now off. Yet that still does not help his current impasse. No aspirin or pain-relieving medication would prove efficacious in alleviating his headache, because it manifested itself through the use of supernatural energy. How hollow and pointless would it be if the school nurse were to examine his headache with technological test results only to come up with nothing. It would be unmistakable exposure and treacherous for him to go to the hospital to inspect his headache, since using the CT scan would show the humans his skull which would reflect the lighting and photo scans thanks to his blood and supernatural biology. (Yes he will continue to milk the supernatural biology card and he will not be unfettered by it.)
The clicking sounds of heels and his name being called forces Seraph to glance at the school’s secretary. “Good Afternoon, Mr. Kingfisher. Do you wish to call your mom so you can be sent home?”
Seraph simply nods, taking his cell phone out and dialing the number of his mother’s cellphone while the school secretary prepares the necessary documents to be sent home and excused for his classes today. It did earn him surprised and unusual glances since for the first time in his history of attending school, he is being sent home. He has not missed a day of school in his life, nor has he ever received a tardy for being late, nor has he been sent home for sickness or pain as the latter has never contracted diseases or pain. (Thanks to his immunity to diseases.)
For him to go home in the middle of the school day is quite shocking to the staff. Yet he doesn’t spare any of them a look, his eyes trained on the ceiling as he waits for the call to pick up on the phone. The ringing ends and a soft yet confused tone enters his ears. “Seraph, is everything okay?”
Already asking him and without even receiving information on what is wrong, Seraph’s expression is amused slightly, yet restrains himself from adding discomfort to his head. “No. I have a painful pounding in my skull and my current mood is not an exquisite one. I cannot concentrate on my work with an excruciating headache disrupting everything I try to do, and before you conclude anything,” his voice drops to a whisper, “it’s the special headaches I would get from my premonitions.” Unfortunately, being immune from every disease in the world does not mean he is immune to headaches. Normal headaches that a typical human or a werewolf would get, applies to his kind as well, but since normal medication like aspirin would be ineffective, he would have to use a concoction of vervain, clover, and mugwort, a surprisingly not-so-bad concoction, to quell normal headaches.
Whereas the special headaches that come from his premonition ability, those take more time to dissipate because it is the psychological impact and vignette vision behind the premonitions that cause a mental and soul distress between his brain and supernatural powers. The concoction won't work for this so he will have to drag it out. The special headaches last longer and it varies how much was envisioned within a day or the successive amounts of premonitions that occurred within an hour time limit.
He hears his mom clear her throat. “Now I see. Did you receive too many premonitions within the hour limit, or did you receive a large one that caused you to explore outside of where you are standing in your premonition?” His mom inquires, her voice steady yet comfortable. Unlike him, his sister, and his father, his mother does not have the premonition ability, since this unique power originated from his paternal grandfather, and was passed down to Azrael, which then was passed down to him and Celes.
“It was an extended premonition that manifested my headache.” He murmurs quietly, drinking a cup of water to at least soothe him. He heard a hum of acknowledgment on the line, followed by a short pause.
“Is there more to this story?” Elizabeth’s calm voice questions, and Seraph eyes the phone as if she could see his baffled reaction. “Your senses are definitely off if you are this silent from my reply, as you are aware I can sense your emotions and aura. Did something else happen?” She repeats, waiting on the line.
Releasing a sigh of discontent, Seraph knows there is no need to hide this. “Yes actually. I encountered Lahey and the two of us ended up having a brief but intense confrontation to the point that I unleashed unwanted vitriol against him without taking in consideration of his well being and trauma…and…I—” For the first time in his life, Seraph stammers, his usual prominence in composure, administration, and sprezzatura lost. He truly messed up big time, didn’t he? First that extensive and harrowing vision, and then his accidental and visceral mishap that tore Isaac apart emotionally.
His mother’s voice reels him back in, worry evident in her tonality. “Honey, breath. Take a deep breath and exhale.” He does as he is told, inhaling deeply before releasing the puff of air, his nerves returning back to normal. The headache only got worse, not enough to stumble him but enough to cause more irritation. “We’ll talk about it when we get home, darling. I am sending the email now to notify them that I am giving you permission and confirmation to be sent home.” He hears quick typing from the keyboard through the phone. “I will have Milene make you the medicinal concoction to help you.”
“Actually, I’d rather not talk about it. I would prefer to leave it behind as a forgotten memory and carry on.” Seraph secures the strap on his satchel, standing up.
“Are you sure? It is much better if you discuss this with me rather than letting it bottle up. I won’t force you to talk if you wish not to, but are you sure you would rather not discuss this?” Elizabeth asks. God bless his mother for her generosity and empathetic nature. Despite his cold and hypersaline personality, a small part of him is anxious if he is overbearing or irreverent to his family. Though he is aware they are used to his ways and apathy and find no trouble in it, sans Celes who is the victim of his torment of jabs and sibling dynamic.
“Yes, I am sure.” He huffs out, standing up to stretch, ignoring the annoying throb in his head. A soft hum came from the receiver, as an indirect form of response. Seraph walks to the desk, collecting the documents and paper after the secretary receives the email. He mouths a thank you before leaving, with the secretary replying to him to get better soon.
“Alright then. Grandma won’t be home until late tonight. She is on a trip to a Gala in Los Angeles with Arnold, and your father is currently at the Town Hall, courtesy of the recent murders to manifest a curfew law for the time being. Celes will be with Gwen and her other friend Patricia for much of the day. So It’ll be me and Milene in the early evening.” Elizabeth tells him. Seraph hums in approval.
“I understand. Thank you…mom.” Seraph tells her hesitantly, a tone he is NOT used to producing. Seriously, how out of function he is today? Elizabeth tells him goodbye and the line disconnects. He heaves a sigh and walks up to the desk to receive an early dismissal pass alongside a large manila envelope of letters for the last classes of today to be excused for tomorrow. He leaves and stomps down the white tiled floor to his locker.
Suddenly, while walking to his locker, a repugnant, gnarly and copper like scent fills his nostrils. He almost vomits at how intense it smelled. The concoction of rotten copper, dead skin, mutilated organs, and…wolfsbane— wait, what? That made Seraph stop in his path of direction. Wolfsbane…Derek Hale arrived in the school with such a disgusting and deathly scent yet he is alive. Scott doesn’t produce this scent either since the beta is healthy and smells like shower gel, oak and laundry detergent.
“You must really, really hate me.” He hears Jackson say poignantly. While you aren’t a malicious person, your arrogance and pride is what causes conflict with those around you, Whittemore. Seraph conveys internally.
“Not at all.” Allison rebukes, despite feeling her aura of uncertainty. Allison doesn’t hate him but she feels apprehensive about the Lacrosse captain no doubt to his previous antagonistic behavior. Especially towards Scott.
“You sure? Because you know, I’m not a bad guy—I mean I make stupid mistakes a lot but…I’m not bad.” He asserts, giving Allison his best ‘sincere’ tone. Please don’t tell me they are by my locker. Seraph prays to no one in particular.
“I like you…I mean—I like you and Scott together, and I would like to get you know you guys better.” Jackson says to the Argent heiress through Seraph’s hearing, and the latter does a double take at what the jock fumbles over his words. Why does Jackson sound so desperate and…unsure of himself? His heartbeat regarding his words states an ulterior motive…what are you planning to do, Whittemore?
The closer Seraph gets to his locker, the stronger and more detestable it grew. His lungs couldn’t bear with the scent, but he kept his poise and continued through this unfathomable torment. Once he was in view of his locker, there he saw two individuals, and while not only did one of them produced the loathesome scent, but the other one was just sitting uncomfortably beside the former. Seraph is baffled that Jackson reeks of a rotting corpse combined with the potent flower. His skin, deathly pale and unnatural, alongside his sunken eyes appears to make him look dead. Until it hit Seraph’s mind.
Derek’s claws were infected with wolfsbane poisoning from the bullet, therefore when he dug into Jackson’s nape, the poisoned blood and fluid transferred into Jackson’s blood, infecting him as well. Seraph relays in his head after coming to the conclusion of Jackson’s repulsive scent. While Derek only and unintentionally transmit part of the potency into Jackson’s body, it is still enough to cause organ failure and serious health damage into the body. It can, if not treated, kill him. Seraph may have to concoct Wolfsbane Amenia, or the healing Wolfsbane with Clover, and convert them into capsules for Jackson to consume, even though that could raise suspicions within Jackson of how Seraph knows about what happened. Plus he would need Jackson's consent regarding to giving him capsules, something that will hurt the teen's huge ego and earn a harsh reject from him.
He shook his head, the abhorrent smell threatening to make him reel. He turned his attention to the second individual who is anxious and uncomfortable beside Jackson who’s invading her privacy per say. Allison Argent. They were just a locker beside his on the top of them. Seraph’s shoes echo the floor, catching the attention of both teenagers, who have different reactions to seeing him.
Jackson’s expression sours at the sight of him, due to earlier interactions and the last time Seraph insulted him in the parking lot, which the enigmatic teenager couldn’t care less about. But Allison’s expression is intrigued but reticent. Her eyes study the body language, facial expressions and movements of him. He never uttered a single word to the girl since her arrival, nor acknowledged her presence. But judging by how Allison is studying him, there is no doubt that Lydia must have mentioned him to her in their interactions since those two are best friends. Then again, Lydia is also the type to not tell Allison about a being like him.
“Pardon my intrusion, but my locker is beside you on top, Ms. Argent.” Seraph politely declares. Allison’s expression snaps to realization.
“Oh, sorry, just…let me move a little bit over.” Allison replies, but he notices the heavy hesitation laced in her voice due to a certain ill-looking jock being a little too close to her in such a disturbing fashion. But at Seraph’s cutthroat expression, Jackson does move a little further, though to Allison moving slightly than to Seraph’s icy veil.
“Thank you.” The enigmatic mutters before approaching the locker, and inputting the combination of the lock to open his locker. The throbbing surged up slightly, and that had Seraph just stop momentarily, touching his temple to rub it even though such actions will not deter the effect of the headache. Damn, he thought, while opening his locker fully to put only the necessary study materials away in exchange for the one he needs later for homework.
“Are you okay?” Seraph freezes, not sure to be surprised to be asked such a question, or Allison’s boldness to ask. But he keeps a straight face and slightly turns to her hesitant but inquisitive gaze, ignoring the jock beside her.
“Phyiscally yes. I am going home early due to a repulsive and pounding headache that is prevailing my concentration and school input. But nothing to fret about, I am fine. Just lethargic.” He responds to her cordially. To be very honest, there isn’t much to talk here, since these two do not know each other. Allison didn’t have to actually speak anything to him, and he didn’t have to respond. But it did alter the course of their interactions. He did however, heard a weak but masculine chuckle.
“Wow, that’s a first. Can’t handle a little headache, Kingfisher? That’s the first time since you attended school to ever go home early. Are we less than intelligent beings make you unable to handle our rambunctious rowdyness?” Jackson asks dubiously, earning a glower from Allison who just heard him apologize for being mean to Scott even though his delivery of it sounded less sincere and more desperate mixed with eerieness.
Seraph, through his irritating headache and in spite of the disgusting odor of death his classmate is producing, smirks and faces Jackson fully. “Ah yes, it appears even the most robust among us occasionally succumb to the whims of a mere headache. I shall take care of myself in a prominent manner, although I must admit, the pallor of your skin and the sunken shadows beneath your eyes do give cause for concern.” It took everything in the icy teenager to not make a provocative comment about his repugnant scent that is coming from him. Jackson’s eyes widen at the mention of his abnormal physical condition that he silences himself from saying anymore lest he hear Seraph say something diminshing.
Allison remains engrossed but indecisive to utter a word to Seraph, who just returned to facing his locker and pulling out a textbook. Now that she thought about it, she remembered Seraph didn’t show up in history class at all. She only remembers that she shares History, Economics, and French classes with him. There is no reason for her to strike a conversation with him, she told herself, but the thought of at least getting to know an independent and quiet individual like Seraph whom Lydia mentioned to her on the first day with a ton of information about him does make her curious to know him.
She takes the risk and clears her throat. “You’re Seraph Kingfisher, right?” Surprisingly, the cliché question doesn’t increase his already irritating headache. He spares a glance at Allison who is still sitting beside the locker beneath his own.
The fact that she is questioning his identity raises two possibilities: either Lydia mentioned him to her and revealed alot of information concerning him, or she must have heard the tale of him roasting an entire grade of seniors in his freshman year. He is willing to bet the former, since that tale, while still spoken, is seen as an urban legend that is to not be spoken of unless the individual is willing to risk their ego and pride. But the fact that Lydia holds him in such esteem is sacrilegious but intriguing. He doesn’t know whether to thank her or tell her to stop telling her friends about him.
“Yes, in the flesh.” Allison nodded, deeply uncomfortable by how the pale and ill looking lacrosse captain, “Jackass” Whittemore is peering at her with macabre intent. The putrefaction of the blonde’s blood, coupled with aconite poisoning, threatened to induce the noxious concoction churned within him, instigating an unsettling urge to retch. Seraph sighs through his nose to prevent that urge and glances back at her. “Might I request your assistance in something?”
That caused Allison to look up at him, while Jackson glares at the bespectacled teen. The enigmatic considers the latter irrelevant as he focuses on the girl. “Can you hand this to Coach Finstock for Econ? I remember we both have the same class period after this.” The affluent teenager did not expect to meet the heiress of the Argents in this kind of mundane manner. If it entails distancing herself from Jackson’s disconcerting presence and the disagreeable odor of mortality that pervades his vicinit, then it is an acceptable course of action. Besides, Econ is the only class that he would rather not have the Coach reprimand him for missing class, whereas the others he can discreetly get away with thanks to his academics.
With newfound eagerness likely as a result of escaping from Jackson, Allison nodded without hesitation and packed away her things and took the excuse letter from Seraph and safely place it in her bag. “I can do that. Although I just hope that you’re okay with everything.” Allison comments, genuine and serene in her words and expression. At least it didn’t end awkward.
Seraph nods and replies, “I am fine. Thank you.” He shuts his locker while Allison, sends him a small and cordial smile before leaving the scenery with the letter. Unlike Jackson’s current scent, Allison smells of vanilla, lavender, and oak, with a simple yet delicate touch of Coco Chanel perfume. Seraph clicks the locker of his combination before he finds Jackson, who is getting up, wobble slightly.
“Whether or not you want to hear this is not my concern, but you are severely unwell. Your appearance is as pale as a ghost. You can barely stand with your current fractured stature. I suggest you go to a doctor and receive immediate medical treatment.” Seraph conjures, earning a sardonic expression from the jock.
“Gee, thank you for the diagnosis of my condition, doc. What do you want, a medal? Why would I take a suggestion from your stuck-up ass?” Jackson’s snark only made Seraph smirk. Even in sickness is Whittemore still an arrogant and egotistical jerk.
"Well, Whittemore, if arrogance and egotism were Olympic events, you'd have enough gold medals to start your own mint. But alas, we're stuck with your diagnosis instead. Consider it a consolation prize for your remarkable lack of self-awareness." Seraph turns around not sparing Jackson a glance, who is giving the bespectacled teen a sour expression. He never had an issue with Seraph until now, but the delivery of his words and hypersaline persona pisses him off. But he knows trying to argue with Seraph is like arguing with a brick wall. He’d lose easily to Seraph’s words and cunning perception.
Seraph stomps down the empty hallway, hearing that clock on the wall echo as it’s 10 seconds before the bell rings. He makes it to the exit and walks down the stairs, with a few classmates out in the parking lot hanging out or doing something uninteresting. The bell inside the school blares loudly at the signal of the end of the period. Seraph enters his car and turns the engine on. He didn’t expect Allison to take the letter and give it to Coach Finstock out of kindness and a means to leave Jackson, but it did work in his favor, He reverses back from the parking lot in a 90 degree angle, and drives off on the open road leaving the school.
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Nobody, least of all Scott himself, could have anticipated the tumultuous turn his life took when he was unwillingly bitten and transformed against his will from an average human teenager to a supernatural, werewolf teenager thanks to a selfish and unstable alpha he still doesn’t know about.. His struggle to understand the politics of werewolves and hunters, and navigate his way through the intricate discord of violence against him and the trauma inflicted by a power-hungry alpha only compounded his anguish. Scott is not only grappling with external threats but also with the internal turmoil of his own identity and the weight of his traumatic experiences caused by factors outside of his control.
This so-called “gift” that Derek persistently boasts about, is more of a dark curse that makes his life worse than it did before. Yes, his senses have heightened to an extraordinary degree—he can run faster without the risk of his asthma harming him, he can hear the faintest pin drop from miles away, discerning emotions through scent alone. Even in the darkest of nights, his vision pierces through the shadows like no sight before. However, these enhanced abilities only exacerbate the new aggression consuming him. Worse still is the looming threat of losing his humanity when the full moon casts its illuminating glow, pitting his humanity against his inner werewolf.
Regardless of his phenomenal abilities, he must keep them hidden from his mother, Allison, and his peers at school. Nevertheless, all efforts are almost starting to prove futile when Derek impulsively accuses his boss and mentor, Alan Deaton, of being the rogue alpha who turned him. This accusation defies all logic. Throughout Derek's acquaintance with Deaton, the veterinarian has been nothing but a paragon of kindness, compassion, and intelligence, drawing from years of experience in veterinary practice. Deaton has imparted invaluable skills to Scott, skills that would typically be acquired in college practice with medicine and veterinarian services. How Derek arrives at the conclusion that Deaton is the alpha is madness and pure hubris. Nothing about this assumption or situation adds up.
Scott walks alongside Stiles in the empty and dark hallways of their school after getting inside, en route to the office, distressed and confused on his agenda, which was to call the alpha (assumed to be Deaton by Derek’s blind assumption). Puzzled, uncertain, and apprehensive about this, he stares before turning to Stiles with a look of dread and worry. The latter is looking back and forth like he is under anxiety. Okay maybe staring at Stiles’s pacing isn’t helping him either. He glances back down to the hallway in front of him.
"Scott, honestly do you think you can find anyone other than Derek to help you with the alpha?" Stiles's question makes Scott pause and look to his left and into his brown eyes with perplexity.
"Like who? I don't know who is a werewolf in our school. In fact I don't even think there are any werewolves in our school." Scott counters anxiously, more focused on trying to save Deaton from Derek, or prove Derek wrong for him accusing his boss, who is a kind, wise and compassionate figure, is the vicious and malicious alpha. Scott's mind is rattled with anxiety and stress, coupled with the turmoil of his werewolf status as well as his emotions, and the psychological trauma of having to be thrusted into this supernatural world with no guidance.
Having to hide this from those he loves and cares for, especially Allison and his mom, is the major factor of his stress and edge. How is he supposed to continue to live like this for the rest of his life? How is he going to go down this dreadful path as he grapples with his humanity?
"Like I don't know. Who else could be a candidate for a beta in our school?" Stiles inquires more, flailing his arms. When Scott shakes his head confusedly, he prompts Stiles to answer. "Someone from the lacrosse team? Our classmates? Because if they are three werewolves now, then maybe there is someone else?"
"No one in our team smells like a werewolf, Stiles. If that were the case then they either would have gotten involved, or they wouldn't." Scott replies. There's obviously not anyone else in their school who is a werewolf, otherwise Scott would make the decision to seek their aid depending on how they would perceive him. If they were antagonistic then the chances of help would be futile. He has to understand how to survive as a werewolf and balance out his life peacefully.
"Well—what about Seraph? After that odd looking pained expression on his face earlier I doubt normal poeple make that much of a painful face. Looks werewolfish to me.”
Scott fixed him with a baffled look, stopping in the middle of the corridor within the vicinity of the main office. He is unable to tell whether Stiles is trying to say he is accusing Seraph of being a werewolf or if that’s Stiles dislike of the academically advanced classmate. Not when his werewolf senses were all over the place. He looks back at the microphone, staring at the piece. "Seraph doesn't smell like a werewolf. He has a cinnamon, rosemary and wool like scent. Plus he's human, I felt his pain when my hand touched his earlier." Scott noticed something different with Seraph. While the pain he felt from touching him was...strange, like there was something there that shouldn't be there. But he couldn't pinpoint it due to the rush of the moment and he is currently in a serious situation between controlling his emotions, his shift, and trying to save those he cares for right now.
“M-Maybe he could be a beta like you and Derek.” Stiles counters while stumbling in his own words.
“He’s not a werewolf. Now isn’t the time to make accusations, not when my boss’s life is at risk or under the suspicion he is the Alpha, which I doubt.” Scott whispers with dread at the hyperactive teenager, prompting them to continue their path. Stiles just huffs, following the Latino male to the door nearby. They shine their flashlights on the windows leading to the room, before Scott twists the knob on the door.
“Okay one question,” The Sheriff’s son starts off, while going inside first, “what are you gonna do if the alpha doesn’t show up?”
Scott takes a moment to answer, frowning. “I don’t know.”
“And what are you gonna do if he does show up?” Stiles pesters once more.
“I don’t know.” The werewolf shakes his head before glancing away.
“Good plan.” The former quips, shrugging his shoulders as if they aren’t already in deep shit.
Sometimes Stiles can’t be as supportive as he should be. Then again, neither of them are in a good place right now, not when Scott has to signal the alpha to attract it’s attention and proof Derek’s accusation on if Deaton is the one who bit him. All of this is stressing him out and increasing his pent-up anxiety. “Alright, you said that a werewolf howls to signal it’s position to the rest of the pack, right?”
“Right, but if you bring it here, does that make you part of it’s pack?” Stiles asked. Scott swallows with trepidation at the thought of luring the giant creature to his location.
“I hope not.”
“Yeah me too.” Stiles quietly repeats, taking out the microphone for his friend. “Alright, all you.”
Scott gazes down at the microphone, uncertainty clouding his thoughts and unsettling his every move. With a hesitant breath, he clears his throat, drawing in a deep inhalation through his nose, as if seeking solace in the air itself before opening his mouth.
A strangled, horrid howl, reminiscent of a cat being suffocated to death, escapes from his throat, echoing grotesquely throughout the school's antiquated PA system. The sound, a dissonant cacophony of distress and embarrassment, hangs heavily in the air, eliciting second-hand discomfort from anyone within earshot. That person being Stiles, and outside in the parking lot, Derek. Something tells Scott that whatever he unleashed wasn’t a howl.
“Was that okay? I mean that was a howl, right?” Scott solicits, seeking Stiles’s response. The latter wanted to die of embarrassment and crawl to a hole from whatever that was.
“Y-Yeah, technically.” The Sheriff’s son sheepishly says, unsure of how to respond. Scott wasn’t convinced by that judging by his best friend's not-so-honest reply.
“Well what did it sound like to you?”
“Like a cat being choked to death, Scott.” Stiles supplies more truthfully.
A rush of breath fills Scott’s lungs as he starts to panic over his mistake, unable to hide the stress and frustration in the situation. How the fuck is he supposed to do this!? “What do I do, how am I supposed to do this!?” Sensing his discomfort, Stiles scrambles to his feet to come beside Scott in reassurance.
“Okay, hey—listen to me, you’re calling the alpha, alright? Be a man. Be a werewolf, not a Teen Wolf. Be a werewolf.” Stiles advises him, patting his shoulder soothingly, before giving Scott his space. Scott gives him a light nod, taking a few moments to collect himself, before remembering Stiles’s advice. A transformation sweeps across Scott's countenance, replacing any hint of levity with a grave and disciplined demeanor. A surge of raw energy courses through his veins, infusing him with an unwavering resolve. His grip tightens around the microphone, knuckles white with determination, as his pupils flare with a piercing golden hue. Within the depths of his being, a primal rumble begins to stir, building momentum like an approaching storm, resonating from the depths of his chest and climbing upward, ready to unleash its potent force upon the unsuspecting audience.
In an instant, the feeble, strained sound that had emanated through the PA system minutes earlier is replaced by a mighty, earth-shattering howl that grips the very essence of the atmosphere and the school itself. The reverberations of the howl ripple through the air, causing door knobs to tremble, combination locks to rattle, and chalks on the chalkboard to quiver in response. Even the floor beneath their feet seems to pulsate with the sheer force of the sound. Its intensity is overwhelming, leaving those who hear it paralyzed with a mixture of shock and amazement. Deafening in its magnitude and eerie in its resonance, the howl captivates all who are within its reach, imprinting itself upon their senses with an undeniable power. Unfortunately…the howl was enough to signify the alpha, who now knew of Scott’s location.
As the reverberations of his howl slowly dissipate into the air, Scott stands there, a mixture of shock and amazement coursing through his veins. He can hardly believe that he, a mere high school student, was able to produce such a powerful and commanding sound. The residual energy from the howl still thrums within him, driving through his veins like a relentless force, leaving him both exhilarated and slightly unnerved. His heart races with the realization that he has just signaled his location to the alpha, a fact that fills him with a creeping sense of apprehension. In spite of this, there's a flicker of pride in his chest, knowing that he has tapped into a strength he never knew he possessed.
In addition, Stiles watches his best friend with a mixture of awe and admiration, his own shock mirroring Scott's. He can hardly believe what he's just witnessed, marveling at the raw power and intensity of Scott's howl. There's a sense of pride swelling within him, knowing that his friend possesses such incredible abilities. While he shares Scott's slight nervousness about attracting the alpha's attention, Stiles is more focused on the sheer magnitude of what Scott has just accomplished. In his eyes, Scott's howl is nothing short of extraordinary, a testament to his unwavering determination and resilience.
Despite the newfound prowess of his abilities, the dread deep down coils within his internal organs and spirit regarding how his future would be like as…this, as a werewolf. Grappling with emotions, protecting others from harm, being hunted, and having to hone his skills other than being a prodigal athletic teenager overnight but for survival is what courses around his mind like an endless Grand Pix race. The dicohotomy of being human and being a werewolf is a battle he must face.
But, if Allison is the anchor to his wolf, as Stiles mentioned earlier, if she is the reason he isn’t weak, but keeps his humanity, then that explains why he loves her. It explains why his anger that comes from the base of his inner wolf is tamed. Her voice, her presence, her aura helps him remain stable. His compassionate side, his willpower, his kindness and integrity also keeps him human too. Which then tells him that Derek’s advice to stay away from Allison isn’t because it makes him weak, but maybe because she helps him be human. As for the full moon…no he’s not going to think about that right now. There are other times for him to think about this.
Right now, Deaton is the one who needs help, assuming that he isn’t the alpha that Derek accuses him to be.
“I’m gonna kill both of you!” Derek declares with irritation, as Scott and Stiles venture back down to the parking lot from Scott’s moment of surprise. They both looked confused and surprised at Derek’s reaction. “What the hell was that!? Are you trying to attract the whole state to the school?”
“Sorry I didn’t know it’d be that loud.” Scott replies sheepishly, sighing. Stiles on the other hand was far from embarrassed.
“Oh it was loud…and it was awesome~!” Stiles singsongs at the end, both teenagers clearly excited by this. Scott’s cheerfulness was short-lived as he noticed something was off. Derek’s car door was open.
Derek was undeterred and displeased. Neither him or Stiles noticed the Latino teenager’s distress. “Shut up.”
“Don’t be such a ‘sourwolf’-” Stiles taunts but is interrupted by Scott who grabs his arm while focusing on the black Camaro because Deaton was no longer unconsicous inside the vehicle.
"What'd you do with him?" Scott questions, his unease palpable as he scans the surroundings for any sign of Deaton's whereabouts.
"What?" Derek's gaze darts to his vehicle, a flicker of dread crossing his features as he realizes Scott's boss is missing from where he should be. Something doesn't sit right. "I didn't do anything." His denial is swift, but the tension in his stance and the furrow in his brow betray his own sense of disquiet.
The tension in the air is shattered by a brutal and merciless attack as something sharp violently impales Derek from behind. Agonizing pain explodes throughout his body, rendering him powerless as he coughs up blood, the metallic taste flooding his senses. Every nerve screams in torment as he is hoisted into the air, his vision swimming with crimson haze as blood continues to gush from his mouth.
Scott and Stiles watch in horror, their hearts pounding in their chests as they witness the sudden and savage assault on the older werewolf. Shock freezes them in place, their minds struggling to process the gruesome scene unfolding before their eyes. Fear grips them tightly, its icy fingers clawing at their hearts as they realize the danger they're facing.
For Derek, each moment is a living nightmare, his senses overwhelmed by excruciating agony and the overwhelming scent of blood. He feels his strength draining away, his limbs growing numb as darkness threatens to consume him. Desperation surges within him, but it's futile against the relentless assault of pain and terror, and his vision begins to cloud, approaching an all too knowing darkness.
At the Alpha’s growl, Scott and Stiles bolt the other way, sprinting to the high school after witnessing Derek being lifted. They run towards the double doors of the facility while Derek is thrown to a brick wall, his form seemingly lifeless with blood leaving his mouth.
Scott and Stiles burst through the doors, slamming them shut behind them with trembling hands. Their hearts pound furiously against their ribcages, the thunderous rhythm echoing in their ears like a relentless drumbeat of fear. Horror grips their minds like icy tendrils, their thoughts consumed by the raw brutality they've just witnessed and the terror of the demonic creature lurking outside that just committed murder.
Their bodies quiver with adrenaline, every nerve on edge as they grapple with the harrowing reality of what they've just experienced. The air feels thick with apprehension, suffocating them as they struggle to catch their breath amidst the chaos. Images of violence and bloodshed flash behind their eyelids, refusing to fade as they desperately cling to a semblance of composure.
But beneath the facade of outward strength lies a profound sense of vulnerability, a gnawing fear that threatens to engulf them whole. They huddle together, seeking solace in each other's presence, yet unable to shake the haunting memory of the creature's savage attack. Trauma seeps into their souls like poison, leaving them shaken and scarred in its wake.
Scott never deserved to be thrust into this turmoil, one where he hangs between life and death, and that also grasps the lives of others and his loved ones. The night couldn't get any worst.
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So, who was expecting Seraph's interaction with Allison? How would this friendship journey on from here? What did you guys think of the past between Seraph, Isaac, and Matt, and Scott's POV in this story regarding his emotions, thoughts and trauma?
Chapter 6 will be released on the third week of May. Also does anyone know how to make a creative divider for chapters? I am not that talented when it comes to designs like that.
If you'd like to read more or earlier chapters of this series, access it here: https://www.tumblr.com/kingofangst/737729405418389504/teen-wolf-au-series-the-wings-of-an-enigmatic?source=share
The Wings Of An Enigmatic