Trinity Blood Part Two: Shattered Uniformity
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Chapter 8: This Deadly World
Section 2: Terrible Posture
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(In the Royal palace in Albion)
"I'm so glad that I finally got the chance to speak with you, Esther!" Ion's chest was on fire. He felt stupid, not knowing what to say. Everything had gone so much smoother in his mind, but now that he was actually talking with her, he was practically choking.
Esther started in a chair next to him, but she had leaned closer. His keen nostrils were afire with the smell of her perfume, making him dizzy.
"Speak? Just speak?" Esther asked, locking eyes with him. Ion looked away almost immediately. Is it that I'm not brave enough to look her in the eyes? Just weeks ago, Ion had been brave enough to charge headlong into a horde of enemies, but all it took was one look from those sparkling eyes to unnerve him. He forced himself to look up again.
"I...," Ion's mind went blank for a moment, his body froze in indecision. "I'm glad that I could see you," Ion's scrambled mind couldn't think straight.
"What about touch? Would you be glad to touch me as well?" Esther asked. Ion was too shocked to respond. He resisted the urge to pinch himself as he felt Esther's hand running along his wrist, and up his arm. I never imagined that she would... Ion closed his eyes, and gave in. As soon as his eyes closed, Esther grinned maliciously and leaned in for a kiss.
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(The Spanish Embassy in Albion)
Outrageous! The Spanish ambassador rushed through his belongings, only taking what was most important to him. To believe that this would happen... after the Queen pleaded so innocently for peace... and we were so close to peace as well. The news of the sea massacre had spread quickly. First, through rumor, and then, by the newspapers themselves. And that was the most disturbing part.
The newspapers heralded the victory as a triumph for Albion. Although, it said that the Spanish patrol-boats were the ones who shot first, they did not hide the fact that the Spanish had lost forty men in the engagement; Albion, only one. Now, he was going to get out of Albion as quickly as possible, before things got messy.
"Did you get the flag?" the ambassador asked, stuffing his bag.
"No," his assistant admitted.
"Go get it!" the ambassador shouted. She almost jumped hearing the severity of his voice. It's the stress, it's making me nervous. Remembering one last thing, he grabbed a small pistol from his drawer. Can never be too safe...
"Mr. Baldamero, there's something you should see!" his assistant called out.
"Not now. I'm busy!" he shouted back. There was the sound of something outside, like a roar. What was that?
"Mr. Bladamero! Look outside!" he pulled back the shades on his window, and almost dropped his bag when he saw what was outside. "There must be hundreds of them..." he whispered in awe. A violent mob had gathered outside of the embassy. The Spanish security guards leveled their weapons as bricks and rocks rained onto their guard-posts.
He picked up the phone that would get him in contact with Albion's government, hoping to talk to the Queen. However, when he picked up the phone, there was no tone. The phone lines have been cut... Then, he heard a gunshot. Through the window he saw one of the guards fall to the ground, clutching what was left of the top of his head. The other panicked guards fired into the mob, wounding scores of them. However, the mob had swelled to thousands, and shouting had just become angrier.
The rushed forward all at once, wielding makeshift weapons, and quickly scaled the walls of the embassy. The guards ran, abandoning their weapons, some of them trying to rip off their uniforms, anything that would identify them as a Spaniard. The mob overwhelmed them, beating them to the ground, and falling upon them mercilessly. One rioter pulled down the Spanish flag, and a group of them ripped it to shreds, while another group attached the flag of Albion and hoisted it up in its stead. Where are the police, where is the army? Has the Queen gone insane? He cocked his pistol, and waited for them to bust down the door.
- - - -
(In the deepest dungeon of the Vatican)
"Help me get the little bastard off of her!" Wordsworth shouted, swinging the rusty door to the cell open. Hugue followed closely behind. Caterina clawed at the ground in front of her, as if she was trying to pull herself away from the lock of his fangs. Hugue grabbed Alessandro firstpulling him by the scalp, and then Wordsworth grabbed his arm, and they both pulled together.
Alessandro's death grip was not so easily broken however, and they had to drag both Caterina and Alessandro halfway across the cell before they got his fangs out. Even then, he clawed with his hands, hissing. One stray flail managed to jab Wordsworth in the eye. "Owww!" Wordsworth yelled, falling backwards.
"I'm sorry," Hugue said. With one glance, Alessandro almost looked as if he knew what was coming, but he made no attempt to dodge it. With one blow to the head, Hugue knocked Alessandro out. Is she okay? Caterina's eyes stared at the side of the cell, almost lifeless.
Still holding his right eye shut, Wordsworth knelt down next to her. "Caterina, we're here to get you out! What should we do now!" She didn't respond. It was as if she didn't even hear him. "Please Caterina, we need to..." Wordsworth stopped. He heard footsteps. Hugue heard it too. It was the unmistakable clinking of metal on stone. Military men were coming down those stairs, and there was only one exit. Hugue gripped his staff, and narrowed his eyes. We're trapped, Wordsworth realized. By the sound of it, there was a multitude of men heading towards them.
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(On a stairwell, heading into the bowels of the Vatican's dungeons)
Christianson prodded Astaroshe forward with his mailed glove, but despite the colorful remarks he shot Astaroshe's way, he was feeling extremely tense. She's a New Human Empire representative and noblewoman. If we were to imprison her... it would mean war. Finally, he could not contain his anxiety. "Francesco, a smattering of brainless vampires is one thing, but the New Human Empire is a completely different story. You couldn't possibly believe that we..."
"I believe," Pope Francesco answered, with a cold sneer. "God is on our side."
"And how many airships will God send to our defense when the New Human Empire decides to scorch the entire Italian peninsula until there's nothing left but a glass sheen. Not only do they have the edge over us in numbers, but also in technology, we couldn't possibly..."
"That's blasphemy! This is the army of God himself!" Francesco warned.
"How do you know, have you spoken to him recently?" Christianson questioned sharply.
"That's quite enough, Colonel Christianson!"
"Colonel? You promoted me to General, remember?"
"I just demoted you. Remember, something that is given can be taken away." Christianson stopped, turning around. "Is there a problem, Colonel?" Francesco questioned, motioning to his guards. The four that were loyal to Francesco raised their guns. Christianson's men only numbered at two.
"No problem," Christianson growled, turning back around.
"I've been far to lenient with you. If he displeases me again, throw him in the dungeon," he said to one of his guards.
"Understood," his guard replied. Astaroshe couldn't help but grin.
- - - -
"Tres, don't stand up so stiffly, hunch yourself over a little bit!" Leon urged, pulling the hood over his unflinching eyes. He sticks out so badly, if just one halfway competent guard looks this...
"Hey! You two!" Leon tried to play it off like he didn't hear, guiding Tres in the opposite direction. "... stop! Hey!" Persistent bastard... Leon stopped. "Yes, you two, turn around!" Leon put on his best smile, and turned.
"You're the new guys, right?" A chubby, mean-looking man asked them, holding two dirty buckets.
"That's us..." Leon answered. This is going to be easy!
"Ok, then grab these," the chubby man said with a mean smile, practically throwing the two buckets at Leon. Leon barely managed to catch them both. "That's the gruel. Bring it into the dungeon." Leon tipped his head down to smell the creamy yellow substance, and quickly pulled it back up again.
"It smells... terrible," Leon gasped.
"Yeah, especially after what we did to it!" the chubby man answered, chuckling and turning around. Leon held the buckets as far away from his nostrils as he could.
"Tres... take this, will ya?" Now, we have the perfect cover to go and rescue Caterina, and save the day!
"Acknowledged."
- - - -
(In the deepest dungeon of the Vatican)
"Ok Hugue, here's how it's gonna happen. As soon as they come out, you attack them from that side of the door, and I'll attack them from this side, then we grab a gun, and..." Wordsworth stopped, seeing Hugue shoot him a ice-cold look. "What.. What is it? Certainly, I...-,"
"Hey! What was that! There's someone back there!" A muffled voice shouted from the other side of the door. Hugue shook his head at Wordsworth, and then braced himself against the door. The first thump came as one man tried to kick it open, and then a second thump.
"On three!" one of the men on the other side of the door shouted. "ONE..." Hugue backed away from the door and raised his staff at-the-ready. "TWO..." Wordsworth found the unconscious guard's side-arm. "THREE..." with no resistance, the door sprang open, and four very surprised men tumbled through the opening. Wordsworth opened fire, and Hugue lashed out with his staff, until shouts of confusion and anger became whimpers. Wordsworth glanced up, seeing that Francesco was there, accompanied by three other men... with guns. The hallway was too narrow, and their weapons would tear them to pieces if they acted.
"I'm out of ammo," Wordsworth whispered.
"Colonel Christianson, kill them! Kill them all!" Francesco thundered. Christianson raised his opened his mouth to give the order, but he didn't have the chance to speak.
"Colonel Christianson, ignore that unlawful order!" An equally forceful, yet polarly opposite voice called from behind them all. Caterina... Wordsworth turned around, watching her stumble, shivering, into the room. Every part of her seemed cold and neglected, except for her eyes. They burned with a fire that Wordsworth had never seen before.
Christianson hesitated, thoughts rushed in his mind. "Christianson! I gave you an order. Now kill them right now, or I'll have you crucified in front of a mob!" Christian's indecisive face turned to a smile.
Behind them all, heavy steps sounded as Tres and Leon appeared, weapons at the ready. "Don't move," Leon growled.
"In the name of the true Pope of Rome..." Christianson paused, raising his eyebrows as he saw Alessandro rush out of the jail cell, frothing at the lips.
"Sorry again," Hugue muttered, smacking him on the head. Alessandro slumped to the ground.
"As I was saying... in the name of the true Pope of Rome, I put you under arrest, Francesco." Having said this, he pointed his gun at Francesco.
"Your loyalty won't be forgotten, General Christianson," Caterina said raspily. Knowing her job was done, she collapsed in exhaustion. Wordsworth and Hugue quickly rushed to assist her.
"You wont... I..." Francesco stumbled to find the words, looking in each direction, and seeing guns pointed at him. "I still have the air force, they can bomb this whole place to hell! You better..."
A small com buried underneath one of Francesco's loyal guards suddenly began to ring with static. "This is the Vatican Air patrol, we have been assaulted by the Iron Maiden II, and we are taking casualties. Requesting authorization to retreat!"
"That Air Force?" Leon asked, smiling broadly.
Francesco's face paled, and he looked nervously down as the static came again. "Taking fire... the Iron Maiden has disabled the engines of all other ships... we're going down... Mayday Mayday!" After that, there was only a loud crash, and then nothing.
"But... Alessandro's a vampire, I'm the Pope, you can't..."
Caterina moved slightly from where she was laying. "No, Alessandro's a Methuselah. You're a vampire, and you've been sucking on the blood of innocent people for long enough with your ceaseless war mongering. I'm just glad you wont be able to make anyone else suffer needlessly when you're locked safely away in a jail-cell."
- - - -
(In the bedroom of the Royal Palace of Albion)
Ion lay on his side, running his hands through her smooth, crimson red hair. His nostrils breathed in her strong distinct scent. He beheld her with his eyes, silent, and unable to do justice to the moment with any words. He was completely intoxicated with her. She was glorious before him, shimmering in the light, her creamy skin lightly brushing against his. He shivered, watching her smile. Wanting to never rise from bed again.
"Ion?" Esther whispered softly, running her hands over his bare shoulder.
"What?" Ion whispered shakily.
"I need your help with something..." She averted her eyes suddenly, breaking the fiery gaze which had consumed him for so long. She shivered with something. Sadness... grief?
"What is it?" Ion asked, getting closer, wrapping his arms around her, trying desperately to comfort her, make the glimmer re-appear.
"I'm just so ashamed to ask you this," she whimpered.
"Anything! I would do anything for you, Esther," Ion answered.
"I need you to..." she looked over at him, eyes wide with pain. "kill Abel... for me."
Kill Abel? Ion couldn't believe it. "Why?"
Esther began to sob. "He... he..." sniffling, she began to weave her tale.
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