Archive of Our Own ^beta

1

After the war with the Inhumans, the death and the resurrection of many of her teammates, the loss of others, her brothers trying to kill her (apparently, Arno was as sane as Tony had been when he had been inverted), a final break-up with Wisdom and a one night stand with Barton,  New Orleans had become her home, and the French Quarter her favorite place in the whole wide world. There, she wasn’t Christine Antonia Stark – billionaire, philanthropist, genius and mutant hero- she was just Chris, the hard-assed, denim clad gal who served drinks and kicked ass like she meant it at the Second Chance, this quirky bar owned by a former cop.

Back when she had moved there, taking over what had been Daimon’s old parlor, it had been exactly what she had needed. It wasn’t just the anonymity, the possibility of being, finally, her own person, freed from the shadows of her brother and her mentor, but the need the reinvent herself- or maybe, just maybe, discover for the very first time who she truly was, once she took everyone else out of the equation- her brothers, Charles, Summers, Clint, Pete.  She still had a sole connection to her past, and it was in the form of the shiny trinket she wore around her right wrist, the black, white and red gems opaque now, as their voices had suddenly gotten tired. 

“Is this seat taken, ma’am?” The long-haired blonde man, clad with jeans and a wrinkled shirt, asked, but didn’t waited for her answer before all but collapsing on the chair before the counter. Swallowing, eyes wide open, the breath died in her throat as she felt he wouldn’t have been her usual costumer.

“Do I know you?” She asked, serving a beer to another patron before crossing her arms and leaning against the grey-colored wall at her back.

“No, but I know of you, and I know of your role in the war. That’s why I’m here.” He coughed, splitting drops of blood on the cherry counter. “I got shot with one of those, and it really takes the wind out of your sails, you know?” He coughed again- attempted to laugh, but he failed. As the stranger threw her what looked like a mangled bullet, she felt it, again, after months of silence- the dizziness, the voices in the back of her head, the burning silver bracelet on her wrist. Whatever was happening, the Endacrion was coming back to life- and it had been this stranger’s doing.

She lifted her gaze from the bullet in her hand to the stranger, and found him hunched over the old wood, his shirt drenched in crimson blood, his face paler than the ghosts she had met more than once in her career as X-Man and Avenger.

She didn’t ask him how he felt- there was no doubt about what sort of destiny awaited the poor man . She had eyes, and she was smart. More than enough.

“You need to find Hellstrom. I know you are allies. Give this to him, he’ll know what to do…” He could barely end the sentence, that he started to…. Glow, in some unnatural why. It was nothing new, and it was probably magic, if she didn’t know any better (which she did). She clenched her teeth, lifting her right hand as with a summoning, even if there was nothing magical in this act at all, and with what little telekinesis she had left, she created a cocoon all around the mysterious man, shielding the club and the patrons from any imminent danger.

“Dammit.” She swore behind clenched teeth. “Mack, take care of the club. I have to go back home for a while.”

She was walking quickly the lively streets of the French Quarter, her sullen heart a vivid contrast with the happy-go-lucky people all around her, when the Endacrion all but screamed for danger. An hand clenched around her shoulder, and forced her to turn around.

Two policemen- at least, that’s what they looked like. But Chris knew that it was far from the truth. They had nothing natural going on there- they walked with the stink of death attached to their too big clothes, and their movements were mechanic, almost robotic- as they weren’t used to them yet.

“You got something that belongs to us, kid. Just hand it over and you can be on your merry way.”

“You are not from here.” She whispered, clenching her closed fist around the bullet.

“Got ourselves a clever one- guess that there’s more to this one than meets the eye. Still, “ the Sheriff sighed as he took his sunglasses off. “Either you give us what’s ours… or you can pay.”

“Pay?” As the demons changed- took their true forms and revealed themselves for the monstrosity they were, the abominations, the adversaries – Christine grinned, her eyes fiery with the flames of Hell and the light of Heaven, and the Endacrion all but exploded in a supernova of energy that encased her whole body, just to reveal her truest form.

“Funny thing you just said- because my kind, it’s not so keen on paying…” She chuckled, a flaming staff in her hand, standing tall and proud, now transformed- not human any longer, but the same angelus/darkling hybrid her ancestors were before she came to be, her body covered by a dark armor made of scales, the same horned crown on top of her head as the Angelus,  soft, cloudy feathered black wings at her back, casting a shadow upon her adversaries.

The demons swallowed, unable to keep their eyes away from the mystical creature, and yet, scared – knowing from old wife’s tales what happened to whoever dared to cross paths with either the Angelus or the Darkness- let alone their cursed progeny, the guardian of order and balance.

The Dark Angelus slowly walked towards the trembling creatures, grinning malevolent, chuckling darkly, satisfied by their fear.

As she lifted her fiery staff into the air, ready to tear them apart with her sickle, she  was pretty sure they had just shitted themselves in their pants- if it was even possible for demons.

“Do you want for us to take of them of you, boss?” She barely lifted an eyebrow, and grunted something in response to the small demonic creatures that had manifested themselves at her side, taking advantage of the alley enveloped in darkness- their natural environment. She gritted her teeth, and resisted the urge to kick the Darkling and send them back home, to where they came from. They stood at her side, small, hissing, almost revolting with their tiny gleaming eyes and those tiny little legs sticking to her legs, behind her, like vile animals. 

Get lost before I send you to the citadel of Light, then we’ll see what the Angelus Warriors will make of you,  she thought, knowing that they would have gotten the message nevertheless. She lifted her flaming sickle-like staff, and with a single blow of energy she hit the creatures, who were crawling on the pavement trying to escape.

They didn’t die- it wasn’t what she wanted, after all. as they stood on the ground, she took a few steps towards her adversaries, and, coldly, looked at the screaming and burning monsters, the stuff of nightmares of too many people.  As the darklings run between the bodies like they were dogs fetching a toy, too excited for their own good, Christine lifted her weapon one last time, and hit the biggest one, making him scream as he erupted into an ocean of flames. She turned towards the small one, and run the tip of the blade along his features, as he swallowed hard, staying still.

He was still alive- but he didn’t know he was already dead, condemned to destruction as he had failed whatever was his mission.

“Tell your boss,” She whispered as she kneed at his side. “That next time, if they want the Dark Angelus, they’ll have to send an heavy hitter, not some puny little thing.” And just like that, just like she had planned, he vanished, leaving behind brimstone and fire and sulfur.

Sirens filled the air, and Christine knew that police and the fire department were on their way. Clad in armor, she sighed, and looked around herself. She loved her life, she didn’t want for it to end like that- to be known to be a freak, to lose what she had worked so hard to gain. She lowered her gaze, stern like a disappointed parents, to the two darklings who were busy trying to eat the remains of the demon she had disposed of. “Go back home, freaks, before someone sees you. I don’t want any troubles just because you couldn’t keep your pawns away from some rotten soul.”

As she said so, she lifted her staff, and hit the pavement with it, and yet again she was engulfed by light. When she left her gaze linger on her surroundings, she knew she was in New York City, right where she had wished to be- at the door of the, closing her eyes, at the door of the man she was supposed to asking for help.

Man… well, man was such a big word when it came to Daimon HELLSTROM. The literal son of Satan, Daimon had rejected (mostly)his father’s wish for him to embrace evil, and all because of the influence of his human mother. Did he toy the line? Absolutely, but how many of her people could call themselves as pure-hearted as Captain America, after all?

“Not that I don’t dig this new outfits of yours, but don’t you think it’s a little too…  inconspicuous?” he grinned, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. His attire was the least inconspicuous thing she had ever laid eyes on- and most normal attire he had ever chosen for himself. Gone were the leather pants, the naked chest and the unruly hair, making room to a jacket and tie suit adorned by red accents on lapels and buttons. “Let me guess, you weren’t missing little old me.”

“In your dreams, Hellstrom,” She chuckled, as she was once again surrounded by light, and returned to her proper human form. She retrieved the bullet from her jean pocket and threw it art him, who took it in one swift move. “Guy showed up at my workplace, said he had been hit by one of those and that you’d know what to do of it. He wasn’t human- I kind of thing he was an Angel.”

“Not an Angelus warrior?” He asked as they entered his place. Like many mystical proprieties, inside, it didn’t look like anything the outside- it was bigger, and dark and humid and filled with mystical artifacts and books lost to time- in a corner, Daimon even had Pandora’s Box, one of the Artifacts, whose guardian had been killed by the Curator when he had tried to rewrite reality and recreate a world that had been long gone.

“Nope. An honest-to-God angel of the Lord, those feathered prudes from Heaven.”

“And you are positively sure it was an Angel, and not and Angelus Warrior?” he asked again, to which she rolled her eyes, rather annoyed with him.

“I can still recognize an Angelus warrior, my dear, and that guy wasn’t one of them. Besides, after the Escatado’s died leaving vacant the roles of guardians of the Heart of Darkness and I became the Mistress of Light and Dark, the feathered stuck-ups had been dormant- only the Darklings had been a little active lately, and they seem… rather restless, like there was something bothering them. Only, I can’t really say what.”

“Well, whatever this is, I think you should just get yourself comfortable, sweetheart,” Daimon chuckle, throwing the bullet in the air just to catch it back with dexterity mastery. “Because I’m waiting for an old friend of mine, and he seems to have just met the same people as you.”

“What I don’t get is, if they were demons, why using bullets at all? They could have used spells, hellfire, anything, really- Angels aren’t immune to the powers of Hell, after all, so, why Bullets? And why are they so special?”  

 Hours later, Christine was sitting at the desk of Daimon’s latest sancta sanctorum, going through the books with him and Johnny Blaze- GHOST RIDER , spirit of vengeance- who had survived the same ordeal as her; the two bullets, fetched from the charring remains of the strangers, burned on the desk, as the former Avenger looked out into the night, foreshadowing impending doom.

“True indeed, sweetheart. Still, are you both sure of what happened? That both your friends said that I would have known what to do with those bullets?”

“Not sure he was my friend, but, yeah. He seemed to know a lot about me. Said he knew of me and what I truly am.”

“Which I still don’t know nothing all.” Johnny was keeping his distance. When Chris got to Daimon, the hellish biker was about to get there, clad in his human form. They  had never met in person, but they knew of each other, but Chris wasn’t sure that Blaze would have been able to make the connection, between her and her true self, the mystical weapon carrying angelic warrior. She guessed it was why her ancestors had decided to breed with humans, after all: to make sure they could walk the Earth unnoticed, hidden to the naked eyes, and yet, part of realty.

“Of course, how rude of me.” Daimon closed with a heavy thud the book he was reading, and turned, waving in direction of the young woman.

“Johnny Blaze, Ghost Rider, meet  Christine Stark, the Blackdragon - guardian of the Endacrion, mistress of light and darkness, heir to angels and demons alike. Also,” He paused, for dramatic effect, grinning like the scoundrel he was. “My ex-girlfriend.”

Arms crossed, she just lifted an hand in salute. “You can drop the Stark- it’s just Ravensong nowadays, as both my dearest brothers tried to kind of kill me, so I’m a bit biased with Stark boys lately. And it’s Dark Angelus anyway- gotta roll with the new responsibilities ” She closed the heavy book she was trying to read, and jumped on her feet, the heels of her leather boots clicking against the floor. “Anyway, not sure what went around with Johnny boy here, but my pal said to bring the bullet to you. That you’d know what to do.”

Sighing, Daimon pinched the bridge of his nose. “All right. I don’t know what they are, but I  think I may know somebody we could talk to.”

“We?” She lifted an eyebrow, not really pleased by the whole situation. Yet again she was finding herself in a situation she had no control over whatsoever, and by other people’s doing. She had left her old life behind just to avoid this, but apparently, if you had powers, there were just some things that were written in the stars. “Is it really necessary? Can’t I do like people used to do with me, and drop it into your lap?”

“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t you feel like rehearsing the old times? Me and you against the world?”

“What old times are we talking about? When Osborn wanted to arrest me or even better yet kill me and we helped you with the whole sorcerer supreme business, or about the time you helped Sin form a new HYDRA and I infiltrated the DOA and helped SHIELD arrest you?” She pouted, hands in her pockets. “Daimon, I kind of like being just a regular bartender. No employees, no trying to save the world on a regular basis, no one breathing down my neck, I don’t die every wo days... Are you sure you want my help? I could really do with some peace of mind. I also, I need to go and clean the bar, if I don’t want to lose my job….”

“My dear, you may not want a place in this, but, someone choose you, of all, to deliver this message. It has to mean something. You can’t just stay on the sidelines on this one.” He chuckled, leaning dangerously in her safe space as Chris clenched her teeth, her eyes bloody, knowing that he had her, that she was that close to give in. “Besides, you aren’t just the type to sit something like this one out. You may not be a mutant any longer, but you’re still an honest to God hero. It’s in you.”

“Fine. But if we are to leave, we’ll do i.t my way” She admitted through clenched teeth, then, she lifted her right arm, and the Endacrion shone, and the staff of light was back into her hands, her whole body luminous, almost translucent as it was made of billions of tiny little stars. She offered her weapon to Daemon to hold onto, without letting it go. “Just think where we need to go- the perks of being half angel, half demon is that I got my own magical teleport.”

He did as she said, and in an heartbeat, they were in a dark alley, smelly, filthy, filled with the worst humanity had to offer, with losers and lost souls, condemned to Hell on Earth.

She lifted an eyebrow, quizzically. “Are you sure we’ll find help here?”

“Yes- after all, we need to check facts first. And Curtis has always been good to me when it came to provide sensitive information.” They knocked. Daimon did, actually- and with a sinister sound, the door opened, wide, revealing a stink worse than outside- and a creature that looked anything but human, and who, probably, had little to do with humanity at all.

“Curtis, my old friend, we need you to examine something for us.” Daimon smiled, a bit evil, offering a pink box to the huge monstrosity, an half naked mass of skin and grease and dark energy. Since Escatado’s death at the hands of his old mentor, Christine had seen his real firsthand, witnessing the horrors it held, the never-ending freak show. And that… thing, there was no mystery where he originated from.  

“How could I say no to Daimon Hellstrom and the bearer of the Balance? C’mon, kids, show me what you’ve got, and Curtis will see what he will see.”

Christine took the few steps that separated her from Curtis, and when he offered her his open palm, she let the bullets fall onto his skin, her heart beating faster and faster in fear and worry. He smiled of a little smile, and looked behind his dark sunglasses in her direction.

“You can’t see.” She stated. She wasn’t surprised, though- she knew that, when it came to magic, it was more about what one could see with their souls and their interior forces that what was to be revealed by the naked eye.

“No, I can’t. Many eons ago, when the first between Heaven and Hell first broke, I left my post- and decided that if I had to fight, it would have been for myself. It’s my punishment. But I don’t need to see with my eyes, some powers, you don’t need your eyes to just feel them. You, for example- a child of both worlds, who doesn’t belong anywhere. No angel, no demon, not human- and you aren’t a mutant any longer. You lost that, too. And yet, here you are. Fighting for your subjects, and for humanity.”

She stood against a wall, her arms crossed, the Endacrion worried and agitated, the metal of her bracelet keeping changing shape, the gems pulsing as they were truly alive. She studied Curtis, busy feeling the powers of the object eh held into his hand. “I’ve heard rumors from my Darklings. They say the Conductor and the Rapture are… restless, like never before.”   

Curtis nodded, smiling behind his sunglasses. He reminded her of many creatures from Hell she had met, old wife’s tale whispered in the dark, as if they were secrets. Demons looking out for themselves and not their rulers, creatures who preferred the company of human and had no interest whatsoever in fighting Angels.

“Yes, or so I’ve been told… probably because many artifacts of the old times are suddenly resurfacing. And this things here? They give a pretty strong vibe...too strong even for me to pinpoint exactly what they may be and what they could actually do. Besides killing Angels, of course. My advice? Ask those guys from Wall Street, they may know something- they are pretty up the food chain. And Daimon’s name still means something to them.”

“We appreciate your time, Curtis.” Daimon whispered as he kept the door open for his ex and the Biker from Hell. “Okay, apparently, we still have one more stop before understanding what’s going on…”

“And you think I may be allowed there? A girl who spouts feathered wings and a flaming sword?”

Trust me, they’ll love you there. Besides, you used to be a billionaire. Is there anyone in Wall Street who doesn’t love an honest to god billionaire who also happens to possess the blood of demons and of Merlin the great?”

Do you really have to speak of my ancestor as he was a third-rate magician? She almost told him, but then, knowing her glare was already speaking volumes, she kept it quiet, and merely puffed.

“Fine, fine, just let me change out of these clothes – the wonnabe rocker is as good as it comes when it comes to the French quarter, but it’s kind of out of place where we are headed.”

She whispered a few words in a tongue long gone, and butterflies surrounded her. When they were gone, in place of the red-head with the leather fetish there was and elegant and classy woman. She was  sporting one of her favorite outfits from her times in the financial district, when she pretended to be just a bored rich girl. A simple white shirt, partly unbuttoned, and creamy trousers and an open coat in the same shade, soft and rich, and open-toe pumps with a rich spiked heel in metal, her class and money- albeit fake in this instance- a stark contrast with the small alley they were currently finding themselves in. Even the Endacrion had changed to suit her new attire, no longer a bracelet, it appeared as a chain around her neck, the stones tantalizing the glazes where they rested against her creamy cleavage.

“Yes, My dear,” Daimon said as he took her hand, and kissed her bare knuckles like a true gentleman. “You’ll definitely feel at ease where we are headed.”

 -O-

“So, tell me, Henry, how comes the place is almost empty?” Daimon asked the waiter as they sat down, the eye of what appears as humans burning holes through them. Daimon was already been served- he was clearly a regular, and it seemed that his status of Son of Satan still mattered among his “peers”, despite his perpetual rebellion against his father. She sensed people checking them out, noticed a few grins. Mostly, they seemed…wary of their presence.

They know what Blaze and I are. That we are not merely creatures of the Dark like them, she thought as she ordered a cup of tea, hoping it would be as half-decent as the one she had gotten addicted to in Britain, during her time with MI:13.    

“It’s that time again, old champ.” The gentleman setting at their backs answered, sipping his tea. At the naked eye, he looked human- like an old lord from the aristocracy, but they knew better than to believe the appearances. “We are always a little tense when it comes, but these days, it feels different. We are…. Worried. Scared. It’s like fear was walking among us. We’re cleaning house, and you and your friends should do the same, if you are wise.”

As she was served her tea, Christine looked around herself, carefully, almost stealthy. carefully. That was a place not for humans, devoted only to demons, demigods and their likes. And yet, despite not being born one of them, among those creatures she strangely felt… at ease. In her life, she had a mutant, a scientist, a rich girl, a hero, and avenger, and x-man, and yet, she had always felt like something was very wrong, almost amiss. Now, she knew: her memories, and her legacy, what was hers for birthright. Magic, the Endacrion- and a place between Earth’s mightiest mystical creatures, instead of the World’s mightiest heroes.

“What are you thinking?” Daimon asked her, as feeling her ruminations. The Rider kept looking between the two, probably not knowing of their shared past, of a broken relationship that didn’t last long enough, of what had transpired between them. An eternal, unbreakable link they would share until the end of days.

“Ever since that guy walked into the bar, the Endacrion has gone crazy. I’m starting to think your friends here may be right, and I should just pack my things and move to the Citadel of Light, sit on the bloody throne and humanity be damned Also….”

“And?” He demanded, lifting a quizzical eyebrow. He knew something was amiss, that she had kept something from him. Not out of malice- even without her mutant powers, Christine was still a refined strategist who knew that you couldn’t go in battle unless you had all the necessary information at hand. If she had kept it from him, it was because she had imagined it wasn’t anything concerning what was happening to them.

“Besides the fact that I still wonder why an agent of Heaven came to me in the first place, when I’ve done everything in my power to steer clear of any world-saving related business?” Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned against the back of the chair, sighing heavily. ““The angel, he said something about my role in the war. I thought he meant the struggle between the angelus and the darkness, but if the forces of Hell are really so…unrestful, maybe there’s more to it than I thought. What if he was talking about something that has yet to come- a new war?”

“Well, if your sixth sense is right and we are to believe the murmurs of my friends here,” Daimon said at low voice, his hands joined under his chin, elbows on the table, reflecting out loud. “Then, whatever is coming may be too strong for the Citadel of Light to actually survive it. Nobody may be safe, nor here nor anywhere else.”

“So, what do  you suggest we do we do?” Johnny asked them, drinking his beer from the bottle, not bothering with the glass the waiter had provided him with.

Daimon  chuckled as he stood up, followed by his two companions as he made his way outside of the establishment, hands in the pockets of his elegant trousers, his pentagram shining with magical fire on his chest, over his clothes. “Well, but we ask for help, my dear friends. Before the definitive end of everything that there is.”