There was blood on the wind this winter's night. And in the shadowy twists of fate's dark humor, two very different men noticed this scent. One man was wrapped in his own sorrow, one felt nothing. But both decided to inspect the scene. And while Abel Nightroad washed his sorrow in the crimson blood of his Methuselah enemies, Isaak von Kampfer stepped into a crypt and changed the course of the world. "Little girl, why are you crying?" he asked.
"Everyone is dead." she sobbed. "Why do you care?" he countered. "There is nothing you can do to help them now. What you need to do is be concerned about yourself." he held out a white-gloved hand. "What's your name?" The child put her hand in his hesitantly. "Caterina." "Enchanted." came the reply. "I am Isaak Ferdnand von Kampfer. Come with me, little Cat." She hesitated. "But I'm not supposed to go with strangers." He knelt down close to her, dark eyes steady. "But I'm not a stranger anymore, little Cat. You know my name, which is something few people know." She laughed shakily. "Really?" "Yes." he said, and then turned to look over his shoulder. "But we should be leaving. Darker creatures than simple vampires hunt this night." He scooped up the little Duchess of Milan, for he had known from the beginning who she was, and stepped into the shadows with her.
She would not emerge for ten years.
And when she did, Barcelona fell around her. Everywhere her small booted feet touched ground, death and destruction followed. This situation did not suit the Vatican. Pope Francesco XVIII sent out his most feared agent of the Inquisition - the man known only as Crusnik. "Find this woman known as the Enchantress, and kill her." The man who had been Abel Nightroad had no choice but to obey. This was not the first time he had bloodied his hands for this Pope and it would not be the last. It was however the first kill he would regret.
They met in an abandoned church - abandoned because the Enchantress had slain the clergy moments previously. "So, you are the Crusnik?" the Enchantress asked. He nodded, and for a moment they simply stared at each other. He reflected that there was much evil in such a small delicate looking woman, in her somber Orden black, hair the color of moonlight trapped under a dark net veil, and a bloody sword at her hip. She thought that he wasn't as tall as she would have expected, and that he might have caught her eye across a room for the pallor of his skin and the multitude of braids that encircled his head, rather like a halo. He didn't seem to be carrying a weapon. Her full lips curved into a sardonic smile. "Did you think you could overcome me with just your hands?"
His blue eyes went colder and he pushed his glasses back up onto his nose. "Your sins are myriad, Ekaterina von Kampfer. And I do not pray for the dead. I hope you are ready for death, because He is ready for you."
She drew the sword at her hip and held it at the ready. "I wouldn't want any prayers from Francesco di Medici's pet vampire." she snarled. "How long has it been since he let you feed? Are you weak?" she taunted.
Crusnik stood before her in his true form, bloodscythe menacing in his hands. "I do not need to feed to stand against a creature such as yourself."
They battled around the little church, spilling bright human blood, and slightly darker Crusnik blood in equal amounts. And both had the same thoughts - perhaps they were truly matched in skills. And the Enchantress stumbled on a blood-slickened paving stone, impaling herself on her own sword.
"I..." she fell back, stunned. "That isn't how this is supposed to happen." Tears of pain came to her wide dark eyes. Normally, the Vatican's hound was not moved by tears. "You remind me of someone, Ekaterina von Kampfer. Who are you,really? Tell me what I want to know!"
"I am Ekaterina von Kampfer." she drew a pain-ragged breath. "Valkyrie Magier. That is all I am."
"That is all you are now." He insisted on an answer."Who were you?"
"I..." she shook her head. "Go away. Let me die alone! Like you did before!"
"What?" he was stunned. "What are you talking about?" he gripped her shoulders hard. "You left me...to die...like my parents and my little brother. But...he...found me..." her voice was growing weaker. "I ...hurt so much. Please just let me die."
"NO! I know who you really are now. I can't let you die." he said firmly. "I'm begging you. I am weary of this life. I do not believe in heaven. I just do not want to be anything anymore." she said brokenly, the light in her eyes dimming. "Drink of me, and live."
"No..." he refused. "I can...make atonement for my sins... in your actions, Father." She arched up to him, wincing with the pain. In dying, she was remembering her old fear of death and of sin. something that she had not considered in many years.
With an effort, she pushed aside the masses of blonde curls, baring her white neck and the feebly beating pulse in the big vein. "Accept what I offer." and she put all her Magier persuasion skills into her voice.
He hesitated, trembling with both thirst and with the knowledge that, if he could not drink some blood, even weak human blood, he would not recover from his injuries. The will to live still filled his heart.
"I..." he began. "I am Caterina Sforza." she murmured. "And I am not afraid to die." Hating himself, he sank his fangs into her throat, drinking deeply. He felt her determination and fierce pride even as her life ebbed. He locked his arms around her and held her tight, tears streaking the blood and grime on his face, even though her body cooled. Still his tears fell, raining down on her. For now he knew, now that it was too late.
The humans who lived in the nearby village had heard the screams in the church but had not been brave enough to venture out at night. In the early morning they crept inside to a horrible sight. The priest and the nun, stabbed to death on the altar. Blood everywhere. And near the altar, a young woman, paler than simply death could have made her, even had they not been able to see the neat puncture marks on her slim throat. At her feet, an unholy creature, black tattered wings and long black claws. But the eyes were clear. "Mea culpa." the abomination in priest's black announced. And in that statement, Abel took responsibility for it all.
'Justice' was swift in these outlying villages. As swift as it was brutal. The silver sword of the fallen girl was buried to the hilt in his chest, and he was dragged out into the sunlight to finish the job. Why was he smiling when he died? And why did he mention a name when he died? What was it? Ah, Caterina...