CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE ━ POET'S DEATH

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(chapter thirty-three.) poet's death
❝ I ALMOST LOST YOU, SWEETS.
I'M NOT LOSING YOU AGAIN. ❞

 ❞

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"HOLD THE PHONE. WE ALL DIED FIGHTING THIS THING THE FIRST TIME around. Remember?"

"Klaus, shockingly, has a point," Diego agreed. "What gives us a win this time?"

There was a sort of light flickering above them all, and while playing with his knife, Diego turned around and wrapped his arms around the Capulets, feeling Poet sticking out her hands and protecting Diego, too. They all jumped when a loud thump was heard and a figure appeared, a young boy as a matter of fact.

"Je...Jesus!"

"You guys," Klaus started, "am I still high, or do you see him, too?"

"Five where have you been?" Luther asked. Poet rolled her eyes before she felt a gush of wind and saw Paris help up Five, who managed to fall off the counter. Poet looked at Five and saw a huge amount of memories in her own head just by looking intensely at him and grabbed the counter in front of her and steadied her swaying body.

"Are you alright?" Allison asked Five.

"Who did this?"

"Irrelevant."

Five grabbed Allison's coffee as he stood up, downing a large amount of coffee. All of the siblings stared at him with shock, each eager to know what happened to him. Panting, due to how fast he drank the coffee in a matter of seconds, he turned to look at his siblings and the Capulets. "So, the apocalypse is in three days. The only chance to save our world is, well, us. Mostly Poet because of her immense powers, too."

"The Umbrella Academy."

"Yeah, but with me, obviously," Five said before sticking his hand out and motioned the two Capulets standing next to Diego awkwardly. "So if y'all don't get your sideshow acts together and get over yourselves, we're screwed. Who cares if Dad messed us up? Are we gonna let that define us? No. And to give us a fighting chance to see next week, I've come back with a lead." He took out a piece of paper. "I know who's responsible for the apocalypse."

Allison stepped in and took the paper, unfolding as everyone huddled up to get a better look on who's responsible for the apocalypse.

"This is who we need to stop."

Opening the paper better, Paris was the first one to break the tense silence. "What kind of name is Harold Jenkins?"

"Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?"

They all looked at Five, waiting for him to finish sipping the coffee.

"I don't know... yet," Five said. "But I know he's responsible for the apocalypse. And..." He looked at Poet, watching her with a worried look, "he's responsible for Poet's death."

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