VII: The Exorcist

"Lili, are you hungry?" Vash inquired as he peered into the windows of the local cafés and bakeries lining the pavement. Lifting his green eyes to peer into the blue skies, he found that the weather was rather clear today—somewhat strange for what he's seen so far in London. The sun was currently shining, and there was only a few scattered clouds stretched across the blue sky. However, in spite of the fine weather, Vash suffered an eerie chill that continuously ran up and down his spine. Perhaps it was because of the low winter temperatures. After all, they were in the middle of December, and his heavy coat was worn with years of wear as well. Even though it hardly did much good to wear it any longer, it was the only coat he had. Most of his funds went to Lili's care and well-being.

Glancing over his little sister, he beamed with pride to find her snuggled cosily in her new wool coat, which was dyed a faint lilac colour and lined with white fur. It fitted perfectly over the long winter dress, a rich blend of pink and red, forming a colour similar to that of salmon, that she wore with a pair of dark leggings and fur boots. She rubbed her hands together despite the fact that they were covered with white mittens, and Vash immediately took to adjust the white scarf around her neck—wrapping it tightly and snugly—so that she stayed warm.

"Cold?" he mused shortly.

She nodded her head subtly, keeping it bowed, as she commented, "I don't want to cause you trouble when you work though, Bruder. I'm okay."

Vash shook his head in disagreement before tugging on her hand, pulling his little sister along, while he marched down the street. As though sensing an older brother's concern, people automatically moved away from the pair of siblings—but not without shooting them a curious glance or two. "Come along," the older blond insisted. "You've been walking with me for hours now, and the last time you ate was dinner. It's cold, and you're hungry. Don't bother lying to me, Lili, or even trying to hide it." Without any room for protest, Vash led his sister inside a café, where they were immediately seated by the window. Vash handed Lili the menu before ordering the cheapest item for himself as well as two mugs of hot chocolate. His sister picked out a slice of the café's spice cake.

"It reeks," someone commented beside him, "of gunpowder and ammunition."

Vash's head snapped instantaneously to search for the source of the comment. He had hidden his weapons well—more than well, actually—so there was no way of any regular person knowing about his firearms. His green eyes landed on a tall, muscular figure—a young man. He wore a thick leather jacket with the Prussian eagle on the back over a red hooded jacket and a black and white striped top with a pair of ragged blue jeans and heavy combat boots caked with dirt, mud, and—what appeared to be—blood. His eyes were hidden by a pair of dark shades, and the red hood covered most of his hair. Vash could see a few strands of white hair.

It was just a typical punk off the streets, Vash told himself. The comment didn't mean anything, and he didn't have proof that this punk had uttered those words. Brushing aside his suspicion, he waited patiently for their orders to arrive, but out of the corner of his eyes, he found himself watching the young man. Perhaps it was simply his imagination, or perhaps it was because of prevailing stereotypes that he was still wary of this stranger.

"Bruder, is something the matter?" Lili asked him quietly with worry evident in her shimmering green eyes.

Vash shook his head, glancing one last time at the hooded stranger, who had ordered a pint of some dark lager, before returning his focus to the meal in front of him. They ate in silence, and Lili thanked her brother for the meal once they were done. As courtesy, he begrudgingly left a fifteen percent tip for the waiter and then exited the establishment. He was completely oblivious to the shadows following him even though there was a lingering suspicion within the depths of his mind. Catching sight of an iridescent glimmer in front of him, Vash instantly and instinctively halted in his steps. He snapped out an arm, preventing Lili from stepping forward, and pivoted on his heel to confront whoever was trailing him. His eyes fell upon the hooded figure from before, and a feeling in his gut told him that he was right for being weary of this stranger. He immediately slung his violin case over his shoulder and nearly loosened the clasps to unveil his weapons, but something latched onto his bag. His eyes snapped to the assailant, only to find a large canine in place of a human.

A wolf! his mind screamed then, throwing him into a frenzy, as he attempted to fling the beast with a dark golden coat and icy blue eyes aside. The wolf still gripped his bag stubbornly, so when it skidded away from Vash, his violin case accompanied the golden wolf. Its icy blue eyes flashed once, glowing an amber gold brighter than even the sun, and Vash immediately pulled his gaze away from the beast. A werewolf! he corrected himself with a deep scowl on his lips. He glared at the stranger who had confronted him, And this is their alpha. "Lili!" he barked then and there. "Cover your eyes and do exactly as I say!"

"Looks like you're pretty clever," the stranger in front of him spoke. His voice revealed his Germanic heritage. Reaching upwards, he threw away his shades to the side carelessly. His expression remained unchanged even upon hearing the shattered glass of the lenses. Instead, he grinned manically at Vash and mused, "You know the trick behind these eyes then?" His crimson eyes glowed with an unquenchable thirst for blood and insatiable hunger for flesh. "You stare into them, and it means death," the stranger explained. "Of course, it doesn't mean much when a werewolf is under a human guise. However, with your eyes closed in fear, what the hell can you do? Let yourself get ripped to shreds while trying to hide away from a monster? How are you planning to protect your little Schwester?"

Vash pushed Lili behind him as her tiny fists clutched the army green fabric of his coat. He clenched his jaw and quickly withdrew the handguns he had kept hidden. Quickly loading the silver bullets, he fired at the stranger, but just as soon as he had pulled the trigger, the stranger dodged the bullets by bending backwards. Using his momentum, he performed a flawless back-flip. The moment he was once more on his two feet, he approached Vash with his hands shoved into his pockets in a casual stride that greatly revealed his confidence. With every approaching step the stranger took, Vash himself took two steps back until he realised that there were two other wolves behind him joining the golden one that was guarding his violin case. One of the two possessed a dark brown coat, nearly a midnight black, with onyx eyes, and the other had a coat of rich brown that held a golden tinge and green eyes.

"You know, you're pretty interesting," the albino mused with a wicked grin stretching his lips. His red eyes still glowed with mirth. "You seem to follow the American idiom of 'Shoot first, ask questions later.' That will get you into trouble one day; you might pick a fight with someone entirely out of your league. Rather, I believe you already have."

"Have we trespassed on your territory?" Vash found himself asking the moment he mustered most of his courage. He attempted to shake off the traces of fear that bled through his voice. He knew that werewolves and vampires were highly and extremely territorial—like the animals they were—but he honestly did not know any of their boundaries. "We had no knowledge that this was your land if that was the case. Please allow us to pass, and there will be no repeat of this incident." His first and foremost priority, at any rate, was to get Lili out of there. Hell, he would even apologise if he had to do so—as long as it meant that Lili would be safe.

The stranger completely disregarded his words. He gestured with his hand and remarked, "You've met a young man appearing around twenty-three about this tall with blond hair and green eyes, right?"

Vash narrowed his eyes at the werewolf upon recalling the demon who had claimed to be the Devil. "What about him?" the blond hissed, eyeing Gilbert suspiciously. He kept an arm wrapped tightly around Lili in the event that they lashed out, attacking them. At least then he could cover her even if his own life would be at risk.

"Ah, so you have met him," the albino mused with a strange glint in his eyes. He was humoured, entertained, and entirely amused. Vash cursed himself for falling for his tricks but remained calm nevertheless. "You see, the way you've treated him was a bit insulting. I mean, you normally bow your head to a king, right?"

Vash snarled threateningly and menacingly at the pack's alpha, barking, "I will never bow my head to the Devil! Who the hell do you think I am?!" He might have been a mercenary for hire, but he did have some values! He knew better than to dig himself a grave that led directly to Hell—even though that crazy stunt of his might have marked the end of his life.

"I think," the werewolf alpha began leisurely, tilting his head in thought, mocking him with the smug countenance he wore on his pale features, before he continued to speak, moving onto the reason of this confrontation, "you're nothing but a human. Granted, you may be a human with one hell of a shot, but you're still just a human. It's because you're human that we've been searching for you though, Vash Zwingli." He raised a forefinger, pointing unabashedly at Vash with a widening smirk on his pale lips, and remarked, "You've been recruited by the Devil, you Arschloch. You should look livelier. It's not everyday a King acknowledges your damn presence—never mind the Demon King."

"Weren't you listening earlier?" Vash snapped. "I won't work for the Devil! I refuse!"

"Ja, ja, ja! But, personally, I don't give a shit about that," the werewolf retorted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. "Stop acting like you've got a damn good heart; we all know better than that." His red eyes connected with Lili's innocent green. "Don't we, Schatz? How many of your friends has your big Bruder exorcised? How many of them do you never get to see again?"

"Shut up!" Vash cried, pulling Lili closer to him, as he attempted to cover her ears. Tears of frustration pricked at his eyes, daring to fall, as an irritating warmth itched at them. He refused to rub at his eyes. He wouldn't show weakness to a bastard like this. "Don't fucking talk to her!"

"Why don't you want her to hear all of this?" the alpha wolf mused. A haunting laugh erupted from his throat, echoing in Vash's ears like a phantom. "You ought to know that she probably knows all of that already. You've done it in front of her before, haven't you? Does the name Feliciano ring a few bells?"

Lili's eyes widened immediately. She turned on her brother with wide eyes filled—no, now overflowing—with tears. "Is that true, Bruder?"

"Lili, don't listen to him! He's lying!"

"I didn't say that you've exorcised Feliciano already," the albino wolf grunted impatiently, "but it's true that you've tried, haven't you? You tried pulling the same trick on the Devil himself, didn't you? Tough luck. He's a stubborn one. He won't die that easily, and—trust me—you're one the first one to have tried a hand on his existence."

"What do you want?!" Vash demanded heatedly. His eyes glossed over with aggravation, agitation, and tested patience.

"You want to exorcise a ghost, right?" the alpha recalled, crossing his arms. "We're after the same target—the reason why you're in London instead of Geneva or Bern or Zürich or wherever you're from. The point is that he's a pain in the ass, and we want to get rid of him. Unfortunately, werewolves don't have the magic to kill him off for good. We hunt them down and bring them back to where they belong with magic tools, but they're not quite specialised for this—erasing the existence of these souls, I mean. Exorcists are. You can erase them, and nobody knows where the hell they go." In other words, trying to catch him is a pain in the ass; it's easier just to erase him.

"I thought," Vash remarked, "that this one was on the level of a high-ranking demon. I can't handle it."

"That's right," the alpha responded casually and collectedly, undeterred by Vash's words, "you can't. Not alone. Neither can we." He sighed once, exposing how tired he was of all of this—of Vash, of his questions, and of this phantom—before glancing once more at Vash. "You want this pest gone, right? So you can get your pay? It's a superordinate goal; we might as well work together. It's not like I'm asking you to sell your soul to the Devil."

"Can't he handle this himself if he's so almighty and powerful?" Vash returned in another attempt to avoid cooperating with the Otherside.

The alpha grunted. "This isn't just a lost soul we're talking about. This is a fucking nightmare that has the makings of a high-ranking demon, and our highest demon has his powers restrained on Earth anyway—though he's still stronger than a regular human's sorry ass. Anyway, you said it yourself. It's not a simple matter. Why the hell do you think we're going around hunting down exorcists to help us?"

"There's more than one exorcist helping you?"

"Not at all," the werewolf mused with a scoff. "They're too afraid of the Devil, and they're all weak, fragile humans—that goes for you, too. However, you're the first human who dared to point the end of a gun's barrel at my boss, so what do you say?"

Vash glanced around them. Sometime during their conversation, the other three wolves have stepped closer towards him and Lili. Clenching his jaw, he spat out, "It doesn't look like I have any other choice. Does it?"

The albino laughed.

"I like you. I'll make sure you get a good spot somewhere in your afterlife."

Vash scowled. "That doesn't make me feel any better."

"You think I give a shit about your feelings?" the alpha retorted mischievously, grinning widely with amusement. "I really don't care—not even by the tiniest little shit!" As he stepped towards Vash, the exorcist continued to eye him with blatant weariness and suspicion. "You're just a fucking human, after all—just a piece of shit. Let's talk about your feelings after you become a dog, too, all right?" Vash snarled at him, nostrils flaring, but that only served to make the werewolf alpha laugh. "Man, you're just awesome! This is awesome! I really like you—this little shit! I guess you deserve to know my awesome name after all of this! It's Gilbert—Gilbert Beilschmidt. Nice to meet you, shithead!"


"He's strong," Lukas commented under his breath as he followed the trail of darkness only he could sense. It was an oppressive aura filled with aggression and vexation not too different from the life essence of most demons, and from this trail exuded a great mass of fear and terror.

Each daemon race had their own way of hunting lost souls, which were perfectly visible to all in the Otherside once they were extracted from their physical shell, the body. For demons and angels, it was the soul itself and every little thing about it. After all, demons fed on and lived off souls while angels guarded them during the time they were alive. For werewolves and vampires, it was the scent or sound of the soul itself—the smell of blood that would forever stain their existence, the sound of screams that would forever haunt their existence—that they used to track down their target. For succubi and incubi, it was the traces of desire that clung to the soul and chained them to the physical world. For revenants, then, it was the fear that followed the souls to the afterlife. Everyone was afraid of something, and it was terror and horror that attracted revenants to these lost souls.

Of course, the greater one's grasp of magic and supernatural abilities, the better one could grasp a soul. However, magic was a selective gift even among the daemons. In general, werewolves and vampires both were gifted with keen senses, sharp reflexes, and heightened physical abilities while succubi and incubi possessed great stamina, and revenants were unable to decay and, at the same time, unable to heal. Demons and angels, on the other hand, may have been the only species perfectly capable of utilising magic. Most of the mages in the Underworld's military were lower-level demons, generations of descendants of fallen angels, in comparison to other daemon species. With magic, demons were able to contract other beings. With magic, angels were able to provide divine interference to their charge.

Then there were others outside of these two races that had an affinity with using magic—such as Lukas and Vladimir—but it was especially rare for anyone outside of the demon or angel race to excel with magic.

Lukas ought to feel honoured, and in a way, he was. He was knighted by the King and even became friends with him. He couldn't have imagined such a life when he was alive; honestly, when he was a human, Lukas thought he would be burning in Hell right about now. It was somewhat odd for him to be hunting down a soul that probably should be punished by the greater powers for some unfathomable crime against humanity.

"Where to now, Lukas?" Mathias inquired as he stopped beside the smaller blond. Lukas had paused in his steps several moments ago to recollect his thoughts and to focus on finding the fugitive. Behind him, Berwald, Tino, and Emil slowed to a stop. "Lukas?" Mathias called out his friend's name again when the smaller blond failed to respond to him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Lukas answered tersely. He pointed a finger to a growing shadow on the floor. "We're here."

"Incoming!"

Just as soon as the cry reached the revenants' ears, a knife skimmed past Lukas' cheek, cutting off a few strands of his pale blond hair. He didn't even blink and instead stared at Vladimir and the other vampires that had arrived with a deadpan.

Only a few moments ago, Vladimir and the rest of the vampire coven had been doing the same thing as the revenants—tracking down Mordred and disregarding (or trying to disregard) the shadows the phantom had conjured in his wake. Natalia, however, had a rather short temper and constantly attempted to drive away the shadows that haunted them more than once. Because of this, Vladimir had enchanted her knives so that they could pierce through the untouchable shadows even though it distracted him from his task at hand. Ivan had forced Natalia to cease her activities though—at least for the meanwhile—and then proceeded to tease Vladimir about how he was sniffing around town like a dog—or, more specifically, a werewolf—once the vampire mage was focused on hunting their target.

However, the moment Vladimir caught sight of a suspiciously shifting shadow, all jokes were thrown aside in favour of chasing down the subject of their attention. Enchanted weapons—bullets, knives, iron pipes—had all attempted to penetrate and slash the shadow that skilfully evaded their attacks as they had begun to corner the shadow over the Thames. In the midst of an attack, Natalia had flung one of her knives at the solidifying figure, but he had dodged the blade at the last second, sending it flying towards the other party.

"Incoming!" Vladimir had cried then, only to earn Lukas' deadpan.

"That was dangerous!" Mathias exclaimed.

"What does it matter?" Emil remarked from behind his chief. "It's not like he would have died."

"It's pretty difficult to sew an ear back onto your head correctly though!" Mathias protested. "You have to make sure that everything's all properly aligned or else you can't hear anything correctly! Then you have to rip it off and do it all over again!"

"It's not like you even use your ears to listen," Natalia hissed before being admonished by her older brother to respect the other Lord even if she did not like him and even if she thought that he—and the other two Lords aside from her beloved brother—was an idiot.

"I apologise for my sestrenka," the Count of Vampires chimed, smiling eerily in that childish manner of his. "Getting along with others is not her strong point, but she does have good aim, accuracy, and precision, da?"

"Scary good," Emil muttered under his breath. "Enough to rival Tino." The smaller blond showed no sign of being acknowledged and kept smiling amiably. However, he did become more solemn and grave once everyone noticed that the shadow on the ground finally peeled itself and solidified into a three-dimensional figure—although everyone doubted that it was made of any material substance that their swords and spears and arrows could pierce and lacerate.

"Are you wanting to see who is better shot?" Ivan inquired innocently. He snapped his fingers, and Natalia promptly obliged her older brother. She stepped forward, extracting her throwing knives and nestling them between her fingers, as the blades began glowing with Vladimir's mystic charm—shining like the golden sun. At the same time, Mathias urged an anxious Tino to the front lines. The smallest revenant docked an arrow enchanted with Lukas' magic from his leather quiver into his elegant longbow as it began to glow the same golden hue from the enchantment.

"Bless our weapons with holy light to combat the shadows!"

Just as the two sharpshooters focused on hitting their target, a loud cry from above broke their concentration. Tino's arrow flew askew while Natalia's grip on her knives slackened. "Oh Schieße!" yelped the newcomer as he dropped from above. Gilbert twisted his body, manoeuvring expertly to avoid the arrow that threatened to graze his albino skin, and pulled his legs towards his chest to dodge the flying knives. Using the momentum of his movements, he pushed into a flip but landed on the ground rather pathetically, rolling on the ground in a ball. Gilbert stopped on his back, groaning in pain, before propping himself into an upright sitting position. Resting his elbow against a knee he brought towards his chest, he narrowed his red eyes into a glare, "You can't treat this like a contest yet, you Dummköpfe! Werewolves have been hunting lost souls and bringing them to either the Dark Realm or the Celestial Realm for how long now? You can't leave me out of the fun! Don't underestimate Kerberos, verdammt!"

"It's hard to take you seriously when you just fell from the sky, Gilbert," Mathias mused as he peered into the night sky. "How did you manage to do that anyway?"

"I jumped from one of the towers over there," Gilbert grumbled, gesturing aimlessly towards a general direction. "My team will join us eventually. They have the soul cage in the slight chance that Mordred will calm the fuck down and follow us back to Hell."

"Then we are mostly accounted for?" chimed Francis as he joined the others over the Thames. Behind him were Marianne, Julchen, and Isabel. He crossed his arms as he cast a glance over the shadow creature. "Mon Dieu, we were searching everywhere for this foul soul when—all of this time—he was seeking out Arthur? We were going around in circles!"

"And Arthur let us continue going about in circles," Marianne concluded indignantly, huffing as she puffed out her chest in a display of her frustration. "That man—kind as he may be—really knows how to drive a person to the brink of insanité! He might have done so with good intentions, but, honnêtement, he really is one hell of a devil."

"He is the Devil, Schätzchen," Gilbert responded dryly with a wry smirk on his lips that gradually widened into a grin. "I can see where he worries about us though. We can't even land a hit on this phantom because his magic rivals our Three Enchanter Knights—right, Mordred?" The shadow ebbed like the dark waters below them, morphing here and there, to form a more humanoid appearance. The darkness lightened to resemble a skin tone that reflected the pale light of the moon and began to sprout wiry strands of hair that gradually bleached to a deep brown. The frontal area of the shadow—where the face ought to be—began to shape into more identifiable features—eyes, ears, and nose, for example—and a pair of glowering green orbs peered into the crowd surrounding it.

"So you've finally managed to track me down," mused the phantom of a dark knight as a twisted sneer carved his lips, "and so you've managed to corner me. Good for you lot." Crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow, he remarked, "But are you not a few steps behind? I am a spectre and can easily phase through your bodies."

Lukas pulled open his jacket and revealed a single rune of many that he, Vladimir, Owain, Lovino, Yao, and Kiku had spent the previous night crafting for each of the twenty-four knights along with the King and his consort to-be, the five guardian spirits, and the English manor they had made their base. "You do that," Lukas retorted, "and I can't guarantee what will happen to you."

Vladimir nodded his head in agreement. "We can't destroy a spectre with weapons alone, but we very much can touch you now—even if we're not demons ready to feast on you, a lost soul—and can very much harm you little by little," he mentioned with a toothy grin that displayed his fangs. "Now we can drag you back to Hell—if you're not erased first."

Grunting, Mordred unleashed a desperate attack, forcing the air in the area to bend to his control. He sent a powerful, overwhelming blast of wind towards the crowd, but it was merely countered with Lukas and Vladimir's combined effort. Mordred was still very much a powerful Druid, after all. It was only a matter of time before they could weaken him—or so they thought. With another push, Mordred was able to drive the gust over his pursuers that nearly knocked them away.

While Francis and the succubi managed to sink their rapiers into the bridge to keep from falling into the Thames, Ivan, Mathias, Gilbert, and Berwald sunk their feet into the material of the bridge so not to be blown away. Ivan grabbed onto his sisters, cradling them in the safety of his arms. Mathias grasped tightly onto Lukas, who, in turn, gripped Emil's hands tightly. Berwald held onto Tino, and Gilbert was growling at the three shivering vampires that clutched at his military coat, sinking their claw-like nails into the fabric. "Hey, that's vintage!" he barked indignantly over the howling wind. "You can't get any other coat like this unless you dig up a damn grave!" Their shuddering seemed to increase with Gilbert's outburst even though it didn't seem that they could hear his words clearly.

Mordred released a feral cry and subconsciously intensified the wind. It whipped and lashed at his pursuers like razor blades grazing and cutting into their flesh. Gilbert could feel his feet being pulled from the ground and, with a fierce growl, forced himself to transform into his canine form in spite of the quivering vampires latched onto him. They nearly flew away in the brief moment Gilbert needed to transform, but three other wolves managed to catch them by the collar of their jackets before lying flat on the ground, digging their claws into the ground. Gilbert did the same, cushioning Francis and the girls when their grip on the rapiers' hilts slackened. He crawled to the swords, and the four members of the Bonnefoy house clung once more onto the hilts of their weapons just as Gilbert reverted to his more human form. A pair of white ears stuck from the top of his head, and a bushy white tail protruded from his tail bone. His red eyes turned to the exorcist who had accompanied his pack as he snarled at the Swiss man, who was carrying the werewolves' soul cage in his arms nearly an entire city block away from the scene, "Don't get any closer unless you want to get sucked in!"

"What's going on?!" Vash demanded over the roaring winds. He didn't dare to cross the bridge. "Why is there such strong wind?!"

"It's the damn ghost, you shithead! And this one knew magic when he was alive!" Gilbert growled lowly as he narrowed his eyes at the spectre he referenced. "If you understand how dangerous it is, stay there and prepare for your stupid ritual shit! We'll try to contain this son of a bitch while you're busy!"

"How are you going to do that?!"

Lukas and Vladimir muttered something under their breath that grew louder and louder with each uttered word. Unsheathed weapons began to glow with a golden light as though the mighty, holy wrath of Zeus surged through them. At the sight of their re-enchanted weapons, Mathias stomped one foot forward, slowly inching towards Mordred, with Lukas and Emil still in his arms, and Ivan began to follow his example. Julchen unsheathed her spare sword and stabbed it forward, using her two blades to pull herself closer to Mordred. Marianne clasped her hand together with Isabel, and the two of them worked together to pull through the storm.

"We'll do it bit by bit!" Gilbert declared as he charged forward. He pulled Julchen's spare sword free from the ground and pierced the glowing blade through Mordred's front. He could feel the laceration of non-existent flesh and smirked widely. "I love magic," he sang before withdrawing the blade. "This is awesome—damn awesome!" His red eyes flashed once, meant to bound the soul, but Mordred broke free of its trance after freezing succinctly. Gilbert cursed under his breath before lashing out at the phantom once more.

Mordred swiftly blocked the oncoming attack with a psychic barrier, and the blade rebounded once. Gilbert persisted. The edge of the blade made contact again with the barrier, and the sound of something shattering could be heard. Mordred's eyes widened before he hopped away from the end of Gilbert's blade. Even though he would not be destroyed, he could feel pain, and pain was something with which he was too familiar. Memories of war broke through the flood gates and surged into his mind, overwhelming him. Panic shone in his eyes, and the blasts and gusts of wind faltered for a single moment when he found himself at a lost.

Bodies. Mountains of bodies. They were everywhere—in front of him, behind him, all around him—and they surrounded him. Blood pooled at his feet. The foul stench of death and decay polluted his mind, drowning him in a haze, numbing his senses. The deafening clangs of metal ringing against metal thundered in his ears like the grave and solemn knells of church bells so loudly he thought he couldn't possibly hear anything else, yet he heard holy scriptures being read aloud in an ancient tongue he used to hear daily.

Ah.

Mordred's eyes landed on the Swiss man who was reciting from the Holy Bible.

"Where's the King?"

"We don't have time! We have to proceed without him now that he's finally weakened!"

"We've got him now!"

"Go, Gilbert! Cage him!"

Then he dropped his eyes and found the blade of a sword stuck through his abdomen, yet he felt no pain. Even though he felt no pain, he felt fear coursing through his being.

History truly is repeating itself.

Suddenly, everyone was trapped between a hard place and a tempest as the dying winds transformed into a wild storm.

"But I don't care to die—not again."

"Arthur, where the hell are you?!"


Lovino flipped through some more pages of one of Arthur's older grimoires as he stirred the tomato sauce he planned on using with some rotini. Setting aside the wooden spoon, his hazel eyes skimmed through the text he knew to be vaguely English, attempting to decipher the foreign language. However, the text was written sometime in the twelfth century, so not only was it difficult to understand, it was difficult to read. The letters didn't even appear to be distantly related to the Roman alphabet. Clicking his tongue, Lovino snapped Arthur's grimoire shut and instead poured the tomato sauce over the twisted noodles before grating a bit of cheese over the eight dishes he prepared. Setting them on the dining table, he then prepared to grab seven plastic children's cups from the cupboards, each one clear but a different colour, and filled them entirely with apple juice.

"Domestic life suits you well, Your Highness," a soft feminine voice commented from the threshold leading to the kitchen. Lovino turned his head to find Princess Kaelin standing there dressed in her pink smock, which was now splattered with paint, and tank top and shorts. She smiled shyly at him, but the curve of her lips only lasted a few seconds before it faded into her usual blank but regal expression. Lovino found that all the members of Arthur's family possessed that same flair of royalty, but he supposed it was only natural seeing that they've been nobles since their birth centuries ago. "It is not very ladylike of me to say that I am jealous of Cousin Arthur's guardian spirits, but... I suppose I am."

A part of Lovino was nervous. This was the first time they've ever had a conversation just between the two of them. He had a faint idea of how Arthur's brothers and cousins would act, but he hadn't even met this princess before this entire ordeal with Mordred. He gestured towards the dining room, asking her to take a seat, before taking the spot across from her. "What do you mean?" he found himself asking her after a moment of silence.

"My father was always distant from his children, so I never had a father figure like my cousin either. As for my mother, she was kind, but she was always busy with her own affairs," Kaelin explained, fiddling nervously with her napkin as she laid it atop her lap. For the first time, Lovino realised that, in spite of her centuries of living and in spite of her aristocratic upbringing, Kaelin was still a child who very much missed the presence of her parents. "She's an independent women; I'm sure you understand that. You've met her before, haven't you?"

"I have," Lovino confirmed. "She's strong."

Kaelin giggled. The Italian found that he quite liked it when she laughed. It suited her far better than that grave and serious expression she wore all of the time. "I think the proper word choice would be that she is prideful," the princess corrected. The smile from her lips, once again, faded. "I am as well. That is why she allowed me to inherit her title. My mother has other concerns now, and she would rather for the Demon Court to be governed by the new generation as well. She would have been the last one of the original fallen angels in King Arthur's Demon Court. I think she was lonely... but, again, she is much too prideful to admit that."

"You don't like your new position?" Lovino assumed.

Shaking her head, Kaelin protested, "It's not that I don't like it. I'm fine with her decision. I, too, know that I am prideful, but I know my place. My brothers and my cousins have so much more experience than I do—with the exception of Peter, of course—which is why they are entrusted with the task of supporting the king. Alistair, Owain, and Seamus are off to battle while Jett and James are relaying the current situation to my mother and the rest of the Underworld, both very important tasks, while I am here with the children and Peter, so..."

"You're insecure," Lovino concluded.

Kaelin didn't respond to that statement. She only said, "My mother is one of the three Counsellor Knights of the Round Table together with the Scribe and His Majesty's loyal servant familiar. I lack the knowledge and wisdom to advise him on such matters."

"I don't think so," the Italian protested as he rested his elbows on the table, defying Yao's earlier lessons on dining etiquette, and crossed his arms. "Arthur's not that much of an idiot to ignore someone when they have something to say. He listens to everything and tries to make sense of the situation. He's always done that even if he dismisses it as rubbish or bollocks or whatever the fu—whatever else—he says." Lovino smiled briefly at Kaelin, assuring her, "I'm certain that he heard you and what you had to say the other day." She returned his smile weakly before blushing with embarrassment when the sound of Kiku escorting the other children into the kitchen grew louder. Kaelin immediately recomposed herself as Lovino began to serve the children.

She chuckled succinctly, musing, "He's just like a housewife."

"Did you say something, Principessa?"

Kaelin shook her head before taking the fork into her hand. "Only that the pasta looks delicious," she lied smoothly. "Thank you, Prince Lovino." She giggled to herself when she noticed that his cheeks flushed a bright and deep red upon hearing the title attached to his name. All Kirklands are the same, Lovino decided at that moment. They're all sadistic but soft-hearted.

Nevertheless, the two of them joined the others in their lunch. It was all they could do for Arthur at that moment. Neither Lovino nor Kaelin (nor Peter) were any use in battle as they were, but waiting for their friends' return was just as painful. Behind all the masks of happiness the children wore, Lovino could tell that they were only hiding their fear and anxiety, but he also knew that was no better. Still, they had to, as Gilbert had said, "hold the fort—literally." Everyone suspected there was a chance that Mordred's shadows would surface in Arthur's home just as they had the past several times despite the number of protection wards they had placed all over the manor. Now they were trapped inside as well, and Feliciano was starting to become extremely unsettled.

At the mere thought of his brother, Lovino inclined his head so that he could stare into the halls. He could sight of his brother's transparent form floating down the corridor, roaming aimlessly in Arthur's manor, once more that day. Feliciano had been acting especially strange ever since he had discovered what it was that he wanted to do—his dying wish, apparently—and he would attempt to avoid Lovino every time the older Vargas would confront him on his behaviour.

"Roma," Alfred called out to his guardian as he tugged on the Italian's sleeve. When Lovino turned to face the American child, his heart stilled upon noticing the crestfallen and utterly devastated expression on the boy's face. "I can't sense Daddy any more."

"Papa?" Angelique cried with tears brimming in her eyes. She clutched her fork so tightly that Lovino stood up to wrench it out of her grasp. Instead, he held her hand in his own and was forced to peer into her honey coloured eyes as she locked their gazes together. "It's true! He disappeared!" In that instant, all of Lovino's patience and collectedness shattered, revealing the worry and concern he had hidden under his title as the king's prince consort, as he brought Angelique into a hug.

Arthur, he pleaded with the blond, wherever he may be, I hope you know what you're fucking doing.