AN: This is the first chapter that needs to come with a content warning for depictions of the aftermath of (relatively) graphic violence.

To Geft: There will be a lot of other heroes who appear in this anthology – and not just the European ones. At least one chapter takes place on each of the fronts of the war.

"I don't think it ever really sunk in just how terrible the occupation must have been." Marc shook his head. "Grand-pére talked about it so rarely; these stories really drive it home."

Nath nodded in agreement. "And all the stories we have are those of the survivors; how many even worse stories have been lost?"

Orléans, March 1941

"Arlette? Éva? Léon?" Lucas cocked his head, his brows furrowed suspiciously, as he stepped inside his family's simple house and looked around the small entryway. The late afternoon sun shining through the open doorway provided the only light in the room; although the blackout wasn't to start for another hour, all the houselights were off. Wasn't Arlette supposed to be home? "Are you here?" A couple of vehicles rumbled past down the street, and Lucas carefully slid the door shut behind him, the click of the latch sounding unnaturally loud. Around him, the house remained silent, not a peep to be heard. Lucas swallowed nervously, his stomach clenching anxiously, and his hand closed around the fountain pen in his breast pocket. Carefully, he drew it and slipped it into his sleeve – the anxiety eased marginally. It had to be nothing, right? Arlette had just taken the kids down to the park for the afternoon. Léon had found his friend Marcel there, and they had all gone to get shaved ice and simply lost track of the time. It had to be nothing.

But if Arlette had taken the children to the park, then why were their shoes still sitting next to the door?

Lucas stared down at the mat along the wall in the entryway, trying not to count the number of pairs of shoes sitting there. There had to be some explanation, right? Could Arlette have bought the kids new snow boots today? He had been gone so much over the last year – sometimes for days at a time – that he could hardly remember these things. Léon's feet had grown at least another two sizes since last winter, and Éva had had the same boots for almost two winters now. With the snowstorm that had swept all along the Loire over the last three days, their old boots might not have been enough. And if M. Botrel had gotten in a new shipment, then perhaps he had called Arlette to pick some new ones. They had gotten the new snow boots and gone down to the park to break them in.

That had to be it… right?

Cautiously, Lucas crept through the house, his ears attuned for any sound – anything at all. But the quiet in the house was only broken by his own soft footfalls, the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet. His stomach rose into his throat; the only thing keeping him moving was the cool, solid shaft of the fountain pen in his hand. He had a responsibility – to France, to the Order, to his family. But so often in the last year-plus, his duty to France had pulled him away from his duty to Arlette and the children. Lately, he had spent more of his time away than he had spent at home. The Nazis had occupied the country, forced the capitulation, separated off Pétain's "French State"… all within a matter of weeks, last year. Before Dunkirk, he had fought alongside the regular Army, trying to stem the tide of the German advance. After his men's capture on the beaches of Dunkirk, he had continued to fight on, resisting the Germans as best he could on his own. A small Resistance cell had formed in Orléans last fall, led by a woman known only as the "Maid of Orléans." Lucas had met one of their leaders, a man who went by the name "Jean," and he had almost agreed to join their group. But only three days later, the "Maid" had been captured by the SS and vanished without a trace, followed by "Jean" and several of their other leaders. Overnight, the cell had collapsed; only Lucas' anonymity had saved him from suffering a similar fate.

He had traveled extensively since then, roaming far and wide to harry and hinder the Nazis' efforts. And everywhere he had gone, there had been rumors. Monsters running rampant around France – terrible and brutal beasts. A creature who stalked by night, who snuck into people's homes, leaving death in its wake. At first he had dismissed the rumors as nothing more than SS propaganda, designed to scare the populace into obedience. But then the leader of a Resistance cell in Blois had disappeared for two days. The man had returned… but within a week the entire cell had been arrested, whereupon the leader had jumped into the Loire and drowned. A Resistance cell in Vendôme had suffered a similar fate, only two weeks later. Lucas had been in the area when the first of the arrests had happened, and he had spotted a dark shadow fading into the night on the opposite side of the town; investigating, he had found a Resistance member screaming inchoately, his eyes bloodshot with terror. Not far away, he had discovered the body of another Resistance member, run through with a thin blade and left to bleed out in the street.

He should not have been surprised that the Nazis would resort to such terror tactics.

Lucas moved up the stairs toward the bedrooms, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. The building around him remained quiet as the grave, the only other sound Lucas' own heavy breathing. His heart pounded in his chest. Arlette and the children had to be out of the house. Nothing was wrong; he was just becoming paranoid after fighting the Nazis for a year by himself. Any minute now, the front door would open and the house would be filled with Léon's and Éva's laughing shrieks of joy.

He was just reaching the top of the stairs when he spotted the foot.

"Léon!?" Lucas's stomach plummeted into his shoes, his eyes widening. Without hesitation, he dove forward, hitting his shins on the top of the staircase, and fell to his knees, crawling across the floor to his son's lifeless body, lying in the hallway, halfway into Éva's bedroom doorway. Léon lay on his back, his arms splayed out, eyes open and staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. The boy's mouth hung open in an expression of shock. His knuckles were bloodied, his hands scratched up, a shallow slit running down the length of his forearm caked with dried blood. Blood had pooled beneath his small frame; a single thin slit had pierced his chest directly through his heart. Lucas picked up the four-year-old's body, holding it against his chest, and let out a strangled sob, clenching his eyes shut. "My son…" Lucas sniffled, drawing in and releasing shuddering breaths. He kissed the cold forehead. "Oh, my son…"

Rasping breathing from within the bedroom reached his ear, and Lucas froze, straining his ears to hear it again. At first everything remained silent, the only sound Lucas' own heavy breathing and pounding heart. But then… the sound of breathing, gasping in fear. Hardly daring to hope, Lucas gently laid Léon's body back down on the floor, cocking his head. "Éva?" He swallowed. "Éva?"

"P–Papa?" a weak voice whispered from the direction of the bed against the far wall.

Lucas' eyes widened, and he scrambled to his feet, rushing across the room to Éva, lying on her bed, clutching her doll to her chest, her eyes wide and pupils dilated. Her face was pallid and drawn, a thin sheen of sweat across her forehead, staring at the wall though her eyes were unfocused. The front of her shirt had been pulled up slightly to show long scratch marks running up and down her stomach and chest; her fingernails were caked with blood to match. Lucas stared with horror. "W–what happened to you, baby?" Lucas whispered, putting his hands on her shoulders. "What happened here?"

"I–I–" The four-year-old let out a sobbing scream and pulled away from his touch. "They're after me! They're going to kill me! They're all around me! N–no! P–please!"

"Éva!" Lucas grabbed her hand, pulling it away from her stomach, and shook her shoulders once, trying to catch her eye. "Éva, listen to me! You're safe now! I'm here! I promise, I won't let them hurt you!"

Éva screamed in terror, pulling away from him, and huddled down lower in her bed, staring up at him without recognition.

Lucas swallowed back the bile that boiled up in his throat and started to put a hand on his daughter's knee, only for her to let out a whimper.

A muffled sob responded to Éva's piercing scream, coming from the direction of the master bedroom. Lucas started, cocking his head in that direction. His breathing hitched. Hardly daring to imagine, Lucas reluctantly backed away from Éva and stood up, looking back out into the hallway. His focus straight ahead of him, he stepping over Léon and out into the hallway without looking down and let his feet carry him to the master bedroom. The door was open; a lamp was on within. He swallowed anxiously, hesitating in the doorframe. A figure lay on the bed, hardly moving. "A–Arlette…"

Arlette raised her head and looked up at him weakly, her face stained with tears and blood. "I–I couldn't stop him," she whispered, the words coming out thickly. More blood pooled around her belly. Her head dropped back onto the pillow, and she let out a weak, rasping breath, the next come coming more slowly. "He was just too… powerful. Th–there was nothing I could do. Th–the children–" She broke down into sobs that racked her body with spasms of pain.

"Don't move," Lucas whispered, kneeling next to her and placing a hand on her cheek, wiping away her tears, smearing the blood. Wrapping his other arm around her back, he lifted her off the bed and gently cradled her against his chest. He swallowed, drawing in a shuddering breath, and blinked back his own tears. "You–you'll be okay…"

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain before looking up into his eyes. "He–he said it wouldn't matter. When he left, he said he would leave us alive… but only for your benefit. That this would kill us in the end." She swallowed thickly, struggling to draw in another breath. "He said… this was your punishment. For fighting against them."

Lucas' mouth set in a thin line, and his eyes narrowed. "Who did this?"

Arlette let out a rattling breath. "I–I love you…" she forced out, her voice weakening with every syllable. "I–I wouldn't trade…" She swallowed. "I–I wo–"

He pressed a kiss to her lips, tasting the metallic tang of blood on them, and touched his forehead to hers, cradling her in his arms. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to protect you," he whispered. "I'm sorry I failed you. I'm so sorry…"

Straining, she reached up to touch his cheek, leaving a streak of red behind as her arm flopped back onto the bed. She sniffled, tears falling down her cheeks. "You… I–I love…"

"I will always love you," he whispered hoarsely, blinking back his own tears. "And I swear to you: I will avenge you. I will stop the monster who did this to our family."

"D–don'–" Finally, she fell backward in his arms, her body going limp. "It was… the Vampir."