My utmost apologies for the long wait on this chapter – coupled with the fact that it's not very long, after all that. I really had the most dreadful writer's block on it, I have no idea why, and let me tell you just how infuriating that is when you're SO CLOSE TO THE FINISH LINE. Ugh.

Anyway, I got there in the end and we're here now.

Thank you to: Ella Rose1, Yay An Update, ScorchingFlamesBurn, NihonBara, SerenadePanda, pinkdoughnuts, suzako, sleepy8hollows (what a perfect pen-name for this fic, haha!), hikikomori-kuma, Kid Prism, Diurnal Days, BigWhaleAndBlueBird, asymptote-bag, dlsky, Empress Vegah and TheRoseCaptain!

The Waning

XVI

"This is stupid."

"Shut up," Gilbert said.

"I won't shut up because this is the dumbest thing since—Ow!" Alfred winced as the rope pinched his skin. "Watch it!"

"Are you being serious?" Gilbert sounded amused. "You're our prisoner."

"Yeah, for a stupid reason!" Alfred squirmed against the heavy length of rope coiled about his body, lashing him to the pole the All Souls Army had erected in the fountain. "What makes you think Arthur's gonna come out for me? You said yourselves that nothing I say to him would make a difference!"

Elizaveta, her hands on her hips as she watched Gilbert work, scowled suddenly.

"Gilbert, why don't you gag him as well?" she suggested.

Gilbert, however, seemed irritated, leaning around Alfred to glare at her. "Hey," he growled, "who's giving the orders here?"

"Oh, please." Elizaveta tossed her head. "We can't afford to fuck up again, Gilbert – especially not now."

"What the hell are you saying?!"

"I'm saying I'm not happy to have you in charge of this operation with the stakes so high."

Gilbert sprang down indignantly, getting in her face. "Elizaveta, if we play this right, we could still salvage the weapons–"

"Salvage?!" Alfred repeated sharply. "Outta what, Arthur's corpse?!"

"To hell with the weapons!" Elizaveta snapped, ignoring him. "With Caesar gone, it's not worth the risk–"

"Do you really think that's going to be the end of it? They can replace Caesar tomorrow–"

"Well, Caesar's replacement is the least of my concerns right now. We have to destroy Kirkland while we can."

"But it's such a waste – I don't see why we can't have both–"

"Hey!" Alfred strained forward against the rope. "You never answered my question!"

Gilbert and Elizaveta looked at him in disgust.

"And why should we answer to you?" she asked. "You're the reason we're in this mess."

"Because your reasoning doesn't make any damn sense!" Alfred burst out. "I wanted to go talk to Arthur first and you all called me stupid and said he was crazy and not how I remember him! You said I wouldn't be able to win him over – but if that's true then why are you using me as bait? If I'm really so worthless to him then he won't come, will he?!"

Elizaveta and Gilbert shared a glance. For the briefest of moments, they looked a touch uneasy; and Alfred caught it, the cold realisation rinsing through him.

"You... you're lying, aren't you?" he said hoarsely. "He is still in there somewhere and you know it." He pulled again against the rope, growing more desperate. "You have to let me see him! Please!"

"We don't know that he is," Elizaveta growled. "It's only a hunch. He acted to deflect fatal danger away from you on more than one occasion last night, whether he was concious of it or not."

"Th-then... doesn't that mean he's not bad?!" Alfred cried. "You're right, he did save me several times, so that means he's not evil–"

"No, it doesn't," Elizaveta said coldly, gesturing about the street strangling under his hold. "All it means is that he won't hurt you. As for the rest of us... well, it doesn't seem that he gives a damn."

"Yeah, but if you'd just let me talk to him–!"

"You?" Gilbert snorted. "You're a bigger turncoat than Benedict Arnold!"

Alfred glowered, deeply offended. "I'm not gonna be like 'Sure, Arthur, let's kill 'em all!', for god's sake!"

"We can't guarantee that and I'm afraid we're not willing to trust you." Elizaveta looked up at him. "For Hell's sake, you've turned on Arthur twice and you love him."

"...Yeah. You're right." Alfred clenched his fists. "I do love him. I love him more than anything." His infused power began to simmer and bubble within his body as he drew it to his fingertips. "And I won't let you hurt him!" Vlad's power coiled in his hands and he wrenched at the rope about his wrists, snapping it with ease. He exhaled as the rest of his bindings fell away, coiling at his feet.

"Sorry," he said coldly, "but I can't let you do this."

"Vampire power," Elizaveta hissed. "Why didn't you just do that to begin with?"

"I wanted to know why you were using me, if maybe it was worth letting you." Again Alfred began to pull at the power; it was difficult to do and required almost all of his energy, not to mention concentration. "But I refuse to be the means by which you lure Arthur to his death."

"I see." Elizaveta nodded to Gilbert. "Then you give us no choice."

Alfred, attempting to gather enough power to make his getaway as a flurry of bats, faltered. "Wh-what do you mean, no...?"

"Our apologies," Elizaveta said as she and Gilbert stepped neatly aside. "This will hurt."

"What?" Alfred looked up, completely losing his hold over the power as he glanced wildly about, fists clenched–

The stake came out of nowhere, plunging right through his heart and slamming him up against the pole. The pain was sudden and blinding, screaming through his body and strangling Vlad's power into total submission. He coughed up a mouthful of blood as he sagged against the pole, the stake impaling him to it like a limp rag on a nail.

"Good shot, Vash," Elizaveta called to the rooftops. She looked at Gilbert. "We'd better get into position. We've just drastically reduced our window for success."

Gilbert gave a disgruntled nod. "Sorry, Jones," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Maybe Kirkland will take pity on you and put you out of your misery." He and Elizaveta walked away, swallowed up by the heavy green mist hanging low over the town.

"W-wait... please..." Alfred tried to lift his hands to the stake to pull it out but it was quick to its purpose, draining every last scrap of energy out of him, and his arms fell limply to his sides. Another mouthful of blood welled at the back of his throat, dripping over his teeth as he bowed his head and panted open-mouthed against the agony, his vision tilting, swimming, his body numbing. He raised his chin a little, as much as he was able, searching frantically for Gilbert, Elizaveta, anybody–

The street was empty, thickly clouded with sickly green mist, and silent but for the shout of the wind past the crooked rooftops. Even through the scattering pain, he could fathom that they were all lying low, stakes drawn, fingers on triggers, waiting for Arthur to come to his death. He called their bluff now, plain and clear: they knew the vampire would come for him, they were banking everything on it.

...Was he truly to be the means by which Arthur came willingly to his death? Surely he wouldn't walk into such an obvious trap–

But he had before, during The Waning, oblivious that Alfred was delivering him into Caesar's grasp until it was too late. Could he be tricked twice?

...Alfred felt, rather uncomfortably, that he already knew the answer to that, given that he was the bait.

His arms burning, he redoubled his efforts to get at the stake, taking a deep breath and forcing every last scrap of strength he had into his grasping fingers. He managed to catch hold of the end of it, panting, hanging on for dear life; bracing his back against the pole to try and gather the leverage to expel the wood from his chest. The pain was unimaginable, his fingers slipping on the gory wood as he sucked in a breath and rolled back his shoulders, muscles tense and straining. With every inch that it came free, a wave of pain so blinding rolled over him that he felt he might throw up or faint or die. Somewhere over the roar of agony in the back of his head, he could hear movement beyond the mist – slow, deliberate footsteps on the cobbles, echoing off the silent bricks.

"N-no, wait...!" He barely had the strength to talk but called out as best as he was able. "Arthur, g-get away from here! They... they'll kill you!"

The wind tore away his words, scattering them away across the rooftops, and a moment later he heard the boom of something that sounded rather like a cannon, followed by an explosive round of clattering gunfire. He saw the bright bloom at the heart of the mist, his heart pounding in terror, waiting for the cheer of victory from the ghouls in their windows and doorways–

Nothing. As the last echo died, he could plainly hear that the footsteps were unquelled; that, in fact, they seemed louder than ever, as though it was not one person but in fact two or even three...

With a last burst of effort, he forced his weight behind the stake and managed to wrench it out, stumbling forward into the fountain. He panted, clutching the hole in his chest as his strength flooded back into him. He dropped the bloody stake into the water, squinting through the mist at the faint outline of a figure advancing slowly towards him. He could hear the others calling to each other across the street, panicked German and Hungarian and Spanish, and smiled to himself, glad that their horrible plan had backfired on them. He stepped down out of the fountain to the cobbled square, letting his bloodied hand drop. The wound was already well on its way to healing and he could feel Vlad's power welling in his fingertips once more.

"Arthur!" he called to the figure. "It's Alfred!" He started towards him. "Come on, let's..."

He trailed off, his voice dying in his throat as the gap between them closed and he saw that the advancing form was not Arthur at all.

"H-how... how the fuck are you still...?"

Caesar's devastated body gave no answer, nor indication of any kind that he heard had heard Alfred speak. His amber eyes were glazed over and his two sets of mortal wounds – in his head and his gaping chest, a hole where his heart should be – were glowing a putrid green. Alfred saw something move over his cleaved ribcage, a black slither of thorns, and with revulsion he realised that Caesar was in no way alive, undead or even concious. His gait was lurching and uneven as he advanced towards Alfred – who backed away in horror. The tandem footsteps grew closer and, moments later, revealed their ownership as that of Søren and Ivan, puppets in exactly the same manner. Søren, his headshot wound oozing black bloodied pus, was dragging his axe across the cobbles after him.

Arthur. It had to be. The black thorns aside, the bodies of these three men had been left behind when the mansion had collapsed last night on Arthur's whim. Now, it seemed, he had reanimated them to do his bidding – and he didn't even need a ring to do it.

Caesar's corpse took a staggering step towards Alfred, lunging suddenly and snatching him by the wrist. Alfred panicked, rearing back, but Caesar held on tight, his icy grip like steel. Alfred could see the nest of thorns inside his chest seething and writhing like snakes, the sight sending a shudder of revulsion through him. He kicked Caesar square in the stomach, booting him off and sending him barreling into Ivan. They both stumbled, clumsy, slow, and Alfred backed away, rallying his power for a getaway–

An explosion of bullets and stakes came storming through the mist, riddling all three of Arthur's puppets in a merciless onslaught led by Elizaveta and Gilbert. Alfred darted aside for cover – two stakes in two days was more than enough – watching as the dead All Saints Army soldiers shuddering beneath the hail of holy weapons. When the last bullet had clinked to the stones, however, they did not go down, instead straightening their blitzed bodies, heavy with shells and splinters, and slowly turned about to face the ranks of the All Souls through the clearing mist.

"Scheiße." Gilbert lowered his rifle. For the first time he looked genuinely alarmed. "Should have known Kirkland wouldn't play fair."

Elizaveta growled something in Hungarian, angrily throwing her gun aside. "If bullets won't do it then we'll tear them apart by hand!" She drew her sword from beneath her coat. "Somebody get that axe off Andersen!"

They fell into battle, merciless against Arthur's meat-shields – who were clumsy and thoughtless, it was true, but nonetheless they seemed almost impossible to beat, simply getting up again after every blow. Ivan took the loss of his right hand to Elizaveta's blade without even blinking, smashing her in the face with the other.

All of this, of course, was a distraction – one that Alfred, master opportunist, planned to make full use of. With the All Souls Army otherwise engaged, he was free to slink away and go find Arthur on his own terms. He couldn't be far away, not if he was pulling this twisted little PR stunt...

He crept along the edge of the street, half-hidden by the mist, curling himself around corners and ducking into doorways to make his escape unseen. He didn't know exactly where to find Arthur but figured that the collapsed remains of the Court of Bones, deep in the forest, was a pretty good place to start. With Caesar, Søren and Ivan unearthed from its ruins, was Arthur sitting pretty as a puppeteer, making a throne of their grave? He had no idea what he would find when at last he confronted the vampire and wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know – but this was the only card he had left to play in a game so ruthless he barely had time to breathe–

Feliciano tumbled in front of him and he skidded to a halt, almost tripping over him. The werewolf righted himself against a door, shaking himself off.

"Fratello!" he pleaded. "Per favore..." He straightened, flinging himself towards Lovino – who, Alfred saw through the mist, was clutching his chainsaw. His knuckles were white around it, the cord limply hanging.

Before them was Caesar, his open chest gleaming, gruesome, his eyes completely lifeless. He lurched towards them, his dead hands outstretched, and Lovino swung the chainsaw in a blind panic, using it as little more than a blunt instrument – not that he had much choice with Feliciano wrenching on his arm, shrieking at him in Italian. There wasn't much force behind it either way, Caesar taking the blow of the blade on his arm and knocking it aside with such force that it twisted out of Lovino's grasp, clattering across the cobbles.

"Accidenti, Feli...!"

They backed up, terrified, Caesar's corpse advancing on them; Feliciano pleading weakly in Italian, Lovino using his brother as a shield. Alfred seized the moment, darting to the chainsaw and snatching it up. He rolled, wrapping the cord around his hand and yanking it hard, bringing it roaring to life. He moved behind Caesar, pulling the saw back to get some momentum, and Feliciano saw him over Caesar's heaving shoulder–

"No, wait–!"

Alfred shoved the saw through Caesar's body, the grind and crack of splintering bone immensely satisfying. Sure, the general was already dead – twice – but Alfred felt that his own payout to this man was long overdue and this was the best he was going to get. The fetid gore splattered up his arms and chest, splashing his glasses, as he dragged the saw up through Caesar's body, cleaving him in two. He stepped back with a grunt of disgust, the saw singing at his side, as Caesar peeled apart and landed twice with a meaty thunk on the cobbles. He was half-expecting him to get up again but the general did little more than twitch – too much effort on Arthur's part, apparently.

Feliciano dropped to his knees, wide-eyed, his hands over his mouth. He seemed like he wanted to scream or sob but was much too shocked to muster either. Lovino, of course, had seen this once before. He clenched his fists and looked away.

Alfred stepped over Caesar's decimated body, killing the chainsaw. He looked up at the heavy greenish-black clouds bruised overhead, at the thick thorned boughs crushing the buildings beneath their grasp, the very eye of the storm.

Now what, Arthur?

Feliciano flung himself at him without warning, angry tears streaming down his face; he was clumsy but quick, lashing out at Alfred's face with what looked like a kitchen knife. Alfred swung back but the blade caught him on the cheek, stinging madly.

"Shit...!" He saw Feliciano twist to come at him again and caught his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. "Have you totally lost your mind?! He was already dead!"

"He was still my grandfather!" Feliciano wailed, thrashing on his grasp like a hooked fish. "Let go, let go!"

Alfred didn't, instead twisting his grip on Feliciano's arm to make him yelp and lose his grip on the knife. He could see the terror in the werewolf's amber eyes as the blade went clattering to the cobbles–

He felt the cool round end of a pistol against the back of his skull. "Unhand him at once or I will shoot." Click. "I will not hesitate."

"Ludwig," Feliciano said weakly, wilting. Alfred let him go and he retreated, rubbing at his wrist.

"Should've known you wouldn't be far," Alfred said. He wasn't worried about dying but didn't know how long it would take him to recover from a head shot. It was valuable time he couldn't afford to lose.

"And I should have known that we could not trust you," Ludwig replied calmly.

"That's pretty rich coming from you guys."

"The circumstances are unfortunate," Ludwig agreed. "Drop the chainsaw."

"No way. I only just got it back."

"Then you leave me no–"

Alfred didn't even let him finish, reaching up behind his head to seize Ludwig's wrist. He wrenched it aside, twisting under it, and slammed his knees into the small of the werewolf's back, sending him stumbling. Ludwig went his knees, just catching himself.

"Ludwig!" Feliciano started towards him, seized back by Lovino.

"Stay back, Feliciano," Ludwig growled, getting up. He whirled, squeezing off a shot at Alfred. It missed, pinging off the bricks behind.

Alfred wrapped his hand about the cord of his chainsaw. He meant it more as a threat – despite everything he liked Ludwig, he liked Feliciano, he didn't want to use this awful thing on them, they couldn't recover like Arthur – but Ludwig saw him do it and his blue eyes darkened. He stepped fully in front of both Vargas brothers, raising the pistol again.

"I will blow your brains out before you can get to me," he said. "Do you understand?"

Alfred let out an exasperated breath. "Look, I don't want all this," he said. "I don't want to fight. I just want to find Arthur. I need to talk to him to make him stop this."

Ludwig faltered. He lowered the gun a touch.

"Drop the chainsaw," he commanded. "Drop it and I'll believe you."

Alfred hesitated. Ludwig saw his resistance and raised the pistol again.

"F-fine!" Alfred unwound the cord from his fist and let the whole thing drop with a heavy clang at his feet. "There, happy? Now let me go so I can find Arthur!"

Ludwig's jaw twitched. Feliciano pulled away from his brother to come to Ludwig's side, clutching at his arm. After a moment, Ludwig lowered the gun.

"A deal's a deal," he said. He nodded to Alfred. "Go."

Alfred exhaled, nodding his thanks. He turned away–

He came face-to-face with Gilbert, who barely took a breath before slamming a stake into Alfred's heart. Blinded and powerless with the pain, Alfred crumpled, dimly aware of Gilbert stepping over him.

"Going soft on me, West?!" He gave Alfred a kick. "You know we need him!"

"I don't see what is wrong with a diplomatic route," Ludwig said flatly. "Especially after all the bloodshed we have seen."

Gilbert snorted. "As if we could reason with Kirkland – or what's left of him."

"N-no..." Alfred grasped hold of the stake as he had before, his fingers burning around the wood. "Y-you have to... to let me talk to him, pl-please...!" He took a breath behind his teeth and yanked the stake out, blood splattering over the cobbles.

"I don't have to do jack," Gilbert barked, planting his boot on the back of Alfred's skull. "Especially anything that comes out of your mouth, you..."

He trailed off, his scarlet eyes darting to the blood – this, too, had fixated Alfred, so much that he had barely even noticed Gilbert's boot on the back of his head. The scarlet splatches had begun to sizzle on the stones – and then, quite suddenly, they began to sprout, black thorns curling from their cores, growing upwards and outwards faster than the eye could follow.

"What the...?" Gilbert recoiled, stumbling backwards as the thicket surrounded them. "You... you did this...!"

"Me?" Recovering, still on his knees, Alfred tore his eyes away from the monstrous branches. "How could I–?"

"Your blood, your fucking blood...!" Gilbert's scarlet eyes were glittering; he seemed almost exhilarated, half-hysterical. He seized Alfred roughly by the hair, drawing his sword. "Maybe I'll spill the whole fucking lot and see if your darling Arthur comes crawling out of it."

Alfred caught his wrist, shoving; but their struggles were cut short seconds later as the ground suddenly began to violently tremble. Gilbert let go of Alfred's hair, taking a few gold strands with him, as he went down; and Alfred scrambled away from him towards the chainsaw, which was juddering loudly on the quivering stones. He saw Ludwig start, herding Feliciano and Lovino back – but realised that they weren't recoiling from him a split-second later when the ground tore apart with a deafening crack. The fissures flowed like lighting all across the street, the cobbles coming apart at their seams, and from within the sudden spaces vast black trees came bursting forth, the forest settling itself in the very heart of the town. The ground was giving way completely, the building slanting inwards as their foundations crumbled from beneath them, tumbling away through the thick net of gnarled roots to the abyss beneath.

Alfred felt himself sliding, realising the ground he was on was going in much the same direction as everything else. He snatched out and caught onto a root as the stones fell away from beneath his body, leaving him dangling; and pushed his strength into his arms, beginning to heave himself up. He reached blindly over the edge, searching for something to grasp onto for more leverage, and his hand closed about something heavy and cold. He swung his legs up to get a foothold on the roots and let go–

His weight dragged on the metal thing and he realised far too late that it wasn't fixed–

That it was, in fact, the chainsaw, which came barrelling over the edge with him as he fell.

Literally a cliffhanger, haha. Well, almost.

Per favore – Please / Accidenti – Damn it (according to my good friend Google Translate, anyway...)

Hopefully it won't take me so long to do the next chapter, omg. Arthur will be back at long last! Huzzah!

xXx