A/N: Hello again! Don't be alarmed that this chapter is slightly smaller than the other, they'll get longer again. Despite its length, I enjoyed writing this chapter. I'm a little morbid like that ;P

Anyway, without further ado, here's chapter 2!

PS Italics means flashback, memory or thoughts.

Chapter 2

Rain soaked the sand beneath Constantin's feet. His hair was weight with it, heavy against his head, heavy like his heart.

Another poor soul fell victim to the Reapers.

He stood on the sand and watched as his brother, Casimir finished the job. Each life had been a hole in Constantin's soul, each life they'd taken, each innocent who's blood was spilled was another death on his conscience.

Casimir was smiling. He always smiled. Beheading, drowning, burning, pillaging, raping… he would always smile. It sickened Constantin. But Casimir was his brother, twin brother, the older, stronger, louder and more authoritative brother. Constantin was quiet, pensive, thoughtful and meek in comparison. That didn't mean he didn't have a wicked side, Constantin was also known for the ferocious and ruthless way he dispatched his victims. He was also a great lover of women but never hurt them unduly. If they wanted to get chocked while he fucked them, who was he to deny them that? But Casimir… he'd never enjoyed sex unless it was forced.

Constantin really looked at his brother. Casimir had been lost since they were young boys. He'd been like this ever since Constantin could remember and they'd had a long life.

Casimir turned his wide, crazed smile to Constantin. The mad light in Casimir's eyes finally solidified Constantin's decision. With a wave he traced away.

Constantin called over the bartender again with a wave of his pale hand. The memory clung to him like a leech. It sucked the life from him every time he remembered. Casimir's eyes had widened slightly as he'd traced. He was probably shocked. Hadn't seen it coming. Casimir was never all that interested in anything that wasn't morbid or sick.

The bartender gave him a judgmental look as he set down the absinthe. "That's your last one." He said in Russian.

Constantin sneered and let his eyes flash white. The bartender's eyes widened and scurried away which made Constantin smile. Though he wasn't as sadistic with his torture of mortals as Casimir, he did like to give them a good scare now and again.

These days the only thing that drowned out his conscience was absinthe. Casimir had pretty much fed it to him like a prescription drug. Now all Constantin wanted to do was forget.

Casimir and Constantin had made it their mission to never set foot in Russia again… until Lothaire had contacted them with the promise of untold riches. It was the first time they'd been back in Russia, when they'd travelled to Helvita to meet with Lothaire. Constantin could tell that Casimir felt at home with the Fallen. He'd hope Casimir would proclaim his love of the Horde and stay with them, but alas he'd gone back to their castle in Estonia readily. He'd been overjoyed when they'd been tasked with disposing of the Valkyrie Queen. Permanent torture was the memo and that was Casimir's forte. He'd been the one to create the Lykae King's own personal hellfire in Paris. Constantin, as usual, had just stood and watched.

It felt strange being in his homeland without his twin, but strange in a good way. Constantin, despite the weighing guilt and pain felt freed of the overbearing presence of his brother. When they had reached immortality and were free to choose their own path, Constantin had wanted to study, travel the world and experience a life he'd never been able to before but Casimir had other ideas. Casimir had inherited their father's sadistic nature and cunning, he'd managed to convince Constantin that their calling was elsewhere and then he'd stopped trying to leave. Mostly he'd felt that it was his presence that stopped Casimir from punishing the innocent but their last job revealed that he wasn't even doing that.

The rain soaked streets just reminded him of his last job, the Valkyrie. Her name was Furie. He'd asked around about her, researched her as if to punish himself further. She was most likely dead. No one could withstand that amount of torture for that long. Fifty years was enough for any immortal. The Lykae had been made of stronger stuff than Constantin had first imagined and he was shocked to hear that he'd escaped. He imaged that had enraged his brother.

He flipped up his black hood as the rain beat down heavily. The weather of St Petersburg was tumultuous, like his emotions. He would manage to grasp some blissful peace from his guilt, he'd witness the beautiful cathedral or watch the sunset and feel whole until his past came rushing back to him with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs.

Soon he stood before the huge decrepit building that was once his family home, though he'd never actually lived there. Alexander Palace was enormous and Constantin's intoxicated mind wondered how such a small family could live there happily. The wrought iron, padlocked gates flew open before him, inviting him to enter, though reasonably he knew that he must have done that. He also realised that he must have traced there because the bar was in the centre of the city but the palace was a 30 minute drive out.

Floating pebbles bumped into him as they flew around his head. In the back of his mind he knew that this would attract attention to him, his powers were going out of control. Though the greyness of the evening was absolute, Constantin noticed the mangled corpses of animals lumbering to follow him.

He frowned and tried to concentrate on controlling himself. He'd obviously had too much absinthe… so he took a swig from the clear bottle. He was past the point of caring who saw or what mortal got mauled by a zombie badger. He was free.

The double doors leading into the palace flew open for him and he smiled. "I'm home!" He yelled into the foyer of the relic of a palace.

He trudged the halls and corridors, checking every room. He was surprised to see no squatters or tramps. Surprised and pleased. Once less thing for him to worry about. The undead animals were a constant line behind him and he probably looked like the dead pied piper or something.

Everything changed when he entered the ballroom. The floor was covered with thick grim, dirt and dust but what drew Constantin's attention was the family portrait above an ornate throne. He gazed at the oil painting for long moments. He could hear the tittering of the undead creatures behind him but paid them little mind.

He felt something brush his cheek and quickly felt it. His fingers came away damp. He was crying. The tears flowed freely down his cheek but he didn't make a sound. He just continued to gaze at the portrait of his mother. He wondered then, had she suffered? She'd been brutally murdered by the Rebels in her mortal life but her immortal life… his fists and face clenched with rage. Had his father, like Casimir had so many times, raped his mother and killed her after they were born?

With a mournful howl of rage the historic stained glass windows shattered.

A/N: Was that good or bad? Did you like it or not? TELL ME!

Thanks again for reading!