Count Blazkowicz had been acting suspicious as of late.
It went unnoticed by the staff. Unnoticed by the knights and his own son, who were too preoccupied unearthing the backyard even after a whole year... but not to the Countess.
She had noticed it ever since this lunacy for digging began. How her husband would stare on in silence at the inexplicable exercise. How he would so readily take the part of his son despite their past grievances with him.
However, since the incident at the Royal Hunting Games, he had become astoundingly reserved, locked away for long periods of time in his study, almost as if he was hiding something. It had gotten to the point where this behaviour was all too apparent even to the head butler who brought it to the Countess's attention in secret, concerned for the lord of the manor.
Well, whatever their son dragged in that fated day was enough to give anyone nightmares. But whatever was amiss with the Count couldn't have been only that, and Sylvia knew it.
'Dear!'
She burst into his office with intent one late afternoon; her eyes bright and burning with determination as she found the man hunched over his desk. It was just as she thought. Her husband looked awful, to say the least.
Dark bags hung under his eyes and his hair and moustache was outgrown and disheveled. Not even the various troubles with their son in the past affected him this visibly.
'Something's going on, and I demand to know it this instant.'
'W-what is this so suddenly, Sylvia?'
'We've been married for twenty years, dear, and in all that time, there has never been a secret between us,' she said, folding her arms as she stared him down. 'This is about our son, isn't it?'
The silence was thick and palpable, but there was no mistaking the strained look about him at the mention of it.
It took a long and hard moment before the Count sighed deeply, combing a hand through his wayward hair, troubled. He then reached into a drawer and pulled out a letter, sliding it over the table and towards the Countess; the front of it signed and sealed by the holy church.
Puzzled, Sylvia unfolded it and read the contents in silence; her eyes widening all the while. This was... this was...!
'Walter, does this mean...'
'There's a reason our son has been so... strange since birth, dear,' the Count murmured grimly. 'The church believes they can prove it. And that creature we saw... that thing he found makes this matter all the more difficult to dismiss.'
'But our son can't possibly be...'
The Count sighed again. He'd been doing a lot of that as of late. 'I suppose the only way we'll find out is by confirming this hocus pocus in-'
A thunderous crack interrupted the Count's words, followed by a brief shuddering of the walls and floors. Soon after, came the cries of shock from outside in the hallways; the pair holding each other's eyes knowingly.
Could it have been a war? Could the rumours have spread so far and wide and turned so vicious that it rallied the nobility against them? Was this the Blazkowicz ruin any and all foresaw, following the Royal Hunting Games?
When the Count and Countess burst out of the study, the first thing they saw were the servants; all thrown into disarray; diving for the nearest cover in fear. The Blazkowicz heads raced for the windows.
But where they imagined an angry mob of flames and pitchforks, they were instead met with... the family knights. All collapsing one by one at the dig site. But not from exhaustion, oh no.
What the Blazkowiczs instead saw on their faces was awe.
They all stared on as a figure appeared from out of the trenches. It was the Blazkowicz young master. And over one shoulder, he carried what looked like a massive firearm; in the other fist, a foreign, muddy helmet none recognised.
Contrary to the past, a rumour of riveting and epic proportions originated that day in the Blazkowicz Manor. That the knights and servants saw a glowing light surround the young master as he appeared from the depths of the mansion. That those who looked upon him that day were so overwhelmed by the fabled 'halo' over his head that they blacked out.
And perhaps part of it - and I repeat, part of it - was true, for the Countess swayed weakly when she saw her son, and the Count promptly collapsed. Though the cause of that wasn't an auspicious overwhelming of the senses.
Rather, it was from the shock of whatever normalcy their son achieved going out the window entirely this day.
The successful excavation of these 'relics'; as the staff could only call it; prompted the Count and Countess to leave immediately for the holy church. It was a whiles away from the Blazkowicz county. And in their absence, the young master made a most unusual request.
A request for a - the staff shuddered in fear or wonder, they couldn't discern - sleepover.
'Hello, Slayer,' were Vega Lucius's words the day he arrived at the Blazkowicz Manor. 'It is 'good' to see you again. I hope I can be of adequate help during my stay.'
The Slayer nodded in approval before the two headed for the mansion; the Lucius young master smiling thinly at the staff he passed, exuding an inexplicable air about him strikingly similar to the Blazkowicz's own.
But where the staff expected all manner of unusual and worrying behaviour of the noble young men, instead, they were surprisingly... normal.
They ate regular meals in the main dining hall on time. They had tea occasionally in the front (and specifically the front) garden and orangery. They ate everything prepared by the chefs and patissiers without qualms, which - considering the last 'young master scare' as they called it - was a pleasant change. So pleasant, in fact, that the servants and maids found themselves wanting Vega Lucius to never leave.
Little to their knowledge, though, when the Blazkowicz and Lucius young masters were not eating, they were hard at work... and working a hell of a job at that.
Behind closed doors of the young master's private study; where the staff imagined books and board games to be about; was a doorway to the Slayer's arsenal. The table had been cleared out significantly to accommodate the chaingun; it was only big enough for that. The rest were scattered about the floor for lack of appropriate space.
At times like this, the Slayer must have gone mad for actually missing the UAC. Because every room had a table - for dissection or experimentation or something equally dastardly - and was beyond adequate for his arsenal.
Though as the days went by, the Slayer couldn't say he minded this set-up. Because whenever he walked through the room he had a clear visual of every one of his weapons. A sight he certainly prided in!
... Though the actual state of the guns was up for debate.
Stuffed underground for a couple of years meant the components got caked with sand and grit. In fact, it was a miracle his super shotgun fired at all; the Slayer having tested the weapon out of curiosity when he first uncovered it, satisfied, but disappointed by the strained and muffled blast. This won't do against demons.
The same could be said for his suit as he propped it piece for piece in an emptied bookshelf; the components in working order, but again, clogged with years worth of sediment. And while he cleaned his weapons and the Praetor Suit with care and attention, he realised that something was... missing from them. That perhaps it was time for an upgrade.
Something a little extra to rip and tear with.
Vega was naturally the first to hear of this plan, and when he did, the Slayer noticed him brighten visibly; the AI zeroing in on the parchment sheet drawings spread between each weapon in the room.
'I see...,' Vega hummed, his mind working a mile a minute, it seemed. 'So these are new weapon upgrades. Though they will need further work, I must admit, I am most impressed by your innovations, Slayer.'
The Slayer nodded in acknowledgment; his arms folded as he and Vega moved between the different firearms and their corresponding plans.
However, Vega came to an abrupt halt when he found the Praetor Suit, staring at it long and hard. The kind of stare the Slayer knew something ingenious would come out of. Perhaps being synced with Vega throughout all his time on the Mars UAC facility gave him this insight, or he had just come to read him that well now that he was human. He couldn't tell.
But it must have meant something when his suspicions were realised.
'If I may give my input, Slayer, I believe I have an idea for the Praetor Suit that will greatly aid you in battle.'
Turning to face him, Vega smiled; a surprisingly human smile; as he continued, 'Shall we discuss this further over tea?'
And so the servants found the young noblemen once again in the garden, engrossed in conversation they could only imagined had to do with their riveting academics. The maids sighing happily and the servants humming in delight.
Little did they know, though, all this 'academic talk' were the young masters proposing new and certainly riveting ways of the mass-murdering of demons.