Personal Disclaimer: Doing the numbers, 600 years ago, was basically like now. Amelia was set to awaken Markus. So (and I still have yet to read the book, so if its different...sorry for now) as far as I can tell...100 years either way, there is no mistaking that Viktor was not around when Lucian was "killed". Interesting.
Underworld: Aftermath (Chapter 4 - Recording History)
Earlier this evening:
He had a very large decision to make. Go back or go on. It was obvious. Both what he wanted to do, and would inevitably go ahead and pursue. However, the logistics...were not entirely clear--yet.
Still, he had time to think. Everyone who was witness to his treachery was now locked in mortal combat inside. Soon they would be either hunted, victorious or dead. Clearly, this was to his advantage. A creature of habit, Kraven was loathe to remember a time when his hand had not been configured to his liking. He had never been the warrior Viktor or the others had desired him to be.
One could not deny one's own nature. And Kraven's nature was particularly well suited to politicking and manuevering among his peers. He was both an administrator and a right-hand man. He coveted his own success. His rise to glory within the coven had been particularly orchestrated. Having a distaste for the seamier side of the occupation, Kraven was an especially astute observer and manipulator.
Kraven, the household's pride, was not only designated to rule in Viktor's stead for his cunning and intelligence, but also because his accomplishments had been so vast. He was the youngest and most illustrious immortal credited with the heroics of the Lycan Wars, none could deny his "success" had dictated the beginning of the end for the Lycan clans. His feat was above reproach, and without question. Interesting, as it was so very against the grain of his character. Though it wasn't the point of this moment, for those not embedded inside, his singular heroic achievement would still carry great weight. If it was not discovered for the lie it was. He must see to that.
His hand had been clenched around a Lycan weapon. They could go. The Vampyres would be quite a problem if they were permitted to leave. Therefore, they would not leave.
Not often had his confidence faltered. Kraven could not have survived it it had. But much had happened this evening. Exhaling, a cold cloud of smoke poured from his nose. He didn't like being wet. But the rain was sobering, and he could afford no mistake. His pent up aggression of the last few days had mellowed as he concentrated on the matter at hand.
Perhaps the difficulty had been in the waiting. Everything had been building up to this. No, not This. Gruffly turning his head and grimacing his features, he fought back against the fury that threatened to boil up again. Much of this was, admittedly, his fault. His emotions had run too hot, too much had been at stake. But that beautiful bitch had wounded him dangerously, in too many ways.
For centuries, his well laid design had sustained him. Six hundred years ago, the awakening of Markus had been marked with such jubilation. He had brought back evidence of Lucian's death. Amelia had been barely able to maintain her composure for those last few years. Ah, the beautiful Amelia. She had rewarded him well for rewarding her regime with Lucian's demise. That night...scorched, broken, bloodied by others and his own persistent wounds...the ecstacy she had brought about in him had been maddening. He still swooned remembering her taste for the blood covering his body. Ah, Amelia.
Beautiful beyond mortal understanding, she had a Machiavellian cunning that cut deeply across the centuries. Well, had had. It was not regret Kraven felt. In fact, Amelia would certainly have felt tonight's deeds up to par with her own conspiring wickedness. In Amelia's case, tonight had been poetic justice in its most sublime form.
Crack
Crack
Close. But both were dead. Kraven observed dispassionately as Lycos and...what was his name, two lower ranking Death Dealers roared in silent wails of agony. Blue light visible from even this far away, emanating from their respective wounds. A second glow came from out their mouths as they writhed horribly on the cold ground. His nostrils flared and cleared, as Kraven scanned the bunker for additional parties. There was nothing.
"Now, where was I..."
Ah, yes, Amelia. Farewell, then. My tribute is done.
Going back further, he reflected anew. Bittersweetly, he rolled his head around before remembering, again, about tonight. Tonight was not entirely his fault. To himself, he could admit he should have played it out better. What made her so alluring, so desireable, also provided for his downfall. The gloriously elusive Selene. Kraven sniffed his cigarette ingraciously before tossing it to join those on the ground. He was used to the waiting. If only it hadn't come again so soon. In his plan, everyone was dead. In his plan, he was the indisputable king. In his plan, the entire coven rallied around him before he and his queen led them out to finish off the Lycans. In His Plan--he caught his breath. There was no point getting worked up. Instead, he resumed his paralyzing watch.
Removed from the immediacy of the action, and, for the moment, out of harms way, he did what he did best. He waited. Slowly he scanned the face of the bunker, then he took pause...emerging from the building, a figure caught his within his sites.
Two figures. Fleeing by way of the shadows. Not running. They were battle-weary. The next straggling survivors. The lead figure swung her head around in a frontal arc. Selene. Bitch. Behind her, the abomination. Viktor must be dead.
Everyone else must be dead.
Holy shit.
Sleekly opening his car door, he slid into the vacant front seat in one sweeping motion. Salvation was upon him.
Now, outside the dreary motel, Kraven had resumed his silent ritual of observation. Removing the last cigarette from the pack, raising it to the fire of his ivory lighter it flared and lit. He had marked time for an hour. They were tucked in for the night.
The evening's victors were admittedly a surprise. History had always been written by those who survived to record their version of it. This turn of events was more unexpected than not, but more than fortunate. Kraven too was a survivor. Both Viktor and Lucian, dead, in one night. To say nothing of Amelia. The author of history may not have been the victor tonight, but he would be the one who got to Marcus first.
Dawn. He had about a half hour. A race then. What a relief, action at last; something he could win both quickly and decisively. In addition, he was a leg up. Kraven was back in the game, had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. There was only one woman who could ruin him now...and That, was Not going to happen.
Underworld: Aftermath (Chapter 4 - Recording History)
Earlier this evening:
He had a very large decision to make. Go back or go on. It was obvious. Both what he wanted to do, and would inevitably go ahead and pursue. However, the logistics...were not entirely clear--yet.
Still, he had time to think. Everyone who was witness to his treachery was now locked in mortal combat inside. Soon they would be either hunted, victorious or dead. Clearly, this was to his advantage. A creature of habit, Kraven was loathe to remember a time when his hand had not been configured to his liking. He had never been the warrior Viktor or the others had desired him to be.
One could not deny one's own nature. And Kraven's nature was particularly well suited to politicking and manuevering among his peers. He was both an administrator and a right-hand man. He coveted his own success. His rise to glory within the coven had been particularly orchestrated. Having a distaste for the seamier side of the occupation, Kraven was an especially astute observer and manipulator.
Kraven, the household's pride, was not only designated to rule in Viktor's stead for his cunning and intelligence, but also because his accomplishments had been so vast. He was the youngest and most illustrious immortal credited with the heroics of the Lycan Wars, none could deny his "success" had dictated the beginning of the end for the Lycan clans. His feat was above reproach, and without question. Interesting, as it was so very against the grain of his character. Though it wasn't the point of this moment, for those not embedded inside, his singular heroic achievement would still carry great weight. If it was not discovered for the lie it was. He must see to that.
His hand had been clenched around a Lycan weapon. They could go. The Vampyres would be quite a problem if they were permitted to leave. Therefore, they would not leave.
Not often had his confidence faltered. Kraven could not have survived it it had. But much had happened this evening. Exhaling, a cold cloud of smoke poured from his nose. He didn't like being wet. But the rain was sobering, and he could afford no mistake. His pent up aggression of the last few days had mellowed as he concentrated on the matter at hand.
Perhaps the difficulty had been in the waiting. Everything had been building up to this. No, not This. Gruffly turning his head and grimacing his features, he fought back against the fury that threatened to boil up again. Much of this was, admittedly, his fault. His emotions had run too hot, too much had been at stake. But that beautiful bitch had wounded him dangerously, in too many ways.
For centuries, his well laid design had sustained him. Six hundred years ago, the awakening of Markus had been marked with such jubilation. He had brought back evidence of Lucian's death. Amelia had been barely able to maintain her composure for those last few years. Ah, the beautiful Amelia. She had rewarded him well for rewarding her regime with Lucian's demise. That night...scorched, broken, bloodied by others and his own persistent wounds...the ecstacy she had brought about in him had been maddening. He still swooned remembering her taste for the blood covering his body. Ah, Amelia.
Beautiful beyond mortal understanding, she had a Machiavellian cunning that cut deeply across the centuries. Well, had had. It was not regret Kraven felt. In fact, Amelia would certainly have felt tonight's deeds up to par with her own conspiring wickedness. In Amelia's case, tonight had been poetic justice in its most sublime form.
Crack
Crack
Close. But both were dead. Kraven observed dispassionately as Lycos and...what was his name, two lower ranking Death Dealers roared in silent wails of agony. Blue light visible from even this far away, emanating from their respective wounds. A second glow came from out their mouths as they writhed horribly on the cold ground. His nostrils flared and cleared, as Kraven scanned the bunker for additional parties. There was nothing.
"Now, where was I..."
Ah, yes, Amelia. Farewell, then. My tribute is done.
Going back further, he reflected anew. Bittersweetly, he rolled his head around before remembering, again, about tonight. Tonight was not entirely his fault. To himself, he could admit he should have played it out better. What made her so alluring, so desireable, also provided for his downfall. The gloriously elusive Selene. Kraven sniffed his cigarette ingraciously before tossing it to join those on the ground. He was used to the waiting. If only it hadn't come again so soon. In his plan, everyone was dead. In his plan, he was the indisputable king. In his plan, the entire coven rallied around him before he and his queen led them out to finish off the Lycans. In His Plan--he caught his breath. There was no point getting worked up. Instead, he resumed his paralyzing watch.
Removed from the immediacy of the action, and, for the moment, out of harms way, he did what he did best. He waited. Slowly he scanned the face of the bunker, then he took pause...emerging from the building, a figure caught his within his sites.
Two figures. Fleeing by way of the shadows. Not running. They were battle-weary. The next straggling survivors. The lead figure swung her head around in a frontal arc. Selene. Bitch. Behind her, the abomination. Viktor must be dead.
Everyone else must be dead.
Holy shit.
Sleekly opening his car door, he slid into the vacant front seat in one sweeping motion. Salvation was upon him.
Now, outside the dreary motel, Kraven had resumed his silent ritual of observation. Removing the last cigarette from the pack, raising it to the fire of his ivory lighter it flared and lit. He had marked time for an hour. They were tucked in for the night.
The evening's victors were admittedly a surprise. History had always been written by those who survived to record their version of it. This turn of events was more unexpected than not, but more than fortunate. Kraven too was a survivor. Both Viktor and Lucian, dead, in one night. To say nothing of Amelia. The author of history may not have been the victor tonight, but he would be the one who got to Marcus first.
Dawn. He had about a half hour. A race then. What a relief, action at last; something he could win both quickly and decisively. In addition, he was a leg up. Kraven was back in the game, had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. There was only one woman who could ruin him now...and That, was Not going to happen.