CHAPTER 39: Snake and Mouse

"We're going to lay a trap, using the politicians as bait, if not the main sacrifice. We can't let the Brotherhood know about this, though. This requires a level of secrecy. They have to be going by the old plan. Their movements have most likely already been predicted. All of their surprises, spoiled. Except for me. And they were planning on putting me on defense inside the capital, when they should know I am designed otherwise. I know, this is risky. But this is the only way. You know as well as I do Ethiopia was doomed from the start."

As Alex explained, Holts reached for his gun. His hand stopped midway. It froze in place as anxious hesitation flooded Holts. His breathing became staggered, as if a weight had been placed on him.

"What's the matter, Holts?"

A shaky sigh released from his throat.

"No… no. nononononono. I can't-I can't do it. Not again. Every- hhhhh- Every time I hold that thing, shit happens. Shit nobody can take back. I'm too scared-I'm... scared of what might happen, what will happen. I've been through this too many fucking times."

Alex walked over and slung the gun's strap around his shoulder

"Then I'll carry it. You'll only have to touch it when we need it. C'mon, Holts. The Brotherhood is quiet. That means they are busy. Busy fighting whatever the hell is out there to their last soldier. I can accept sacrifices, but vain ones I hate the most."

They hated seeing Frilo like this. Too far from home to bury, too far from help to leave in the open to rot and decay. They gave him a quick temporary burial and stone, just to convince themselves they had done something with what little time they had. It had still left a gap in their hearts as they left for the capital. One of their members… just gone. Not living off somewhere happily, not enduring hardships elsewhere. He was dead. Alex shook with the energy of malice. His desire to rip each and every Plague's heads off with his own bare hands seethed through his muscles as they tightened his fist. Was this it? The feeling of bloodlust? A strong, abounding desire to do harm? He had felt this way some times before, yet… This time felt different. No restraint, no inhibiting reactions. The unchecked urge to carry through with all of his actions. The anticipation was leaving him mentally frothing to erupt into utter violence. He could not bare to wait any longer. Where were they? Frantic, Alex moved on faster ahead of Holts, who rushed to catch up with him. Something. Humming and screeching, ever so quietly, outside the range of normal human hearing perception. An aircraft! Alex's eyes narrowed while homing in on it's location. Invisible to even the superhuman eye, It strolled across the night sky hastily on Alex's left. They will not escape! Thin, orange, glassy fabric sprouted from his neck, spindling around his body and fusing to form a tight seal as the mask in the helmet of his reconstructed suit switched on the oxygen reserves. As if it were second nature, Alex swung out his hand, a laser-like wave of extreme heat followed, exciting the air into a soft blue glow along the path the laser passed. The ship was struck, but swiftly maneuvered out of the laser's line of fire with nothing but a molten scar. Inside the craft, the Plagues monitored the place where the heat laser ascended from. They saw him though their cameras with his heat shield dawned. A new, undiscovered enemy. Chandler unclasped his harness and stood up from his seat. Without hesitation, he made his way to the back of the plane.

"Where do you think you're going?" LeRoy rasped.

"They're going to destroy the ship if they know where to strike! Someone's got to stop them!"

"We don't need to delay ourselves any further… the Thirty-sevens will complicate things if we dwindle. Besides, this is a neighboring outpost's craft. It's not our problem!" LeRoy let off a petty snicker.

Meanwhile, back on the ground, Alex formed small holes in the shield by his face so Holts could hear him.

"I got their attention, Quick! What will piss them off? Enough to make them stay?"

Holts looked around hectically, recollecting the events in his mind. Suddenly, his face lit up.

"Here, wave this around!" Holts said as he reached in his pocket and tossed Alex a coin. It was some sort of challenge coin, gold with dark green accents and a "7" in its center. Alex quickly put it between his index finger and his thumb, and stuck it up as high as he could. Through the monitor, Chandler glanced at the screen one last time, noticing the glint in his hand.

"WAIT! Zoom in!" Chandler spoke frantically. The 7th plague coin. Alwin's award for completing the trial that crowned him a plague. Had it slipped out of Alwin's pocket as he was carrying him?! And look at that villain! He was waving it around, taunting him with their spoils of war. HOW DARE THEY. Chandler growled.

"I'M GOING!!! AND STAY OUT OF MY WAY!!!" Chandler boomed. He opened the cargo door and jumped, diving towards the ground with two levitating rhombus-shaped metal boxes trailing behind him by his shoulder blades. Alex, seeing an enemy descending from the craft, shot a double wave pincering the free-falling target. Blue-ish purple lit up the sky as Chandler's boxes glowed a vibrant white, propelling his body mid-air to evade the beams of blistering heat, coming so close as to light up his face with their flashes. Chandler's body disappeared under the cover of the overhead buildings, Alex rushing towards the scene to keep an eye on his opponent. Just as he was about to smash into the ground, the twin plates spiraled around and under him, the white aura emitting off them into the air. Chandler's descent came to a smooth halt in midair, the plates rushing behind him to adjust himself into a steady levitating flight. Alex felt the air around him grow thick as the viper slithered forward towards its prey. Black diamonds and sharp yellow eyes. A rippling collage of the two colors. Colors Alex could picture before he even had a moment to gaze upon the Plague's face. Alex's heart rate skyrocketed as the phantom dread of Midnight's ability took hold. Where was his bloodlust now? Alex shaked himself awake from his daze. No. Keep calm. Midnight isn't here. He's on that plane flying away. Alex could feel Midnight's radiating presence on that craft, even when the other Plagues' auras laid dormant out of perception. Midnight, unlike the others, was never in a resting state. The flash of a body and the glint of cold metal. The snake had finally come into view. Flying?! That was new. And those diamond-shaped metal plates flying with him. What were they? As Chandler flipped to face his feet forward, the plates divided off in their own directions, leaving his body in freefall once again a few meters from the ground. A trail of dust kicked up behind him as his feet impacted and skated across the concrete. Chandler transitioned straight into a turning kick that impacted Alex's shield. Alex felt himself rattle inside his own shield as he was thrown into the building to his rear. The impact cracked through the glass and dented the massive steel pillar keeping the building stable. Was the shield not calibrated correctly? It should have at least cushioned the majority of that attack! Alex checked his internal HUD. No. Everything was fine! How did this Plague manage to hit through the shield? Was there a technique he wasn't aware of? And how could this man know about such a weakness the first time crossing paths with him? So many things didn't add up. All Alex could do was tread carefully. He slowed and deepened his breathing. It's game time. Alex shot a glance at Holts, and molded his shield so that Holts' sniper rifle was outside of it. He flung it at Holts, and waited to see Diamondback's reaction. He was not focused on that, though. Though Diamondback had landed the first blow, he still had his eyes on the coin in Alex's hand.

"GIVE THAT BACK, YOU!" He screamed as he desperately tried grasping at the coin. Alex dodged all of Chandler's vain struggles. How could this coin be so important?! The look on his face, the focus in his eyes. He growled once again, and started to throw fists. There was certainly speed, but no precision. The faster he got, the sloppier he became. Thoughts ran like a train through his head as he let all of his pent up anger loose. A starry night sky humbled him as he looked down at the rubble of an apartment. He saw as a small child frantically tried lifting rocks of concrete that were much too heavy for him. Tears streaking down his small face. His caregiver lying on her knees in shock as her were widened with terror before turning around in horror as the second wave of planes could be heard. The determination of that child, to lift those rocks, to reunite with his family, the only ones he could turn to in this moment of need. And Chandler had been planning to steal from them. Give up, child. You can't move those rocks. The child cried and screamed as he clawed and grasped at the debris. He laid his fingers' grip on a hefty sized chunk. He grunted as he desperately tried to lift the stone. His effort was so pitiful, so pathetic. He was just a child, what could he do? Then, Chandler heard a shift. A scrape. The stone began to move. The pebbles and rocks around the concrete stone collapsed in and the rock broke free of the configuration. The rock was held high in the boy's arms before the momentum sent the boy backwards with the large stone atop his chest. Chandler didn't know what came over him. As if by impulse he rushed towards the kid, and pulled him by the arm, using his other hand to push the stone away. The stone smashed and shattered onto the ground, making a deep thud. The boy panicked and struggled back to the rubble. He collapsed back when he saw the hand. Chandler remembered hearing the kid. "Mom!", "Mom!", "MOM!!!" and then the kid's voice became a slew of inconceivable wails. All Chandler could do was stand there in silence. After what seemed like hours, the kid finally got up and looked shaken as the shadow of Chandler loomed a distance to the side. As the shadow approached his details became visible as the moon illuminated his face and body. Chandler made no sudden movements as he contemplated his upcoming actions. He exhaled sharply and opened his eyes keenly. This child needed to be protected. His parents were foreign, so the family would take some time to come search for him. He didn't trust that caretaker one bit, either. If anyone in this desolated and desperate country were to know of this child's origins, they would immediately hold him for ransom to make a fortune. But, could he take care of this child in the meantime? He had no official job. He plundered for a living. And this child was so untrained, unaware of the true hardships of a place such as this. Fuck it, if it's was only for a short time… it should be, at least.

"Come here, kid." Chandler said, not thinking. Only after seeing the child's reaction did he realize just how bad that phrasing was. The kid jumped into a sprint, and again letting his impulses take over, he chased. The little bastard was fast. Down the alleyway of rubble, Alwin turned corners and slid into gaps, trying to disorient his pursuer. As he ran past one corner, his collar was snatched by someone. A voice came from behind him. It wasn't the man from before. A firm grasp wrapped tightly around his arm.

"Caught the brat. How much do you think they'll take him for?" One man, a tall man with a big, chubby complexion said.

"Who knows! Shame we'll have to split the profit with snake boy." A thinner man spoke with a stupid grin. As Chandler came running around the corner, he saw the other two with the boy. Taking a second to assess the situation, he decided to play along.

"Thanks for getting him. This little rat moves so fast! Don't you?" Chandler acted his part. The boy struggled and thrashed about, desperately yearning to be free. He turned his head and bit the fat man, making blood leak down his wrist.

"OW!!! You little fucker!!!" The man grabbed the child by the hair and lifted him off the ground as his feet kicked around and his small arms grasped around the man's forearm, attempting to lift himself to relieve the pain. The boy shrieked and broke out into a genuine, painful cry. No one was around to hear his screams. The shrieks cut through Chandler's conscious, and he saw as the man was readying to punch the kid. It all hit him so suddenly. Why would he let himself be affiliated with these people? For food? For money in this desperate time? No. Hell no. This was terrible. This was repulsing, disgusting, humiliating, infuriating, disgusting, nauseating, saddening. Yet why was his body not moving? Was he that weak? That cowardly? That afraid of unpredictable consequences? He watched as Alwin was smashed across the face, blood running down his little mouth and teeth being coughed up as he had only the meager strength to whimper. As the kid was thrown straight into the ground, the skinny man erupted in an provoking, immature laughter. Why was he frozen in place? Was his natural response to challenging what he had built on for the past few years to simply freeze?! The pit in his stomach churned. How could he not break out of his past?! His father's suicide, his mother's abandonment! Was he really that scared of losing the connections that brought him food, money, and stability? Or was it change that he feared? Learning from scratch how to adapt, how to make due once again. Fuck it. Fuck it all. It's time to sock those bastards, and beat them dead.

As Diamondback threw his fists at Alex, tears welled up in his eyes, and his cries became more scratchy and unfiltered. Alex used his heat lasers, but Diamondback saw through Alex's simple slashing movements and easily evaded their path. Using his abilities, as Alex came to learn, was like any other part or organ of his body. One knows how to naturally use it, but to master most actions, skills, and techniques required more than just raw knowledge, it took time and experience. Diamondback's attacks were becoming more focused and strategic. He was finally aiming at Alex directly. Another blow landed, knocking Alex into the ground. The metal plates swirled above Alex, just before melting down into silver spheres and transforming into two laser cannons. Bursts of light fired down on Alex, creating tremendous amounts of sparks and smoke as the cannons continued to circle while firing. Through the shadows of the smoke, Chandler rushed onto Alex, whose body was lined with massive blackened burn marks that melted through the armor. How did they get through? The shield seemed perfectly intact! Diamondback raised his arm, and with it, the laser cannons melted around Alex and transformed into strange, unrecognizable machines. Alex could not move, and his critical thinking was blinded by raw pain. The machines activated, and the fabric of Alex's shield spasmed and glitched about. Parts of the shield ripped into Alex with needle-like waves disrupting the shield's complexion. There was nothing Alex could do but sit there and be tormented. After these few seconds of torture, the shield bloated and popped with a great clap, shreds of itself breaking off in the wind and disintegrating. Alex watched helplessly as Diamondback took his pistol out of his belt and aimed it at him from above, his eyes narrow and reflecting a yellow hue. Is this what it felt like? To be prey trapped in the coils of a snake? Chandler pulled the trigger. Alex felt the bullet enter the very side of his skull. Fragments of bone splintered off and shot deep into the nerves of his right eye. Alex groaned terribly and curled his body in pain as his vision instantly shifted to the side. However, he considered this a blessing. Diamondback had missed his target. Through his wrist, a massive hole had exploded and now gushed red blood. The work of a sniper rifle. Holts had disappeared into the surrounding area, unable to be pinpointed. Chandler's hand dangled limp, dropping the gun towards the ground. Alex gasped in agony as he forced his body towards the falling weapon. Just as he put his hands on the barrel, Chandler snatched at it, grabbing the handle. The two struggled about as Diamondback fired rounds into Alex's exposed laser burns. One. Two. Alex met the ground once more. Three. Four. Five. Chandler was stopped by the whiz of a powerful bullet that he had dodged away from. Alex's vision became dark around the edges, and everything blurred around him as his body hyperventilated to absorb as much oxygen as it could. Weakness wrapped its viscous embrace around Alex, as doubts and excuses filled his mind. Any second now, come on and get up. But his body would not move. He had struggled so much, to no avail! It would be so easy to just relax, to stay down, to fail. But Alex had agreed to struggle, to struggle to no end. If that's the way life had to be like from now on, then so be it. Just like that, Alex swung upwards as the pain finally dulled itself. His body was injured, but it was not at it's limit. The devices molded around Alex pulsed and continued to cling to him as he grasped it and tried to tear it off. When he did manage to tear a chunk off, it would only melt down and slither its way back to his skin. With this power, why not just suffocate him? Alex had seen a similar weakness in LightBind. They made certain restrictions on how they fought. LightBind, at first, was reluctant to kill until it was ultimately his life or theirs. Diamondback, on the other hand, was much more lethal. However, he avoided suffocating, as well as using the machines that dismantled Alex's shield(which had caused him great pain) to end him. While Diamondback was not against the idea of pain, he avoided methods of torturing to death. Did he prefer some sorts of relatively quick and painless ways to end his enemies? Yet the look in his eyes… They speak of something far more sinister. Just when did Diamondback swear to this agreement? Did his ally, LightBind, play a part in this? As Chandler and Alex stood face to face, Chandler released the tension in his muscles. A rather unexpected choice both Alex and Holts couldn't have predicted.

"Let's talk this out. I'm prepared to negotiate for the coin." Chandler said in a loud but oddly composed voice.

"Negotiate?" Alex questioned Diamondback's sudden change in demeanor. What trap was he laying out? Was he just trying to distract them?

"Yes. As of right now, if we fought, I would lose. But I would take one of you with me. So I'm going to make an offer. If you give me that coin, I will destroy my [Founder's Constructs] right here and now and no longer participate in this war. I will make you a promise, my [Founder's Constructs] are practically irreplaceable and take upwards of two months to manufacture. I only have these three copies that are on the field right now. That way, no one will die."

Wait, a third? Both Alex and Holts only saw two levitating behind him when he descended. Without warning, a third plate disconnected from the spine of the long armored coat that Chandler was wearing and floated to the ground. It blended in so perfectly! Another question came to Alex's mind.

"How can we be sure you're not lying?!" He yelled. Chandler didn't bat an eye.

"I'll take off the coat," He said as he unbuttoned and unzipped the armored coat and let it slide down his shoulders. As he took it off, he draped it over his arm. As he tossed it to Alex's feet, Alex noticed how exposed he was. Just as he was about to voice more suspicions, a bullet shot through the chest of Diamondback from his back. As Alex witnessed the sniper bullet wreak havoc on Chandler's organs, he saw Chandler's eyes. At first, they were torn with raw shock and then a tired sadness. It was almost as if Diamondback had truly wanted to surrender. As Chandler slowly dropped to his knees, he reminisced over the past once more. His creed, his promise to Alwin. It was on that same night he met Alwin he gave his first vow. In that dark, lifeless alley, he stood there, blood covering his hands and face. He looked down on his victim scum, the two piles of trash that beat an innocent child out of their own lack of control and structure. Their voices were cracked and gurgling, their windpipes beaten in and their pride destroyed. They pleaded, begged their surrender. They wailed, shouting they would turn themselves in. But Chandler was only invigorated at the sound of their cries as he raised his hand, a fragment of rubble clenched in his fist. Then he heard the cry of the boy. Stop! He said. Please! He begged. Chandler's wide, dark eyes turned to focus on the child, who was trembling and paralyzed with fear and disgust. Why? Why did he say that? Save them? Save these detestable, insufferable pieces of shit? What would come in doing that? Would they learn their lesson? No!!! Absolutely not! In no conceivable way would these two amount to anything in their bleak, insignificant lives! Their eyes! They screamed of shadows marking all of the detestable things they've done and are prepared to do! What, he, Chandler, should save these rats worth a thousand sins, just so they may have a slight chance at doing something remotely promising in the future! No! Hell no! It was letting this insufferable behavior silde that was causing children and adults to starve and gangs to thrive and kill out one another for some idiotic and meaningless cause! This blind, ignorant nation was full to the brim of such deadweights! Chandler brought the weight of stone down onto one of the mens' skulls. He broke out into a seizure before falling still. Now for the next. The other one howled and moaned grotesquely like some sort of ravenous animal as Chandler advanced step by step, slowly lifting the rock to its peak height. He heard a shrill shriek from the boy, his vocal chords rasp and squeaky as they broke. No more, the boy squeaked. Shut up. He, Chandler, couldn't stand the kid's voice now. This wasn't all about delivering justice anymore. Had he always wanted to do this to them? Look at them, the pigs. The fat one layed dead with his tongue disgracefully hanging from the side of his mouth. The living one's face was covered in tears and snot, eyes bulging and bloodshot, his lip trembling uncontrollably. Chandler almost thought about giving the poor thing pity. No. Better to put it out of its misery. As he dropped the rock, it swung like a hammer to a nail: clean, sharp, powerful. Except it met its course on arms, not a skull. The boy grunted as the stone was brought down on his fragile hands. The arms buckled in, and the stone ploughed straight through to the head of the child, who fell silently to the ground. Chandler stepped back, shocked by what happened. The fool! That IDIOT! He stumbled backwards to the ground, landing into a slouching sit with the rock loosely in his hands. It was the first time he had noticed how far the blood had reached up on him. There was no spot on that rock that was not painted in red, and there was only more blood extending upwards all the way as high as his shoulders. He examined the carcass of the man he had killed. Covered, engulfed in bruises, bloodstains, and beatmarks. The thinner living man's bones were crippled and twisted, his wide eyes opening into the wildness of insanity. The man's vocalizations were no longer human, as only broken mumbles and squeaks came from his mouth. A hoarse sob broke out uncontrollably from the thin man, his eyes staring blankly into nothingness. To what extent, Chandler wondered, should any human being rightfully suffer? What limit, Chandler thought, was enough to deal equal consequences to the atrocities even the grimiest of humans can possibly commit? He was the scum. A punisher far too violent for anyone. He looked at the boy. He had committed a grave injustice. If the boy was dead, how could he come to reason with himself? He had been warned, but never heeded the call. He thought he was always right in his reasoning. How far that was from the truth! How far he was from the truth… This child… He stepped out to save one of the very men that carried out his abuse. But why? Why would this child give a shit? What possible reason-... was it kindness? Idealism? Chandler couldn't think of the term. Wait! Sympathy! Yes… yes… that must be it. A meaning foreign to the likes of him. As he lived, in poverty and in health, he observed others in the world around him. Their struggles, their flaws, the injustices placed on them. Yet he would only do that. Observe. Even if another was starving sitting along the road he always took, he would never go and help them. He would look, scoff at how pathetic this country was, and turn to feed himself. The first time he went to the aid of someone in years was just today, as he saw this child fall underneath the rock. Had he any reason or advantage for doing so? He did it, but at the time, he did not think about money, favors, or himself. There was something about this child. A rare light in this country of darkness. It was a light that purified everything around it, including him, if only for a brief moment. But just as a spark takes time to ignite into a flame, so has the seed of retrospection grown inside his thoughts. His old goals were all but the truth, a new idealism taking their place. How does it feel, to help another human being? Not for money, power, influence, but just for the sake of helping them. To see brilliant, untainted smiles. A bright, newfound flame burned inside Chandler's soul as he threw his rock to the side. He stood up, and examined the two for spinal injuries. Thankfully, no telltale symptoms. As he raised the child gently in his arms, he felt the strange weight of guilt pressing on his shoulders and chest again. What could he possibly do to make up for this? He would stay with this child for the rest of his life if he had to, to repay this debt. Anything in his power. He reached for his phone, and called a man with a peculiar name. He was greedy, but did his job when paid, so Chandler had no room to complain.

"Hey, I'm going to leave some money in the location I'm about to send you. There will be an injured man here. Get him to someone who can fix him up. Don't worry, The payment matches the commission. Get it done." He said before promptly hanging up. He himself rushed to the nearest hospital. When the child awoke in an unfamiliar bed, he saw Chandler in the corner and immediately drew back. Before Alwin could open his mouth, Chandler spoke first.

"I'm sorry. You can relax now. After all, you're the one who saved me. I guess that puts me in your debt. Name your price. I'll do anything I can." Chandler choked out the words. It was ingrained in his mind to never say such things, it felt so… unnatural and embarrassing. Alwin studied Chandler's face cautiously, before determining he was no longer a threat, for now.

"Debt? Price? What are you talking about?" Alwin was quite confused.

"You saved me from killing that man. I-" Chandler stuttered, preparing for another unnatural phrase he would say out of desperation. "I didn't know what I was doing. I don't know what I'm doing now." Pride made his face burn red. Why was he confessing this to a child? Perhaps it was better this way. Alwin gave a childish little grin.

"ANYTHING?" Alwin taunted.

"Y-Yes." Chandler responded. "I can also get you back to your family."

"No need."

"What?!"

Alwin looked down to the sheets on his bed "I have a large inheritance, and my other brothers have their portions as well. If I was dead or missing along with my parents, they would get the money I would've gotten. As soon as they hear about my parents, they will ensure my public image stays dead."

"Are they that terrible to you?"

"Yes. They know that if I were to get the money, I would use it to fund charities and cancer treatments and the like. They say it's a waste…"

Chandler would have agreed with them. The thought of wasting that much money made Chandler cringe. Regardless, Chandler needed to think of a new goal for his life. Architecture. He had loved constructing miniature infrastructure as a kid, and had always dreamed of building towers that dwarfed Ethiopia's. But what was this kid's dream?

"So, what are your goals now, kid? What do you strive for?"

Alwin's face lit up as his light blue sparkling eyes glistened.

"I have two! To be the fastest and to make people's lives just a little bit better."

"Wait, the fastest? What do you mean by that? Also, it's always about the idealism with you, isn't it."

"I want to be the fastest runner," Alwin emphasized the last word before puffing his cheeks "And what you call Idealism, I call principals! You've been through the depths of this country, so you should know. This place has problems. But what if we could fix that?"

Chandler scoffed. "You're a smart kid, you know that? Anyway, hurry up and tell me, what do you want?!"

"For you to obey my every command!" Alwin said as he sat up, hands on his hips, putting his nose high in the air. Chandler sighed.

"Well…" He replied, sweating.

"Nope! You promised, old man!" The boy laughed. The "old man" grumbled.

"The name's Chandler. Don't call me that, I'm not old!"

"My name is Alwin! Now, teach me how to survive here!"

Chandler flashed back to the present as his face was falling to the ground from his knees. Planting his good hand on the ground and swinging his lower body upwards into a standing position. The third [Founder's Construct] rushed to his aid, melting into the hole, constructing mechanical replacements for the arteries, organs, bones, and muscles that were blown out by the rifle before separating itself from its creations. As the next bullet came speeding his way, Chandler clapped his hands together in front of him. The two other [Founder's Constructs] dispersed from Alex, clanking together in front of Chandler and molding into a heavy shield before Alex could even blink. The bullet entered the shield, but was stopped in its tracks. Chandler spread out his arms as the scaled coat on the ground shifted and broke apart into hundreds of little diamond-shaped devices that met and merged on the end of each construct. They were extensions of the three constructs, forming three metallic, segmented snake-like entities that slithered through the air like eastern dragons. Their "face" was composed of a solid metal jaw that was serrated to interlock when clamping down. Diamondback Chandler's ace, [Founder's Constructs: Jaws of Life]. Alex and Holts recognized it immediately. The way Frilo had been crucified. His arms had been crushed and molded along with the metal of the walls. The serrated part matched the marks on the metal that held his body in place. Alex's eyes narrowed, and Holts's jaw grinded. The Diamondback had bared his true silvered fangs, his venomous darkened yellow aura reaching its climax as an illusory pulse of its pressure radiated vigorously across the two and sharp yellow eyes rained down on their souls like a flurry of daggers. The real standoff against the fourth-strongest monster plaguing Ethiopia had begun.