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[COLOR=GOLDENROD][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]M A R V I L L E,   O K L A H O M A:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][sup][COLOR=LIGHTSLATEGRAY][B]M O N D A Y,   J U L Y   2 [SUP]N D[/SUP],   2 0 1 8 - 1 0 : 0 9 a m   |   D O N A L D S O N   F A R M[/B][/COLOR][/sup][/INDENT]
[INDENT][INDENT]The engine roared between Thor’s legs as he pulled the clutch in, quickly tapping his foot upwards before releasing it with a powerful rev of the engine, repeating the process as the rotations roared higher and higher until the motorcycle had reached its maximum output.

His lust for battle was powerful, nearly as powerful as his lust for the maiden, Barbara but there were other feelings gnawing at Thor’s chest, ones that weren’t coming from his thoughts or memories but ones that came from within his body, emotions belonging to Blake. Thor’s mind was suddenly bombarded with memories of Barbara, Erik, and Marcy as Blake’s feelings pushed through, purging the body of the god’s arrogance until finally, Blake was rightfully back at the helm.

Knowing both Barbara and his parents were in danger had made reawoken Blake, igniting an overwhelming, yet familiar feeling, one he hadn’t felt since Thor punched Creel in the face with a lightning bolt.

[i]Fear.[/i]

He could barely remember the last thirty-six or so hours of his life. How he came to be in the possession, let alone know how to ride a motorcycle was beyond him. The face of an older man haunted him, the last thing he remembered before losing consciousness, flashes of Barbara’s naked body, writhing beneath him frequented the fragmented memory as he tried to piece everything together. The only thing clear was that Creel was still at large and had taken Barbara towards his parent’s farm.

Banking the vehicle hard to the right, the rear wheel of the motorcycle threatened to slide out from under Blake. Sharply turning, he left the smooth county road behind, exchanging it for the rough, gravel laneway of the Donaldson Farm. 

Blake’s mind raced with thoughts of Barbara and his parents as each scenario conjured from the darkest corners of his mind were worse than the one that had come prior. Fear and rage were his driving motivators now, any and all bravado had melted away, leaving only raw emotion as the dark clouds above opened to invite the rest of the world to share in Blake’s misery.

Dismounting from the bike, a flurry of feathered wings caught his attention, as Blake barely brought the motorcycle to a stop, the kickstand dragging across the gravel. Stones flew through the air as the brakes locked the wheels into a still position, the momentum suddenly leaving the vehicle as it rocked one last time before coming to rest. 

The feathered wings belonged to a lone raven that had landed to Blake’s right, atop the white picket fence that enclosed his parents’ front yard. Turning its head, the bird fixed one of its dark, beady eyes on Blake, seemingly looking at him directly before the voice of an elderly man suddenly found its way into his head.

[COLOR=darkorchid][i]You’re unfocused, you can not do battle like this, my son.[/i][/color]

[COLOR=GOLDENROD]“I am not your son!”[/COLOR] He snapped as the raven turned its head. Blake raised a hand to meet his temple as he rubbed two fingers in a circular motion against his throbbing head. He would have given just about anything for a glass of water and two ibuprofen pills at this particular moment.

[COLOR=darkorchid][i]You command the storm, and yet you still find it plausible to deny your true self.[/i][/color]

A second raven landed on the handlebars of the motorcycle, catching Blake off guard as he took a step backward before waving a hand dismissively towards the creature.

[COLOR=GOLDENROD]“You talk like someone not from around here.”[/COLOR] Blake muttered towards the pair of birds, barely realizing he was doing so. [COLOR=GOLDENROD]“Obviously you haven’t lived in Tornado Alley before, weather like this is normal for Marville. It ain’t uncommon for a storm to blow up out of nowhere.”[/COLOR]

[COLOR=darkorchid][i]That’s because we are not of this realm, my son.[/i][/color]

[COLOR=GOLDENROD]“Stop calling me that!”[/COLOR] Blake screamed, his words echoing over the fields as the spooked ravens took flight. Soaked hair hung over his face as Blake was left alone in the rain to survey his parent’s property. 

The door had been smashed in, the glass stained with faint traces of blood. Blonde and silver hair was caught on the edges, apparently, Creel had negated to even open the door after smashing it, instead of moving his mostly invulnerable body through the splintered remains, dragging his victims along for the right. Signs of a struggle all pointed towards the barn, but even Blake knew the signs of a trap.

Turning back to the house, Blake pried the door open as he entered. The antique dining room table was on its side, a leg hanging out the window of the front nook. The living room was completely torn apart, the coffee table somehow merged with the screen of the television while the rafters were now holding his father’s recliner. On the floor was a rifle, dropped mid-loading as the ammunition was spilled all around it.

The weapon had been passed down from generation to generation, his grandfather swearing it had been used during the Civil War, while his father had told Blake that it had first seen service during the Second World War, alongside the legendary Captain America. Either way, Blake had seen his father clean the weapon every Sunday evening for as long as he could remember and was assured it was in working order. 

Loading the weapon, Blake moved back outside, lifting the weapon as he slowly approached the barn. The barrel barely remained straight as Blake’s hands shook despite the rest of his body remaining stiff with fear. Poking the butt of the weapon through the crack of the door, Blake slowly opened the barn, a loud creak echoing with each inch as he slowly made his way inside. 

Muffled cries caught his attention as Blake looked up to see three bodies suspended from the hayloft railing as feet flailed about, tears streaming from Barbara’s eyes as Blake lowered the weapon.

A sharp blow was delivered to the back of his head and suddenly his world went black. [/INDENT][/INDENT]