A howling storm was brewing distinctly in the distance beyond the old manor house. The house was hidden away on a secluded incline on the northern outskirts of America. Rumbling of thunder was heard in the distance, with flashes of lightning, striking the far afield roaring waves in the aqua coloured sea. Madness was upon the sandy bay which lay aside the crashing sea, as lightning struck not once or twice but three times! It was perpetual as it seemed. Almost inaubile sounds of people wailing and weeping for help as they clambered off the beach hurriedly. Children were crying in fear, tenaciously clutching their mum's hands, rushing to the edge of the cliff. Rain was pouring down and the lightning-lit purple sky was full of jet black clouds and clashes of thunder. The scene was horrifying and ghastly, yet deteriorating. A single rain droplet was heavier than a cloud and had more ability to destroy than a bomb.
In the cryptic and clandestine manor house on the steep incline stood Talon, a middle-aged, stout and rotund man. He owned the most evil blue eyes anyone had ever seen, with enough deepness to form the Atlantic ocean. He had a unmerciful and malevolent looking face. Talon had tufts of limp brown hair. And he wore a sophisticated and refined black suit with an impeccable black bow tie, almost entirely covering his plump chin. He managed to bare a grimacing grin before praising his hands together and narrowing his souless eyes. A slight menicing laugh was heard from his mouth as loud growls of unlit thunder were heeded from the cut-off cove below. "Sir!" A voice was hearkened from the rear of Talon. He thought for a few seconds, before leasurely turning to perseive that his waiter, Locke, was standing infront of him. Locke's combed-back shadowy black hair was filthed in sweat. He situated in a perpendicular stance, holding his hands behind his hackneyed back. Talon furrowed his unkempt eyebrows to Locke, facing him jadedly. "Well? Did we prosper?" Talon questioned Locke quizzingly. His former waiter manipulated his emaciated thumbs, staring at the void surface below him.
"Not exactly," Locke answered, "Sir." By this point he was shaking with trepidation. Talon could smell apprehension drifting amidst the dense air, and was feeling slightly behindhand.
"What?! How did we fail such a unpretentious plan?" Talon winced irritably. Locke's candid posture botched itself and drooped into an unnerving position. "Your involvement in this meticulous plot is absolutely FUTILE! I am utterly speechless."
"But..." Locke prolonged with fretfullness and angst, "We have another plan."
"And what may that plan be?" Talon painstakingly stimulated his rigid cheeks, wondering.
Taciturn was hushed upon them as they whispered in an inaudible tone of evilness.
At the break of dawn the next day, Talon; Locke and his acquaintances - Lance and Bod walked down Baycrest Street. The streets were deserted; many people lay asleep. The road was studded with tarmac, and the sky was bright and pink.
Silence hushed upon the awkward 4, leaving them an easy prey to the angel, Emazas. God the for good and hell for the humble. She was a spirit type of angel, none other than you would imagine. Her body was made entirely up of clouds of dust, sparks of flames and the rumbles of thunder. Able to fly and unable to walk was what she could do. She could drift, she could soar, she could float. But what she could not do was walk; walking on the earth for an angel was forbidden. If any part of her body swept onto the floor of the earth's crust, her life became an illusion; a myth; a fairy tale. For she would no longer be in the book of existance.
Emazas, could see they were being slightly sly and cunning; more than usual this morning. What else was there she could do apart from walk the earth and search for clues? Nothing. She would drift behind them, but someone or something was bound to see her at some point. Emazas could not risk her fate, but nor to be seen. She decided the best option would be to watch from a blur in the heavens above. Down on earth, hell was lurking just around the corner. Hell was a death cloud, waiting to pounce on the bad. It hoovers up every inch of sins and replaces them with a cold, murderous chill to make your nightmares a reality. Not did the four know, but they were closer to fate than they thought.