Enjoy! I'm going to try and get another one out today if I can. Thanks again for the reviews!


"Well, that can't be good."

And no, it was not.

The armory was empty.

In all his centuries, Adrian had never known the armory to be… vacant. The giant chamber was tiered up each wall with row after row of racks that should contain weaponry of every type. Bows, swords, shields - and instruments of pain that had yet been named. It had always been somewhat overwhelming to see - like some great collector's life's insane masterpiece.

But now, the racks were empty. The 'collection' was missing. The stone walls were visible behind the racks - stained dark with moisture and heat. The condensation had created long rivulets of dark water marks against the granite blocks. If the rest of the castle were cold - this place was a sauna.

And the sound of hammer meeting metal - the roar of a fire - was the reasoning why. This was not just the armory, as he had told Veil. This was a forge.

"I don't think I need to ask where it all went," his blue-haired companion said from beside him as he resumed his trek across the giant stone chamber. Her tone of voice intonated that no, he need not explain.

The armory would only empty under one occasion. If the armies marched to war.

Adrian's jaw clenched tight. He could feel it twitch as he found himself furious at what his father had done. Not even after Lisa's death, had he stooped so low. Why? Why now?

"Where're we going?" she asked, as she followed after him.

"To see Hephaestus."

"Uhhuh. Sure. Hephaestus. Why not?" she said through a snorted laugh, and threw her hands up in the air. "Son of Dracula, walking toaster slash daughter of death, and now Hephaestus. Does Darth Vader live here too?"

"Who?" Adrian shot her a querying look. "The name does not-"

"It's a joke, buttercup," she interrupted with yet another pet name in his direction. "Never mind."

"I see."

They walked from this chamber into another, similarly empty collection room. Each room that they passed through darkened his mood - further confirmed his father had finally committed to his desire to see the world burned away of its humanity. But the chirping of his companion kept him from sinking too deeply into his misery. Adrian wondered if she was keenly aware of her actions - if that were not indeed the point of her continued conversation.

"So wait, is he like - actually Hephaestus? Or just some dude who decided to call himself Hephaestus?"

"Explain to me the difference, if you might."

"One's a greek god, the other's a fucked up, semi-demonic dude with a forge who decided he wanted to be a rockstar. Like Prince. Y'know, fake it till you make it?"

The flat expression on his face sent her laughing, grinning at how lost he was for the second half of her exposition. She seemed to ever delight in dancing circles around him with her bantering. "You get what I'm saying," she teased, nudging his elbow with her hand, pushing it forward. She did that now, it seemed - poking at him gently to keep him from losing himself from the here and now.

"You wonder if he is merely using it as a nom de plume," he clarified.

It was her turn to be mystified at his choice of words, and he smirked down at her. She saw his verbal riposte and feigned a stab to the shoulder. "Ow, one for the vampire. Alright, sure - whatever you said."

Adrian chuckled once in his throat and looked ahead of them, at the abandoned rooms of the forge. The clanging of hammer on steel was growing slowly louder. Time was, this place would be crawling with monsters - literally and figuratively. But now, it seemed… even worse in their absence.

"You know," he began thoughtfully, as he mulled the question over. "I do not honestly know. I have never thought to ask him."

"Well, great! I have an awesome conversation starter then," she shoved her hands into her coat as they walked. She seemed far less troubled by the missing creatures and weaponry than he was - but she seemed far less troubled by everything in general.

It wasn't until they had halfway crossed through a large, circular room - the floor etched deep with trenches that sat about six inches deep, that he pulled up - extending her hand to stop her.

The room was taller than the rest - domed overhead. Rows of… seats, lined the walls - lifted up from the ground by a fifteen foot wall. This was the arena - where Hephaestus's weapons were put to the test… as were those who wielded them.

Adrian's eye twitched just barely in the memory of many a battle here - as friend, and foe to the castle alike. But it seemed echoingly empty, devoid of any threat. He would not be so easily fooled. The trenches in the ground were leftover from great battles - now used to funnel blood into the drainage system beneath them.

It was only after he drew his sword, that he allowed them to continue across the great chamber towards the other door, leading into the fires of the forge itself.

"Really wish I had a weapon," Veil said beside him in a sing-song voice.

Two thirds of the way across the room, his fears were made manifest. The sound of chain rattling on wheel, of a great gateway opening up - and they both turned to watch as a massive portcullis in one wall raised upwards, disappearing into the wall.

An immense thudding of heavy, gigantic metal boots shook the floor - which seemed impossible, given the thickness of the stone.

What lumbered out of the darkness was nearly twenty feet tall - armored head to toe in thick, spiked platemail. Glowing green eyes shimmered inside the helm - revealing that there was no physical form driving the armor.

It roared - a deafening double-toned noise that was both a base rumble and a high pitched shriek that had Veil covering her ears. It stormed towards them, an axe in both hands - moving with more speed than something of its great girth had any business being able to conjure.

Adrian darted out of the way - knowing at least that Veil could handle herself, armed or not as the case may be. Axe dragged through stone at his heels, and he heard the creature trace his steps in the stone with the massive blade.

"How do you stab something without squishy bits?!" Veil screamed as she disappeared and reappeared - at least serving to distract the monstrous suit of armor, if she couldn't hurt it.

Adrian leapt into the air - slashing outwards - his blade being more than just shining steel alone. Blue fire burnt from its tip, lancing into the creature and etching a deep scar into the metal. It screamed in pain, reared back - and swiped at him with a heavy gauntlet.

He landed deftly upon its wrist, and used it as a platform to leap backwards - landing in a crouch, as the creature rounded on him once more. If only he wielded the consecrated whip of the Belmonts - this unholy creature would fall to pieces like stale bread.

But, such was not the case. He dodged a swing from the monster, and jumped to slash at it again. His timing was good - but he had not anticipated the creature being intelligent enough to drop one of its axes to the ground in lieu of additional speed. A gauntleted fist smashed into him - sending him rolling to the ground on his side.

Adrian's head spun from the impact - but he was already pushing himself to standing. A metal boot stamped down upon him, crushing him underneath its weight - pinning him there. Adrian looked up at the gigantic creature as it raised its axe over its head with one hand, ready to cleave him in two.

Adrian was about to dissolve to mist and leave the creature disappointed - but found he suddenly… did not need to.

Veil's soul - separated from her body, looking like a ghastly afterimage of the woman - had dashed through the monster's body. For a moment, he wondered if she intended to smash her body against it, which would likely do little damage to something of that size and weight.

But instead, it froze - and he blinked, confused - until he looked slightly to the left, and saw Veil standing there, her hand curled around the throat of another spirit.

It took Adrian a long moment to realize what he was seeing. She was fully physical once more, no longer just her soul. The spirit she held in her clutch - hand wrapped around its throat - was that of a man. He was muscular - almost obscenely so - but it seemed to do him no good as he grasped at her wrists with his translucent hands, eyes wide in panic as it floundered against her.

The most remarkable thing - and what set Adrian's eyes - was the realization that this spirit was connected to the suit of armor. He had once used one of the castle's great telescopes to look out at a distant star - and there, he had seen a solar flare. Great, wisping arcs of power that rose out into the empty space.

What connected the spirit to the suit of armor seemed identical to those great arcs of fire. Or perhaps, it was more like a series of tiny strings - phasing and undulating with power.

This spirit she held… was the spirit that drove the armor. She had yanked its soul free from its frame - and now held it, trapped outside its own form, mercilessly glaring down at it, as it struggled on its knees before her.

His mouth was open in silent cries - but it didn't stop her. She reached out her other hand - and moving it upwards - she caught the strands that connected the two forms in the crook of her thumb. It brightened as the threads condensed in her grasp - becoming a shining cord, ever more like the flares of power of a star.

Once she had them gathered, she wound her hand around them - once, twice - like she meant to gain purchase on some kind of rope. Once more, and she then squeezed it in her hand, clenching it in a fist.

The threads shattered suddenly like they were made of some fine, brittle and carefully blown glass - falling to the ground in shards and splinters. Adrian found himself actually surprised that the pieces made no noise as they fell and vanished as they skittered across the stone.

She had torn its soul free from its body - and shattered the power that kept the two attached. She severed the ties between them like it was nothing.

The disembodied soul now screamed - its eyes screwing shut in agony as she let go of his throat. The soul was suddenly gone like so much dust in a breeze - dissipating like smoke. She seemed unimpressed with the display - and flicked her hand as if to ease a cramp.

A creak of metal armor over him reminded him of his own predicament - and he had to roll out of the way as an axe came crashing to the ground where his head had once been. He dodged the chunks of platemail began to fall away with no power left to keep it cohesive. It collapsed and smashed into the rock as he dodged it, finally standing clear of it as it rattled to a stop.

"Hope you didn't like that guy," she said with a passive shrug. He was beginning to see the slight difference in her humor - between when she meant her words as true levity, and when she was using them to be evasive. She predicted his curiosity correctly, however.

"Veil," he began, and walked towards her - but she was already walking away from him, ignoring him. "What have you just done?" he insisted. His hand clasped around her upper arm, and she looked at him with a sudden anger that he was beginning to recognize. It looked as though she meant to strike him - but stopped herself.

She sighed heavily, and her eyes lost their anger, and instead shifted to his chest, staring straight ahead, unable to meet his gaze. "I pulled his soul out of his body, and severed the link between the two."

"I could see that," Adrian urged, becoming slightly annoyed at her dodging the clear intent behind his question. "How? That is something I have never seen done, except by-" he broke off, realizing the name that was about to leave his mouth.

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner. Give the man a prize." Veil said, and pulled her arm out of his grasp.

He let her go, and she turned around to keep walking through the empty chamber. He followed, unsure as to how to proceed. It was a tender wound she bore, even still - and weaving a careful path with words was not his way. Luckily, she spared him the task, seemingly understanding the importance of explaining the situation.

"I said he took the death away from the corpse that Alistair made. That's true, he did. But they needed three things to finish their game of 'let's play God,'" she raised a hand up and began counting on fingers. "One, a body. Check. Two, life. Check. Three? … A soul. Otherwise they would have just made some kind of mindless zombie." She paused, and sighed. "I wish they had. Azrael took a small piece of his soul - a tiny, itsy bitsy piece, but from an archangel, that's plenty. It was enough to plant the seed for something new to grow. Me."

Adrian watched her, thoughtfully, silently. Turning it over in his mind. She was far more the daughter of Azrael - of death - than she had originally given the creature credit for. "You share some of his gifts."

"Some, but not all, yeah. I can pull people's souls out. I can snap the ties that bind them to their bodies. But I can't ferry them off like he does. Bodies have no place in the spirit world, and spirits have no business being here. They poof."

"Poof?" he asked, unsure. Glad for something to verbally latch onto that wasn't going to tread difficult waters.

She made a motion with her hands of an explosion. "Poof. Cease to be. Cease to exist at all. Gone."

Adrian felt a horror creep up on his soul - she meant that their souls were scattered to the void. No wonder she had not demonstrated this skill before - it was not from fear of telling him the truth - it was the cost of the act.

"So yeah," she spoke again, her voice thick with loathing and sarcasm, pointed squarely inwards at herself. "Hope you didn't like that guy."

Adrian wanted to reach out to her - to try and console her in her anger and her pain. But, he did not. He left her be. Coldness on his part? No, he did not think so. Cowardice? Perhaps. Uncertainty of his own intentions or how they would be received? Without a doubt.

But he was not long in his ruminations. They approached the open gateway that lead to the furnaces of the forge itself. The sound of hammer on steel was nearly deafening now. Hephaestus was hard at work, it seemed.

The hot air rushed over him like he had walked into a door of it. Veil let out a noise and lifted her hand to protect her eyes from the glow and the wave of volcanic heat. "Holy shit," she said aloud at the heat with a laugh. Her exclamation was met with a loud, guttural laugh from deeper inside the forge.

"Come in, boy! Come in! Show me who you've brought with you. Quite a tongue on that one, eh?" The voice was gruff and booming. Adrian stepped through into the forge, passing Veil where she paused in the doorway. He walked across the massive room - and the heat was almost searing him.

He squinted against the heat - and finally caught sight of the man who had spoken. He was a giant creature in both height and width - easily encroaching ten feet tall, and half that in width. His fingers, stumpy, charred, scarred and calloused from heavy work. His skin was a deep brown, and shone with sweat in the immense heat of the forge over which he was hunched.

He was yanking on the chain of a gigantic bellows mounted to the ceiling - and the glowing coals by the wall reacted to the rush of air by glowing brighter. "Good t'see ya, boy! Long time it's been. See yer still wearin' that blade - good, good… Keeping it well kept, are you?"

"Yes," Adrian responded flatly.

"Good boy! We taught you how to appreciate a good blade at least! And jus' as conversational as ever," Hephaestus chuckled. "Although you seem to take much more likin' to that one, aren'tcha? Could hear you two gabbin' all the way here." He boomed with a laugh at that, and dropped his heavy mallet onto an anvil, with a clang that made Veil visibly jump. "Lot quieter now, with everyone off to war."

The lumbering man turned to look at them, and his heavy brow furrowed as he looked over at Veil, and ran a sweaty, calloused hand back over his bald head, shining with the heat. "Can't say I blame ya for talkin' to her instead, she's sure as hell prettier!" He boomed again in laughter, and stepped towards them. Veil took a nervous step back - but Hephaestus was not interested in her. Instead, he slapped a palm on Adrian's back, nearly knocking him to the floor in what he could only assume was a friendly gesture.

"She is in need of a weapon," Adrian said quietly, returning to his stoic pattern that was his normalcy.

"I know, I'm jus' finishin' it now," the monster of a man grinned, several of his teeth missing. He turned to Veil - who withdrew again at the sudden attention, but held her ground. He gave her a scrutinizing look with one eye shut, and held his hand out, palm down, in the air next to her - measuring her. Literally. "You're a wee bit taller than he said, but, it'll do. Better that than shorter!"

"Wait - what?" Veil said, like she missed something. She looked to Adrian, who only gave the barest shrug of his shoulders. He knew no better than she of what Hephaestus was inferring. She looked back to the forgemaster, and repeated herself. "Seriously - what?"

The smith burst out in laughter again, grinning as he walked away from her, enjoying keeping his secret for the time being. He lifted something from his workbench, ran a cloth along it, and in one move, turned - and threw it at her, like a spear.

She squeaked in surprise - but turning sideways, caught it as it whizzed past her - and the momentum of it brought her full circle. She regained her footing, and looked down at what she was holding. The forgemaster had been testing her reflexes - to see if she was worthy of the weapon.

It was a glaive - of sorts. Part staff, part edged weapon. The upper third was a vicious, delicate blade. Fierce, but not overly masculine. It's metal - an alloy of the castle's own creation, as steel would be far too 'crass' for the castle's forge - was tinted blue, save for the razor-sharp edge itself. The blade was serrated - but not in cruel jagged edges, but in curves. The staff itself was a deep black color - and it was impossible for Adrian to tell its make. It seemed to have a strap along it, meant for wearing the item on your back - how thoughtful, he observed.

The end was counterweighted with what looked like a brass carving - a winding sculpture, resembling fire or vines. Writing - in the same language as was on her skin, Enochian - trailed up the blade, etched into its blue surface.

It was gorgeous. It suited her, he thought to himself.

She turned it over in her hand slowly, eyes wide and trying to understand what she was seeing. What it was that she was holding.

"Special order, just fer you," Hephaestus leaned back against his workbench, massive trunk-like arms crossed over his chest. He was proud of his work - exceptionally so for this piece, it seemed. "Really got ta focus on it, with all the idiot rabble around here cleared out."

"Ordered by whom?" Adrian asked, and the smith only grinned broader - loving that he had a secret. "What does it say?" Adrian asked her, instead.

Veil traced her finger along the writing, mouthing something to herself - before stopping. Whatever Adrian had expected, be it anger, rage - a rejection of the weapon, tears - he had not been expecting her to… laugh like it was the funniest thing she had ever read.

She almost doubled over in true, legitimate laughter - her hand over her face as it rendered her unable to speak. Adrian looked to Hephaestus - who only shrugged. "Jus' carved the squiggles he told me to."

"You stupid, cocksucking son of a bitch," Veil said - although her tone of voice did not match her insult. It seemed almost resigned to a faint kind of reluctant affection, instead. She was also not talking to either of them - instead to whomever had ordered the blade's construction, by way of turning the glaive over in her hands again. "I'll give it to you, asshole, that's fucking funny..."

"Like I said, a tongue on her," the smith said to him with a wink. Adrian bristled at the insinuation.

Veil, finally able to breath, wiped her hand across her eyes, to dry the tears that the peals of laughter had caused. "It says," she paused, trying not to laugh again. "'With love, from Dad.'"

"Sick sense of humor, on that one, eh?" Hephaestus said with a shrug. "No accountin' for decency in some people. Do you like it, girl?"

"I love it. I really do - it's… amazing," she answered, and gave it a tentative whirl around her hand - spinning it up and over her wrist. Her skill was not only with two batons, it seemed. But neither was his only with a sword. It seemed both of them were home upon a battlefield. "Thank you," she said to him, and he could tell the thanks were sincere.

"My pleasure - what's a 'greek god' to do if not to forge weapons?" he winked at her - and he saw the creature greatly enjoy his non-answer to her question from earlier. It was not altogether unsurprising that the smith had eavesdropped on their approach.

"Mmhm, well, you tell Zeus and Hera I say hi," she responded in a cheeky retort.

"Bah!" the forge master laughed hard and slapped his hand on his thigh. "You keep a hold of that one, boy. I like her. You always been needin' someone to keep you on yer damn toes! Now you two kids bug off - I've got an armory to rebuild!"

He turned with a deep chuckle in his chest, picking the hammer back from the anvil, and returning to the forge, yanking on the heavy chain of the bellows overhead. Adrian gestured that it was time for them to leave, and Veil walked ahead of him, still marveling at the half-staff, half-glaive in her hands.

Adrian couldn't help but find a faint smile on his face as they walked, watching her adjust to the feel of it - spinning it around behind her back, up over her shoulder, over her elbow - smiling brightly in excitement at the new weapon. It suited her far better than the plain, if effective, iron rods.

He was quite relieved, though, that she did not own this new instrument when they had first met. He likely would have not survived their first sparring match, if so. With a sudden thought - he realized she could have torn his soul from his body, at any point during that fight. He was glad she did not see his brow furrow as he debated whether or not she had actually let him win.


They had been walking for another half hour towards the center of the castle. They were getting closer to the keep, where they'd find Dracula. Veil wasn't sure how she felt about facing off against the vampire king - but at least she had a spiffy new weapon to kill him with.

Sadness hit her for the briefest moment - at the idea that their 'adventure' might be coming to a close. If they find Vlad, and either kill him or 'die' trying - that'd be it. It's not that she liked it here - it was fun, sure, getting into fights here and there, scuffling with monsters.

But she realized she very much did not want to say goodbye to Adrian. She thought through the reaction in more detail - turning it over in her mind, trying to understand where it was coming from. She cared about him - she knew that much, when she had seen him suffering on those chains in Octavian's lair. But to what end?

"Master! I have returned!"

This time, at least Veil kept herself from shrieking like a little girl when the imp burst through the wall. She did still jump at its sudden appearance. Its leathery wings flapping to keep itself hovering in the air.

"Speak," Adrian instructed his familiar.

"I have found the priests! They are with the priest," it said, and then stammered, realizing how silly it sounded. "I mean, they are in the Cathedral."

"Are they alive?" Veil asked - finding their dead bodies wouldn't help them, and she had learned long ago you had to be very specific with your questions when talking to imps.

"Yes! And human, too," The imp giggled. "For now anyway!"

God, she hated imps.

Adrian smirked, seeing the look on her face in response to the imp's appearance. "Thank you. You may go." With a flap and a bow, the imp shimmered and disappeared. Adrian turned his attention towards her. "The cathedral should be near to the throne room. We can retrieve them prior to facing my father. If they are able to fight, they will be a boon."

Veil nodded - agreeing. The more the merrier, in this situation. "Good. I'd like to 'thank' that vampire Lyon for getting us stuck with Octavian…"

Adrian's face darkened as he too, remembered the priest's hand in their defeat. "As would I."


They were now wandering about his father's portrait gallery. He hated these paintings - they were either uninteresting, or haunted and ergo extremely dangerous. He had torn a few in his day - but they would only reform with each reappearance of the castle. He felt much like Sisyphus, rolling the boulder up the hill for all eternity - only to see it cascade back to the beginning.

These reminders of his pointless struggle did little to help his mood. It was not pointless, he tried to assure himself. You stopped Dracula's return from destroying the world as he sought to do - and now was 'making good' on his oft issued threat.

The rooms of the keep were more well kept, than the abandoned disarray of some of the areas further out from the center. They were warmer, better lit - these were, after all, where the more sentient - more refined creatures of the castle spent their nights.

Adrian found himself suddenly terribly happy that the castle was so abandoned - that the vampires, shapeshifters, and witches that wandered these halls as Dracula's inner circle, were not home. Veil would be a marvel to them - a novelty. A creature that could bleed and never die. The sick sadism shown by Octavian was not a singular anomaly. Indeed, the dark, disgusting fetishes of the residents of the castle seemed to know no end.

He thought back to the times he had fought his father before, and the treks through the castle - succubi and incubi slaking their hunger upon the humans of the villages. Their passions were kinder still, than the monsters that took great delight in the defilement and mutilation of their prey.

The thought of Veil, subjected to such things - raised such an unexpected ire in him, that he had to take a step back from himself to study it. He did not wish such torment upon anyone - but never had it drawn such a reaction from him.

His thoughts were interrupted, thankfully, yet again.

As he rounded the corner in the final series of rooms before the cathedral, Adrian drew his sword. A figure stood in the center of the room, and for the briefest moment he had not immediately seen it. The reason being, that it almost blended in with the wood grain of the gallery floor.

It looked like a doll - or a life-size, wooden marionette. It was about six feet in height, fully proportioned like a human being. But while it was carved to resemble a human's form, it lacked any real detail in the musculature. When Adrian had been young, he had been given art lessons by one of the tutors in the castle. His tutor had used a wooden, poseable miniature maquette of a person to teach proportions and help with poses. This reminded him of one of those faceless, wooden figurines.

It stood there, swaying slightly from one foot to the other - its featureless head lowered. Like a puppet hanging from strings. But these strings did not seem to extend above it into the air - leaving it supported weightlessly with no true attachment to the earth. No, somehow, it seemed as if the puppet was supported by strings that extended downwards. As if its weight were somehow being controlled from the 'wrong' direction.

He reflexively took a defensive stance as it moved - and he looked on in incredulous surprise as it… slumped to the floor. As if the invisible hand that held the puppet aloft had released it.

Like a lifeless puppet, it now lay on the ground, limbs akimbo in an otherwise impossible way, since it lacked any tendons to keep them where they belong.

Adrian approached it, carefully - steps silent on the dark wood floor as he reached it. He nudged it with the tip of his blade - and then his boot. It did not move under its own accord. Adrian knelt down on one knee, to pick up its arm by the wrist - and as he turned it over, the wooden hand fell open, once again with no muscles or tendons to keep the joints from bending in unnatural ways.

The wood surface had been carefully lacquered to give the marionette a deep, rich color. It wasn't until Adrian noted the inlay on the marionette that he felt a sudden recognition and a deep feeling of dread.

On each of its forearms, was engraved a circle, traced by enochian writing. And he could see, from where it lay like a disregarded child's toy, five circles running up its back. Inlaid in shining, intricate detailed gold. Seven circles in total. One for each of the fallen archangels, and their brethren in heaven.

He knew what they meant, only because he had been told that recently. The circles were identical to those inked onto Veil's skin.

Adrian rose from the floor, and turned. When he turned to look at his companion in question, the pit of dismay that had formed in his chest grew deeper.

Veil stood there, dark eyes wide in a look of… sheer terror. Something he had never seen her wear. She had taken the glaive from off her back, and was holding it in front of her, defensively. But her hands were shaking. Her face had lost its color, drained of life in her fear.

She was walking backwards, away from it - slowly, shaking her head 'no' in rapid movements. Adrian had seen this look on many humans before - peasants or townsfolk, faced with the horrors of their nightmares made real. Faced with certain and inevitable death. It was a kind of tangible terror that one could taste in the air. It was primal, ancient - the body reacting only to preserve itself.

"Veil," he said gently, and stepped towards her, a hand outstretched. Trying to calm a deer in the woods.

But she did not look at him - in fact, she may not have even heard him. He could hear her heart pounding in her chest in a way that he had never seen from her. Even enduring the torment unleashed upon her on Octavian's table, she had not been so palpably afraid.

But this puppet - this life-sized marionette bearing her markings - had sent her into a deep panic.

"No…" she moaned out as she continued to retreat - her knuckles gripping the staff in her hands with such a ferocity that they had turned white.

"Veil, look at me-" he tried to break into her reverie - tried to snap her focus on the slumped and lifeless figurine on the floor. His companion had shown nothing but fearlessness in the face of all the castle had to offer.

Adrian had credited it to her upbringing amongst demon worshipers and warlocks - and in light of her immortality. But this figure from her past, had locked her in such terror that he was unsure as to what he needed to do to pull her from its grasp.

He stepped closer to her, placed a hand on her shoulder, and gave it a shake. The jarring movement was enough to get her to look at him - dark eyes saucers as the adrenaline ran through her body like a stampede as she barely was able to focus on him. "Veil - please," he said, unsure for a moment what he was asking of her.

It was then, that he realized he himself had been overtaken with an apprehension and unease at her fearful response. Not just for what the figure upon the floor may portend - but for deep concern for her. To see her like this, so unlike herself, stung at him.

Veil only managed to choke out two words, her voice fractured and split by despair. "He's here…"


"He's here… No. No. Anything but this. Please, anything but this…"

It took her a moment to realize she had said those words out loud. Adrian was looking at her, concern etched deep into his sharp features.

Veil clamped her mouth shut and felt her jaw twitch as she tried to regain control of herself. She'd rather go back on that table in Octavian's chambers for the next fifty, than this.

Veil's knuckles were white as she held the glaive in her hands like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Like it was the only thing in the world that could save her from the thing that had appeared from nowhere, and toppled lifelessly to the floor as soon as they had come into sight of it.

"Veil, please calm down," he said to her, his voice soft, trying to coax her out of her terror.

And maybe, just maybe, she'd have tried to listen. If the wooden marionette had not then begun to move. Veil made a choked whimper in her throat - and it took her a second to realize the sound of complete dismay had come from her.

Her knees almost gave out on her - and she took another step back, and found herself against the wall. There was no more space to retreat. Honestly she was thankful for something to lean on. Something to help support her.

The puppet began to stand - its limbs twisting and rotating to find their proper positions. Its movements were fragmented, jerking and strange. It looked like a movie was being played but with frames removed. It resembled an old silent film, the motions unnatural and harried. Like whatever power that drove it would come in short bursts, driving it forward in staggered, jumpy fits.

Adrian had turned from her, having heard the creaking wood and the sound of its extremities rotating about themselves to find their intended places. It rolled itself to standing - one limb at a time. Finally, it raised its featureless face to look at them.

It took a step towards them, looking just as natural as a puppet - although as if its strings were extended not above it, but below it. Its steps were not light and imbalanced, they seemed heavy and drawn towards the earth. She knew why. She knew where the power came from that was giving it life. Why it seemed to be drawn downwards.

As it stepped forward again - the twitching, broken gait sending it threateningly off balance before gaining its footing once more - Adrian stepped between Veil and the wooden marionette. He was trying to protect her - and it was that action that pulled her out of her terror long enough to be surprised and darkly amused. He couldn't protect her from this thing - no one could.

Adrian moved towards it and raised his sword as if to slice it in half - and the puppet threw its hands over its face and hunched down to protect itself. A gesture of helplessness - of subservience. Adrian faltered, and did not swing. "What is it doing?" Adrian asked her, incredulously.

"Shut up," Veil snapped, her fear slowly shifting to anger.

"I-" Adrian stammered, confused.

"Not you," Veil said with a sigh. "I'm telling it to shut up."

"It's not speaking," Adrian said, no less confused as he took a step back but not letting down his guard. The puppet lowered its hands and straightened up, but didn't make any more forward movements.

"Not that you can hear," Veil muttered in response.

It wasn't speaking in the living world - but in the spirit realm, the soul that had been bound to its wooden body could talk freely. Adrian couldn't hear it, as he wasn't stuck halfway between the world of the living and the dead like she was. "My lady Selina - our Master is overjoyed to see you are well. He comes to offer his aid in these dark times."

"Fuck off," she growled at the puppet, still shaking as she finally pushed off of the wall. "You're full of shit and you know it. And so's he."

"Our Master wishes no harm upon you and your friends. He has sent me to assist you."

"I'll say it again - slower this time. And you bring my message back to 'your Master.'" Veil stepped forward, the knuckles gripping her new weapon just as tightly as she had been, although the terror that she still felt was turning, slowly, into rage. That's an emotion she could do something with. "Fuck. Off!" With the last word she swung her glaive at the puppet - intending to slice it in two.

A gateway opened beneath its feet - a swirling hole into nothingness edged in white lettering. Octavian had used a similar trick - because the magic had been similar. It was dark magic. The puppet fell through the floor before her attack could land - and the hole disappeared a moment later.

Veil almost collapsed to her knees as she felt the aftermath of the adrenaline. She put the blunt end of the glaive against the ground and used it to steady her. She was shaking - and her hand was trembling as she placed her palm against her cheek.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

"Veil - it's markings…" Adrian began, and he had turned towards her now that the puppet had gone. "What was that?"

Veil swallowed thickly in her throat, and didn't look at him. She couldn't. It seemed like every part of her past was coming out to haunt her - to debase her, in front of of the world. Every time he looked at her like that - curious, betrayed - it felt like a stab to her gut. "Please, Adrian…" she begged quietly. "Please don't…"

It seemed his patience with her secrecy had reached its end. He was standing in front of her now - and his voice was low. Angry. "Veil, you must tell me the truth."

She looked up at him, shocked at his tone. She felt her eyes dart between his golden ones - his anger at her left her disarmed. In the absence of the surprise, came a deep guilt. "I.. I'm sorry," she said as she turned away from him. She leaned her glaive up against the wall and kept her back to him. She couldn't look at that perfect face - marred by frustration with her. "I'm not lying to you on purpose - I just…"

"You must stop acting in such a manner."

"Act how, exactly?" she snapped, hatred for herself inspiring her to lash back out at him.

"You know of my past. You know my nature, and of what I entail. Time and time again, your mystery deepens and you seek to hide away from it. You hide from me - why?!" His hand was on her shoulder, and he turned her about to face him. She could have disappeared - could have hit him, could have fought him - but the look of hurt and betrayal on his face, mixed with the anger… pulled the carpet out from under her feet.

"I know," she said to him quietly, her anger melting. Her gaze shifted to focus on the center of his chest, unable to meet his. "I'm sorry, it's just… And you're the one person on this earth who might get what it's like. To hate what you are so much, it eats you alive. What I am is messed up, Adrian. I really am. In more ways than you can imagine. At least you had parents. Real ones. Ones that loved each other. Ones that loved you. Whatever happened after that, at least your whole life isn't built on a god-forsaken, fucking lie." Veil shut her eyes, her head drooping forward, trying to hide behind her blue hair. "I hide it all because it lets me pretend it's not real."

"Tell me what that creature was, and why it shares your markings…"

"That was a servant of Alistair's. Of Asmodeus. It's a wooden puppet, with a willing soul kept bound to it with dark magic." She paused for a long time, and felt tears stinging her eyes. No. No more tears. Not for her. She drew back from him, his hand slipping from her shoulder. "Adrian - I have more in common with that goddamn piece of wood than I have with you. With anyone."

"I do not understand…"

Of course he didn't. How could he?! She rolled up the sleeves of her coat to bare her own markings, and held her arms out to him, forearms up, fists clenched. "That's what these are for, Adrian. That's what these fucking things are really for. They bind a soul with the power of each archangel and fallen one to match it. They bind a soul to a physical object. Or… a body. Like mine…"

She couldn't look at his face. She didn't want to see the horror, the disgust that she knew had to be there. It'd only mirror her own - confirm to her that she was just a sick monster, no better than the creatures that lived here. Maybe she should take her 'father' up on the offer. Move in. Be amongst her own 'people.' Veil released her clenched fists, and let her arms drop - defeated. No. These weren't her 'people' either. She had nowhere to belong. "I didn't tell you this because it makes it real… because I don't want to admit what I am."

"How did he place such marks upon an infant..?" Adrian asked,, his voice stoic and removed of emotion. Carefully guarding any reaction he might have had to what she was saying.

Veil laughed - and it wasn't a pleasant one. She put her hands over her face and the laugh ended with a sad sigh. "You're worse than Richard, y'know that…? You seriously don't miss anything, do you, buttercup?"

"You were not an infant when you were made, were you..?" he asked, dread in his voice.

"No, I wasn't!" she exclaimed angrily, and she had to walk away from him once more - this time leaning up on the wall next to where she had put her glaive. "I wasn't ever a child. I was as you see me now. In all my goddamn glory. I woke up, like this. I don't age. Never did, never will. It seems a small piece of an archangel goes a long way. I had no idea who I was - where I was - who these people were. Enochian is my first language. They said I was something special, something fallen from heaven. They spent thirty years teaching me… English, history, myths and legends… and black magic. I was raised to be a witch - summoning monsters, working the energies of the world to do my bidding. I spent thirty years experiencing life in the care of his cult and worshipers before they killed me for the first time - and it was then, that I was trapped between life and death, like I am now."

Veil wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the floor between her feet. "How am I supposed to explain that to people? How am I supposed to tell you that, and not have you look at me like…" she trailed off, uselessly.

"Can we just go rescue the priests and get on with this?" she asked. Veil pushed off of the wall and reached for her weapon. A gloved hand closed about her wrist, and she stopped - feeling herself waver.

"You were right…" he said quietly, his voice soft. "I had a childhood. I was raised by those who loved me… For better, or for worse, I have happy times on which to draw strength. I think no less of you, Veil - of that I promise." He paused. "But you must promise me in return, that this is the whole of your story - that these surprises are over."

Veil nodded her head - and wondered if he believed her. God damn her to hell. She deserved to rot. Deserved whatever came to her. That was a full blown lie, straight to his face. No, of course it wasn't the whole story. There was one large detail she was leaving out - but she couldn't. Absolutely couldn't let those words leave her mouth. It made her want to be sick, just thinking about it.

He released her hand, and she finished the task of retrieving her weapon. For the first time, she let herself look up at him - and was surprised at the gentleness that she saw there. It was all at once a comfort, and a dagger twisting in her side. Veil knew she didn't deserve it.


The door to the cathedral was beautiful, she had to admit. The cross that dominated its face was elegant and elaborate. Swirls of vines and arcs completed the gothic appearance. Adrian seemed less impressed - why would he be? He grew up here, after all.

He pushed the double door open with both hands. They had walked in silence since the appearance of one of Alistair's puppets. Veil hadn't wanted to speak - her heart was cinched too tightly in her chest. Adrian seemed no more willing or able to break through the wall between them than she was.

So she let it be. They'd have enough problems in a few minutes anyway, as it was.

The sanctuary of the church was gorgeous - and she was surprised that it wasn't the demonic, twisted version of a cathedral that she had expected. Veil had expected it to match the one in the countryside, where she and the priest had met - where he had imprisoned her. But this one seemed… dark, gothic, embracing the side of the christian faith that others kept buried. But wasn't a perversion like the last place.

Her boots echoed on the stone floor as they walked up the center row, Adrian leading. She had taken her new weapon from off her back - and she was more than a little interested to see how it'd fare in a fight. That, and she was really eager to bash the vampire priest's head in with it.

Adrian paused - and pointed silently. Veil was surprised at how relieved she felt seeing Gabriel and Conrad - each of them lashed to a column by one wall. They were slumped against their restraints - unconscious. Conrad was gagged - which she found extraordinarily funny. They were battered, bloody - but looked as good as could be expected. Veil disappeared - phasing into the spectral world to reach them faster and without interruption.

Adrian kept walking forward, slowly - eyes scanning the church for the vampire priest. It wasn't long before he made himself known, though.

Lyon appeared, standing in front of the altar at the head of the cathedral, golden armored gauntlets already donned. He stepped down the first stair, and paused. "You escaped Octavian, I see."

"For no thanks to you," Adrian responded narrowly.

Veil reappeared behind the column that Gabriel was tied to, and stuck the end of the sharp edged glaive under the rope - and yanked, slicing the rope cords in two. She repeated the same to Conrad, and the two men slumped to the floor.

Veil knelt by Gabriel - and felt for a pulse. Alive. Good. She shook him - and the man let out a small muttered groan. Veil did the same for Conrad - only the Irishman woke with a start, eyes wide and panicking, searching blindly before he… fainted. Veil tried not to snicker. She pulled the gag out of his mouth, and left the two men to sort themselves out on their own terms. Adrian would need help fighting Adrian.

"You are my enemy, Adrian. You saw to that. It pains me to have to pay you such suffering, but your father is my lord, and I must obey." Lyon took another step down the stairs. Adrian had his sword drawn now, and was beginning to feel out the priest for the fight that was about to ensue. "Octavian bargained for you and the young lady. I was asked to assist. In doing so, I bargained for my own prisoners."

"Why? Professional courtesy?" she asked sarcastically as she stood up, facing Lyon.

Lyon glanced at her for a moment before speaking. "If you wish." He took another step down the stairs - now standing flat on the ground. The tension in the room climbed as the fight drew closer. "Forgive me, Adrian - but you cannot be allowed to succeed in your quest. Not yet."

"What do you mean, 'not yet?'" Adrian asked, brow furrowed.

"Your father has reasons behind his actions - as obscure as they may be." Lyon ran two of the sharp claws of his gauntlet together, making a small metallic scraping noise as he did.

"His motives are clear - he wishes to see the world burn," Adrian narrowed his eyes angrily, now.

"Does he truly?"

"Speak clearly, priest," Adrian snapped in response, and lifted his sword. "I grow impatient listening."

"You may stand a chance now that you have so recently fed," Lyon said with a thin smirk, another glance over to Veil. Lyon dogged his strange, leading question that left Veil puzzled. The priest didn't mince words - it meant something. But what?

Adrian had enough and wasn't interested in the coy leading statements anymore. He leapt at the priest with a snarl, his blade slashing through the air. The priest easily dodged.

Veil joined the fray between the two - and she was surprised, and dismayed, at how well Lyon was keeping up with them both. It was a deafening sound of metal on metal - sparks flying as they fought.

Veil dashed her soul at the priest - and followed with a vicious swing of her glaive - he blocked it with both arms - and the impact sent him careening backwards into a statue and tipping it from its base - the alabaster carving losing one of its arms as it smashed into the floor. But her follow up was met with a hard punch from a gold gauntlet in response - one that knocked the wind out of her as she slid across the floor from the blow.

It was a fairly equal match, with Lyon landing as many blows as he was taking.

That was, until a gunshot rang out in the room. Lyon staggered backwards, hissing, gripping a hole in his chest. It had gone straight through him. But missed the mark of his heart by a few inches.

Conrad was standing - as was Gabriel, slowly pulling himself to his feet. Conrad's gun was held aloft, and a thin trail of smoke was exiting the barrel. The redhead sneered. "Hand's shaky. Missed."

Two on one, the priest could handle. Four on one, he knew he couldn't. The priest took another step back - fangs extended in his pain from the blessed bullet. "I am sorry, master Adrian. But you cannot be allowed to continue."

"Tough talk, from swiss cheese," Conrad taunted. "Four on one, m'friend!"

"Is it?" Lyon asked with a faint, sad smile.

Laughter joined the room - a high pitched, very recognisable laugh. Veil groaned and turned to face Death as he floated through the stained glass windows of the sanctuary. Before she could react, death gestured - and she felt something grab her like a vice. A giant, ghastly, purple skeletal hand had risen from the floor and grasped her in its claws. It hurt, and she cried out at the pain as it tightened harder around her. She tried to phase out - but she realized that it wasn't holding onto just her body - it was holding on to her soul, as well.

"You will stay put. I, unlike master Dracula," Death began, gloating over her. "Have no interest in battling my offspring." He twirled his scythe in the air in front of him, and with another hissing laugh, darted forward to attack Gabriel and Conrad. The two priests barely managed to leap out of the way before his scythe split them in two. Instead, the pews behind them met their intended fate - collapsing to the ground from the impossibly sharp blade.

"Let me go!" she snarled and struggled, kicking at the oversized skeletal claw. But it was pointless. The thing had her caught tight, and Adrian, Gabriel and Conrad were now too busy fighting Lyon and Death to worry about her.

Even if she had been involved in the fray - the fight would be a difficult one. Death removed her from the fight not because she'd tip the scales. Veil kicked and struggled, as the hand gripped her even tighter - threatening to crack her ribs. Every time she fought, it squeezed tighter, like a snake. So she tried to relax, and focus instead on breathing. Her head was starting to become fuzzy and light - she couldn't pass out now.

Veil lifted her head as Adrian howled in pain - and she saw him with Lyon's golden claws, deeply embedded in his side. Blood quickly flowed and stained his shirt crimson. If Lyon had pulled his hand back - he'd likely have one of Adrian's kidneys in his fist.

More gunfire - and Lyon was forced to dissolve into mist to avoid being riddled with holes himself. Adrian slumped to the ground, his hand pressed to the side, fangs extended as he hissed in pain.

Gabriel had been tangling with Death - launching fire, ice - whatever he could think of at the floating spectre. But one human priest of the holy order stood little chance against a creature like that. One of death's smaller whirling blades had knocked Gabriel to the ground - and now Death rose his blade over his head to end the priest's life.

They were going to lose.

Instead, blade met wood as it swung downwards. "What?!" Death exclaimed in confusion - at the wooden marionette standing in front of him that had blocked his strike. Veil let out a moan of dismay at the sight of it. Of them.

Four of the wooden puppets had risen from the ground - from swirling portals that had appeared there. Each of them was made of a different kind of wood, giving it just a barely separate appearance from its brethren.

Death's scythe had been stopped by the marionette - but it had cut through the wood. Its hand fell to the ground with a rattle, and it seemed unphased by its wound. The wooden monsters had not come here to fight, though… they had come to rescue.

One already had Adrian by the arms - another had Conrad. They stepped through the swirling portals in the floor - taking the men with them. A wooden puppet - one made of walnut, stepped up to her, and holding out its hands - shattered the spell that held her in place. She fell to the ground - and instantly tried to escape - tried to get away from the marionette. But it had already opened a hole in the ground beneath her - and she was halfway through it before she even realized what it had done.

Veil hit the ground with a hard thud, and a grunt of pain. She pushed herself up - and tried to figure out what she was looking at. A floor. But like, a tile floor. Castles don't have linoleum. A pair of feet - wearing a nondescript pair of brown shoes - walked into her field of vision. Pushing her blue hair out of her face, she looked up.

The figure she saw, standing there in a dark green suit coat, she didn't recognize. The man had trimmed brown hair, and was looking down at her in concern. He reached down to give her a hand up. While she didn't know his face - the symbol on his lapel - the pin that he wore there, made from delicately crafted gold, she did recognize. Alistair. His cult. They were here - all of them.

She scooted away from the man quickly - withdrawing like he was the devil himself. She pushed herself to her feet - and realized she was holding her glaive - the puppet had taken it with her, and she had reflexively picked up her weapon. Wide eyed - terror making her heart pound in her ears - she held the point of her weapon at the man.

He merely raised his hands as if to show he meant her no harm.

The puppet in question was standing beside the man in the green, well tailored suit. She saw Adrian, Gabriel and Conrad strewn likewise around the room. Picking themselves up, except for Adrian - who was kneeling, his side still bleeding profusely. She'd rush to help him - but she had her own worries right now.

The man in front of her dropped to one knee at her feet, head bowed. "Lady Selina… I am Gustav Wolf. We are at your service."