Weeks had come and gone. Indigenous and tribals from all over the world, started pooling together like ants in a colony.
The very fabric of existence is vibrating with raw infused electrical elements. Every supernatural being on edge and the few humans who are familiar with the creatures of shadow, aren't backing down either, even if they stand no match. Yet the majority of allies, ready to face the war and all of the consequences that goes along with it, is not from human race.
Paul's eyes flicked over the motley crew of supernatural beings gathering in Beacon Hills. He had to hand it to the Alpha—he'd definitely managed to round up some unlikely allies.
"And underneath this consistent cover of gloominess, even supers of our quality can join the ball," Damian voiced as he took his stance beside Paul, looking up at the grayish dark cloak that's blocking out the sun's joyous face. Making matters even more unpredictable.
Paul glanced over at Damian and snorted.
"Looks more like a funeral than a ball to me."
"Ah, come on. Don't spoil my jam?" Damian said with a smirk.
Paul rolled his eyes, trying (and failing) to hold back a small smirk of his own.
"You're an idiot, you know that?"
"Me an idiot... How rude?" Damian is just being Damian.
Paul chuckled, shaking his head in mock exasperation.
"I call it like I see it man. And what I see is an idiot trying to crack jokes at a time like this."
"Well, we need to do something to pass the time, and frankly, looking at this spill; it almost seems like a scene straight out of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I mean come on, we're readying ourselves for a war not a damn commercial," Damian spat in mock defense.
Paul bit back a laugh. "You can't be serious. Only you would think of The Rocky Horror Picture Show at a time like this."
Damian cocked his head to the side. "Are you seriously telling me that you don't see the resemblance? I swear the moment we look away; they'll start singing and dancing like their trapped in a fucking musical."
Paul rolled his eyes but couldn't deny the mental image was a bit hilarious.
"…Maybe. Just a little."
He looked at the makeshift army that was steadily gathering. "But in all honesty, I'm more worried about them actually killing each other instead of the big bad that's coming."
Supers mostly keep to their own. Witches. Werewolves. Vampires. Shapeshifters. The misfits from Beacon Hills. Rivers and lakes are polluted with sirens and mere folk, and amongst these pools of water, a handful of Nagas, these folks are half human, half snake; are also awaiting the war.
Some supers, mostly those who associate themselves with humans on a daily basis, are concerned about the mere mortals. Not sure wither or not their save in the area of Beacon Hills or the surrounding woods.
Paul's gaze swept over the fractured landscape of allies—witches murmuring in tight circles, their candles flickering without wind; werewolves pacing like caged storms; vampires standing in still, elegant silence, no shadows pooling at their feet. A siren let out a low trill from the nearby river, and one of the Nagas coiled higher on a moss-covered stone, golden eyes unblinking.
Damian nudged him.
"You think they'll hold together? Or are we just one spark away from watching this circus tear itself apart?"
Paul crossed his arms.
"They'll hold… for now. Because they know what's coming isn't just after Beacon Hills."
"It's after balance."
"If Kyron succeeds—if he rips this Anima Cantat bond apart to resurrect his mate—then every natural law collapses."
He glanced toward the cabin deep in the woods—the heart of it all.
"And if Derek loses Aria?"
The air seemed to thicken.
"Then there won't be an army here strong enough to stop what he'll become."