The Fallen, Vertigo/DC

[John Constantine]

Saint, got a date with suicide

John Constantine has been to hell and back. Born with a gift he didn’t want, the ability to clearly recognize the half-breed angels and demons that walk the earth in human skin, Constantine was driven to take his own life to escape the tormenting clarity of his vision. But he failed. Resuscitated against his will, he found himself cast back into the land of the living. Now, marked as an attempted suicide with a temporary lease on life, he patrols the earthly border between heaven and hell, hoping in vain to earn his way to salvation by sending the devil’s foot soldiers back to the depths. But Constantine is no saint. Disillusioned by the world around him and at odds with the one beyond, he’s a hard-drinking, hard-living bitter hero who scorns the very idea of heroism. Constantine will fight to save your soul but he doesn’t want your admiration or your thanks – and certainly not your sympathy.

All he wants is a reprieve. But as it stands at the moment, it doesn’t seem that the cards are being dealt in his favor, in fact he suspected the deck was stacked. Constantine lounged against the building an unlit cigarette dangling from between his lips. He leaned down and cupped his hands around the tip of the cigarette as he lit it with the brass Zippo. The sudden spark of fire lit up his handsome, yet severe features. Leaning back, he rested his head on the hard brick of the building his eyelids closed and hiding hollow blue eyes. A wry sort of half smile pulled at the man's lips as he brought the lit cigarette to his mouth and inhaled the smoke into his near-dead lungs. Idly he lowered his arm back to his side as the ash gathered at the tip of his cigarette and fell soundlessly to the ground.

The scream from the fenced in grass was enough to shatter glass, he wasn’t sure if it was on this plane or the other, he so often walked the fine line. What he did know was that it signified the band playing his tune; Just the piper cajoling the rats back where they belonged.
“No rest for the wicked.”
He muttered to the empty sidewalk. Flicking the half burned smoke into the gutter he crossed the traffic littered street. His coat flew outward like a cape as he entered via the east gate. He ignored the long dead of this section; oddly it was the new graves that stirred his intentions. He noted the hell born half-breed wondering who would have hired them to protect the grave he’d planned to pillage. A Phrase worked over and over in his mind; was he running on faith or running on empty? - Likely the later. The first half-breed was new to the game, green, naďve. The second was different, seasoned yet wild.
“Fuck off!” he muttered to the first who stepped into his path to the mausoleum.

He blinked slowly. It was hard to know if he was half-asleep or just bored, but it didn't stop him from shoving the first unnatural creature aside and taking it out. His fist was wrapped in a cloth, doused with something from his pocket. The lighter flicked open and for a moment the unwelcome guest glowed like a leaf in a fire pit, and then in the same second, it was gone. Pivoting to the right, John rolled then snapped his flaming hand upward at the female who had been flying in his direction. His head ducked under the airborne body as it flew overhead. As it screamed its dying breath, it scattered him with hot glowing ash. The binding on his hand extinguished.

Getting up with a sigh of relief he turned, to survey what else the night had in store when he was promptly punched straight in the jaw. He heard his teeth clack together loudly, the graveling of a molar’s point as the fist managed to chip a tooth he’d been ignoring. The cavity had only been a mild annoyance he’d sedated with bourbon, but this last half-breed managed to awaken the raw nerve. In one foul swoop it pushed the heavy ache in his lungs ebb into the background allowing this new abomination of pain take the limelight. The punch had him flying a 180, form slamming against the door frame of the ancient mausoleum. Thank god for Kevlar, he numbly thought as his side hit hard enough to splinter the support beam.

“Next time…” he groaned fishing for a cigarette in his pocket, after his limbs decided to begin working again, “I’ll skip the foreplay..."


It went for him again, but this time as he reached out, John caught it's forearm with his hand. Thumb slammed a runestone into the exposed flesh and on contact, it began to burn down to the very bone. The creature snarled in John’s direction cursing and spitting coagulated blood at his feet.
“You really expect us to open the doors for you Constantine? Your ass is gonna burn.” it sneered, teeth awash with foamy pink, “see you around… comrade.” With that the half-demon ran off, cradling its charred arm to its chest.

John groaned and stood up. The thing wouldn’t get far; he’d make sure of that. The hell-born creature had been baiting him. He hated that shit. Why of all the crusaders did they feel the need to fuck with him? He guessed that maybe it begged the rational that evil was acceptable, perhaps just a little easier to swallow, or maybe it was that ‘influence’ crap he was supposed to stay away from. Either way it still ticked him off. Steady hands lit the tip of his cigarette with a sickening ease. Tobacco burned to ash crisply, nostrils flared blue-smoke.
"Looking forward to it..." he muttered to himself, spitting blood and lung butter onto the rubble.

[Aaron Corbett]

"I've never believed till now that I wanted to go back as much as I do now." The man looked up at Aaron. His features were worn rings around his eyes. "But I know now that I can be saved and you can do it." Aaron nodded slightly walking closer to the man. He was feeling the urge of wanting to be saved coming from this man strongly. Placing one hand on the mans chest he shut his eyes. the man let out a gasp of air before a flash of light filled a room. Fading away Aaron was the only one in the room the man had been redeemed he had done his job.

Looking at his arm another name of a fallen appeared slowly on his skin. Growing used to all the names written in a different Language. Passing it off as just some special design when asked by passing strangers. Focus shifted to looking around the room it was old and dim lighted. He was alone he liked it that way though. Sure he had friends but life was to complicated at the moment to involve anyone else in his journey.

Pulling his dark brown jacket over he stepped outside to take in some fresh air. Something about redeeming gave him a little headache and he wanted to walk it off. Stepping threw the streets Aaron watched as people lived there lives unaware of any danger that was around them. Wishing that was still the way for him but no Aaron was the one who had to save people now. Missing out on a lot of life's perks. the crappy job, College, girlfriend...But no it was all on him one person to send the fallen back if they desired it.

Stopping at a local diner it was time to grab something to eat. Aaron took his seat at the bar counter getting breakfast for dinner. Probably wasn't the smartest idea seeing as diner food tended to look like road kill now and then. But he needed to get something into his stomach other then candy.

[Truth]

The truth is there before their eyes, the wicked is there before there eyes. I am Truth to see you through. The nights the days, it all comes down to which is easy prey and which or not. I am nothing but a half of a whole, the other is my twin who is Wicked will see what lies in your heart. The condemned humans see us as the Wicked Truth.

Truth stood on the rooftop looking out upon the city, it was his city to see to watch to beckon to see the truth of their ways, he was tall as he stood the wind caressing his hair as he waited for his brother. Tonight the task of them both was to see a young woman see that she fall towards the right path.

He knelt, one hand coming to rest on his knee as he looked down, the woman in question slumbered without worry, and in time, she would be given two tasks to choose the right path. His gaze swept over the lights that illuminated the city a smirk coming to his face. There was nothing simple about a task in which both brothers had to foresee. In any event a human that had both were rare and when both came together, it usually amounted in something that the human could not grasp. He frowned slightly as he looked towards the outer city, where was his brother Wicked, it was not like him to be late on a night they would work together. He gave his head a shake but remained where his was. The wind blew harsher as it took his coat billowing it out. He gave a smile when he felt a presence, “You are late brother.”

“I am not late brother, you are early.”

He rose from his position and turned taking in the exact replica of himself, he smiled, “shall we begin.”

“Yes, let us begin.”

He watched at his brother smiled in return, it was normal that they said the same thing, their minds so tuned into each other that it was hard to believe that one was an angel and the other a demon, you would never guess which was which for they acted alike. Truth walked to his brother his hand coming up to his brother in a gesture of comrades, they were never apart very long. He gave a light squeeze as they looked at each, tuning themselves to the women that they were to take care of this night, her soul cried out for answers for truth and the wicked the only two that could make her see the path that lay ahead of her. Truths eyes remain locked with his brother as he felt the shift; felt the ripple in the fabric as the plummeted to the woman’s desires, the want, and the need. It fed them both with something that could not be named.

He let go of his brother as the woman who was dreaming came into view the softness of her body, the curves of this lovely woman stirred him as all woman did. It did not matter the size or the shape, each woman set a fire in him that blazed with a hotness that was never sated. His gaze swept to his brother, he knew he was feeling the same thing; it was their curse to never know the touch of a human, be it male or female. There job only was to help or corrupt as it was meant to be. He spoke not a word as he laid out before her the truth of what she should do, to move to go see a means to an end to her suffering. The temptation of ending all that she carried within herself. He felt the pull of his brothers will as he too showed her the way of the wicked. Together they forged a path for her to show her the means to the end.

Truth turned his head to his brother as his brother turned his, nothing could save a human from this. The smile on their face was peaceful yet in the eyes, you could see that they had won together. In unison they turned their head and watched at the woman woke, unaware of the influence the brothers had on her. She had made her choice.

Truth withdrew his influence to let his brother finish the job; he would guide her to where she needed to go when Wicked was done. The woman moved from the bed as she opened the window, he watched in silence, he then spoke to his brother, “Have a care for this one.”

“As I shall”

The woman leaned on the ledge of the window her face peaceful as she jumped. Truth took hold of her as she plummeted to the earth-cemented sidewalk. Her body broken he gathered her soul taking it within him. He looked up to see his brother looking out the window. “I will return in a fore night brother.”

“As it shall be”

Truth turned holding the soul of the woman within him, he moved through the city towards the destination the soul would be going. The soul of an innocent who took her life would be Guided by the truth then sent to hell. He felt the softness of the woman the innocence and fed on it. He took that innocence and turned it to something else. He felt himself become stronger as he fed taking what little fight the soul offered. Wicked and Truth were evil, they killed innocence within a heartbeat to feed on it.

[John Constantine]

He paused for a second, fingering the bended blades of grass at the y-intersection of path. Inky black waste littered the plantation. Already he knew he had lost the element of total surprise, his eyes rolled at the thought of what he was about to face, what a cluster fuck this was going to be. He turned his collar up and stood, walking in the direction of the underground burial structure.

"Don't put on the coffee... I shouldn't be staying long."

He walked quickly, not looking back to see if the abomination had decided to double back. At first it seemed that he was going to enter the iron gate of the catacomb but he passed it, leaping onto the green mound and scrambling up. His fingers ached, but Bourbon would remedy that later. Near the top he knelt, reaching into his jacket for something. What looked like a small key-ring jangled between his fingers and quickly he flashed through each symbol looking for the right ‘key’. They were holy symbols. Some of them carved by his own hand, others he’d obtained in the otherworlds. As the moonlight flashed over one of the small disks it flashed with a blue-green glow.

“Gotcha...”

Clenching the metal in his hand he punched forward, breaking the earth apart, digging amid the now soft earth as he searched for something. Teeth clenched as the joint flesh of the skeleton broke, and as he brushed away the sodden dirt, he held tight to a skeletonized jaw bone.

He knew his ways were different than the most; it was what made him what he was. A melding pot of occult ranging from Voodoo to Catholicism, but he didn’t blame the world for scoffing. Sliding down off the mound he tucked the bone into his pocket and then turned to the dilapidated building. Two fingers saluted the doorway in a reverse ‘victory sign’ as he flipped the dead a cockney middle finger. He felt the char of tobacco burn into filter, and he made a face. Flicking the used butt aside he fished out another and blazed up.

His tall lanky figure walked through the halo of smoke as he made his way out of the graveyard and toward the steeple of church a half a dozen yards away. Once inside a man greeted him at once.
“Good evening Mr. Constantine… may I take your coat?”
“No, I won’t be staying long. Is he in?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid he is in a meeting at the moment”
“I’m sure he can make time for me.” John shot back pushing past the sentry man.

The library doors opened wide and Constantine walked in without invitation, though he guessed he was expected. The damned half-breeds always did know how to turn the spheres of the soul and see where the threads of path were to lay. And it was times like these that he feared those threads were being pulled.
“John…”
Spoke the man sorting books at the far corner. For a flash Constantine saw the massive wingspan, the white of feathers and the scent of God’s grace. He was used to the aroma, hell he craved it every time his nose took it in. But the wholly good was something he knew he'd never know. He was just here on a temporary visa of sorts. The sight of ethereal wings dissipated as the man turned to face the detective,
“John… how you’ve grown.” His voice was melodic, comforting and familiar.
“Save the theatrics Simon, I’m just here for information.”

His fingers felt out the jawbone in his pocket and without waiting for the Angel’s permission or offer to assist he tossed the bone onto the table. Dirt clattered onto the arrangement of papers and ancient writings. It was missing a lower bicuspid but it was clear to see that it was intact and fresh from the grave.
“Tell me why I had to come all the way to Los Angeles to steal the jawbone of a little girl? Or why she was being guarded by three abominations?”
Simon sighed, regarding the bone and then John.
“You know that’s not possible John. My very presence here on Earth is enough to support that. Influence only, if God wanted to start the blood war again, trust me, I’d be the first to know about it.”
John tilted his head to the side, sizing up the Angel.
“Then prove me wrong, ask her yourself.”
Simon stepped forward, reaching his perfectly shaped hand over the filthy bone. Eyes that glowed with a light of their own winked shut, and for a few minutes he just stood there. John waited.

He didn’t see an outward change in the archangel Simon, but that didn’t mean his gifts weren’t working. Impatience was getting the better of him, and despite the fact that he knew it would piss off the Angel he felt out the crumpled cigarettes in his pocket, fishing for a fresh coffin nail with nicotine stained digits. With a snap of the brass Zippo he lit the tip, whipping it shut angrily as he sized up the situation.

“Well? It’s not like I have a whole lot of time here half-breed.”
Glowing eyes opened again, and the flaxen-haired angel started at the two-bit con.
“I can’t confirm or deny the evidence you’ve brought me John. Keep digging, and in the meantime… try not to piss off the Almighty while I’m gone.”
Constantine exhaled smoke from his nostrils.
“Gee… thanks. You’ve been a real big help ‘punchy’.” John walked toward the doors to leave.
“Oh and Constantine… there is no smoking in here.”
John narrowed his eyes, “go to hell.”
“You first,” Simon replied knowingly. It was always this way now with Simon. He hated it.
“You know you we’re a whole lot better to deal with before this equal rights shit started.”

[Aaron Corbett]

Questionable but he did not care. Taking the fork, he dug in deep eating the runny eggs.

It wasn’t long before he had devoured the food. Taking a sip from the coffee in front of him he turned looking out the window it was dark but he felt something off it was a sense of danger nearby. Putting a ten on the table, he stood and rushed out. It was not just anyone in danger it was one of the fallen. It was a strong pull but what was attacking the fallen he wasn’t to sure.

He reached a back alley dark and dripping with water. There in the middle was a man holding a gun to the fallen. "Are you serious?" The man with the gun turned as the fallen stood up it wasn’t a fallen after all something had thrown Aaron as he muttered under his breath. “The powers...”

As they approached him, Aaron stood his ground. “Come on guys I thought we were passed all the killing." They just smirked as swords flaming appeared in the hands. “Well ok and I really didn’t want to get dirty tonight." Aaron extended his arm as a flaming sword filled his hand. He just smirked as a battle begun.

Moving swiftly trying to get the best of them but it was still two on one. Jumping to a dumpster, Aaron flipped over one slicing his sword threw the powers neck the power bursting to flames. He turned to focus his attention on the other one “This seems more then fair."

[Wicked]

The night had been fruitful for him as well as his brother; he leaned on the window ledge and watched as his brother disappeared. It was always the same, they both fed on innocence that it was an addiction to them both. Neither one knowing why they came to be only that they could do what they did, he pulled away from the window ledge and left, not trace could be found of either brother in that room.

He stood on top of the building and watched as the night passed on with little calls hear and there, he disregard all of them until a smile came to his face. A soul crying out for Wicked it was his turn this night to have a soul. Moving unseen he stopped and pause a brow raised at the scene before him, a half angel fighting ‘the powers’ he turned his body and watch, with very little interest, the tug of the soul wanting him was strong, yet he didn’t move. Wicked tilted his head to the side taking in the features of the half angel and chuckled, so young and without all the knowledge that he should possess.

The soul could wait a few more minutes it was not going anywhere, he leaned against the building and simply watched, before he spoke, “The powers should know better then to decide the fates of all.”

“Wicked, you are no better.”

“Am I Wicked or am I Truth?” He smiled at the powers and then turned is attention to Aaron, “Even the powers cannot tell us apart.”

He pulled from the wall, not even wanting in on the battle but just to make the powers aware that Wicked and Truth were out there, he could not wait to inform his brother of this event. He walked away from them until the powers spoke, “You and your brother will get your turn.”

“As we look forward to it”

It was true both he and Truth looked forward to the day they would have to fight the powers, it didn’t matter to either brother, they had been on earth long and nothing would change that. Before either power or the half angel realized it Wicked was gone, he moved quickly in the night as he went to the soul that cried out for him. The soul of a young girl no more then fifteen cried for the wicked, wanting to know what she should do. He gave a smile and looked at the young child by his standards and only had to plant the suggestion, young minds were impressionable and they were easy and so full of innocence.

He merely watched as she woke and went to the kitchen and sliced her wrists, he waited then stepped forward and took the soul before either angel or demon could claim it and he feed on that innocence, so pure and righteous that he smiled Truth will be pleased to know that he had his strength as well this night. He left the body there and went to the destination the same place his brother was going, tonight both had a soul and both bleed them dry of innocence.

[Ella Dee]

London, 1849

The rain began to subside but the chill in the alley remained. Emerald hued orbs peered out from beneath the hood of her cloak. She had been following him for weeks, always staying in the shadows always just out of his reach. Now he was inside the building before her with a barmaid he had met only hours prior. If she had not been convinced that the actions of the fallen and his whore would result in an another abomination, she would not of been waiting around in that alley. However this particular fallen angel never seemed to learn his lesson when it came to having children with mortal women.

It was another twenty minutes before the candle light within the room the two lovers occupied was extinguished, and he exited the building. Ella watched him leave disappearing into the night before emerging from her hiding place. Damp strands clung to facial features as she quietly entered the building she had been watching. Soles of well worn boots padded softly against wooden stairs as she snuck up to the room where the barmaid slept. This was perhaps the thing she hated most about the calling, taking the life of a human. No matter the case, as an anointed one there was nothing she could do about that fact.

She hesitated outside of the room where the barmaid slept. For a moment she let emotion rule her, allowing the thought that perhaps the barmaid did not have to die. But Ella knew that even now a Nephilem grew within that woman. She also new that killing it before it was born always worked out easiest. Unsheathing the blade which had been concealed by her outer layer, the 290 year old witch entered the darkened room. Placing empty hand firmly over slumbering woman's mouth she set the blade against the flesh of her neck, further frightening the now awakened barmaid. Looking down into the woman's terrified eyes she apologized profusely before pressing the blade down and dragging it across the woman's throat.


Los Angeles, Present Day.


Heeled boot clicked against warehouse floor as Ella pushed her way through the rave, following a Nephilem who unfortunately seemed to be onto her. Burgundy strands bounced around her face as she moved at quick pace through the crowed. Electronic beats pounded out of multiple speakers at a disorienting volume. Cursing under her breath she frantically searched the sea of dancers for her target, who had managed to loose herself in the crowd. Pivoting, eyes of green caught sight of the Nephilem's flowing jacket disappearing out a rear exit.

Shouldering her way towards the door she unsheathed the knife of Orokiah. Keeping much of the dagger hidden within the sleeve of her leather jacket, she shoved the heavy metal door open with little effort and exited into an alleyway. Breathing in the night air, she scanned the new battlefield. Feathered hem of white coat peaked out from the other side of the dumpster. Stepping forward she allowed the door to swing shut behind her and the click of heels on pavement be heard. Approaching the cowering abomination, she telekineticly moved the bin of rubbish revealing the woman. Her scream went unheard due to overbearing tecno music.

Brief struggle later, pink haired abomination fell to the ground. Ella crouched down beside her and pulled the sacred blade out of its back, and wiped the blade on the dead woman's back. Sliding it back into it's leather casing, Ella pushed herself up. Heading towards where the alley and the sidewalk met she paused. Eyes looked back over shoulder as if in remorse, before she continued off into the night.