Til Death

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Banshees. Nasty, yellow-eyed creatures with poisonous claws. Dillan damned them and the mothers who birthed them to hell as the G6 taxied on the tarmac. He rolled down his sweater sleeves to hide the healing evidence of their claws. Similar scratches riddled his body. Thankfully, the majority of his face remained untouched. Still, bitches, all of them.

He eyed the two burly guards sitting opposite him. They grunted. The disgust on their ugly faces seemed to imply that looking at his injuries meant he whined. He gave them the finger. They couldn’t touch him, despite the hostility in their glares. Their orders were to escort the banished to his prison. At least they didn’t shackle him.

Who would have thought demotion in the Illumenari meant prisoner status? Not like he could blame them. As a Guardian, he had one duty. And he failed at it. Trained all his life only to choke at the last second. Pathetic. He’d disgraced himself and his illustrious lineage. The fact they allowed him to live with his guilt was punishment enough.

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