Holy Trinity
Chapter 1
Holy Trinity
Helltanz's notes: This largely draws from the Novel canon, but I'll borrow from other sources as appropriate for the plot.
Disclaimer: I do not own the series known as Trinity Blood.
-Story Begin-
Prolouge
Centuries ago Armageddon nearly destroyed the Earth. This war remembered only vaguely was the last great war to be seen. Predators ravished the weak and remaining survivors, barely clinging to life they were desperate for just one last shred of hope. Out of a vanquished world the Catholic church rose from the ashes, only to be wrought with deception. But an enemy far worse than coruption lingered in the darkness. Vampires, out of the mists of time they now walked amongst mankind who still desperately were clinging to a pitiful life after armageddon in the wake of the end.
However in the shadows something far worse lurks waiting, and watching both races. Three terrible beings from before Armageddon stir looking out at the world, one is set in her ways, one is disinterested, and the last's plots threaten everything.
-scene break-
A thousand years ago billions died, and the great cities of earth, the great hearts of industry and global trade were wiped away by countless warring factions. This was what had happened to the world, and he knew because he had watched it happen. Abel Nightlord stretched. He was dressed in the white outfits that were the standard of the Red Mars Project, the same kind clothes had worn a millennia prior. Visiting Gregory , or his Holiness as the terrans deemed to call him, had been a refreshing change from his usual wanderings. Still coming to the Vatican had its own problems for him. It was Lilith's grave. The problem with visiting here stirred his questions of how could she could side with the humans. It of course also stirred memories of his brother's actions which had ultimately brought about the conclusion of the war. The war humans only faintly remembered these events as Armageddon. A mythical time in history for most humans, that had occurred a thousand years ago. He still could remember the blaze of cities, and watching missiles fly.
Of course all of that had been wrought long ago. The humans no longer remembered, and of course with good reason the nuclear devastation, the biological and chemical warfare, and all there effects together had killed billions upon billions. Humans had turned their most powerful weapons against one another.
In a thousand years ago humanity had still not recovered. Today they called what had once been common place a thousand years ago lost technology. Artifacts of a bygone age to be squabbled over. Of course his own children were little better. An improvement over the Terrans only as a result of unified rule of course, and standardized education helped obviously, but even they had spent centuries toiling to rebuild some semblance of organized civilization in the years after the fall. By and large they had failed, and he'd left to go on his wandering.
All of this was the way they looked upon it, they meaning the krusniks. Beings who were as gods to other vampires. The computer screen in front of him told him that nothing significant had changed. It only highlighted a single item of potential interest. Perhaps in another century the enclaves of North America that were surviving might reach the Atlantic. It was amazing that they'd been this successful given the nuclear exchange they'd been struck with.
He was torn from his reverie when he heard a young girl scream. Caterina had ran through the crypts trying to escape her would be assassins only to collide head long into another figure. Her pursuers were nearly on top of the two but it seemed that was suddenly unimportant even as Caterina screamed... screamed at the sight of the imposing weapon. One of the assassin's lunged only to have his arm severed at the elbow splattering blood across the walls.
"Is this what you have been reduced to scaring children?" demanded Abel wings flared and scythe raised. He was being overly emotional, and he knew it, "Answer me Methuselah." Commanded the Krusnik, in truth this was overkill, but Gregory was his friend, and this offended him. Abel had never been the particularly social type even long ago on Mars before Armageddon.
The lead assassin clutched his arm's bleeding stump. The vampire was numb with shock already. A second assassin charged snarling furiously baring elongated canines as he leapt forward. It hardly served any good.
Abel seized his wrist crushing it within his grip and flung the caterwauling vampire in to a wall leaving the second vampire in a heap to cradle his bleeding and shattered wrist. This really was a disappointment, this was all his 'children' could manage, they of course had no chance to win against him but this was absurd. It wasn't that he couldn't understand why they would target the girl. No Gregory was pope, he understood that much, the political value made sense, but still... he paused slowing calming.
Still such an easy dispatching of the assassin gave the other vampires cause to pause in their assault. Abel was in no hurry, "What the hell are you no Terran has that kind of strength."
"Since you asked so politely," He murmured sarcastically, in truth he disappointment was only growing, could they not recognize what he was, but then Cain was dead and ash, and Seth hiding behind a curtain, and he... a wanderer "I am Abel Nightlord." Abel flicked the wrist of his free hand a rippling sonic wave drove the Methusalah to their knees in agony. Ear drums ruptured, their noses bled, and eyes watered, some bit their tongues convulsing under the wave.
The last had been out of the way, but he was easily handled, "DIEEEE!" Screamed the last Methuselah. The monomolecular blade scraped against his scythe fruitlessly sparking, and Abel pushed the vampire backwards driving him away. His wings swept out and penetrated the Methuselah's bodies. His nanites hungrily harvested the bacicullus cells that they could get at, black oily material seeped out. He closed his eyes and drank deeply.
When it was all done he reached out a hand to pat her head, "You needn't worry they can't hurt you." He looked normal now, his eyes reverted to their normal blue, but then he'd just exsanguinated the vampire assassins too, and there had been the fangs too.
"Are you a vampire?" She was at least clever enough to find he wasn't normal.
Of course none of Gregory's children were idiots, and even an idiot would have had to miss his casual destruction of the methuslah,"In a sense," and in truth that was right, humans ate the flesh of cows and birds, and vampires fed on those humans, but for what he was, "I am not a Methuselah though." She seemed to understand and realize, He gave a small nod, as the blood, which flecked his face began to be absorbed into his flesh, "I am a Krusnik; long ago my kind ruled over the Methuselah, my sister and I were responsible for the founding of the Empire." He neglected the details of such, in the wake of armageddon they'd made the Empire out of the ruins of what remained.
"But," Gregory's daughter was no fool, she knew what all of that meant, perhaps not all the details, but she knew at least the details. "then that would make you."
Again he gave a small nod of acknowledgment, pleased "Yes, Katerina Sforza I was born years before the event you humans refer to as Armageddon," He genially swept an arm around the catacombs, "though I can't say the Vatican has changed much in the time since then. Well then little one we shall be going."
"You know my name?"
Abel allowed the barest of smiles, "I do, As I said I am Abel Nightlord," He accepted her hand sliding his gloved hand forward. "You're father is an acquaintance of mine Gregory... no Gregorio XXX, 398th Pope of Rome I should think will be able to remedy your problem..." and if not well a few mere methuselah were no threat to a krusnik, much less any collection of terrans they had working with them. Still it would have been better if they didn't try at all. It would be a needless waste.
Walking out of the catacombs had been a simplistic affair, until the papal guard had arrived, it had been Gregorio in his official capacity then that had smoothed things over before Alfonso had gotten too irate at the situation. It was why the inquisition was presently stuck scowling outside the doors of the estate instead of trying to poke them or go through the catacombs.
"I had thought you had plans to return to Albion?"
He had considered it briefly, and said as much, "However despite the stability of the current reign I have no interest in returning," In truth he'd spent most of his time during the start of this century in Albion. It was a distinct honor watching a young queen grow into a strong queen, but watching them, watching the humans, the decent ones grow old was always painful. At least with Methuselah you'd get at the very least two or three hundred years, such a pity.
"You should consider staying in Rome then," he commented, "I know La Sapienza would be elated to have someone of your expertise," It no doubt would not be an issue with the blessing of the sitting Holy Father of the Church made the recommendation. Gregory was not a quiet man, if he brother was an eagle, then Gregory was a bull, a massive bull with a tremendously long reach. "I know that there are only a few universities that could furnish the materials for your expertise." One of the few that could have matched it was Cologne, which was under the administration of both Germany and Gregory's brother Alfonso, neither of whom the pope was particularly keen on having access to the Krusnik's expertise.
In truth Abel was tired, all of this was politicking. There were other universities within the Vatican's expansive domain, but Rome's university was good on its own merits, and close to the heart of the church... minutes... less if one wanted to rely on supernatural means. It might be good to at least take some time off. "I will consider,"
Gregorio XXX sipped, "Well its either that old friend or I make you a cardinal, Papal infallibility is amazing." He laughed loudly,
-Prologue conclusion-
The Flight Night
The moonlight shone through the beautiful stained glass windows of the Kingdom of Albion's capital glorious cathedral. The moonlight made the windy winter night seem that much darker than many in recent history.
"Amen. This meal I have prepared is my body. On this holy night, I give thanks." The elderly voice was gentle; the man who spoke reverent of his holy ritual, and his word eloquent and full of passion. It was a contrast with the eyes of the nun- her arms and legs bound to the altar and her mouth gagged- were wide with fear. Perhaps she wouldn't have been so afraid if a mere cold-blooded killer stood before her. A cold-blooded murderer would at least be human. "Thank you for being so patient, Sister Angelina. It's time for the Last Supper." He said somberly.
The nun gasped. When the old man turned, moonlight reflected off the silver blade gripped in his wrinkled hand. He had used the knife countless times to slice bread for worshippers, back when he'd been mortal. Now however the knife was ragged and tarnished from his unholy touch and the diabelrie of which the blade had partaken in as of late.
With practiced care he recited the words which he had used to bless the Eucharist which would be given to the faithful, "Take this bread, for it is my flesh'"
He carefully cut the nun's habit from her head. The sound of the ripping fabric tore through the eerie silence. Slowly, he trailed his fingertips down her pale skin. His touch made the veins in her chest swell. Her pulse raced pumping blood quickly as all her muscles urged her to flee. The priest he was a ...
"Take this wine, for it is my blood '" He sighed wistfully. "Oh, Angelina. You will become a part of me. Through my veins, your blood will live in an eternal night."
The old man flashed a wicked smile: long white fangs poked past his lips. He was unable to check his bloodlust, the old man pointed the knife at Angelina's white breast, But just as he was about to slice into her heart-
An old, tired, but still strong voice came from the shadows. "Ite missa est." The voice echoed in polished and refined Latin from the darkened isle and boomed through out the Londinium cathedral touching everything as if the speaker was god himself from on high coming to reap a terrible cost. "This mass is over, Father Scott."
"What?" He, the vampire looked up, searching for the voice which interrupted him,
Just beyond the altar stood a gentleman draped in shadows. Even a vampire's extraordinary senses could barely detect his presence. To a normal human he would be practically invisible. Scott straightened a bit, he knew there were vampires in Londinium he had considered maybe reaching out to them, but had yet to do so.
In a way the new comer was a god, the god of slaughter both feared and held in awe by the Methuselah. Abel was not pleased, he had departed, most recently, from Albion some years ago, and his annoyance with their vampire human interactions remained, "Priest of Londinium, Father Alexander Scott," Stated the man, "by the authority of the Vatican Special State Services I place you under arrest for sevens counts of Murder and blood extortion." He remarked
"Who the Hell are you?" Demanded the priest, or former priest seeing as now the man no longer was amongst the ranks of clergy but a vampire in the world beyond the realm of the Empire. Vampires didn't get to be priests. Vampires didn't serve the Vaticans whims, and if this man who came at him was not of Londinium it was abusrd.
The response was simple yet answered everything, "I come from Rome-"
Affording a vampire, almost any vampire any courtesy, is usually a mistake, but then he caught the knife in mid are and flung it back with ten times the force, the blade sunk deep in the altar. It was what came after though that unnerved the fallen priest. He knew the man had to be also a vampire so the knife was not such a big deal.
A harsh laugh chilled the flesh of Alexander as the new comer took a step further towards the vampire and the bound nun. "Foolish of you to believe you could catch me off a guard, you are unworthy to bear the name Methuselah."
"What the…?" Father Scott stood in disbelief he had not even seen the stranger in the shadow's hands move. 'Who was this man? No Vampire would serve the vatican,' he wondered. He knew because all logic told him that he must also be a vampire. What is it age, perhaps that made him unnerved, the legends said they grew more powerful with age... was this that.
He shook his head distastefully, "I heard one of your sermons once, I even brought Caterina here once," the stranger murmured to the priest regretfully. "You faith made me wish to grant you some compassion, but now…"
"You are a vampire too though?"
A question he had expected the children of the night always assumed he was one of their own, not something above them "I am a Krusnik." He boomed, as he stepped into the moonlight.
"You're Cardinal Caterina's guardian the demon who aids the Vatican." He managed to gasp out in a breathless voice "I've heard of you once when I was human, you're the monster that stops threats beyond the mortal scope. A legend amongst vampires, like we are to humans."
We? It mattered little, it changed nothing at all in regards to the situation at hand. "AX spelled out Arcanum Cella ex Dono Dei. Little, my dear ward Caterina doesn't like scandals, you see." He remarked as if discussing the weather, "She wouldn't want news spreading that a priest had been embraced. That is my reason for being here."
From out of nowhere the moonlit man raised a double bladed scythe into the air. The black blade descended like the blade of Damocles.
A whipping winter wind drowned out Father Scott's scream.
Abel sighed, and turned to the nun, "I am Abel Nightlord, it is very nice to meet you Sister Angelina."
The nun's eyes rolled back into her head as she fainted.
… "Terrans," Abel chuckled, ah well he needed to wait for his contacts from the Albion Royal Police anyway. The krusnik settled into the cathedra, he did have reading he needed to do. It was a pity though incidents like this, they terribly complicated international relations. Albion, and the Holy See were not on the best of terms as it was a situation only worsened by certain people in leadership positions on both sides.
-scene break-
The Albion Airship Tristan enroute to Rome was presently over the heart of continental Europe so all things considered he would be home soon.
"Would you like another cup of tea, Professor Nightlord?" Inquired the young woman who was working at the onboard café.
Truthfully he could have been eating at one of the many high class restaurants, but to be honest he had no interest in a heavy meal tonight. The silver haired god of the Methuselah nodded pleasantly, "Thank you Miss Lang. If you could fix me a sandwich as well."
"Of course, I'd be delighted to professor."
Abel relaxed on the stool laying the money on the counter of the small café. Caterina hadn't wanted him to draw any more attention than needed, but still for her to arrange for passage on the Tristan would likely still draw attention to him. Of course his day time profession neatly excused such travels more often than not.
He was of course familiar with the ship design, it was the tenth ship of the Kingdom, what had been the United Kingdom before the Armageddon, of Albion's Knights of the Round flying battleships. The Tristan was as he recalled 250.3 meters in length, and had an envelope capacity of two hundred four thousand cubic meters. Despite Albion being capable of producing the vessels they would have been useless given they were propeller driven. Such propulsion still managed to allow it a still impressive speed of a hundred and fifty miles per hour. The air battleships of the Empire used a propulsion system that humans were still unable to replicate fully. Though the Inquisition had been getting closer to recreating the designs that had been used during the war between humanity and the returning colonists.
Still it would have been much faster for him simply to take his own airship, which was obviously better suited for stealth, back to the Holy See, and be done with it but Caterina thought it would still look too suspicious. So it was thus here he was. She was all about low profile and smoothing ruffled feathers.
The intercom crackled on and a rather regal voice came over the public announcement system. "This is the bridge- Jessica, can you bring us our meals?" It was the voice of the veteran captain of the Albion.
"Yes Captain Connolly… um I'll be right back."
He smiled, and waved his hand, "Duty calls, and all." It was no problem, and in truth he didn't so much mind the absence. The Royal Police had been less than eager to cooperate initially, it had taken two royal warrants to cooperate fully, an unnecessary toll on the old queen's patience no doubt. Abel was more than will to blame her heir apparent for this troublesome issue. Then there was the Vatican's problem, appointing a priest to fill the now vacant spot should have been the Cardinal of Londinium's job entirely but this, well Gregory's eldest son took a little too much after his father in this case.
It was a thorough nuisance at times having to deal with the young duke of Tuscany. It was a pity the boy was so damned good at his job as head of the Inquisition. None of Gregorio XXX's children were stupid, but well it was a pity. As it was he'd have to deal with Francesco when he landed in Rome they were playing around with some kind of missile or another. There were so many things that could go wrong with that project it was a wonder they hadn't blown the missile or themselves up yet fiddling with the ancient weapon.
-scene break-
The young woman offered the cup of coffee to the mustached gentleman in charge of the flying luxury liner, "Here you are Captain," said Jessica.
"Oh, thank you dear. You know," He began accepting the cup, "I pilot this ship just for perks like these," The captain confessed.
Jessica nodded, "Its peaceful up here," she commented.
"Peaceful is good … we have six hours until Rome," The captain replied.
The helmsman and engineer were relaxed and in good spirits- sure signs of a quiet journey.
"Where's Deputy Roswell?" the captain asked
Dickins, the navigator, looked around the cramped bridge to the empty seat next to the captain. "I saw Roswell down below. He didn't feel well, so he's taking a break, Captain," Dickins informed him.
"He didn't seem well back in Londinium, either." Observed the Captain.
One of the other bridge crew perked up at the remark. "What's his trouble physical or personal?" Asked Mr. Orson, the helmsman, raising an eyebrow.
"Probably something he ate." Dickins winked. "His wife is the nicest woman I know, but..."
The young woman looked at the illuminated screen that showed the flight path of the luxury liner, "Mister Orson what's this?" asked Jessica pointing at a control panel. "The trim is off a bit. Shouldn't you adjust it?" She asked.
"Let me see. Huh."The man remarked examining his console, "It is How did you know that?" he wondered aloud. Mr. Orson looked intently at the control panel and adjusted. It was quite funny to the rest of the crew.
A short amused laugh punctuated the air of the cramped bridge. "Hey, I've an idea. Why don't you let Jessica steer?" suggested Dickins amused at his fellow bridge member's embarrassment, even though the man took it all in good stride.
The captain laughed "You'd make my job easier."
Jessica blushed with embarrassment. "I'm just a stewardess." She blurted out.
"But you applied at this company to be a helmsman, right? What a waste. Why can't they be better judges of talent?" The captain complained. "I'll bring it up to my supervisors next time," the captain said.
"Thank you. But you don't have to do that on my account." Jessica murmured sheepishly, even though Albion was ruled by a queen and had high ranking members in the military who were female the fact was that the private sector was still very male oriented.
"Its our duty to recommend people with real talent, Jessica."
It was then Deputy Roswell returned. His pale face and sweaty brow were in sharp contrast to the demeanor of the cool and collected crew.
"Where have you been, Roswell?" the navigator asked. "And who is that?" He demanded sharply gesturing.
Behind Roswell, a man followed. Roswell began to stammer out an introduction when the man interrupted. "I am Alfredo Duke of Meinz, of the Germanic Kingdom." The captain stared at the man... he didn't like the look of this duke of Meinz at all... not one little bit.
Chapter Conclusion
Helltanz's notes: That's chapter one chapter two will conclude Flight Night.
