A/N: This chapter is quite violent, but we get some nice doses of excitement and action :D Thanks once again to all my lovely kind reviewers... you know I love you!
Evans knew as he exited his hidden corridor, that he should have brought the American with him to ensure he did not escape... or worse, die. If he were killed -probably by Jacques if at all- then it would all be ruined. The only other viable candidate was no longer available, hadn't been for some time now.
Grumbling to himself, he yanked up his cane from by the door and wondered what the hell he was going to do. Pacing back and forth in his secure quarters, with lush soft carpets and four-poster bed, Charles cursed under his breath in every language he knew... and there were quite a few. What with all the foreign company he kept, how could he not have learned?
Shouting loudly, he threw the cane against the wall, hearing it clatter to the floor, almost covering the sound of a cocking rifle... almost, but not quite. He took in a deep breath and turned.
"Ah... Agent Sawyer, how lovely to see you alive."
There was no humour on Sawyer's young, somewhat bruised face. He was holding his damned Winchester rifle in both hands, although his right arm seemed a little shaky.
Charles decided that if he got the chance, he could use this to his advantage. That was, if Sawyer's attention slipped for long enough, or if he was even planning to kill him.
"You look a little angry, Agent Sawyer," Charles noted with a smile. "That wouldn't happen to have anything to do with me, would it?"
"Now what gives you that idea?" Sawyer asked with a sarcastic edge, the rifle pointed squarely at Charles' face. That would make a bit of a mess... not to mention being extremely painful and permanent on the top of that.
"Oh, I don't know," Charles added, stalling for time, "just a feeling."
Sawyer's attention wavered slightly, but only slightly. The gun lowered momentarily, and his eyes closed briefly, before he was focused once again, jaw set grimly.
"Are you going to kill me? You see, because I highly doubt that you would," Charles began bravely, seeing the lapses in Sawyer's attention. The blood from the wound on the shoulder had stained through the fabric now, and had spread over onto the front a little way so it was visible from where Charles stood. "You don't seem the kind to behave rashly. Not from what dear Anise tells me."
A shot from the Winchester exploded into one of the posts of the bed, inches from Charles' head, and wood splintered everywhere. Charles flinched slightly, and looked to Sawyer with a new respect... only a slight shade however. Had he intended to miss?
"The next one won't miss," Sawyer warned, and suddenly everything in him was confident. He wasn't shaking or hesitating anymore. He had an air of certainty around him that Charles did not take comfort in.
He believed him. That last shot had been intentional, to scare him, and he had to admit -to himself at least- that it was working. He had no doubt that at this range, pretty much wherever he was hit, the rifle would kill him.
And just as Sawyer was loading the next round in the chamber, Jacques picked that moment to burst in through the door that only he -other than Evans- knew existed. He was snarling madly, dripping blood -yet again- onto the carpet. Charles sighed and rolled his eyes.
Jacques barrelled into Sawyer, knocking them both to the ground, and Charles snatched up his cane and fled out the door, leaving them to their own business.
Tom lost his grip on the rifle as soon as he hit the floor, mainly because Jacques had slammed into him from the right and started up the throbbing in his shoulder again, causing it to go slightly numb. He winced, and rolled away from Jacques' gripping hand, scrabbling away from him. He knew what would happen if Jacques wounded him with his bare hands... rather claws, which were becoming quite visible now. His eyes were flashing yellow and feral. Fangs were showing as he drew back his lips in a snarl. It was only then that Tom realised the werewolf had managed to take the pistols from his holsters, although he wasn't entirely sure how.
The man was more than a little mad, and obviously planned to take that anger out on Tom, which the latter didn't prefer. Jacques said something to him, but it came out in French so Tom was at a loss as to comprehend... it did not sound pleasant. Far from an apology anyway.
Tom kicked out at him, catching him across the bottom jaw, and snapping his head away. That only served to anger him more, and there was a slight ripping as the back on his shirt gave way as he started to transform. The hair on his forearms was spreading and thickening madly.
Green eyes frantically searched the immediate area for anything of use, and they landed on something he vividly remembered falling victim to not long ago.
Jacques half-crawled, half-scurried towards him, and he was snarling like a rabid dog now, fangs exposed, locks of hair on his head spreading over his face, his features contorting. He looked like something out of a nightmare.
Tom grabbed the object, and hurled it at Jacques, watching as it smashed in his face, sending glass and liquid in all directions. Tom shielded his own face with his arm, not exactly desperate to get any on himself.
There was a yelp, and Tom looked up from his momentary shelter to see Jacques rubbing at his eyes madly, trying to get the liquid out before it damaged.
Chloroform... that was what Evans had called it. Tom wasn't sure what effect it would have on Jacques, but it seemed to be stinging his eyes at least. That was when he noticed something sitting on the table near to his head, rather, two things... Colt pistols in fact.
When Jacques opened his eyes as much as he could to look at Tom, the barrels of two six-shooters were aimed squarely on him, and the American smiled smugly.
"Hey, it's not silver, but..."
He opened fire, hearing the screaming wails as bullet after bullet ripped into Jacques, spraying blood and ripping fabric, halting him in mid-transformation.
You're running out of bullets, Tom's mind chattered, and he paid heed to it, slinging the weapons aside the moment they clicked on empty, taking up the next nearest object and attacking with that instead.
The fire poker pierced Jacques' left shoulder and drove him back and down, right into the floor. Jacques shrieked in pain, and tried to lash out with his right arm, but Tom had already thrown himself out of the way. He landed mostly on his back with a thud, his hair in his face now, and he looked quickly to the pinned werewolf, knowing it wouldn't hold him for long.
Scrabbling to his knees, he grabbed his two loaded pistols and replaced them in his holsters, snatching up his Winchester and running from the room.
It was only when he was halfway down the corridor that he mentally slapped himself for not disposing of Jacques there and then, when he had had the perfect oppurtunity. He had no doubt that he would be back to torment him later, extremely annoyed about the bullets and the fire poker.
Nemo spun and leapt as he kicked and punched, lashing out with frightening speed, breaking bone and spilling blood at every turn. His sword sat at his hip in its scabbard, unused for the time being. He was handling these creatures well enough, with Hyde just a little way down the corridor making his own fun.
Nemo ducked and blocked enemy attacks, using everything at his disposal: arms; legs; hands; feet; knees and elbows. Everything was a weapon or a shield.
He was surrounded by perhaps six opponents, none of them having transformed like others he had seen. Maybe they were unable... it mattered little to Nemo. They fell around him like dead weights, only to spring angrily to their feet once again immediately afterwards. They seemed more than irritated that an 'ordinary' man such as this could be defeating them.
But Nemo knew he had not killed any... far from it. He needed to use his sword.
Drawing it swiftly from its scabbard with a ring of metal, he started swinging, still striking with arms and legs like a whirlwind of destruction.
Down the corridor from Nemo, Hyde was thoroughly enjoying all the destruction. He was swinging his arms madly, laughing loudly, and knocking figures in all directions whilst they snarled and whimpered as they landed, breaking bones. Some tried to lash back out at him, but he dodged, surprisingly agile for his bulk.
He knew he had something around here, perhaps even in his mind, that he needed to remember. But what was it? He tried to recall the information given to him by Nemo and the others at the beginning.
The voice of Henry was heard calling from somewhere in the back of his skull, and instead of shoving it aside for once he listened as he moved. With a smile, he understood.
He snatched up the nearest werewolf, and took them in both mighty hands, using his brute strength to snap its neck clean in half. It fell limply to the floor amidst its comrades, who looked to Hyde warily now. One or two made to retreat, stopped by their fellows. They lunged for him again.
With a roar of excitement at his new method, he grabbed up another.
Now that his burdens were removed, he was far more inconspicuous. He could sneak and hide in plain view once again, and he was truly in his element. Although he had never had werewolves around him before, not like this. They were rushing everywhere in somewhat of a panic. The vampire down the corridor was dealing out a swift and painful death to anyone who came too close, and Skinner was picking off the stragglers with a silver blade he had been given.
He stabbed at the people who tried to retreat from Mina, catching them sometimes in the wrong place. It didn't matter; it stopped them in their tracks anyway. The silver created enough of a lasting wound for him to find his true target: the heart. He wasn't prepared to go for the brain... the chest would do for him, messy as that was.
He had killed a few now, and he tried to scatter the heavy bodies so as not to reveal his true position. The numbers were slimming fast, and already he could see the different nationalities at his feet. An Indian and a Chinese man were among the most obvious.
Preparing himself for the next target, he straightened himself up, and readied the blade.
She had to be extremely careful now. The werewolves were aware of her 'condition', and were wary of her, striking out at length. That mattered very little to her, for she would strike at their arms and legs as a means to get them distracted. Them she would hit them where it hurt, where it was bound to do the most damage.
She was faced with an African woman then, who was snarling madly, and the others backed away slightly, as if recognising a challenge. Mina raised her eyebrows, and smiled wanly.
The woman began to contort and change, but not completely. Her hands were still mostly human, save for the elongated fingers and stretched claws. Her eyes were a feral yellow now, and bestial fangs dripped saliva hungrily. Her clothing had ripped in places to reveal dark skin covered with coarse hair.
"Very well," Mina mumbled, even as the others skulked off to find other targets, "have it your way."
And the werewolf pounced, or at least tried to. Mina ducked and rolled with a flurry of leather, and was soon facing the monster from behind. The beast turned and bellowed, infuriated, and swiped at her with a long arm, claws extended.
The claws missed her by inches, and she felt the rush of air disturb her curled hair, and stabbed at the werewolf with a dagger, falling short.
The two stabbed and slashed at one another for quite some time, working themselves into a frenzy. Mina's heart was racing and her mind was fogged by the urge to rip this animal to pieces. She had no doubt that the werewolf felt the same way.
That was when the female creature lashed at her with more emphasis than before, her whole left arm swinging out enthusiastically, aimed for Mina's head. The vampire dodged, just barely, and heard the arm slam into the wall.
She took the oppurtunity that presented itself, and with all the strength in her left arm, rammed the dagger into the wrist of the werewolf, which let out a shriek of pain. It struggled to get out of the trap, even as Mina dodged the other clawed hand on the way to dispose of the creature.
She looked into its gaze as she plunged the dagger into its chest, knowing it had pierced the heart by the way the light seemed to fade from its eyes. It gave a choked noise, and then slumped against the wall, hand still pinned.
Mina watched it die with little satisfaction all of a sudden. Why had this one werewolf been so intent on destroying her? But now that she thought about it further, Mina had seen only one other female. Perhaps this was some sort of territorial challenge.
No matter now... it was over for her anyway. Mina reached down with both hands, and pulled her daggers from their respective holds, seeing the body hit the floor with a dull thud.
Mina pressed on, pushing the battle from her mind.
It was amazing that no matter where he went it seemed deserted. There seemed to be no one around now. He could hear the far off sounds of combat though, and knew the League members were probably fighting for their lives. They were probably succeeding too. It was no secret they were talented.
Nemo with his strength and martial arts was a frightening and awe-inspiring spectacle, especially when he brought that sword of his into play. Skinner with his stealth and secrecy was a little intimidating... it didn't help that you never quite knew where he was when he wanted to go unseen. Jekyll with his alter ego of Hyde was impressive and terrifying... Tom remembered his first encounter with Hyde, who had nearly managed to take his head off with a chain that had been secured to the wall. And then there was Mina with her knowledge of science, and her vampiric talents. There were no words to describe Mina other than extraordinary. She fit the title well.
The Winchester was raised at once when he heard a sound from a room at the very end of the corridor he was travelling, the door facing him. There was something on the other side, moving about, shifting things as if trying to leave and take a few things with them.
Maybe it was Evans... then again maybe not. He would find out in a moment. Tom stepped up to the door cautiously, treading carefully and quietly so whoever it was would not hear his approach.
When he tried the door handle, he found it unlocked, and opened it quickly, aiming the rifle, finding he had it pointed squarely at Anise's chest.