The night had taken a drastic turn for the strange, and outside the warehouse, the flashing lights of police cars painted the dark alley with crimson hues. Officers moved in swiftly, their weapons drawn as they surveyed the wreckage before them. Inside the sterile, white-lit room—hidden deep within the labyrinth of the warehouse—chaos had left its mark. The bodies of cult members were scattered across the floor, some knocked out cold, others slowly regaining their bearings. The Eclipsed Order had no idea what hit them.
Rachel's arms were wrapped tightly around Alastor, and for a moment, they remained locked in the embrace. The adrenaline that had carried them through the fight was slowly ebbing away, replaced by the weight of everything that had happened. Alastor's breathing was steady but shallow, his hands resting lightly on her back. For Rachel, it was a fragile moment of peace in the aftermath of the chaos.
But as the seconds stretched on, her brow furrowed when she felt a dampness seeping through his shirt. Pulling back slightly, her eyes fell to his side—the growing dark stain that marred the fabric.
"Are you okay?" she asked, worry lining her voice as her hand moved instinctively toward the wound.
Alastor glanced at it briefly, his expression unreadable. "It's nothing," he said, shrugging it off with a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You're bleeding out," Rachel pressed, her worry deepening. "That dagger—it was made to hurt you. We need to—"
"Rachel," he interrupted, his tone calm but firm, "I'll manage. It's not the first time, and it won't be the last. I'll heal. But right now, we've got bigger problems."
Reluctantly, she nodded, though the concern still lingered in her eyes. She could see the strain in his posture and the slight tremor in his movements. But she knew him well enough to realize he wouldn't let her fuss over him, not when there was still danger lurking.
Detective Marlowe, a seasoned officer with sharp eyes, surveyed the scene with a steady gaze. "Get them in cuffs. No one gets away," he ordered, his voice calm but thick with anticipation. Officers moved quickly, arresting the remaining cult members, some still semi-conscious, others too dazed to resist.
One cult member attempted to flee toward the back, but he was intercepted by a pair of officers, one of them tackling him to the ground. As more cult members emerged from the shadows, attempting to escape, they were quickly cornered by the growing police presence. The cult's reign was ending tonight.
Meanwhile, Alastor and Rachel stood side by side, her gaze fixed on his face. He pulled away slightly, his red eyes scanning the room with caution. "We can't stay here," he murmured softly. "The police will be here any minute."
Rachel, reluctant to let him go, nodded slowly. "But—"
"You can stay," he interrupted gently. "You're a police officer. You can explain to them how you stopped the cult. I won't stand out like this."
Rachel hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. "I... I don't want to stay. Not without you."
A moment of silence passed, the weight of her words hanging between them. Alastor thought for a moment, his expression softening as he came to a decision. He extended his hand toward her, pulling her close again. "Then let's leave. Together."
Her confusion melted into curiosity. "Leave? Where?"
Alastor gave a subtle grin, despite the exhaustion that lined his face. "Well, I think I know a way out."
He led her toward the far side of the sterile room, where a narrow service door loomed at the end of the hall. The same exit Tommy had used earlier—the only one that offered a quick escape.
"We'll use the same way out Tommy did," Alastor said, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. "It's the only way we can get out without getting caught."
Rachel nodded, trusting him. Alastor moved quickly, his steps light but purposeful. As they reached the door, he paused for a moment, scanning the hallway beyond to ensure no one was watching. Then, he pushed it open, revealing the dimly lit corridor beyond. The sterile white walls were now a stark contrast to the darkness creeping in from the shadows of the warehouse.
With a quick glance back at Rachel, Alastor urged, "Stay close."
They moved through the narrow corridor with haste, their footsteps echoing in the silence. The faint sounds of police activity in the background fueled their need for speed. Alastor guided Rachel through the maze of hallways, their breaths heavy in the cool, still air.
As they neared the exit, Rachel's heart raced. The weight of everything still hung in the air, but a flicker of hope started to rise. They were getting closer to safety.
Alastor led her to a set of steel doors, just as Tommy had done, and they pushed through them, stepping out into the alley behind the warehouse. The cool night air hit them immediately, and Rachel instinctively pulled her jacket tighter around herself, the chill doing little to ease the tension in her body.
They both paused for a brief moment, taking in the sight of the city beyond. The sirens were growing louder, but they were far enough now to avoid immediate danger.
Alastor looked down at Rachel, a grim smile playing at his lips. "We're not out of the woods yet, but we've got a shot."
Rachel nodded, her breath steadying. "What now?"
Alastor grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye, though a hint of weariness lingered in his posture. "Say, have you ever flown before?"
Rachel blinked in surprise, unsure if she heard him right. "What do you mean?"
Without another word, Alastor scooped her up in his arms, his grip secure yet careful. Rachel noticed the subtle tension in his movements, as though he was suppressing some unseen strain. He carried her with ease, but the faint tremor in his muscles didn't escape her.
"Hold on," Alastor said softly, a quiet thrill in his voice.
Before Rachel could respond, they shot upward, the world below shrinking rapidly. The rush of air engulfed them, cool and exhilarating. Her heart leapt into her throat as the city lights stretched out beneath them like a shimmering ocean. Rachel's stomach churned from the sudden weightlessness, but the exhilaration quickly overtook her fear.
"Wait—what is this?!" she cried, clutching his shoulder tightly. Her voice was a mixture of wonder and panic.
"This is flight," Alastor said, his grin widening despite the faint strain in his voice. "This is freedom."
The wind roared in her ears as they soared higher, weaving through the towering skyscrapers of Manhattan. The stars above seemed close enough to touch, their glow mingling with the city's lights below. Rachel's breath caught as they swooped between buildings, the wind tugging at her hair and clothes.
"This is insane!" she yelled, her voice carrying a mix of terror and exhilaration.
"It's amazing," Alastor corrected, his smile softening. "Look around, Rachel. You're seeing the city like few ever will."
Rachel glanced down, the city unfolding beneath them like a living, breathing map. The Hudson River sparkled in the moonlight, bridges stretched like glowing veins across the water, and Times Square glimmered like a pulsing heart of light. The sheer scale and beauty of it all left her speechless.
As they glided, Alastor's movements remained fluid, almost effortless, but Rachel noticed the way his chest rose and fell more heavily. Concern flickered in her eyes, but she held back her questions for the moment, unwilling to disrupt the magic of the experience.
Suddenly, with a flick of his fingers, Alastor manipulated the stars around them. Bright bursts of color exploded in the sky, trailing luminous streaks of red, blue, and gold. Fireworks bloomed above them, framing the city in a cascade of light and wonder. Rachel gasped, her eyes wide with amazement as the stars shifted in the air, dancing and twinkling like a celestial celebration.
"Wait—what?!" she breathed, her grip tightening on him.
Alastor's smile turned playful as he conjured more brilliant explosions in the sky. "A little something extra," he said with a wink, his voice laced with amusement. "The night deserves it."
They dipped lower, skimming just above the Brooklyn Bridge, the wind whipping past them as cars blurred beneath. Alastor shot upward again, spinning them gently in the air. Rachel gasped, clutching him tighter, but she couldn't help the giddy laugh that escaped her lips.
"You're crazy!" she shouted, her laughter bubbling over.
"Maybe," he replied with a chuckle, his voice tinged with fatigue. "But you're enjoying it."
They flew over Central Park, the vast greenery illuminated by scattered lamplights. Alastor slowed, his grip tightening slightly as they hovered, giving Rachel a chance to take in the breathtaking view. The park stretched out like an oasis amidst the towering buildings, its tranquility contrasting with the city's vibrant chaos.
Rachel glanced down, her breath catching as she took in the view. Central Park looked like a patch of serenity in an otherwise electric storm. Her thoughts began to spiral, unbidden but persistent. This city had always seemed so big, so overwhelming. I thought I'd seen it all from the ground, rushing from one problem to the next, but... this is different. From up here, everything feels smaller. Simpler. Almost... conquerable.
For a moment, her worries seemed to scatter, blown away by the wind. The city, her city, stretched out beneath her like a promise. It didn't feel suffocating anymore. Instead, it was alive, waiting for her to seize it.
She glanced up at Alastor, her brow furrowing as she noticed the faint pallor to his face. "Alastor," she said, her voice softer now, "are you okay? You look—"
"I'm fine," he interrupted quickly, his tone firm but kind. "This is just... a little more effort than usual. Nothing I can't handle."
She frowned, her worry deepening, but before she could argue, he propelled them forward again, carrying her toward the Statue of Liberty. The iconic figure loomed ahead, its torch glowing warmly against the night sky. Alastor slowed their pace, letting them drift in a gentle arc around the statue.
Rachel's eyes widened as she took it all in, the sheer wonder of the moment leaving her breathless. The Statue of Liberty had always been a symbol of hope, but from up here, it seemed to radiate a quiet power. This city isn't just chaos and noise, she thought, it's strength. Resilience.
"I've never seen anything like this," she whispered, her voice thick with awe.
Alastor glanced down at her, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as he saw the wonder in her expression. "There's so much more," he said softly. "The city... the world... it's all waiting for you."
They made their way back toward Manhattan, skimming over the Empire State Building and weaving between skyscrapers. The energy of the city seemed to pulse around them, alive and electric.
Rachel couldn't stop smiling. The initial fear that had gripped her now felt like a distant memory. For the first time in years, she felt untethered—not just from gravity, but from the weight of her own doubts. If I can see this, feel this... maybe I can be more than I thought. Maybe life isn't just about surviving the chaos—it's about finding these moments of freedom.
As they neared the apartment in Brooklyn, Alastor's descent slowed, deliberate and controlled. His grip remained steady, but Rachel could feel the tension in his arms. They landed softly in the shadows of a quiet alley, the ground solid beneath their feet once more.
Alastor set Rachel down gently, his hands lingering on her arms as though to ensure she was steady. He straightened, drawing a measured breath, his face faintly pale under the moonlight.
"How..." Rachel began, her voice trembling, "How can you do that? How can you just—fly like that?"
Alastor offered a small, knowing smile. "I'm Levanzonian. I come from a planet called Levanzo. That's why I was taken aback when Maltad chose to name himself after my world—especially when I saw 'Levanzo' on one of the symbols at the abandoned warehouse we visited a few nights ago. Levanzonians are capable of things most people wouldn't believe."
Rachel swallowed hard, her mind still reeling from the flight. "I... I don't know what to say."
Alastor paused, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer. Inside, his mind raced. She knows now.
"You don't have to say anything," he said softly.
Then, with a sigh, he added, his voice tinged with a quiet weight, "And for the record... my real name isn't Alastor. It's Solvaris Tharion." The name felt foreign to him now, like an echo of someone he once was, but it still held the essence of who he truly was.
Rachel blinked, the weight of his words settling in her chest. It sounded ancient, almost mythic. "Solvaris Tharion..." she whispered, as if testing the name on her tongue. "But... why did you hide it? Why Alastor?"
Alastor's gaze softened, but there was a deep sadness behind his eyes. "That name carries a past I couldn't bring with me. It's tied to battles, to things I left behind. When I came to Earth, I chose the name Alastor because I needed to blend in, to keep a low profile. On this planet, I needed to live unnoticed. If anyone from my past were to recognize me—or worse, if some familiar creatures from other worlds were to come across me and hear that name... they'd know who I am, what I've done. I couldn't risk that." He paused, then added, "Alastor was a way for me to disappear, to live quietly."
Rachel's eyes widened at the weight of Alastor's words. The name carried so much history, so much weight. For a moment, she didn't know how to respond. Her mind whirled as she tried to process everything he'd just revealed, the magnitude of what it meant.
Then, her expression shifted, the concern in her voice unmistakable. Her gaze traveled over him once more, noting the faint tremor in his stance, the fatigue she hadn't noticed before. She took a small step toward him, instinctively reaching out. "But are you sure you're okay? You look—"
"I'm fine," he interrupted, a tight smile pulling at his lips. "It just takes a bit out of me, that's all."
Rachel's eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced. As he shifted, her gaze caught on his side, where his hand hovered briefly before falling back to his side. Blood—dark and faintly glistening in the moonlight—stained his shirt.
Rachel shook her head, her worry intensifying. "That's not just any injury. That knife—Tommy used it on you. It—it did something to you, didn't it? If you're so strong, knives wouldn't just work on you."
Alastor's face darkened, and his hand instinctively returned to the wound. "They don't but... that wasn't just any knife," he admitted after a beat of silence. "It was a Starbreaker weapon. Specifically, a Starbreaker knife."
"Starbreaker?" Rachel echoed, her voice trembling as fear and curiosity mingled.
Alastor nodded, his tone grim. "It's a classified set of weapons. There's the Starbreaker knife, blade, gun—they're all enhanced with dark magic. They were created with one purpose: to weaken me. Specifically, my star powers and even my condition. Maltad has access to these weapons, and your brother, Tommy, used one against me tonight."
Rachel's breath hitched, her face paling. "Tommy..." Her voice broke. "He—he stabbed you with something meant to—"
"To harm me, yes," Alastor said solemnly. "The Starbreaker knife is designed to sap my strength and sever my connection to my star powers—temporarily, at least. Whoever developed these weapons must have studied my physiology for years to create something this precise."
Rachel's fists clenched at her sides, her thoughts swirling with conflicting emotions. "But Tommy... how could he? He's—"
"I know," Alastor interjected gently, his voice softening. "He's your brother. But he's also working under Maltad, and that makes him dangerous. I don't blame you for his actions, Rachel. This isn't your fault."
Rachel looked down, guilt and confusion etched on her face. "I never thought... I never imagined he'd do something like this."
Alastor stepped closer, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You couldn't have known."
Rachel glanced toward the apartment window, then back at Alastor, who was already turning to lead her toward her uncle's door. The night was far from over, but with him by her side, everything had changed.
As they reached the stoop, Alastor hesitated, his hand lingering on the railing. Rachel stopped and turned to face him, her brows furrowing in confusion.
"What's wrong?" she asked softly.
He didn't meet her eyes at first, his gaze fixed on the ground. "Rachel... I think I need to leave."
Her heart dropped, and she stared at him, her breath catching. "What? Leave? What do you mean?"
Alastor finally looked up, his expression a mixture of guilt and determination. "I've brought nothing but danger and chaos into your life—into everyone's lives. You, Mr. Thompson, Jack, Emily... If I stay, I'll only put you all in more danger."
Rachel's voice rose in protest, her emotions surging. "No! You're not serious, are you? After everything—after tonight—you can't just leave!"
"I am serious," Alastor said firmly, though his voice cracked slightly. "Maltad is still out there. He knows about me, about you. The more time I spend here, the greater the target on your back. I can't risk that. I won't."
Tears welled in Rachel's eyes as she stepped closer to him, her hands clenching into fists. "You don't get to make that choice for me! Or for anyone else. You think you're protecting us by running away, but all you're doing is leaving us vulnerable—without you."
Alastor flinched, her words cutting deep. "Rachel, you don't understand. If something happened to you because of me... I couldn't live with that."
"And what if something happens because you're not here?" she shot back. "Alastor, you're the only one who can stand up to Maltad. You're the only one who understands this fight. Do you really think abandoning us is the solution?"
Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Alastor was silent. He looked away, his jaw tightening as he wrestled with his own guilt and fear. "It's not just about Maltad," he admitted quietly. "It's about me. What I am. What I've done. People like Emily—they see it. They know there's more to me than meets the eye, and they're right. I'm not like you, Rachel. I'm not normal. I don't belong here."
Rachel reached out, placing a hand on his arm, her touch gentle but firm. "You don't have to be like us to belong here," she said softly. "You belong because we care about you. Because I care about you. You're part of our lives now—whether you like it or not."
Alastor's gaze softened, his exhaustion and doubt etched into his features. "Rachel, I—"
"No," she interrupted, shaking her head. "I don't want to hear it. You're not going anywhere. I don't care what happens, Alastor. We'll face it together. All of us."
Her conviction left him speechless. For the first time in a long time, Alastor felt the weight of his burden lighten, if only slightly. Rachel's determination, her unwavering belief in him, was something he hadn't realized he needed.
A long silence fell between them, and Rachel finally spoke again, this time softer, her voice full of remorse. "Alastor… before all of this... before tonight… I… I was wrong. For what I said. About you. About the way I doubted you. I just… I didn't understand. And I'm sorry for that. For not trusting you when you needed it the most."
Alastor turned to face her fully, surprise flashing in his eyes. Her apology hung in the air for a moment, and his expression softened, the edge of his guilt easing just a little. Rachel's sincerity, her willingness to acknowledge her own mistakes, made something shift inside him.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, too," he said quietly, his voice laced with regret. "I should've been honest with you. With all of you. But it was... so hard, Rachel. I couldn't reveal my powers, couldn't tell you where I really come from. It felt like everything would fall apart if I did."
Rachel looked up at him, her expression soft but firm. "You don't have to apologize for that," she said. "I understand now. You've been carrying all this weight, hiding it from everyone. I get it—it's not easy, especially when you don't know who you can trust. You've been trying to protect everyone, and I know how hard it must have been for you to keep all of that inside."
Alastor's shoulders slumped slightly, the tension in his chest easing just a bit. "I just wanted to keep you safe, Rachel. But I know I can't do that alone."
"And you don't have to," she replied with a soft smile, her hand still on his arm. "You're not alone in this. We'll figure it out together. All of us. Whatever comes next."
Finally, Alastor let out a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping. "You're stubborn, you know that?"
Rachel managed a small, teary laugh. "You're just figuring that out now?"
He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "All right," he said quietly. "I'll stay. But you have to promise me something."
"What?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Promise me you'll be careful. And if things get too dangerous..." His voice faltered, but he pushed on. "You'll let me do what I have to do."
Rachel hesitated but nodded. "Only if you promise me you won't try to leave again."
Alastor chuckled softly, his smile bittersweet. "Deal."
But as they stood there, the moment of resolve still hanging between them, Rachel's attention shifted. She hadn't forgotten the pain she had been feeling from earlier. The ache in her side was still present, a reminder of the brutal kick she had received from her brother, Tommy, in the chaos of their confrontation. It had been sharp and painful—one of the worst blows she'd taken. She couldn't ignore it any longer, and though she had pushed through it, the weariness of the night made it impossible to avoid acknowledging her injuries.
Alastor noticed the slight wince on her face as she shifted, his eyes narrowing with concern. "Rachel..." His voice was soft, almost hesitant. "You're hurt, aren't you?"
Rachel brushed it off, though her expression betrayed the slight discomfort she felt. "It's nothing," she replied, trying to downplay the pain. "I'll be fine. I can treat it myself."
"Don't be ridiculous," Alastor muttered, his concern rising despite her words. "That kick from Tommy—he got you good. You shouldn't just brush it off."
She looked at him, her usual stubbornness flaring up. "I'm not helpless, Alastor," she said firmly. "I can handle a little pain. Besides, I'm a cop—I've been through worse."
Alastor stepped closer, his eyes locked on her with a mix of worry and tenderness. "I know you can handle a lot, Rachel. But that doesn't mean you have to do it alone. I'm here, alright?"
Rachel's chest tightened at his words, her gaze softening. For a brief moment, she let herself believe that, maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to shoulder everything on her own. But the warrior inside of her resisted, still too proud to admit she needed help.
"I'll be fine," she said quietly, though the cracks in her voice told a different story. "Just... not right now."
Alastor didn't push her further, though the look in his eyes remained filled with concern. Instead, he gave her a small nod. "If you say so. But promise me you'll get it checked out."
"I promise," she said, the words coming easily, though she wasn't entirely sure if she would.
As they stood there, the night finally starting to quiet around them, Rachel allowed herself to lean on Alastor just a little longer. She could feel the lingering effects of the battle in her muscles, the bruises already forming, but it was the emotional weight of the night that truly exhausted her.
But with Alastor by her side, there was a quiet sense of reassurance, a promise that no matter what came next, they would face it together.
"We should go now," she suggested softly, her voice already starting to soften with the calm after the storm.
Alastor glanced at her, the corner of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. "Yeah. But you'd better hold me to that promise."
Rachel chuckled lightly. "I will."
Together, they turned toward the apartment, the weight of the night settling over them.