The zeppelin hung over the silent city, mist stretching up, fingertips of immaterial grey grasping for the tantalising glimmer of the stars. In the distance, Wil could hear the drone of similar vehicles, cutting steady paths through the night in their unceasing rotations. The Cold Crew he had been assigned with were unknown to him, speaking in low voices, revelling in the warmth of their cabin as they glanced out at the black skies. Tension trembled in the air, fear so tangible Wil felt as if he could reach out and touch it. Only he remained aloof from terror, a grin plastered across his dark complexion, green eyes glittering with a euphoric excitement. To most, he was insane. In truth, it was hard to argue against them, but insanity was not the insult they believed. Wil treasured his turmoil of emotions, his inability to labour in sorrow or be struck down by fear. He was a madman, he was a Diver. He had a job to do and reason was his greatest foe. Save for the Kvol, of course.

"Readings at zero, Wil," called out the leader of the Cold Crew moving silently behind him, "Perhaps they're not out tonight."

"Wishful thinking," returned Wil, eyes flashing as he turned to the leader, "What's your name?"

"Rober," the man nodded in respect to the Diver, "Thank you for what you do. I could never risk so much."

"Risk?" asked Wil, striding over to the leader whose hands were tight around the metal wheel guiding the zeppelin, "What risk?"

"Death?" offered another of the Cold Crew.

His reaction to Wil was more expected. There was disbelief, there was disdain. Ancient stigma against Divers held fast against the test of time. Every man and woman in the city below owed their livelihoods to the Divers, and yet so many refused them service in restaurants, so many would keep them from their sons and daughters. Admittedly, Wil had to confess he hardly appeared... normal, or natural. Years of close calls against the Kvol had left him riddled with pale scars, standing out against his dark skin. And the power he wielded, the Lightless, whispered beneath his skin at all times, pale lumincence that frequently shifted to black. An ever changing light marking him as one of scarce few cursed, or alternatively gifted, with a kind of magic that held true against the rapid progression of scientific understanding. Wil cared little for the discrimination he and his fellow Divers faced. His place was, after all, above the city and its people.

"Death and I are old friends," said Wil, spinning on his heel, his long coat whirling out behind him, "I savour every opportunity to speak to him again."

The member of the Cold Crew who had spoken snorted in a mixture of digust and incredulity. Wil moved directly in front of the glass door at the side of the cabin, at the base of the zeppelin. Suspending them in the realms of heaven and darkness was some of the most explosive gas ever created. The Cold Crews considered Divers insane but they jumped out of zeppelins instead of spending as much time surrounded by explosives as possible. Of course the rest of the city considered them all insane.

"Wait!" Rober broke Wil sharply from his thoughts, stabbing a finger down at the dial, encased in glass, implanted in front of him, "Readings spiking!"

Wil glanced over and his grin grew, hands slamming together in a clap that startled the entire Cold Crew at once. The dial was climbing steadily towards the red, reading elevated levels of Lightless power in the air around the zeppelin. It was a fairly modern device and Wil admitted some nostalga for the old system. Although it had caused hundreds of deaths, mostly Divers. Wil took hold of the edge of the door and jerked it violently open, cold air rushing eagerly in. The Cold Crew glowered at him in indignation as he moved to the precipice, holding onto the wooden frame, staring down into rolling black and grey. The mist dragging languidly past them soaked through his hands in seconds.

"We can't be certain its Kvol," warned Rober, staring at the dial as it rose more and more, rapidly reaching the section of the scale painted read. Grimacing, he looked over at Wil and shrugged. "Not sure what else it'd be though."

Wil, the Lightless power pulsing pale beneath his skin, turned his gaze towards the city, only a few towers and spires stretching up from the blanket of fog. A church somewhere tolled a bell, the sound thunderous in the silence and an instant later, a crimson flare soared up from a distant street. Its light blazed like a sun through the shadows of the night, suspended over the fog, colouring it like blood, for a few fleeting seconds. Then a shape flickered across the sky. The flare was extinguished in the blink of an eye, the light snatched away... no, consumed. For a moment, Wil caught sight of the Kvol, as the light was swallowed into its broken body. Black strings, like veins, flooded out from its body, dragged back by the wind. It's eyes were jet black, although they danced white occasionally, at the whim of the Lightless power. Its main form was vaguely human, although limbs were twisted out of place at random. Legends named the Kvol many things. The most persistent called them Divers, who had taken too much of the Lightless and ripped themselves apart. Other stories placed them as demons, crawling out of the stars to bring down a plague of evil upon humankind and blight progress. Whatever they were, all knew their purpose. They were a scourge against the Gods. The Trinity of Six, a collection of deities, standing together in threes, had once blessed the cities and lands of the mortal world. But their power was drawn from the Lightless. And when the Kvol fell upon the Gods, they tore out their power. Two out of the six trinities were destroyed entirely, absorbed by the Kvol. The surviving four fled the mortal plain, giving only a single gift to help their people fight the great evil. They blessed a fortunate few with the Lightless power themselves, humans touched by the divine. The Divers. People whose only goal, only purpose, was to tear apart the Kvol with the very power they desired. Wil was one of those graced by the hand of gods, although he didn't feel exactly divine. He didn't give a damn for the Trinity of Six, he just wanted to kill some bloody Kvol and save a few lives as he did. Fortunately, that was all he had to do.

"Kvol confirmed!" shouted Rober, to Wil's side, "Get out their, Diver!"

Wil let out a laugh of pure euphoria, releasing his hold on the door frame, stepping one foot out onto empty air.

"What'd you want me to tell the Kvol?" Wil roared back to Rober, over the wind.

The leader of the Cold Crew grinned. "Give us back our fucking Gods!"

With a mock salute, Will spun round on his foot, looking at the Cold Crew and the zeppelin as he toppled out into the hands of death.

As the zeppelin swung on, Wil flipped over in the air, facing directly downwards. His hands were pressed to his side, water streaming across his face as he ripped a rift in the fog. The spires of the city towers raced up to meet him at a startling pace as he scanned gaps in the mist for Kvol. Nothing, the night was silent. But silence masked only breathless screams. Forcing out his arms and legs, he formed the shape of a starfish, in the air, increasing the drag enormously. In the distance, he could hear the howl of engines. The planes were coming, another modern invention. Disdainfully, Wil lashed the Lightless power around himself. Who needed planes when you could fly yourself? Wings, or rather a glider of white light, spread out from his arms, connecting his legs into a kind of tail. Wil looked closest to a flying squirrel, emblazoned by the Lightless, shifting between light and dark as he angled his body upwards and soared over the mist. It wasn't the most beautiful form he could conjure with the Lightless power, but only the common people cared for presentation. It gave him great maneovrability, and he could spin through the air to evade the Kvol when needed. True wings would need to be at least twenty feet wide to lift his weight, and no one alive could muster the strength to beat wings that size. He wasn't an angle of legend, but he was as close as the Gods could get. Around him, lights began to blaze, marking the rest of the Divers, falling from their own zeppelins. They favoured similar forms of flight as Wil and began to twist out in all directions. If only they could uncover the secret of the Kvol's flight, they could finally match the bloody creatures. But so far, no ancient knowledge or modern science had been able to unravel that enigma. Once more, Wil was thrown abruptly from thought as a Kvol slashed apart the sky behind him. Its signature, ragged scream was the only warning of its approach, but it was enough. Years of training and impeccable instinct allowed him to react with whole seconds to spare. Laughter echoing through the night, Wil spun sideways, and downwards. Though he could soar for a great deal of time, his gliding flight would not keep him high for long enough. The city was already growing dangerously close, but he could use that to his advantage. Behind him, bullets cut lines through the mist as the drone of engines became a scream and planes raced past him. They were still primitive vehicles, ungainly, with two wings and machine guns attatched to the front. Not only that, the bullets they fired could only wound the Kvol, not kill them. That was a task for the Divers. Wiping aside his Lightless for a moment, Wil allowed him to freefall and increase his drag. The Kvol, caught off guard, raced past and Wil seized its body as it passed overhead. Power slammed into him, but he remained steely calm. Ignoring its screams, he flipped over and drew on its Lightless, absorbing it so his skin brightened like a torch. The Kvol howled and flailed, as Wil laughed in madness and success. And then, a split second before the Kvol was lifeless, they connected with a cathedral.