Hello everyone! Wow, one week sure has been a long time! As I promised, I'm back with the sequel on Thursday! Action builds up immediately and leaves you on your toes, the way it should, and I thought we'd give Kurtis the spotlight for once. So read on...and tell me what you think! =D


The rain fell hard against the window panes, lightning bolts illuminating the skies of France. The moon had barely risen, yet it felt as though night had fallen ages ago. The planking sounds against the tin roof of the one-bedroom flat succeeded in keeping him awake – not that the sound of the rain was the only thing that kept him from tossing and turning.

Kurtis Trent lay atop his bed in the dingy studio apartment of Avignon, France. His ankles were crossed over each other, and he was still fully clothed in street attire, from the t-shirt and thermal white undershirt to the sturdy brown boots that could withstand any type of weather or terrain. He leaned back on his pillow, both arms folded behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. His shoulder holster was still strapped on, although his Boran X rested on the nightstand table, still close enough for quick reach, should he need it. His Chirugai was still clipped onto his belt – the only place it ever really remained anymore.

Another lightning bolt reached across the sky, and thunder complemented it loudly enough to rattle the shutters outside his windows. A faint dripping noise began to make itself apparent, and Kurtis sighed with irritation, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning into his hands. He hadn't slept well in over three months, for numerous reasons. Kurtis rose, heading across the small bedroom to the corner where the leak in the ceiling shed small drops off water onto the wooden floor. He retrieved the tin pot from the nearby table and placed it under the droplets, the sound echoing worse than it had before. Great, he thought sarcastically. That should make sleeping easier.

He glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand – 9:26 p.m. This was going to be a long night. He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned over the windowsill, gazing through the smudged glass to the empty street down below. The building across the street was so close that Kurtis figured he could probably jump out of the window and reach the opposite ledge with ease. It wasn't that Avignon was a horrible town – it just wasn't exactly fit for living, at least where he was staying. He figured he couldn't really complain since rent was extremely cheap, and he didn't sleep much anyway. In fact, he hardly spent time in the little apartment in the first place. He was usually off doing God-knows-what.

Kurtis removed his Chirugai from his belt, spinning it on his finger. He'd picked up the habit from Rutland, when he'd seen him taking on the action so fondly in the few instances where he had managed to get a hold of the infamous weapon.

I can't stay here, Kurtis thought with boredom. As exhausted as he was, he couldn't stay here and go to sleep. He needed to go out and move around. A nice ride on the back of his Honda Shadow Spirit would ease his mind. Nothing like a good old bike ride on a rainy night, he sighed in his mind. He retrieved the keys from the table, as well as his gun, and turned outside the door, not bothering to lock his apartment. There wasn't anything inside worth stealing anyway.

He trudged down the stairs, past the landlord's office, and out onto the street, becoming drenched in the falling rain almost immediately. I need a drink, he thought to himself. A local pub was the most interesting place he could go, at this hour anyway. Kurtis started the engine of his motorbike, kicked it into first gear, released the clutch, and throttled his way down the wet street, towards the first bar he could find.

Kurtis was thankful that the pub wasn't far away. A long drive wouldn't bother him, but he was tired enough as it was, and he didn't want to risk taking chances of getting hurt by falling asleep on the road, or something else of the sort. He parked his bike on the side of the pub, out of the rain, and trudged inside. The place was surprisingly empty, seeing how the crowd usually drew in at the later hours. Kurtis sighed, seating himself at the bar. "Give me a Jenlain Blonde," he ordered, running his fingers through his hands again. He'd also adopted that stupid habit, too – Kurtis found it easier to just take on these silly little habits instead of focusing on all the thoughts that swamped his mind.

The bartender handed him his beer, and he dropped four Euros on the counter. All this currency conversion stuff confuses me, Kurtis thought, trying to make sure that he'd paid no more than six US dollars for a beer. He pulled the bottle to his lips, savoring the taste. It was sweet, easy on the pallet, and had a real malty taste to it. The sweet taste almost reminded him of…

Let's not go there, he thought, drawing his mind away from a certain British woman. Kurtis casually glanced backwards, noticing the similarity between this little pub and the Café Metro in Paris. He half-expected to see a thin, beautiful brunette woman coming through the door to threaten the bartender. The thought made him chuckle a bit, and he took another swig of his bottle. He heard the door open behind him, and turned around swiftly, an action that was seemingly unconditioned. He was semi-disappointed, however, to see nothing more than two men coming through the door, dressed in black pantsuits, with black shoes and black jackets. Odd fellows, he thought passively, taking another drink.

A man pulled a seat up next to him. "I'll have what he's having," he told the bartender in an American accent. Kurtis slowly glanced his way, then turned his gaze back down to the green bottle before him. "I don't know much about foreign beer," he mentioned to Kurtis.

"That's nice," Kurtis murmured, trying to distance himself from any further friendliness this man might display. He didn't want to socialize – that wasn't what he was here for. The bartender handed the man his beer, and he exchanged his Euros for the alcohol. "This currency conversion stuff confuses me," the man said to Kurtis.

Kurtis glanced at him. "I was thinking the same thing."

The man chuckled, taking a drink from his beer. He glanced backwards, in the direction of the two black-clothed men who had just seated themselves in a corner table at the back. "Hoping they would be a certain someone else?" he asked Kurtis.

Kurtis eyed him suspiciously. "What are you talking about?"

"They are a pair of 'odd fellows', aren't they?" he asked, grinning.

This guy's in my head just a bit too much, Kurtis thought with suspicion. "They look like a normal pair of human beings to me," he said dryly.

"That's not what you were thinking a minute ago," he said, taking a slow drink from his beer. Kurtis gripped his beer tightly, wary of his Boran X hidden in his holster beneath his jacket. "You don't have to reach for your weapon, friend," the man said.

"I'm not your friend," Kurtis retorted. "And what makes you think I have a weapon?"

"Well, unless you intend to 'blow my head off' in some other way besides the use of a gun," he said, speaking Kurtis's mind, "I doubt that you're reaching for a lighter."

"Who the hell are you?" Kurtis asked in a low voice.

"I'm a lot more of a friend than you think, despite what you say," he mentioned.

"What do you want?"

"As much as I'd like to tell you, I think we should talk away from here," he said quietly.

"Yeah, sure," Kurtis said, "so you can kidnap me and take me to your private laboratory to perform some weird cannibalistic operation, am I right?"

The man sighed. "Trust me, Kurtis, when you hear what I have to say, you'll be glad you listened."

"How the hell do you know my name?" Kurtis asked quickly.

The man glanced backwards at the two men in the corner again, then faced forward, sighing. "No time for explanations right now," he said. He took a final swig of the beer and stood from his seat casually, tucking his hand into the pocket of his long trench coat. He removed his black hat long enough to run his fingers through his hair, revealing the brown tendrils that were parted at the side of his head. He looked like an old bastard a second ago, Kurtis thought, now noticing the man couldn't have been any older than he was. He appeared young, and any woman on the street might think he was "handsome".

Kurtis watched the man suspiciously as he headed out the front door of the bar. He noticed that the man's beer was still half-full, and became even more suspicious of the odd stranger. The two men in the back corner rose, approaching the bar. One man appeared on both sides of Kurtis, leaning in too close for comfort. "Do you mind taking a step out of my space, guys?" he asked irritably.

"Are you Montsegur?" one of the men asked him, ignoring his request.

Kurtis sighed, looking away. Who the hell were these guys, and why were they coming up to him? He looked up at the man that had spoken to him. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, buddy," he said. "So do you mind –"

He felt the muzzle of a gun at his side, and he immediately felt anger growing in the pit of his stomach. It was strange – most people would react with fear, but he was so used to it, and so out of patience with things these days, that it just prompted a more hostile response out of him.

"We were told we'd find you here in Avignon," the other man spoke. "If you come quietly, it will make things easier for you." Kurtis sighed again, standing slowly as he laced his finger behind his head. By this point, both men were holding handguns, drilling them into his sides. One of the men removed his Chirugai and threw it to the side, much in the way Lara had done in the airlock so long ago.

The bartender emerged from the back hallway he'd been in and noticed the guns. His eyes grew wide, and he took a fearful step backwards. "Whatever is going on here," he said with a heavy French accent, "I ask you take it outside. I don't want –"

One of the men pointed his gun at the bartender and shouted at him, demanding silence. Kurtis saw his window of opportunity, and he backhanded the man, then the other. Both of them startled from the attack, but quickly regained equilibrium. Kurtis removed his weapon and dived over the edge of the bar, ordering the bartender to get down. He quickly loaded his weapon and leaned over the edge, firing at the agile enemies. Who the hell are these guys? he thought.

One of the men ducked his head, and quickly rushed out the door. The other continued to fire at Kurtis. Kurtis ejected his empty clip, but immediately cursed himself for not remembering to carry another. Propelled by anger and a desire for retaliation against the attempts on his life, he quickly leapt over the bar, picking up his Chirugai on the way out. He rushed out the door, his gun at hand, cautiously peering around for his enemies. He saw them climbing onto their own motorbikes. They saw him as well and immediately opened fire. He quickly dodged the bullets and ducked behind the nearby wall. They're not getting away so easily, he thought.

Kurtis was just about to hop on his bike and chase after the bastards when he noticed a blinking light on the front tire. Those bastards set up a bomb! he thought frantically. He quickly dived behind the building as the explosion went off, sending his beautiful Shadow Spirit into pieces. Now, he was definitely going to hunt them down and kill them. It was one thing to threaten his life, but another to blow up his bike.

Kurtis quickly stood, preparing to chase after them on foot if he had to. As soon as he reached the street, however, a Peugeot 206 quickly pulled up, cutting him off. In the driver's seat was the same man he'd seen at the bar. Kurtis aimed his gun at him, glaring angrily. The man didn't seem to notice, much less care, as he gestured for Kurtis to open the door. "Get in!" he ordered. "We'll go after them!"

Kurtis knew better than to take rides from strangers, but this guy was possibly in some kind of predicament with the men just like Kurtis was. If he tried to take him somewhere and dismember him, or do something strange and morbid, Kurtis would be well-prepared to attack him. He quickly opened the door and climbed in. The man immediately punched the gas and drove away.

"Mind telling me who you are?" Kurtis asked. "And who they are?"

"All in good time, friend," he said, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Right," Kurtis scoffed. "As if this isn't as good of a time as ever."

"I'm a little preoccupied, if you didn't notice," he mentioned. Kurtis took that as a sign to shut up and let the man drive. Within moments, he saw the men on their motorbikes. They glanced around frantically, then removed their guns, firing careless shots about the Peugeot. The man swerved the vehicle a bit, but kept the car on the road for the most part. "One thing's for sure," the man said. "They don't know how to use guns."

"I'm getting a little sick and tired of you reading my mind," Kurtis said irritably.

"I wasn't," the man argued, grinning. "I thought it on my own."

"Just like the other times, right?" Kurtis asked dryly.

"No, I was reading your mind those times," he said. The man peered ahead, eyeing the suspended fence that allowed entrance into the construction site just beyond the next street. "Cut it down," he ordered to Kurtis quickly.

Kurtis wasn't sure how he knew about his Chirugai, much yes how it worked, but he did as he was told. He leaned out the window and threw the Chirugai, cutting the chain that held the fence up. The man hooked a hard right, using the handbrake to bring the car to a stop. The Chirugai returned to Kurtis's grasp, and the men on the motorbike wrecked into the crashing fence, screaming in startled fear as they fell to the ground.

Both Kurtis and the man quickly got out of the car. Kurtis remembered his gun was empty, but they don't know that. He kept the unthreatening weapon trained on the men, but noticed the man at his side also had a gun, and kept it trained on the other. The men lay on the ground, groaning in pain. "I feel bad for the bikes," Kurtis muttered. Then, he straightened up. "Who are you, and what do you want?" he asked the man.

The man slowly sat up, groaning in pain as he did so. "I'm not telling you anything," he said.

Kurtis pretended to load a bullet into the chamber. "When I'm done with you, you'll be begging to tell me."

"We won't speak a word against our master," he said, eyeing Kurtis evilly.

"Master?" Kurtis asked. "And who could that be?"

The man chuckled. "An old friend of yours."

"I don't like enough people to have friends," Kurtis said dryly. He pressed the gun to the man's temple. "Now tell me what the hell's going on, or I'll take care of you right here and now."

The man laughed out loud, clutching his arm as it bled. "Do what you want! I'm not afraid to die." Kurtis glared evilly at him, pushing the gun harder into his head, as if it would make him talk. Then, he heard gunshots, and startled to find the stranger next to him firing two shots, one into the head of both enemies. They fell limp to the ground. Kurtis turned to him angrily. "What the hell did you do?" he asked.

"They weren't going to talk," he said.

"I could've –"

"Could've what?" he asked. "Waved your empty gun around in their face a bit more? It doesn't matter. I know who they are."

"Then explain it to me," Kurtis demanded.

"Not here," the man argued. "Away from here. How far is your home?"

Kurtis sighed, giving up the fight. "Just a few blocks from the pub."

About ten minutes later, the man parked the Peugeot outside of Kurtis's dingy apartment. They trudged up the stairs and into the small apartment. Kurtis attempted to switch on the light, but found it didn't work. Forgot to pay the electricity bill again, he sighed in his mind. He reached for a loaded clip on the table nearby, loaded his gun, and turned to train the weapon on the stranger's head. The man sighed, setting his hat on the nearby table. "There's no need for that," he said.

"How do I know that?" Kurtis argued.

"Fair enough," the man agreed. "My name is Davis."

"How did you know my name?" he asked.

"My father was a…friend…of your father's," he said. "Konstantin."

Kurtis lowered his weapon at the sound of his father's name. "Who was your father?"

"Martinus Aicard."

"Aicard?" Kurtis asked quickly. He thought long and hard for a moment, finally lowering his weapon all the way to his side. Then, he looked back up at the man. "You're Lux Veritatis," he declared slowly, "a descendent of one of the eight brothers."

"Well, if you're speaking of this generation," the man said, "I am one of the eight brothers – and so are you."

Kurtis recalled this fact solemnly. "Of course," he said. "The eighth generation is…"

"Dead," Davis finished quietly. "Yes. And all the generations before it, as well – thanks to the Cabal."

Kurtis nodded, looking away. He set his gun on the table. "So that's how you were able to read my mind," he said, sighing in relief.

Davis chuckled. "Of course," he said, "though I couldn't explain that in the open with those bastards so close by."

"Yeah, who were they?" he asked.

Davis drew in a deep breath, gazing out the window. "They were followers of the Black Alchemist."

"The Black Alchemist?" Kurtis asked. "That's impossible. He's dead."

"No?" the man asked, facing him. "Then how was it that he was able to find another of our brothers in the United Kingdom?"

"What are you talking about?" Kurtis asked, not following.

"Garin Limoux," Davis said. "He was living in Kent for the time being, but somehow, he was tracked down by the Black Alchemist, the leader of the Cabal. The man – or thing, whatever it was – tracked him down and nearly killed him. He had no choice but to move away. Now, he's living in Amiens, here in France. He would've come to find you himself, but since the Black Alchemist had already nearly killed him, he asked that I do it instead."

"It still doesn't make sense," Kurtis argued. "I saw Eckhardt die with my own eyes."

"Eckhardt?" he asked. "No, it's not Eckhardt."

"But he's the Black Alchemist," Kurtis said. Then, it hit him, and he gazed away slowly. "Unless…" He looked up at Davis. "Do you remember his name?"

"It was something strange," Davis explained. "Carl, or something…"

"Karel!" Kurtis exclaimed. "Was it Karel?"

"Yes," Davis agreed, "it was."

Kurtis sighed, leaning over his table. Twice, now, he'd had to track down and kill Karel, and still, he wasn't dead. This would make a third time – and the final time, he hoped. He pushed away from the table. "Why did Limoux send you to find me?"

"I'd heard before of your encounters with the Cabal, and how you'd tracked them down all the way to Prague," he explained. "Garin told me that it was necessary to find you first, that you would help us to stop this madman." He took a few steps towards Kurtis. "He didn't explain everything. He said he wanted to wait until all of the brothers were reunited."

"All of the brothers?" Kurtis asked. "All eight?"

"All eight," he agreed. "Finding them will be the hard part."

"Well, including us two and Limoux, we only have five to go," Kurtis sighed. "Why does he need to wait until we're reunited?"

"He didn't explain that part," Davis shrugged. "He only ordered that I find you and bring you back to Amiens as soon as possible. He's also summoned for more help."

"One of the brothers?" Kurtis asked.

"No," he said. "He's called for help from some woman in London. He claims she knows as much about the Cabal and Karel as you do. He requested her help just three days ago, when I started on my way here from my own home in Bordeaux."

Kurtis's heart skipped a beat. Lara? he thought. It had to be. She was the one in a hundred million women in London who knew as much about the Cabal and Karel as Kurtis did.

In the past three months, he'd made as much of an effort as possible to keep his mind off of Lara and everything surrounding her. She'd made it clear that she didn't want anything to do with him, and he'd allowed it, as much as it broke his heart. Now though, it seemed that fate was bringing them together, and he very well couldn't resist it, otherwise, his brothers would be murdered off, and he and Lara likely would be as well. He may not have wanted to see Lara, on the behalf of her desire for the most part, but he wouldn't let any harm fall upon his brothers, and certainly not upon her. If he had to breach this unwritten contract of intruding in on her "space", he would do it to protect the people and beliefs that needed protecting.

"So what, then?" Kurtis asked. "He's called this woman into Amiens?"

"Yes," Davis confirmed. "We're to meet with them as soon as we get there. I suggest you get packing. We need to leave Avignon as soon as possible, preferably tonight. God only knows how many more of Karel's mercenaries will come out in the next few hours."


So there you have it. Kurtis has discovered one of his Lux Veritatis brothers. Let me tell you, it was hell trying to find a source to get all the LV names from...HELL. But it all worked out. R&R please! Will update Sunday night (my time)!!