It was almost imperceptible, at first - with each step that the creature took, the shadows edged a millimetre, then an inch, then a foot closer. They seemed to pulse, blacker than black, as the trail of blood had been redder than red; it was inky velvet, darkness incarnate. Amis was not really sure whether those tendrils of shadow pushed him, insubstantial until they brushed him and then suddenly solidifying to shunt him, sentient, or if he simply cringed away from them on some primal instinct - but soon he found himself shoulder to shoulder with his companions. His eyes were inexorably drawn to the black-eyed creature before him, a myth brought to life, its power reverberating through his chest and gripping his heart. Anxiety took him. Here was destiny, the culmination of his entire life so far, the turning point in his search for the truth. Potentially here, also, was his death. The Guardian's darkening eyes spoke of depths of evil, to Amis. Distorted truth, the abuse of power, an arrogance beyond mortal comprehension... such confidence, no matter how evil its source, was compelling, even as it was repulsive.

And he could not tear his eyes away even as the darkness parted to reveal the rain, running in sheets down the nonexistent glass projected by the force of the Guardian's mind. 

At moments like this, moments at which futures and pasts collide and the meaning of life changes, the external fades, fades. One's reactions are slower, their mind fixed inward. The rushing of rain outside, vaguely muffled, was obscured by the rush of Amis' caprizant heartbeat thumping in his ears. A Guardian. Finally, finally the truth was revealed, confirmed with his own eyes. Finally!

Distracted as he was, it was only for a split second that he heard a roaring, caught sight of the surge of water. His eyes opened wider, and he snatched a breat-

The world was chaos. Water and shadow waged war on one another and him, tossing him as easily as a giant would swat a fly. Internal and external merged at last, his primitive instincts suddenly screaming in the interests of survival, discarding the conscious and human part of him - the part that gave a shit about the philosophical and emotional repercussions of finding a Guardian. His suddenly hyper-alert body smashed into something hard; and again; once more; the unstoppable force of the water gave no heed to its unwilling passenger, and battered him against many an immovable object. Flashes of pain speared through him, spiking through his nerves and veins. In a moment, it was over, but it left him coughing, choking, water brutally forcing its way out of his lungs as aching pain blossomed through his body. He couldn't even see, blinded by rivulets of liquid - blood, rainwater, who knew - running into his eyes as he struggled to sit up.

Desperately, he wiped at his eyes, his vision bleary as he looked up. He heard the shot; ducked behind a pew, heartbeat spiking even higher, acting intuitively, feeling something soft against him; flickered a glance back up, an unfamiliar Latin chant echoing throughout the church. David's voice, somewhere behind him - Amis recognised it. He scrambled for his own pistol, the weight in his hand reassuring him as he glanced about him, trying to figure out what was going on - and realised the oddly still softness behind him was Varrina.

Her eyes were closed. She barely seemed to breathe. [i]Oh fuck. Oh [b]fuck.[/b][/i] Dumbfounded. He knew she had to get up. She had to. She couldn't be dead. None of them could be dead. They needed to either fight, or take to flight. Finally, after a moment of blank stupidity, he found his voice, his tone whiplike with a tone of command. A mind ruled by adrenaline deals only in imperatives.

"Shit... shit, Varrina... Varrina, open your eyes!" His shaking hands clasped the pistol, and, not waiting to see if she listened, he steeled himself - acting without thought, finding his mettle in this moment of life and death - and stood, aiming his gun at the Guardian. They had to fucking kill it, or wound it, or something - maybe they needed their questions answered, but dying would serve no purpose. He knew it would be distracted by David, the man still screaming in Latin - "volumus veritas!" The words, ones of truth, hardened Amis' nerves. Unable to breathe past the tension in his throat, the creature that had enslaved and controlled humanity, had defiled freedom and truth, standing before him, Amis took aim, careful, hoping beyond hope that the Guardian wouldn't notice him... and squeezed off a shot with a harsh, meaningless yell, no words finding their way into his angry, fearful mind, then another, the recoil surprising him, before dropping back behind the shelter of the pew, limbs quivering, his eyes wide. Now the creature either knew where he was, and had two targets - him and David - or hadn't seen him, and would be searching for its second attacker - and his seemingly-unconscious companion beside him - even now.