A/N: This chapter is for Master of The Boot, without whose criticism I would not be seeing the various mistakes I've been making. You rock, dude! And now, without further ado, (since I really don't have much to say right now) on with the story.
Twenty
It hit like a bomb.
Integra didn't show it, but she felt the stab of anxiety for the entire situation, the weight of the change threatening to crush the breath from her lungs. She didn't move, she just stared stonily at the paladin standing motionless ten feet away in her office. Beside her, Walter bristled nervously, his eyes narrowing.
"So then," Integra said with no trace of the turmoil she felt, "She's gone, has she?"
"Aye," Anderson said, "Ah saw her take t' the skies no' twenty minutes prior. She's gone t' Rome. Ah believe it's no' her, though,"
"What do you mean?"
Anderson's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Ah mean, it's no' her. It's Bianca,"
Integra sighed heavily, "All right, it's time for someone to explain who this Bianca is. I've heard her name thrown about and quite frankly—"
But she never got to finish her sentence. At that moment, the door to her office was hurled open and Sasha and Seras rushed inside, followed by a rather calm Alucard. Seras skidded to a halt just feet before she'd crashed into Anderson, who simply turned. She blanched, grinned nervously and then looked over at Integra, "Is it true? I saw Wynter fly away! Is she going to Rome?" she exclaimed in a panic.
"We need to go after her! Someone has to stop her!" Sasha cried.
"She's a'ready halfway t' Italy by noo," Anderson interjected.
"I'm afraid he's right," Integra said, "We can still catch up to her, but she'll have already arrived by then and we'd only be setting ourselves up for religious warfare by breaking the boundary pact we've managed to uphold with the Vatican. The last thing we need to do right now is start a war. However, right now, it seems that more...unusual events are taking place as we speak," she said, casting her gaze on Alucard, "And I think it's time that you told us what's really going on, Alucard,"
The vampire stood in the corner with his arms folded, face shadowed by the brim of his wide fedora. Everyone turned to watch him expectantly and the air in the room grew very still. But Alucard still didn't move. Integra took a few steps forward, arms folded behind her back as she stared him down, "Alucard, you enjoy playing mind games with the people around you. Yet this time, you seem to want us to figure out what's happening on our own. I'm quite certain that you're not so daft as to think that this is something we can actually decipher without assistance from someone who likely witnessed it firsthand,"
Alucard raised his head slightly, his eyes blazing in the shadows beneath his hat. He blinked once, slowly, as if studying his chances of keeping silent.
"Alucard," Integra continued, "Exactly one year ago, you mentioned that you sensed something 'different' about Genevieve Du Beaumont when you met her. Now that I've been given all the pieces of this puzzle, that part returns to my mind. You knew what was really going on even then, didn't you?"
Alucard shrugged ever so slightly. Integra sighed irritably, "You know who Bianca is and you very likely have a connection to her somehow. It's also likely that you know who this Marku is, as well as the reason Wynter has suddenly departed for Rome,"
"Wait," Anderson said suddenly, "If that's true, that ye dae have ae connection t' Bianca, then does that mean that yer the one she wished she could speak wi', but was unable t' faur lack o' spiritual energy?"
"I suppose you could say that," Alucard answered at last, "It's very typical for a vampire to lack any kind of positive spiritual energy. I've yet to meet one that doesn't,"
"So I was right," Integra muttered, "You do know Bianca. You need to tell us, Alucard, who is she?"
Alucard smiled wryly as he looked up, adjusting his sunglasses.
"She's my sister," he said, allowing for a dramatic air to surround them. A stunned silence filled the room and soon, Seras was finally able to find her voice.
"S-Sister?" Seras exclaimed, "You mean she's really—"
"Alucard," Integra said sternly, "My family knows your story intimately. If this is possible, how is it that we've never known of it?"
Alucard slowly moved across the floor the look out the window, almost as if he were watching his memories float across the surface of the glass.
"It's because we're not related by blood," he explained, "In reality, she was one of the few people I trusted with my secrets and I with hers. We became blood siblings on the night of the new moon over five hundred years ago, mingling our blood and swearing eternal loyalty to the other,"
"Five hundred years?" Seras breathed. Integra's eyes narrowed, "Alucard," she ventured, "This is only on a hunch but, were you even a vampire then?"
Alucard turned, regarding her carefully. He hummed in thought and then faced the window again, gazing out toward the horizon, "No, I wasn't," he answered, "Not yet, anyway,"
"So what does Bianca have to do with Wynter?" Sasha asked.
Alucard sighed, "When I saw her for the first time, I must admit, I was a bit surprised, for I recognized Bianca immediately. Genevieve looked like Bianca in every possible way. Even her mannerisms were the same. She greeted me as though I were an old friend. Her will was as strong as ever. I've suspected ever since then that Genevieve was Bianca's reincarnation,"
"Reincarnation?" Integra repeated suspiciously.
"That's correct. I have many reasons why I suspected this to be the case, one of them being last year when Genevieve supposedly returned to Wynter's body. At first, I believed this to be the case just like all of you. But it wasn't long before I realized that Genevieve had been dead for a long time and that Bianca was sorting through the mixture of her own memories versus those of Genevieve's that had been lost in Wynter's subconscious. When Arakawa's artificial army attacked, there was an explosion from the top of the tower where Genevieve had flown off to. That was what made me realize that it wasn't her; it was Bianca losing her grip on Wynter's subconscious, the backlash of spiritual power released from her body in an instant causing that uproar,"
"So that was never Genevieve at all," Integra said.
"No. And Bianca has lain dormant in Wynter all this time until now, now that he has finally been awakened," Alucard said.
"By 'he', you mean Marku," Integra stated.
"Yes," Alucard answered, "I recall Bianca's hatred of him quite clearly,"
Integra sighed, "We haven't much time," she said, "Alucard, we need to know everything. We have nothing to go on and whatever you know may help us in some way,"
Alucard frowned. He appeared to be making up his mind whether or not to actually say anything about it. Just knowing that he'd formed a blood pact with Bianca centuries before was weird enough. But now, it seemed this person had been reincarnated and was apparently trying to exact revenge against someone for whatever happened to her in the past.
"Ah doon't see hoo this matters, noo," Anderson interrupted impatiently, "Right noo, we're on the verge o' war,"
"Actually, I'm under the opinion that it could matter quite a bit," Alucard said, "Whoever Marku is, Bianca holds a tremendous grudge against him. My belief is that he was also reincarnated, although the recipient of his spirit may have been somewhat less than willing. You see, I knew Bianca for a little over two years, but once she departed, I sensed her death and that was it. Clearly, this Marku is the one who killed her,"
"If what you're saying is true," Integra said, "Then the person he was reincarnated into is none other than Enrico Maxwell,"
"Exactly," Alucard replied, "Sharp as always, Integra. And Bianca wishes to kill Marku, meaning that when she does, she'll be killing his host as well,"
Anderson felt his blood run cold.
"So," Walter said, "Assuming this to be the case, and comparing it to Wynter's recent encounters with Bianca controlling her mind, this would lead one to believe that Maxwell may be undergoing a similar situation and very likely has virtually no awareness of what he's doing, nor does he have any memory of doing it,"
"I'd liken that to be the case," Alucard said disinterestedly, "With this in mind, it's highly probable that Giuseppe and Mireille were nothing more than pipe dreams Maxwell had been toying with at the time of Marku's awakening. Marku likely forced their creation in order to distract us from the true objective. And since we've done nothing but chase after them needlessly for some time now, I'd have to say he was successful," Alucard smirked.
"Sae Ah was right," Anderson mumbled. He turned, heading for the door.
"Where are you going?" Integra asked.
"If Bianca's taken Wynter and gone t' Rome t' kill Maxwell, Ah've go' t' intercept them befaur it happens," he replied without looking back.
"Hey," Seras said suddenly, "Um, how is it you know of Bianca?"
Anderson hesitated, but didn't answer her. Here, Alucard spoke up again, "I think I can answer that for him. In her life, Bianca was, among other things, a very powerful priestess. She drew her spiritual energy from people around her. I suspect that our friend the Paladin here was the perfect candidate to resurrect her spirit in such a short amount of time, whether he wanted to or not,"
Anderson clenched his fists and scowled, "Ah'm going, noo," he growled.
Integra sighed and turned to her companions, "Seras, Alucard, and Sasha, I want the three of you to prepare yourselves. All three of you are going to Rome as soon as possible. It's likely that this entire situation may be solved soon,"
"Right," Seras said, grabbing Sasha's arm and dragging her, protesting, out of the room. After Alucard departed, Walter was the only one left in the room. Integra sat down with a sigh, resting her chin on her folded hands, "Walter, who'd have thought we'd face the spirit world after all this time?" she muttered.
"It's rare to hear you talk of such things," Walter pointed out.
"I've an open mind, Walter. In this business, I have to. But to think we knew nothing of this concerning Alucard. He formed a blood pact with Bianca,"
"When you think about it, much about his past is still unknown to anyone but him," Walter said, "And I have reason to believe that he may have even sealed off some of it from even himself,"
"He doesn't hide from anything, Walter. This includes himself. He's still withholding information concerning Bianca. He must know who Marku is and it's becoming clear that he's trying to protect Bianca,"
"Now that, if anything, is rare," Walter chuckled, "For him to want to protect anything, other than you and Wynter, that is. And the latter is simply because he can't tolerate his past failures to do so,"
"In any case, it strikes me as rather odd that he'd try to defend someone who's been dead for centuries. Perhaps history is repeating itself, Walter,"
"Hm?"
"Alucard turned Genevieve and then failed to protect her when she was taken away. What if Alucard tried to protect Bianca from something in the past five hundred some years ago...and failed then, as well?"
/ooo/
"Wait! Hold on a second!"
Anderson really didn't feel like putting up with Louis right then. His patience for the vampires in the area was about to run thin. The only thing he cared about right then was returning to Rome, finding Wynter and stopping her from allowing Bianca to kill Maxwell, who likely hadn't a clue what he was even doing. It sounded insane, but at least it explained his equally insane actions over the past few weeks. Maxwell may have been unstable, but even he wasn't this crazy.
Even despite ignoring him, Louis managed to get in front of him and held out a book to him, "I already know what's happening and I'm preparing for it myself. Here, you might want to read the article I've bookmarked in this old manuscript,"
"What is it?" Anderson asked.
" 'Legend of The Winged People'. Corny title, I know, but I managed to save it from my burned out home in Marseilles. It escaped the blaze nearly intact. It talks about a race of winged beings called the Illmorein. I believe that they're somehow connected to this and my reason for saying so is that they were believed to have died out a little over five hundred years ago, when the last recorded Illmorein was said to have passed away from unknown causes. I was unable to find much, but perhaps you may notice something. If nothing else, it'll give you something to do on the plane,"
Louis shrugged and shoved the book in his hands. Then, he turned and hurried away, presumably to get ready.
Anderson stared after him and then looked down at the book in his hand.
"Ae legend, huh?" he mumbled, "Whatever,"
He continued on, his thoughts moving back toward his one goal; reaching Rome and stopping Wynter before she got too far.
Anderson barely noticed as he made his way through London toward the station. He'd have to take a train to the airport and from there, he'd make his way back to Rome. He knew that Seras, Sasha, and Alucard would follow him. At this point, Anderson's only concern was stopping Bianca. Maxwell had no idea of what he was doing. Anderson couldn't fault him for this. Maxwell was being controlled by something and Bianca was the true target.
On the train however, his mind went back to the book with the marked article sitting on the empty seat beside him. He reached over and picked it up again, flipping it open and browsing through the pages. In the middle of the book, one page caught his eye. It was a painting that had been scanned in. No, actually it looked more like a wood carving. It showed a person with flowing hair of an inconclusive color with their back to the viewer, showing full-length speckled wings outstretched to catch the wind. The caption beneath the picture described this being as a legendary Illmorein, an individual belonging to a race of winged humans, or so it seemed. Intrigued, Anderson turned the page and found a brief description;
The Illmorein, rulers of the skies above, unmatched in speed and agility by any living creature. Beautiful, majestic, deadly, this most dangerous of species has coexisted with the human race for thousands of years, since their mysterious evolution aeons ago. At first believed to be humans with wings, or angels, it has been discovered that they bore resemblance to humans, but were not human. Experts argue that the Illmorein people may have been capable of flight higher than most airplanes in modern times can fly, and faster than any raptor on earth. No one knows how the Illmorein evolved or why they died out. The last recorded Illmorein was said to have lived around the year 1453 and perished sometime around the same time period. (See page 102)
Anderson flipped to page 102 for information on the last Illmorein.
The last Illmorein's life was relatively unknown, understood only by documents left behind concerning her existence. According to human writings, the last Illmorein went by the name Larka Sanoe Nightingale, wandering the countryside aimlessly after armies of northern and southern Europe, lords unknown, banded together to destroy the last of the species hiding out in the mountainous regions of northern Europe. Larka Sanoe Nightingale survived the slaughter and fled. It is not known to where she escaped or how long she survived therein. Over the years, even her description has been lost to the sands of time. It is only known that when spotted, she was often mistaken for an angel, due to her pure, snow white wings.
Anderson frowned. White wings? His mind went back to when Bianca had appeared before him and when she vanished, he discovered a white feather on the ground where she'd been standing. He shook his head. No, there wasn't any connection. There couldn't be. He looked out the window. Off in the distance, he could see a large flock of crows flying off toward the sunset. All of a sudden, he felt uneasy again. Was he actually more worried about what would happen to Wynter, rather than Maxwell? The only reason be even considered this idea was because all of a sudden, memories of the last few weeks came to mind. Going to buy some books downtown and hearing her metaphor she used to describe how they got along, getting stuck by the tide and hearing her story for the first time, and even further back to when Sasha was injured and Wynter waited outside the orphanage for her. When Lia approached her and Wynter repaired her doll for her, effectively bringing out the friendly, talkative little girl they'd all hoped existed. But a few memories stood out the most, such as Wynter defending the orphanage from Dorcas and Harriet and having her wings torn off in the process, or even the most recent one of offering to save Marcus. Even though it had only been a few hours ago, it already felt like a distant memory. And this uneasiness wouldn't go away. The more he thought about what could possibly happen, the more worried he became.
"Damn it," he grumbled, "What's happening t' meh?"
/ooo/
Edmond took a gulp of water from the bottle on the desk beside him and sighed. Those were the seventh pills he'd taken in two days. They were meant to calm his nerves and he never usually needed so many. But these days, what with Maxwell slowly getting scarier, Edmond couldn't help it.
He glanced over at the table where two more children lay dead, their faces covered. For one reason or another, they just weren't accepting the implants. Edmond was starting to think that maybe it took a special body chemistry to work. In any case, eight children were dead because of those blasted implants. It didn't seem to be working any better on children than it did adults. Maybe Anderson, Giuseppe, and Mireille were exceptions.
But then there was another thing to consider. Anderson moved and acted like a normally functioning human being. He had his own thoughts, ideas, actions and personality, and if you didn't already know what he really was, you'd never even guess it. The twins however, had none of that. Just looking at them was enough to tell that they weren't normal children. They moved like robots, Edmond had yet to hear them speak of their own will, or at all for that matter, and brain scans showed very little cognitive activity, meaning that hardly any thoughts were being processed other than the orders given previously. Anderson and the twins were as different as night and day, despite the fact that they shared the same technological modifications in common. What Edmond was just unable to figure out is why. Why was he perfectly functional, but they could barely stand on their own feet?
The door slid open and Edmond shuddered as Maxwell stormed inside.
"Are they ready yet?" he demanded.
"N-No, s-s-sir," Edmond stuttered, "I-I'm af-fraid they're d-dead,"
Maxwell's eye started twitching rapidly and he let out a roar of frustration as he whirled to the side and upended the work bench, sending all the items atop it crashing into the wall. Edmond, desensitized to such ruckus by this point, only blinked and swallowed nervously. Maxwell sighed, leaning against the upended desk and glaring over at him, "So, yet another set has perished," he grumbled.
"Y-Yes s-s-sir," Edmond stammered, "It s-s-seems m-more lik-ke bod-d-dy ch-chemistry is the main f-f-factor in s-survival. I really d-don't think a-age has a-anyt-thing t-t-to do with it,"
Maxwell ran a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh, "Damn it! Giuseppe and Mireille are formidable, but they aren't enough! We need more! She will soon be here! I cannot let her stop me this time!"
"D-Do you m-mean B-B-Bianca, s-s-sir?"
"Of course! She's closing in, but she won't succeed!"
Edmond blinked. Maxwell was beginning to make less and less sense as time went by. Just what the heck was he babbling about?
"I cannot allow her to find us," Maxwell muttered, pacing, "We'll have to apprehend her before she can infiltrate our numbers,"
He whirled all of a sudden to face Edmond, "Where is Giuseppe?" he demanded.
"Uh, u-upst-stairs, I t-t-think," Edmond stammered, "W-With M-M-Mireille,"
Maxwell nodded, "Good. Summon them with the new numbers and have them assemble within Rome. Tell them to be on the lookout for a girl with wings,"
"Uh, w-why m-me?" Edmond asked.
"I have to...get ready," Maxwell grumbled. He left the chamber and stepped outside, shutting the door. Then, he leaned heavily against the wall, one hand clasped over his eyes.
"My head...it hurts..." he muttered, gritting his teeth. He opened his eyes and looked around blearily, frowning, "Wha...what am I doing down here? Oh, forget it," he grumbled, moving toward the stairs. Head still pounding, he ascended slowly, trying to sort out how he'd wound up in the underground chambers.
/ooo/
The train ride seemed long and tedious. The air around the three of them was heavy. All three knew why. At the last minute, Integra had changed their orders. All of a sudden, masses of people around the countryside were dying suddenly and inexplicably. Sasha theorized that it was the work of vampires from Leroy's gang, taking advantage of Wynter's sudden disappearance. Despite the lingering threat of a religious war looming over their heads, Integra had no choice but to send them to deal with these attacks. She was unable to either ignore, or placate the fact that dozens of vampires had attacked innocent people in under two hours. The Round Table conference members were in a frenzy, trying to keep too much information from leaking out. Sasha had contacted Marjorie and as a result, a dozen of the cabal's best soldiers working beneath Wynter and the other two mock-leaders were sent out to help deal with the problem. This left only Anderson to assume control of the situation concerning Wynter and Bianca. It was a rather worrisome combination of misfortunes.
"Wynter left about two hours ago," Sasha mumbled, "Anderson left just over an hour ago. We were supposed to be leaving for Rome a half an hour ago. But instead, we're heading to Bristol to take care of the remnants of Leroy's people and I'm left to worry myself crazy over Wynter,"
"Sasha, you know we can't just ignore what's going on," Seras said, "Think about how many people have died already,"
"I know," Sasha said with a sigh, "But still, Wynter's all I have left anymore. I know that someday, I'll die and leave her behind, but I can't help but stay near her. I know it's selfish of me, but I just can't seem to change how I think of it,"
"So what?" Alucard said suddenly. Sasha and Seras both looked up curiously.
"Master?" Seras asked.
"So what?" Alucard said again, "Vampires can't help their extended longevity and humans can't help their ridiculously short lifespans. There's nothing you can do about it,"
"Longevity?" Sasha said, frowning.
"Absolutely. There's no such thing as an immortal," Alucard said, "We're as immortal as the number of humans we devour. Their lifespans are simply added to ours. There's nothing immortal about us. Stop us from drinking, force us to deplete our store of life and we will turn to dust and die after a time,"
He looked out the window, face blank. Seras frowned suspiciously. Alucard seemed to be trying to say something else mixed in with that little explanation. Could it be that he was actually scared, himself? Scared of the day when he knew that Integra would die and leave him behind?
/ooo/
The musty old dungeons hidden deep beneath the ruins outside of Rome offered little light and barely breathable air. Unaccustomed to darkness, Heinkel could only struggle to focus in the dim lighting around her, listening to the muffled whimpers of her companion in the cell adjacent. She sighed heavily, spinning one of her guns in a circle on the floor, "Yumiko, please," she said, "Calm down. Ve're going to be fine,"
"Easy for you to say," Yumiko whispered, "You can fight back. I'm chained just about everywhere possible so that Yumie can't be brought out!"
"Too bad you haf to be hit over the head for her to avaken," Heinkel murmured.
"It's not fun! You don't know what it's like living with her!"
"I can imagine; that's enough," Heinkel replied. She leaned up against the wall and closed her eyes, listening to the deafening silence all around them. Who knew silence was so noisy.
"You know," Yumiko said, "I still can't believe he turned on us like this. After all we've all been through,"
"Do me a favor und don't get all vishy-vashy on me, Yumiko. This ist real life, not some half-baked drama,"
"I'm aware of that," Yumiko snapped, "But Maxwell's no different than we are. When we were kids, we attempted to befriend him because he was always by himself. Even Father Anderson had difficulty getting through to him. Even though he never really accepted us, Maxwell treated us differently from the others, remember?"
"He saw potential as varriors, nothing more," Heinkel said, "He vas alvays cunning, alvays planning. Perhaps he'd been planning this betrayal for years,"
"Somehow, I just don't believe that," Yumiko said quietly.
"That's typical of Yumiko," Heinkel said dryly, "Alvays trying to see the good in people, vhether it exists or not,"
Yumiko chuckled sheepishly, but both of them froze as the door to the catacomb chambers suddenly opened with a loud squeal of hinges. Footsteps, plus the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor met their ears. Heinkel sat up and she heard Yumiko's chains rattling as she attempted to do the same. She crawled to the bars of her rocky alcove cell, peering out into the darkness beyond. She could see three people of Neo-Iscariot, as Maxwell had started calling it. They were hauling something black across the floor and Heinkel frowned when she saw the unmistakable glistening of blood in its wake. Whatever it was was alive.
"Ugh," one of the men grunted, "Almost there,"
"She's lighter than she looks, but she sure put up one hell of a fight. I think Amos is still knocked out,"
They opened the door to a cell directly across from Heinkel and Yumiko's. With a single shove, they hurled the thing into the alcove and slammed the door, locking it. One of the men bent down and placed something on the floor, lighting it with a flash that illuminated the darkness for but a moment. Heinkel caught a whiff of incense of some kind and recognized it as the holy incense that the Pope often burned in his study, the variety that was supposed to ward off vampires. It hit her that the thing they'd just locked up across from them about twenty feet away had to be none other than a vampire.
"Will that hold her?" one of the men asked.
"I don't know," the first one said, "Don't forget, she's the vampire that took on Giuseppe and lived. I wouldn't be surprised if it didn't. However, His Holiness assured us some time ago that this incense incapacitates any and all vampires, so we should be fine. Now then...," he said, turning. Heinkel's breath caught when she realized they were walking toward them. She instinctively reached for her guns before remembering that they weren't loaded. She heard Yumiko whimpering in fear.
"All right you two," the man said gently, "Come on, it's time to go."
"Lucas, it's you," Heinkel hissed, "So you're on his side now, huh?"
"I don't want to die today, Heinkel. We have orders to take you two to him,"
Heinkel knew better than to argue and grudgingly allowed herself to be cuffed, watching helplessly as they dragged Yumiko out while she continued to mumble to herself in terror, trembling so hard the chains encasing her rattled.
"Vhat about that one?" Heinkel asked, jolting her head in the direction of the now occupied cell across from hers. The occupant within was beginning to stir, moaning in pain from her apparent injuries.
Lucas shrugged, "He told us to bring her here, but not to kill her for whatever reason," he explained.
"Hm," Heinkel muttered. She and Yumiko were removed and slowly led out of the dungeons. Heinkel glanced back at the cell as it disappeared into the darkness. A chill ran down her spine at the appearance of two blazing red orbs gazing out at them. The vampire had awoken, but made no apparent move to try to escape. Heinkel knew that incense was keeping her contained.
Walking beside her, Yumiko had finally stopped whimpering, but continued to shake viciously as she forced her feet to keep moving. Heinkel sighed and shook her head. Yumiko was definitely a wimp, but she was no coward and contrary to popular belief, there was in fact a difference between the two.
Of course, even if Heinkel had been able to predict the future, she wasn't sure if it could be changed. She had ideas of what was going to happen and knew that she needed to be prepared for it. After all, what she did between now and then could affect her entire existence altogether.
/ooo/
For some reason, Rome looked different. Maybe it was the twilight settling over the land that gave the city an eerie aura emanating into the world, or maybe it was the secret knowledge Anderson possessed of what was happening within it. He knew he was in dangerous turf once again by setting foot here. He also knew that very few of his compatriots still walked this sacred ground and that the ones remaining had likely fled for their own protection. In this case, pitted against an enemy from their very own ranks, their commander, no less, Anderson could hardly blame them. This type of situation was unprecedented.
It was evening. The city was beginning to die down for the night, the locals heading home after a long day and the tourists making up their minds whether to head to their various hotels or stay out longer. To Anderson, it didn't matter. He only knew that he was likely running out of time. If Bianca had managed to get Wynter this far, he knew that Maxwell's life was in danger. If the theories he'd learned about what was happening to Maxwell were true, then he'd been correct all along; something had been wrong with Maxwell and he technically held no blame in this matter. With this in mind, Anderson knew that he had to help him. Maxwell likely had no idea what he was doing. This factoid didn't matter to Bianca, who desired Maxwell's blood for whatever reason.
"Ah cannae figure oot Bianca," he muttered as he made his way through the city toward the Vatican, "She did'nae seem like the type t' pull this off,"
But then, now that he thought of it, he didn't really know her at all. He only knew that Wynter was both her medium and apparently, reincarnation. He personally held little faith in the whole reincarnation bit, believing that once you died, you went to either Heaven, Hell, or Limbo, incidentally the place to which he was fairly certain he held a spot in. But then, he supposed, God did have a funny sense of humor and perhaps there were some stories he wrote that he enjoyed revisiting from time to time, hence that old phrase, history repeats itself.
He froze on the sidewalk, staring into space as it hit him; he was using Wynter's metaphor to describe God. He groaned and covered his eyes, shaking his head. He'd been spending far too much time with that blasted vampire.
Once he drew nearer to the Vatican, he waited a good distance away, judging his chances. He was still being hunted, had no idea what to expect, and knew that a single misjudgment on his part could get him captured, or possibly even killed for real. Like with most vampires, his heart was his fatal weakness. If it was damaged too greatly, the chances of his survival plummeted. It didn't necessarily mean he'd die. In fact, he wasn't quite sure what would happen if his heart were destroyed. It had never been tested, so the outcome was foggy at best.
As he waited, leaning against the side wall of an antique shop across the square, he briefly wondered if Wynter had made it there. The Vatican, and even Rome itself was a dangerous place for vampires. With hunters and clergy-folk everywhere, it was nearly impossible to infiltrate by those of undead status. He somehow doubted that she'd made it inside. In fact, he knew instinctively that she'd likely been taken prisoner. If that were the case, then...
He shook his head, quelling such thoughts. This was no time to worry, and to worry about a vampire of all things!
The sun was setting. In this case, darkness was an ally to the exiled paladin. Blending in as best he could with his dark clothing, he skirted the edge of the square, keeping his eye on the main entrance of the Vatican and the stairs leading up to it. He did his best to walk quietly, but to him, each footstep sounded like a gunshot in the quiet, drowsy city. He noticed a few scattered people here and there, but none of them were of Iscariot, or of the Vatican. At least, he didn't think so. With so many members dead and many others usurped under Maxwell's control, it was hard to tell who was who anymore. Anderson figured his best bet was to lay low and be forever wary. As far as he was concerned, the only ones in this city he could trust were Heinkel, Yumie, and Wynter, wherever they were. As much as is shamed him to admit, he wasn't even positive he could trust the Pope. Until this mess was straightened out, everyone save for the mentioned three was a potential enemy. He knew that Heinkel Wolfe and Yumie/Yumiko Takagi would rather have died than betray the man who practically raised them. Tiny as it was, this small thought gave him a bit of a morale boost in such a bleak situation.
He frowned as he inched ever closer. Then there was Wynter to consider. He knew better than to assume that she'd join the enemy's ranks. After all, she wouldn't just be betraying him, she'd be betraying her cabal of vampires lurking in Bristol. But despite her status as undead, something told him that she wouldn't turn on him. He wasn't sure how he knew, or why he even believed this inner voice, but he knew.
As it turned out, making it inside of the Vatican was a lot easier than he'd anticipated. It was early enough that the doors were still open. He was able to slip inside unnoticed, but damn did it feel weird having to practically break into the place.
Once inside, Anderson could have walked those sacred halls blindfolded and still point out what pieces of artwork hung on which wall and by whom they were created. He knew that Maxwell was probably in the underground labs. If Bianca had gotten this far, then Anderson was fairly confident that she didn't know about the hidden catacombs. If he was able to get to Maxwell first, he could at least try and defend him without his knowledge. Truth was, again, he'd acted impulsively. He hadn't exactly planned out what he was going to do once he actually found Maxwell. But he supposed that with his current circumstances, working as he went made sense for the moment. Who knew how long it would work, however?
Keeping an eye down each and every hallway, he made his way through the dim corridors to the statue of Gabriel, which he hoped was still standing after he'd broken it before. Fortunately, he saw that the horn had been repaired as he approached. He hesitated before attempting to open the door, however. He knew that Maxwell had been aware that he'd return at some point. There was a strong possibility that an alarm system had been set up. But then, he reasoned, permitted individuals entered these catacombs all the time. Perhaps now was no different. He sighed and reached out, opening the passageway with the repaired horn, watching as the door slid up and open. He hurried forward before gravity forced it shut again, suddenly finding himself surrounded in that familiar darkness. Making his way down a clearly familiar path, he took each step slowly, listening. He couldn't afford to let them know he was coming. He knew he needed to avoid Giuseppe and Mireille at all costs. They'd been dangerous the first time he saw them and they were sure to be downright deadly by this point. He was aware that no new cases of attacks on heathens had sprung up recently, meaning that Maxwell likely hadn't created any other soldiers. His plan of overthrowing the world's government was at best, daft and worst, deadly. Throwing the world into a religious dictatorship was just plain stupid; all that would do was drive away Catholics. But what worried him was that once this was over and Maxwell fully awoke from his controlled state, he might see how far he'd actually gotten and attempt to continue it. Anderson couldn't allow that to happen. He knew better than to let it; there was a right and a wrong way to do things like this and that was most definitely the wrong way. Throwing the world's economy out of balance by eliminating every heretic and heathen on earth was not the way to bring out union in a Catholic world. If anything, it would end the world as they knew it and possibly even decimate belief in God altogether. Iscariot members knew that they couldn't save and/or destroy every heathen on earth.
Anderson sighed. Maxwell could be pretty stupid when he wanted to be.
He paused outside the door at the base of the narrow stairs. Leaning against the wall, he listened carefully. He heard nothing. There didn't appear to be anyone else in the room at present. However, aware that he couldn't be too careful, he drew forth two bayonets, reaching forward and slowly opening the door. He stepped inside, eyes narrowing. The room was empty. Edmond, usually atop his stool in the corner, was nowhere to be seen, which was unusual, since he rarely left this room. The computers were on, but the screen a bright blue with odd computer jargon plastered across it. Anderson vaguely recognized this screen; he'd heard computer gurus call it the 'Blue Screen of Death', or something like that. It meant that the computer had either been infiltrated by a virus or had some other kind of technological malfunction that would cause it to break down. He approached the console and set his weapons down for a moment. He pulled the keyboard closer and pressed Ctrl-Alt-Delete, a typical maneuver for avoiding a possible freeze or crash. Nothing. He knelt down and pressed the button on the main computer to manually shut them down. The motor's constant whirring slowed and the screens went black, filling the room with a suffocating darkness. Anderson waited a few minutes, listening to his own heartbeat in the encompassing silence. Finally, he pressed the button again to turn the machines on.
Nothing.
He pressed it again and then once more, but still, nothing happened. The computers were dead. He stood up and sighed, wondering what he should do next.
Thunk!
His breath caught in alarm at the realization that he wasn't alone anymore. He snatched his weapons up, whirling, eyes wide for any sign of movement. He caught something shuffling behind a generator off to his right.
Something white. He took a tentative step forward.
Instantly, he felt a searing pain shoot up through him, an invisible force snaking around his body and forcing him against the wall in a crushing grip. He struggled furiously as the weight grew stronger, the pressure heavier. Within seconds, he found he could no longer move as the pressure became too great and simple breathing became a nearly impossible task as he felt his chest being compressed painfully. Each breath came as a desperate gasp and he felt himself becoming lightheaded from lack of oxygen. He felt like he was being crushed by a snake of immense proportions. His vision going blurry, he remained awake just long enough to see Mireille walk calmly into his line of sight, stopping five feet away and watching him blankly. Just before blacking out, Anderson's last conscious thought was that he was caught.
Mireille watched as the paladin went limp. The minute she sensed he'd fallen unconscious, she released him and he fell to the floor.
She turned slightly as the door behind her opened. Maxwell stepped inside, hands folded behind him as he gazed down coldly at his fallen mentor.
Suddenly, he gritted his teeth and clutched his forehead, his eyes widening in alarm, "A-Anderson!" he exclaimed suddenly, "Wha— What happened? Father Anderson!"
He grunted suddenly and stumbled back, eyes squeezed shut, "Go away! Just get away from me!" he snarled.
Really now, if it were that easy, you'd have been rid of me long ago, mortal.
"You demon! What did you do to him?" Maxwell snarled, yanking his hair in frustration. The cold voice laughed, Why, I have done nothing. Your own creation did this. Rest assured, my friend, he's still very much alive. But how long he remains that way is up to you.
Maxwell opened one eye, staring down helplessly at Anderson, who lay motionless on the floor. He sighed, "What do you want? Just tell me already!"
I want total control. We have Bianca, we have her medium and we have the man who resurrected her. If you do not allow me control, I shall take it and kill your precious teacher while I'm at it!
Maxwell struggled to hold onto his own mind against this demon penetrating it. Yes, there were many, many times he and the paladin didn't see eye to eye, but he had still raised him, given him the chance no one else would. It was thanks to Anderson that Maxwell had even come this far, even become the great person he was today.
"Very well," he growled, "You may have control. But leave Father Anderson out of this,"
Of course. But just to keep me from the temptation of killing him anyway, why don't you have him brought to the dungeons as well? I'm sure Bianca would want one final chance to say goodbye to the one who gave her the means to return to this world. I will have no chances. I will never be destroyed. Never!
Maxwell sighed heavily. Seeing no other option, he hesitantly nodded.
"Very well," he muttered.
A/N: Uh-oh, now Anderson's caught. Whoops, now how could that have happened? Oh, that's right. Hehe. Well then, I hope this chapter goes off all right. But seriously, MarzBarz was here again and now she's vanished again. I hope everything's okay. I miss chatting about crazy story ideas with her. T_T