PROLOGUE
4 hours from now
Paris, probably the most famous city in the entire world, that was what Philippe thought as he marvelled its buildings and streets from on top of the Arc de Triomphe.
The Arc, perhaps the centre piece of the French capital city, was a monument to its greatness. It offered unrivalled views of the Champs-Élysées, a majestic boulevard of shops.
Philippe was a security guard at the Arc and he loved to go onto the roof of the building late at night and view his city.
Because of his love for the building, he took his duties as guard very seriously. He was well trained in keeping kids from spilling their soft drinks all over the polished stone. He also excelled at shouting at them when they dared to cross the velvet red ropes that cordoned off areas.
It was his duty to protect the magnificent structure and protect it he shall.
He left the roof and performed his rounds on the upper level of the Arc, and then he took the stairs down to the security office.
He came to a sudden halt when he saw a women standing on the stairwell. She was admiring the building and had her back to him.
Philippe swelled his chest and straightened his back. He looked forward to these moments when he got to exert some authority.
His shoes made loud purposeful steps as he descended the stairs down to the woman. He saw that she was dressed in a long overcoat with the collar pointing up and covering her neck. A large wide brimmed hat kept her head from view.
“Excuse me madam, the Arc is closed for the evening and you should not be here,” he said.
There was no response from the women. The only sound coming from her was a faint rustling, like dry leaves.
Philippe raised his hand and placed it on the woman’s shoulder.
“You have to…” he began and stopped mid sentence when he felt her shoulder.
Something seemed to be writhing underneath her cloak as if it were hundreds of snakes.
Philippe stepped back as the woman turned towards him.
“Yes it will do nicely,” she said.
Philippe took his Nightstick, a foot long tube of metal, from his belt. He held it aloft, ready to strike. “What are you?” he said in terror, when he saw what was beneath the coat.
The woman didn’t answer.
Vines suddenly sprung from within her clothing and enveloped the guard, forcing him towards the far wall and holding him there. His Nightstick clattered to the floor, useless against his foe.
The vines snaked their way all over the walls of the Arc. One found a drinks fountain and pried it off the wall.
Water gushed out onto the floor and the vines soaked themselves, growing quickly as they drank it the liquid.
The plants spread from the woman and she raised her arms and laughed.
“Finally, a city that will be mine...forever.”
Paris, probably the most famous city in the entire world, that was what Philippe thought as he marvelled its buildings and streets from on top of the Arc de Triomphe.
The Arc, perhaps the centre piece of the French capital city, was a monument to its greatness. It offered unrivalled views of the Champs-Élysées, a majestic boulevard of shops.
Philippe was a security guard at the Arc and he loved to go onto the roof of the building late at night and view his city.
Because of his love for the building, he took his duties as guard very seriously. He was well trained in keeping kids from spilling their soft drinks all over the polished stone. He also excelled at shouting at them when they dared to cross the velvet red ropes that cordoned off areas.
It was his duty to protect the magnificent structure and protect it he shall.
He left the roof and performed his rounds on the upper level of the Arc, and then he took the stairs down to the security office.
He came to a sudden halt when he saw a women standing on the stairwell. She was admiring the building and had her back to him.
Philippe swelled his chest and straightened his back. He looked forward to these moments when he got to exert some authority.
His shoes made loud purposeful steps as he descended the stairs down to the woman. He saw that she was dressed in a long overcoat with the collar pointing up and covering her neck. A large wide brimmed hat kept her head from view.
“Excuse me madam, the Arc is closed for the evening and you should not be here,” he said.
There was no response from the women. The only sound coming from her was a faint rustling, like dry leaves.
Philippe raised his hand and placed it on the woman’s shoulder.
“You have to…” he began and stopped mid sentence when he felt her shoulder.
Something seemed to be writhing underneath her cloak as if it were hundreds of snakes.
Philippe stepped back as the woman turned towards him.
“Yes it will do nicely,” she said.
Philippe took his Nightstick, a foot long tube of metal, from his belt. He held it aloft, ready to strike. “What are you?” he said in terror, when he saw what was beneath the coat.
The woman didn’t answer.
Vines suddenly sprung from within her clothing and enveloped the guard, forcing him towards the far wall and holding him there. His Nightstick clattered to the floor, useless against his foe.
The vines snaked their way all over the walls of the Arc. One found a drinks fountain and pried it off the wall.
Water gushed out onto the floor and the vines soaked themselves, growing quickly as they drank it the liquid.
The plants spread from the woman and she raised her arms and laughed.
“Finally, a city that will be mine...forever.”
