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“Status?”
Raora squints through the snow, her hand on her communicator. It’s not easy, but she can still see the tracks, already half-buried from the snowfall. If she waits too long, she’ll lose them completely. “I have a trail on them.”
“Good work. I trust that you can track them down, but there’s a storm coming in and it looks like a nasty one. I don’t want you getting caught in it. If things look bad, I want you coming back immediately.”
“I’m a big cat, Liz, I’ll be fine.”
“I know, I know. Just stay safe, Raora.”
The line clicks off.
It feels like an eternity before Raora finally sees the shape of someone in the distance, silhouette too broken up by flurries of snow to identify. Immediately, she crouches down lower. The storm made it hard enough for her to see already, but she could never be too careful. Especially when it comes to Advent.
The figure in front of her is moving slowly. Way slower than she would have guessed with how long it took to track them down. It doesn't look like they've noticed her yet, which means it’s easy for Raora to creep closer. The silhouette solidifies enough to make out a pair of canine ears and large bushy tail, and only then is Raora close enough to hear the voice calling out.
“Fuwawa! Where are you?”
It's one of the twins. By themselves, for once, and seemingly not by choice. Raora narrows her eyes. This would be a perfect opportunity in theory, but if one of them is here, then the other can't be far away. It's lucky that she found one first before they could find each other.
She gets so close, just a couple meters away, before the demon dog abruptly turns around. “Fuwawa, I-”
Their eyes meet. Ah, merda.
Raora doesn’t hesitate to move as Mococo lets out a terrified yelp. Her first slash meets the empty air above Mococo’s head. The second clashes against a set of familiar pink demon claws. Mococo jabs at her with the other set of claws, narrowly missing her side as she jumps backwards. Golden eyes narrow, trained solely on her opponent, who watches her back with the same grim focus. For a moment, the only thing that moves is the flurry of snow around them as the two size each other up.
Slowly, Raora brings a hand up to her earpiece. “I found one. Engaging now.”
A loud crackling sound goes right into her ears, making her wince. What the…? Is something is wrong with the comms?
"Raora, the st… unusual signs… mission and...”
She can barely make out Elizabeth’s voice between the static and the sound of the winds picking up speed. That can't be good.
“Liz…? Liz!” No answer. She doesn’t get the chance to ponder further, twisting out of the way of a lunge. No matter how many times they fight, it always surprises her just how fast the twins can be. Without the use of her God Eyes, she barely manages to dodge the blur of pink claws, mostly guided by instinct rather than reaction. Raora deflects once, twice, her own swipe gets parried by a forearm, and she hisses as the follow-up nicks her shoulder. Mococo doesn’t let up even as she tries to make distance, pursuing with a dogged determination, and Raora grits her teeth at the feeling of razor-sharp claws grazing the tip of her fur.
The snow is getting thicker by the second. Raora whips her tail through a growing snowdrift, kicking it up like a smokescreen and giving her the scant few moments she needs to take a deep breath in and focus the power gifted to her. In a blink, her eyes shift hues into a bright blue and her pupils glow with godly energy. Raora can feel the way the world shifts around her, the way time itself slows just slightly, the way she sees everything in striking detail. Every pattern of the snowflakes around her, the slight scuffs on the metal of her claws as she raises them. And the faint movements behind the makeshift smokescreen before a set of pink claws tears through the cloud of snow, followed by the rest of the demon dog. But this time as Raora meets her, things are different. Mococo’s movements are no longer blurs. The panther adjusts, aims, strikes, matching the hellhound’s raw strength with equal ferocity. Their claws clash together over and over again in a shower of pink and metal sparks.
And then, as Raora readies another slash, she notices that the shape of Mococo’s claws are wavering.
And then, as Mococo raises her claws to block, they shimmer — and disappear.
Raora barely gets a glimpse of blue eyes widening in shock before her momentum carries her through the rest of the swing. Mococo reels backwards, a set of thin cuts now displayed on her cheek, and still too off guard to dodge before Raora delivers a kick that sends her skidding back. Flexing her claws, Raora prepares to go after her, but a powerful gust of wind interrupts her, strong enough to almost knock her off her feet. The storm around them is getting worse. She needs to wrap this fight up fast.
Raora rushes forward the moment the wind dies down. Across from her, Mococo growls, shakes her head, and raises her arms. Demon magic gathers around her hands again, forming familiar shapes, condensing together- The sound of the magic shattering makes Raora wince, ears flattening, and she stumbles enough that her swing misses entirely.
Pivoting immediately on landing, Raora lashes out to intercept a counterattack that she knows is coming. Except… it doesn’t happen. She glances up to see her opponent a few paces away, watching her warily.
Mococo looks tired. There’s desperation in those eyes, but there’s also fear. She’s swaying a little where she stands, and not just because of the wind. A small drop of blood falls from the cut on her face, getting swallowed by the snow instantly.
Raora watches Mococo’s face scrunch in concentration as she lifts her trembling arms and, slower than before, gathers her magic again. Small streams of pink energy forming the vague shape of her claws, glowing brightly, too brightly-
The sound of it shattering is punctuated with the sound of Mococo collapsing with a desperate gasp of air.
An uneasy feeling settles in Raora’s stomach. She hesitates, irises returning to their natural golden hue. “Are… are you okay?”
Raora flinches back when a soft pink glow envelopes the demon dog, raising her claws in anticipation. But the form that Mococo shifts into isn’t the big hulking demonic wolf that she’s fought before. Instead, her silhouette shrinks down into that of a small puppy, small enough that Raora could probably pick her up with one hand. The puppy takes one step, stumbles in the snow, and falls over.
“Mococo!” Raora rushes over to the little dog before she can get buried by the storm. Her platinum blonde fur is already starting to blend in with the frozen landscape.
She’s shivering, Raora realizes. Mococo. A demon dog. Shivering in the cold.
There are a lot of things that Raora doesn’t know about demon dogs. Sure, there were the case files when they had been assigned the mission, along with extensive notes on the target profiles, but she only ever skimmed those (and got Elizabeth to fill her in verbally). But she knows enough to realize that something is deeply wrong about this situation. Hellhounds didn’t have such thick fur coats for nothing; in fact, their fur should be enriched with natural warming magic to better endure the freezing storms of the Northwest Passage. It was practically impossible for them to be cold. The only way they would… Raora comes to a chilling realization. A demon dog who can no longer keep warm on her own means that she is almost fully exhausted of magic. A demon, whose magical energy is the equivalent of their lifeforce. Out of magic.
Blue eyes blink slowly at her, slightly glazed over. Tired, pained, and alone. Not for the first time, Raora falters. Her job is to catch criminals and bring them to justice. Sometimes it isn’t a pretty line of work. But this… this isn’t what she signed up for.
She doesn’t want to see Mococo die like this.
Slowly, she reaches down for the little puppy lying in the snow. Mococo is surprisingly light in this form, little more than a bundle of cold, wet fur. Her paws scrabble weakly against Raora’s arms in protest, but the panther ignores it and activates her God Eyes. They’re in the middle of who knows where, with the buffeting snow making it hard to see anything at all, but there has to be something nearby. A building, a cave, a crop of trees, anything that could give shelter from the storm…
There. A vague shape to the south that she almost missed completely. A blink to zoom in closer, solidify the vision — what looks to be an abandoned cabin. Raora doesn’t think twice, holding Mococo close, and starts walking.
It occurs to her at some point, the absurdity of the situation. Here she was, an enforcer of Justice, cradling a dangerous escaped convict while in the middle of a howling snowstorm. Fighting every step through fierce wind and knee-high snow, all for the sake of someone who she exchanged blows with not even ten minutes ago. And yet, as Raora looks down at the shivering pile of fur in her arms, she can’t bring herself to care. All she sees is someone who needs help.
And so she tucks Mococo’s tiny form closer and takes step after exhausting step. Golden eyes squinting against the thick curtains of snow, occasionally flashing blue to make sure she’s still on track.
It feels like hours before she can finally see the dark shape of a building with her normal eyes. The sight strengthens her resolve, her steps that had been wavering now determined and steady. It's still a slow, grueling fight, trudging past the tops of half-buried fence posts and up three stairs slick with ice. Her eyes glance briefly at the potted plants along the porch, but there are more important things to attend to right now.
She almost slams her shoulder against the frozen log walls in her hurry. The door takes a couple shoves, but finally pops open and Raora stumbles inside. It’s dark and dusty and clearly hasn’t been touched in years, but the walls seem sturdy enough to keep out the wind and snow and that’s all that matters. Raora kicks the door shut and deposits Mococo onto the carpet before slumping down to catch her breath and shake out the snow clinging to her fur. There's a faint pulsing headache behind her eyes too, thanks to using her powers near constantly. Still, she can’t rest for long. Not with a life on the line.
Raora sits down heavily next to Mococo and slowly rolls her little body over. Now that they aren’t out in the middle of a blizzard, Raora can see the more demonic traits of this form more easily, with little pink horns poking out by her ears and a dulled pink gem embedded in the center of her chest. Mococo is still shivering, eyes closed and breathing shallow.
Raora… doesn’t know the first thing about treating a demon dog. Or a demon in general.
But she has to try.
Demons are inherently magical beings. They are born from it, produce it like blood, and rely on it for their body to function. So if Mococo’s condition is bad because she used up all her magic reserves, then giving her more would fix it… right? Luckily, Justice’s emergency rations come with a few vials of liquid magical essence. Backup magic reserves were widely applicable to all kinds of emergency situations, and having them has saved some of Raora’s lives more than once. Now, hopefully, it’s about to save another.
Raora gently cradles the pup’s body and eases her jaw open. The contents of the vial slowly trickle in, and Raora watches with bated breath.
Nothing obvious happens.
Right. Of course she wouldn’t miraculously be fine after a single vial. The panther doesn’t even hesitate to pop the rest of the corks off and empty the contents. If it would mean she would stop shivering…
Raora sighs, the breath coming out with a visible puff of air. She frowns at the way her hand is shaking. It’s because of the cold, she tells herself. And it isn’t wrong; it really is cold. Not nearly as much as being outside in the storm, but still really cold. They may be out of the worst of it now, but the way her fingers are freezing reminds her that she isn't that well-equipped for this kind of extreme weather either.
A glance out the window tells her that it’s impossible to see anything at all with the heavy snow and rapidly darkening sky. From the way the wind shrieks outside, the storm isn’t letting up any time soon. Raora thumbs her comms device and winces at the loud static it emits, the device completely useless. There’s no way to call for help.
How ironic. A snow leopard and a hellhound freezing to death together.
Her eyes drift to the fireplace. Despite its age, the cabin is decently furnished. Whoever lived here previously kept the firewood well stocked at least. Taking a few logs and tossing them in is the easy part. As for actually lighting it… maybe she should have thought twice before using all of the vials, especially since fire isn’t something that’s in her repertoire….
Raora is contemplating the fire-starting plausibilities of black hole magic when a wet snout presses lightly against her leg. She looks down to two bright blue eyes and a tiny body holding itself up on shaking legs.
“… Hey,” She nearly whispers, “Feeling better?”
Mococo just nudges harder, a small growl prompting Raora to move out of the way. She watches curiously as the little demon dog stands in front of the fireplace, opens their mouth-
And sneezes out a jet of bright pink flames.
Raora lets out a surprised yowl as the logs are bathed in the otherworldly heat of hellfire, so hot that she swears she can smell her fur singing. The magic quickly dissipates to the cold air, leaving a pink-tinged but otherwise normal fire roaring to life. Mococo immediately slumps over in front of it, clearly spent.
“Mococo?!”
The demon dog doesn’t respond, eyes closed shut once again. Raora quickly goes to her side, a wave of relief washing over her when she sees the steady rise and fall of her chest. Mococo is just asleep. That must’ve been exhausting for her, using so much magic when she just started recovering. The thought makes Raora frown, but looking at the lit fireplace and feeling the heat start to warm her up, the alternative is far less appealing.
She lets out a deep breath. Now that there aren’t any more life-threatening emergencies, the panther feels her own exhaustion creeping up on her. With the heat of the fire in front of her and fatigue settling into her muscles, Raora can feel herself starting to slip. Before she knows it, she is lightly combing her fingers through the soft fuzz of Mococo’s head.
“… Thank you.”
Mococo, predictably, doesn’t say anything back. Instead, she unconsciously snuggles closer into the touch, paws clumsily wrapping around her hand. She’s… really cute. Raora’s thoughts drift.
Her body moves by itself, laying down on the carpet around her companion, tail draped almost protectively over the puppy. A hand still brushing through soft fur, marvelling at the way fuzzy ears twitch in response. The steady warmth, not just from the crackling flames, but also from the magic that is once again running through the body under her fingers. A gem, glittering bright pink, framed in pale gold curls.
Her eyes slip shut.
When the next morning comes, a certain big cat will wake up slowly as rays of sunlight filter through the windows. She will yawn, roll over, and arch her back in a big stretch. She will lazily glance around the place she has woken up in, sitting in front of the long-cold fireplace, as the fog of a good night’s rest lifts from her mind. She will notice how bright it is outside, and the stillness of the morning air compared to the howling storm of the night prior.
She will realize that someone is missing.
And she will quickly get up in a panic, not fully understanding why her chest tightens at the realization that her fuzzy companion has disappeared. Gold eyes flash blue when she scans the main room, the house, the snow-covered fields around the house, all in the span of a few seconds.
She will notice that there is something on the table that wasn't there before.
Nothing but a small scrap of aged parchment, with a simple “Thanks" penned in eldritch black ink, and a small blue gem of crystallized magic. Her chest will fill with a mix of emotions, for reasons that she won't be able to name for years. And she will carefully take both items and collapse to the floor, where she will stay for a long while, until her leader opens the team communications channel, worrying about the amount of time she's been unresponsive.
Outside, the flowers bloom.