The Anointed Chapter 20: Clarity, a gargoyles fanfic

Clarity

Author: Darkness

E-mail: Note: Once again, I would like to thank everyone who has written to me about my fics, especially my good friend, Caboose, for without him, this crap would never have come so far along. J

For you bro.

Now enough mushy Hallmark crap! On with the dark fiction!

"Fear is the first step on the road to His Hell, and hopelessness is the chain by which He binds His slaves. Sorrow is His nourishment. Horror gives Him form. He preys on those who would submit to bitterness and those who closet themselves in misery, while life moves on around them. He is terror in the face of decay and disease, and He is inaction in the face of all that is received as inevitable.

"He is our impotence to resist the savages of time, and He is our morbidity. He is revulsion and self-deceit, and He is the acceptance of defeat. He breathes His cynicism into our souls and binds us to His will.

"He is Grandfather Nurgle, and He is obstinate, self-indulgent, despair."

- Ramheldt Van Hadden, Witch Finder Captain.

"Family is not defined by who you share blood with. It is defined, by who is it that you share love with." – Unknown.

dddbbb

When they met there were no words of welcome, no embraces, not the slightest hint that he was happy to see them after such a long time in isolation of one another. Instead the ancient vampire had stalked right past the two of them and entered the back of the ambulance without so much as a nod.

It was, Rincewald noted, just typical of Gregor.

He was such cocky, arrogant fucker.

And then Furcifer had gotten out of the other side of that intimidating black limousine they'd arrived in. He'd given him a brisk nod and then went over to talk with a suddenly excitable Riana, who was doubtless desperate to get into something tight, expensive and made of leather now that her watch over Brooklyn was over. A moment later both had disappeared into the back of the ambulance, leaving him standing there, in a crappy brown suit while the rain assaulted him mercilessly. He had put on the hat that had come with the ill-gotten suit but it did little to protect his face from the angry rain. He briefly considered getting into the back of the ambulance but immediately threw that idea out of the window.

If he went in there that meant he would have to be near three of his comrades, which was the very last thing he wanted, as he despised them all.

He despised Riana because, despite all her knowledge in the art of combat, she was basically a pleasure seeking, masochistic idiot. He despised Furcifer because he was arrogant, melodramatic, and loved to show off the authority he had been granted over the other guardians.

And as for Gregor…

Well, seeing the ancient vampire again suddenly brought back all the memories that the necromancer had of the representative of The Grandfather.

Like his patron Lord, Gregor fed off the misery and despair of those around him. He lived to ruin hopes and dreams. Every single fibre of his being was driven by a malevolence that actually frightened Rincewald. Even all those millennia ago, when he had been at his worst, Rincewald still had his own limits to the amount of pain he could cause, the amount of havoc he could wreak. Gregor had no such limits. His evil was unrelenting, always had been, and Rincewald had felt it still surrounding his comrade the second he had stepped out of his limousine.

And as the vampire had passed him by, the necromancer had briefly wondered if he had become a paedophile yet, as it was an inevitable activity for such a monster to do so sooner or later. The misery such an act could cause would drive him into it, as long as he didn't get caught in the process.

He heard their voices in the ambulance over the rain. He wondered briefly just what Gregor would make of the unconscious gargoyle they'd brought for him to see. He hoped that for once he and the vampire would be in agreement: that Brooklyn, despite all his supposed talent, was really just a brainless whelp that had only gotten so far by blind luck and his own immortality. The Conscience around his neck had apparently made him a very different person according to Riana, and that's what was really bugging the necromancer more than anything else.

The Lack of Conscience was a key, a symbol of The Prince's approval. It wasn't supposed to alter the subconscious of the wearer. They had to have the will to go on the full way to lay claim to all the weapons themselves.

So why had Brooklyn been affected so much by wearing it?

Fuzzy squeaked in his pocket and Rincewald patted his familiar and best friend gently on the head with his free hand as he held onto his staff loosely in the other.

There was something terribly amiss here…

He would have pondered on this further, if the obnoxious ringing of a cell phone from within the ambulance hadn't interrupted his train of thought. A moment later Gregor had jumped out, a ridiculously expensive looking mobile phone pressed against his fat, shaven head. He looked both surprised and furious at the same time as he rattled off a long string of orders and threats in Russian as he stalked past Rincewald and towards his limo, ignoring the rain completely.

After he was only a few feet from his car he switched the phone off and glared back at the necromancer.

"Something wrong?" asked Rincewald casually.

"Tell Riana and Furcifer to grab that gargoyle and get him into this car right now," commanded Gregor. "We have to leave this instant! Apparently one of the gargoyles I caught last night didn't turn to stone this morning."

"What happened to him then?" asked Rincewald curiously.

"He just died a few minutes ago," replied Zaitsev.

dddbbb

"Penny for your thoughts."

Anubis looked from his reflection in the glass of the hired train's window and regarded the black woman who sat opposite him. "Hmm?"

Inquisitor Genieve de Morangias gave him a friendly smile. "I said 'Penny for your thoughts."

The Egyptian Fey regarded the Inquisitor carefully for a moment before replying.

"I was just thinking about our new partner," he said uneasily. "He frightens me, yet Puck will not listen. He's convinced that we can use Harrison to our advantage." He shifted in his travel robes and looked back into the human face that stared back at him on the glass as the endless plains of Russia rolled out for what seemed like eternity before him.

He looked away, rubbing his bearded, bony chin. "He is an Inquisitor is he not? Do you know anything of him?"

Now it was Genieve's turn to look uncomfortable.

"Well…yes. I know of him."

"Well?" prompted Anubis, sitting forward.

"Well," started Genieve, giving a smile. "Let's just say that I know enough to know that my rear isn't worth jack-shit if anyone else in my order finds out I was working with him."

"Then why are you working with him?" asked Anubis, amazed. "Why are you exposing yourself to such danger when you know better than I of what this man is capable of?"

"Because," said Genieve simply. "I believe in Puck. If he says he can handle Harrison then I believe him. After he's done the job for us we'll all put him down together, which should put us in very well with our superiors. There will be great rewards in store if we play this properly."

"Oh," said the Egyptian Fey simply, sitting back and putting his hands on his lap. So that was her game. She and her friend were ambitious. Speaking of which…

"Exactly how do you and Mr. Faulkner know each other?"

"He's my half-brother," replied Genieve. "My father and his mother met while in Hong Kong. She was divorced, he was a widower. Needless to say, both of them got on just great. I was only two at the time. Robert was six months old. We grew up together."

"And your parents are now dead," said Anubis. It was a statement, not a question.

"That's right," said Genieve, "They both were killed by a group of cultists that called themselves 'The Sons of the Black Throne'. Me and Robert were in our late teens. We saw the whole thing from were we were hiding. We waited till we were both of legal age to inherit our estates, and then sold the whole lot except for a small house in England." She paused her story to light up a cigarette. She took a light drag off it and offered it to the Fey, who politely refused. Then she continued. "While we were waiting for the cash to come in we had found out the names of the ten guys in charge of the whole thing and we found out where they usually went for a drink and to meet together. This dingy hole of a bar in Hong Kong. We went in there on this, shitty night in June, about eight years ago now. We walked in there, him with an Ingram, me with a Spectre-"

"What are they?" asked Anubis, raising an eyebrow.

"They're sub-machine guns," replied Genieve quickly, clearly annoyed at the interruption. "Anyway, we went in there with our guns, walked into the back room where they were all meeting, and we just laid waste to every single one of the fuckers, BAM!"

She sat back in her seat, a nostalgic smile on her face as she looked out the window and continued to smoke her cigarette. "Damn but that was a lot of fun. That's where we met Puck actually."

"What? You mean he was one of the people you were shooting?"

Genieve looked at him as if he were stupid. "No," she snapped. "He was in the front part of the bar watching the strippers."

"Why doesn't that surprise me," growled Anubis, leaning back against his seat and folding his arms.

"Anyway," continued Genieve. "We happened to have the bad luck to go on our shooting spree while there were some police just coming in the front to get their weekly bribe from the owner. The second we walked out they started shooting at us and we knocked the nearest table over as cover."

"Which happened to be Puck's."

"Exactly." Continued Genieve, grinning. "You couldn't make this shit up could you? Anyway Puck's beside us as the police are putting holes all over the place and while me and Rob are shitting ourselves Puck's laughing his ass off. We ask him just what the hell he thinks is so funny and he says he wants to thank us for making his last night in Hong Kong so interesting, so he asks us if we'd like it if he got us out of here. We say sure and the next thing you know he's snapped his fingers and suddenly were in his apartment twenty blocks away. We sort of hit it off from there. We hung around each other for a year or so before the Inquisition approached me and Rob for our little barroom massacre. We kinda drifted apart a bit after that, though we stayed in contact. Though I gotta admit I was a little shocked when he landed in my bed out cold. I mean we hadn't heard from him for a few months and then BAM! The next thing you know he lands right on top of me while I'm sleeping. Out cold and all his clothes practically burned completely off him. If I hadn't known he wasn't interested in me I probably would have taken advantage of him while he slept." She made a grin and looked him over, as if checking something. "Good story eh?"

"Yes," said a disconcerted Anubis a moment later. How did people like this always find Puck? "Yes…it was a…very good story."

"Thanks."

"Yes."

"Wanna fuck?"

Anubis stared at the human female for a moment, stunned. "Excuse me?"

"I said," replied Genieve slowly, as she leant forward and made what the Egyptian Fey guessed to be a seductive smile. "Do. You. Want. To. Fuck. Me?"

Anubis had recovered himself enough at this point. This woman had quickly gone from reasonably dislikeable to just another venomous whore which the human race seemed to produce in the thousands. So it was no surprise that when he lent forward and gave his answer with a contemptuous look, it was: "No. Way. In. Hell."

Genieve seemed to suddenly change in the instant after the tactless rejection. While the smile did remain, there was a change in her beautiful sapphire eyes. Where before they had been inviting, they suddenly became cold, dangerous. Then a slightly cruel twist began to spread along her lips and suddenly it occurred to Anubis why Puck may have slowly started giving this woman the cold shoulder.

Not only was she ambitious and gleefully violent, she was spiteful as well.

"Okay," said Genieve suddenly, her voice velvet, yet laced with ice. She rose from her seat gracefully, and the powerful muscles on her ebony arms seemed to flex unconsciously as she strode over to the sliding oak door. "I think I'll go and have a look for Robert. We'll talk later."

In a moment later she was gone, going to the right and not looking back at him or anywhere else and leaving the door lying open. As Anubis rose to close it a few moments later, Puck suddenly stuck his head around from the left side and gave his old friend a grin. "That's a bad enemy you've made there jackal-boy!" he cooed. "If we slept, I'd be advising you to do so with one eye open from now on!"

"How can you associate yourself with such people?" growled Anubis, stalking over to the window. "Xanatos, Demona, Harrison, that woman! How do you find all of these people?"

"Just lucky I guess," grinned Puck, taking off his badge-speckled leather jacket and throwing it on one of the couches. "And, personally, I always find the dangerous types to be so much more fun to hang around! They can be so unpredictable!"

"It will get you killed someday," said Anubis, crossing his arms. "Such recklessness always leads to danger. Are you really so hasty to throw your life away?"

"Oh Lord," groaned Puck, rolling his eyes. "Not another 'life is precious' speech Anubis. Please. For a guy who was worshipped as the god of Death you can be incredibly dull, you know that?"

"Puck…"

"Why don't you try living a little for once eh?" smiled the Fey trickster, jumping forward and giving his friend a friendly elbow in the chest and a knowing wink. "Why not go after Genieve and take her up on her offer? It could only do you good."

Anubis just glared at him silently for a moment, choosing not to dignify such suggestion with an answer. Eventually Puck lost his smile and sat down beside his jacket. "Honestly. You're just no fun sometimes."

"Where is Yuri?" asked Anubis.

Puck shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care. She can't stand any of us and believe me the feeling's more than mutual."

"Then what about that woman's half-brother?" asked Anubis, clearly displeased. "Where is he?"

"With Harrison," replied Puck immediately, sounding a little disappointed. "Those two seem to have hit it right off. It was inevitable really. Robert knows everything there is to know about Harrison apparently. He's been dieing to meet him and discuss the all the stuff I imagine Inquisitors just love talking about. It figures I suppose. He was always a bit of a weirdo. You always have to wonder at the sanity of a man who likes the Foo Fighters."

Anubis raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "He…he actually enjoys spending time with that…that monster?"

"Now, now Anubis. Let's not go around calling people names behind their backs," smiled Puck, rising suddenly. He started wandering aimlessly around the small cabin, running his lithe fingers along all the different surfaces carelessly. He always had a difficultly staying in one place for more than a moment. It was a trait that Anubis thought a little annoying. "I know there're a few bricks missing in his building," Puck continued, "But that doesn't mean that he won't be useful. Remember, my good half-jackal buddy, we're here to clean up old Daddy Oberon's mess, and we'll need Harrison's help to do this. If we don't work with him then we have to alert the court and then you know what will happen don't you?"

"Yes," sighed Anubis, relenting. "There'll be a scandal. All those in the court who don't want Oberon as King anymore will use this as leverage to their arguments to have him removed from power. They'll say he plays favourites, breaks his own laws, flaunts his power, that he is unfair, biased, ignorant, stupid, irresponsible, corrupt and a host of other things that make him ill-suited to be our ruler."

"My, my," chuckled Puck, wrapping his arm around his old friend's permanently tense shoulders. "If I didn't know better old buddy, I'd say that you didn't particularly like our King. Can it be true?"

Anubis looked down at him seriously, for in his preferred human form, he stood several inches taller than his friend. "I'd much prefer to keep my own loyalties to myself, especially when we do not know where Yuri could be."

"Right," nodded Puck, giving a knowing wink. "Got ya." He had always known that Anubis' loyalty was to Titania and Titania alone, as was that of many of the others on Avalon. Most held loyalty to themselves, and had formed many factions (the most powerful of which was the followers of the Wyrd Sisters), while the gargoyles on the island followed the Princess Katherine and Tom, whose loyalty was most likely to themselves as well. Now that he actually stopped to ponder it, he realised that Oberon only probably had a half dozen loyal followers in the entire court. The only reason that he held the throne was because Titania was loyal to him, despite his courting of the Sisters, and could thus bring the strongest faction to bear against the others, who, despite being much larger, were all badly co-ordinated. All they really needed however, was one more example of gross incompetence or terrible leadership on Oberon's part and they could very well unite against him, and then Avalon would go from paradise to war-zone in a matter of hours, first to remove Oberon, so that another could be fought to decide who should rule after him. Oberon was a terrible King, but at least with him there was peace of sorts. It would simply be too costly to try and find a better leader if he (and consequently, Titania) were ousted from the throne and killed.

"You've led us into quite a situation here Puck," said Anubis after a while, giving a smile that held no humour. "I can only hope that you are able to get us out of this when we need to. I feel that Harrison could well be as great a threat as Brooklyn is feared to be by Titania. Perhaps even greater, for his madness does seem to have method in it."

"I can handle Harrison," said Puck confidently. "I said I could handle him and that's what I'm going to do. You shouldn't doubt me old friend."

Anubis looked away from him and down at the lavishly carpeted floor. They both remained silent for a while, taking in the sounds of the train as it glided along the tracks.

Puck couldn't stand silences and said: "I'll tell you what my good half jackal-buddy. Why don't we go and find Yuri, huh? We can ask her about her own thoughts on this…if she has any."

Anubis nodded silently. Puck picked up his jacket and slipped it on and then they both went out the sliding door and closed it behind them. Puck went right and down the narrow passage, with sliding doors leading to empty cabins on one side, and huge windows showing the rapidly passing countryside on the other.

Anubis followed a few steps behind, in deep thought.

Harrison may be mad, but he most definitely was not stupid. Since they'd all started out together on his hired train, Anubis had gotten the feeling that the renegade Inquisitor knew they had planned to cheat him on the deal they had made from the start. He had to know that they would never give him access to Avalon, never mind its library, so why did he agree to have them tag along? He wanted to think it was because Harrison wasn't as powerful as he seemed to enjoy hinting, but he doubted it. Harrison was probably stronger than him, Yuri and Puck put together. He really didn't think Harrison was joking when he said he didn't need them to help him take down Brooklyn. But, then why?

Anubis could only think of one explanation, and it filled him with dread.

Even though Harrison may have no use for them at this moment, he might definitely have use of them later after all this was settled and Brooklyn was defeated. For even though Harrison did not have direct access to Avalon, he had in his grasp three Fey that did. Harrison was probably being honest when he said he wanted access to the island's library, to the collected knowledge of the Third Race, for within it were hundreds of tomes of magic that could make someone as powerful and determined as Harrison the equal of even Oberon or Titania.

And that was just from the knowledge stored in the library that was mentioned in books of legend. The other was hidden away, deep in the bowels of the castle, and only those who were closest to the King and Queen knew of it. The items that were kept hidden in there could make someone like Harrison a god in all but name.

But even as this dreadful thought occurred to the Egyptian Fey, he immediately thought better of it. Because then, Harrison would have to know of that place's existence before he could get access to it. And even then, the only ones who held the keys were Oberon and Titania. He felt relief as this occurred to him, for it meant that the artefacts and most powerful tomes were quite safe, even if someone as powerful as Harrison did gain access to Avalon. For no one outside of the court's inner circle knew of its existence, and it was more than likely that none of them would ever be so foolish as to let slip the knowledge of its existence. For if the wrong members of the court did learn of this secret library, it would invite disaster upon the whole Third Race and perhaps, even the rest of the world.

However, Anubis did not believe that even Oberon could be so foolish.

Unfortunately for him, he was wrong.

Avalon

Hector lay on his back on the grass, and let out a long, contented sigh. The thin, weakly built gargoyle was relaxing on one of the grassy hills to the north of the island, near a very picturesque pond upon which several ducks and magnificent white swans glided effortlessly along the still waters. His hands had stopped shaking for the moment, but that was because his needs had been satisfied. At least for now anyway…

Hector was a pleasure addict. He knew this fact. He even accepted it, but he hated it as well. He hated his addiction. He hated his rookery kin. But most of all, he hated the Fey.

If one were privy to all these facts, then it would undoubtedly lead one to wonder that if Hector really did despise the Third Race so much, then why ever would he be Titania's personal errand boy?

The answer to that was simple, if one knew Hector's history, for he was an addict because of the Third Race.

Two nights after their arrogant lordships had arrived on the island that was his clan's home, Hector had been enjoying a bath in the very pond he was currently laying close to. He had been waiting for the now late Aaron to show up, for they had secretly been lovers for several weeks before the Archmage had come to the island, followed hotly by Goliath.

After waiting for about an hour Hector had decided to go look for Aaron, but when he had come out of the water he had found that his loincloth was missing, as were the towels he was planning to use to dry himself off. He had rolled his eyes at the time as he'd guessed it was Aaron who had taken them, as some sort of lover's prank just so he could watch Hector wander around nude for a while before showing himself.

But it had not been Aaron. It had been Titania…

Hector had wandered around calling for his companion for a few minutes before he had come to a small patch of trees that littered the island. He saw his clothes hanging from a branch and had started climbing up, but when he was halfway up the trunk; a powerful, invisible force suddenly took a violent hold of him and pulled him from the tree. He had been twisted around in mid air and pinned against the trunk of the tree spread-eagled, and then suddenly the Queen of the Third Race appeared in front of him. She raised a hand before he could even open his beak, cutting off his terrified pleas as she weaved a spell that sent every pleasure centre in his thin body into overdrive, giving him more pleasure in that one instant than he had ever known.

And then Titania had muttered something else, and the pleasure was redoubled with every single word that came from her voluptuous red lips, pushing him over the line of psychological dependence and far beyond.

They stayed like this for what could have been an hour or a week, Hector, naked, pinned against the tree, his entire body drenched in sweat, his muscles so tight from the intense pleasure that they were on the verge of tearing. While Titania just hovered there, with a disgustingly superior smile upon her face as she watched her future slave go through the psychological equivalent of a hundred orgasms every second for an unknown period of time.

She had stopped only because he had a heart attack, and after she had healed this injury, she watched him as he lay on the ground, so exhausted that he could barely breathe, never mind move, and had said: "Did you enjoy that Hector? I'm betting you did. Would you like to go through it again? Well I shall tell you what. If you wish me to perform this service for you again, then you must be willing to perform services for me. It's your choice entirely of course. If your answer is yes, then come to my room when you have recovered some of your strength and have cleaned yourself up a little bit and we shall talk." He wasn't sure if she'd vanished after that or had just walked off for he had lost consciousness the next instant. When he had finally woken up, it was about four days later, and he was in the bed in Aaron's room, much to his own horror.

The deep orange gargoyle had found him lying there after being three hours late and had immediately taken him off to his room to take care of him, completely forgetting to bring along his clothes and leaving him naked until Hector had asked about them only seconds after he had woken up.

He was still too weak from his ordeal to move and so he had to endure three more days of Aaron's disgustingly feminine fussing and nursing before he was finally strong enough to get up out of bed and leave. While all that time he had been aching for Titania and the pleasures her spells offered him, while hating her with every fibre in his being at the same time for leaving him with a life-long addiction that would never be satisfied.

There could have been no choice in the matter. He had realised that while Aaron did his best to please his weakened lover over the next few nights of his recovery. Aaron had failed miserably in the process.

There was no doubt in the matter at all. Titania had him in her grasp and she was never going to let him go until he was of no use to her anymore. Then she would just leave him, stuck with his pleasure addiction, perhaps even hoping that the void she had created in his life would lead him to suicide, thus leaving her free of him completely.

If she didn't kill him before that, of course…

Hector knew that the Queen was growing concerned that her hold on him might be exposed. His appearance had changed noticeably since she had made him an addict. His hands constantly shook, his voice trembled occasionally when speaking and his thin frame had become steadily thinner as he ate less and less. If someone figured out that he was the Queen's errand boy and just how she was keeping him under her control then there would always be the risk that another faction within the court could very well get information on her plans from him by making him a better offer.

Which is exactly what had happened the day after Hector swore loyalty to the Queen. It was also why he was now lying on the grass, with the warm, gentle sun shining down on his naked body, and on the naked bodies of the Wyrd Sisters, while all their clothes were scattered around on the fresh grass.

He had come to them as soon as he swore loyalty to Titania, looking for a better offer, and they had granted it eagerly. Only they and their supporters had the power to help him satisfy the addiction inflicted upon him by the Queen, and only they and their followers had the power to overthrow her and her witless husband.

In return for his services, the Sisters had broken his stone sleep and they had given Hector as much pleasure as Titania had; only they weren't disgusted at the idea of touching a mortal like Titania was. Because of this, he was truly able to enjoy the time he spent with the Sisters; while in Titania's case he only ever felt like he was being violated, though admittedly that would never stop him going to her for more. Pleasure was pleasure after all.

But most important of all, they offered him the chance to take revenge on Titania, and the rest of her kind and on his rookery kin as well.

They would all pay eventually…

"Have we satisfied your lust Hector?" purred Selene, running one of her pale, silk soft hands along his weak chest and stomach.

"Yes, my lady," sighed Hector. "I thank thee for thy tenderness, thy love, and thy skill with words of power."

"Then you will tell us of the Queen and her plans?" whispered Phoebe, as she played with the tip of his tail.

"It would be an unforgivable act if I were not to, my Lady Phoebe," said the stone-grey gargoyle, sitting up and stretching. He looked at each of the Sisters in turn and suddenly he felt very dirty, so he suggested playfully that they all bathe in the pond while he told them of what Titania had done last night.

The Sisters agreed, to humour him of course, and after Hector felt comfortable with the Sisters crowded around him in the cool water he told them of how Titania had sent off Anubis and Oberon's own concubine to the mortal world to try and find out why Puck had broken off contact with the Queen. He also told of how Titania was preparing for a suspected attack by a very stupid and vindictive gargoyle she called 'Brooklyn', who had apparently been wronged by Oberon (though he was careful not to mention that she knew it was done so at the Sisters' prompting), and who also apparently had access to some especially dangerous pieces of human technology.

The Sisters listened with their usual eagerness, desperate to learn all of the Queen's plans so that they could prepare counter moves. He wondered briefly if they would tell Oberon about Titania's sneaking behind his back in front of the court, or in bed with him later. Or perhaps they would keep this new information privy to themselves. He thought about this briefly in the moment of silence after he had finished giving his report while the Sisters absorbed the information he had just given them.

Just what move might these three scheming whores make?

"You have served us well, loyal Hector," smiled Luna, taking her turn to speak the Sisters' minds. He found that to be their most irritating trait.

"Clever Hector," purred Selene.

"Cunning Hector," chimed in Phoebe.

Hector took the false praise with his usual, well-practised humility, insisting as he always did that he was unworthy of such praise by those so much greater than him. That he was their loyal servant, that he loved them for their kindness to him, that he worshipped them, that he knew that soon the whole island would be theirs and theirs alone, and that till then and beyond he would stand by them as their most devoted follower…

Etc, etc, etc…

The Sisters, while bad at giving praise even when it was justly deserved, had an almost insatiable desire for it as Hector had for pleasure. He could easily envision a court filled with nothing but brainless sycophants should they ever succeed in seizing the throne.

And…while that would certainly lead to their own eventual fall and destruction, it would come at far too slow a pace for Hector's liking.

"Hector," purred Selene, running her hands up along his torso, using a spell to enhance the feelings of pleasure that this gave him as she did so. "You have been such a loyal friend to us. This information, which you have given us, is most pleasing. Come, fetch the wine that we have brought, so that we all may toast to our inevitable success."

Hector nodded dutifully and rose to get the small bottle of wine and the four goblets that rested in a small wicker basket which the Sisters had brought with them that also contained a little food for him that they knew very well he wasn't going to eat.

The basket lay beside his loincloth and archer's dagger. As he bent down to gather up the glasses and the wine, one of his stone-grey hands skilfully filched a small stone from one of the pouches attached to his belt. He quickly slipped the stone into his mouth and placed it under his tongue, before he gathered up the glasses and wine and walked over to the Wyrd Sisters, who had now gotten out of the pond and were approaching him seductively.

"Noble Hector," said Phoebe, stretching out her bare hands. "We must surely have tired you. Why not lie down now? Allow us to give you a drink of this fine wine."

Luna took the bottle from his hands while Selene and Phoebe came up on each side of him, taking the glasses from his hands and handing one to Luna before they gently took hold of him next and laid him down on his back. While they were doing this Luna had turned around for a second, turning her back to him and closing off his view of the glass and wine bottle. When she turned around again the glass was full with the deep red liquid.

"Drink," said the silver haired Sister, as she got down onto her knees and held the glass out to him. "Drink Hector. It is a good year. A gift from your friends."

Hector put his beaked lips to the glass as Luna tipped it slightly, and he drank it all down, pausing only for a second to allow the fine tasting drink to mix around with the stone in his mouth, before he swallowed, making sure that the stone did not go down his throat along with the wine. After a moment he let out a long, exhausted yawn.

"Forgive my manners my ladies," he said, making sure to blink several times and shake his head a little. "But…but I fear that you may have worn your servant out. I…I…feel…quite tired suddenly. Forgive me. I…I…"

And then, he closed his eyes and went limp, allowing his head to fall against Phoebe's bare breasts, as he started to breathe in slowly, giving the impression of being in a very, very deep sleep. As he lay still, he heard a frustrated sigh, before his head was laid down on the damp grass.

"Disgusting creature," he heard, growled just above him. He correctly guessed it was Selene. It was her turn to talk after all.

"Perverted scum." Phoebe. Most definitely Phoebe.

"Now, sisters." Luna. "He may be to our dislike, but he is of much use to us."

"Be that as it may." Selene. "The second his use is expired, I shall enjoy killing him."

"We shall enjoy killing him." Phoebe.

"Now Sisters." Luna. "First to our plans. We must tell our ally about the spies the Queen has sent out into the mortal world. Come."

There was the sound of feet treading lightly on grass and then Hector heard chanting in a low, guttural tongue that he had never heard before, though as he heard the words he suddenly felt a surge of primal terror rise up from within him. It took all of his willpower to remain silent and still on the ground, for he knew that if he moved and one of the Sisters was watching, he was dead.

A strange scent suddenly filled Hector's nostrils as the low chanting continued. It was strong, but not wholly unpleasant. It reminded him of how some of the flowers that those two Incan gargoyles had brought from the Amazon smelled. He had been one of the ones to help carry the plants to an appropriate place for planting, and he had found some of their scents to be quite enticing.

The chanting stopped, and suddenly Hector had the feeling that something else was present, something of terrible, terrible power.

"Why do you call me?" something hissed, its voice low and menacing. "Have you no sense about you? Someone else could hear this!"

"We know." Selene.

"So we will be brief." Phoebe.

"What is that?"

"Hector." Luna. "He is our spy in Titania's inner circle."

"Are you sure he is asleep?"

"Positive." Selene.

"We gave him enough sleeping potion to make him sleep the rest of the day." Phoebe.

"Good. Be brief. I am not completely alone."

The Sisters quickly relayed what Hector had told them, their companion remaining silent until they were finished.

"What should we do?" he heard Phoebe ask after a moment's silence.

"Nothing. If there is really only two or three Fey out there then I will handle them. We shall continue as planned. Continue what you are doing with Oberon and make sure to disrupt any plans that that meddling bitch of a Queen attempts. All will proceed according to plan. Don't contact me again. If all goes will we shall meet soon enough. Till then have patience…my loves."

The feeling of presence vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving only a small trace of the spicy scent in the air, which lingered only for a moment before a slight breeze carried it away. There was a long silence afterwards, before Luna took her turn to speak and break the silence.

"Well my sisters. We now know what is left to be done."

"Is it wise to trust him?" Selene. "He seeks power here."

"He is our best chance at overthrowing Oberon." Phoebe. "We three alone do not have the strength to fight Oberon, Titania and their followers. With his aide we shall overthrow them. And once they are out of our way my Sisters…"

"We shall…"

"…become…"

"…gods."

"In less than one more of our days." Selene. "All our planning shall come to fruition. Let us prepare my Sisters!"

"But what of Hector?" Phoebe.

"Leave him there." Luna. "He is of no consequence. He sleeps now, and will most likely sleep till the end of tomorrow."

"And by then the Queen shall be dead." Selene.

"Along with the King." Phoebe.

"And along with his disgusting kin." Luna.

"And soon to be followed by this lowly dog." Selene.

"Till then, let the fool sleep. Let him dream one last dream before he awakes and is greeted by a nightmare." Phoebe.

There was a sudden rush of wind, and Hector's eyelids turned red from a brief, fiery flash as he felt the Sisters cast a spell and disappear.

Hector lay still for a moment, allowing everything he had just heard to sink in.

So, not only were the Wyrd Sisters moving against Titania, they had actually acquired the help of a most powerful force from outside of Avalon to aid them. This was going to be bloody. Very, very bloody.

"Excellent," he purred, sitting up and stretching his arms and wings. By this time tomorrow, either Titania or the Sisters were going to be dead, and he hoped it would be Titania. With her dead, Avalon would fall into the chaos of a civil war. Oberon's opponents would seize this opportunity to depose him, while his supporters would be totally disorganised without the Queen to lead them. And so the Fey would probably end up destroying themselves.

He rose, removing the stone from his mouth as he did so. Titania had suggested that he search the Magus' rooms for magical artefacts that would aid him in his duties as a spy, and this stone was one of the objects he appropriated for his cause. He did not know the art of its making, or why it did what it did, but he knew it nullified all potions and poisons that could be laced in food or drink, as Titania had instructed him in the use of all the items he had stolen. Stuffing the stone into his belt pouch, he began to dress himself. His mind flashed back to what the Sisters had done to Aaron. His death suddenly made sense now. It must have been an act on the Sisters' part to prove their willingness to kill all on Avalon who still sided with the King and Queen. A blood sacrifice, to seal their pact with whatever abomination they had allied themselves to.

He didn't miss Aaron at all really. He and Aaron may have been lovers, but he at least, was never in love with Aaron, and so his death really did not upset Hector all that much. He only fucked Aaron because no one else in the clan would have anything to do with either of the 'weaklings'. They had always been beaten and made fun of for being physically weaker than the rest of their kin. This was seen as some sign of inferiority, and he and Aaron were treated as such, Aaron because of his almost feminine disposition, Hector because of his complete lack of, as Princess Katherine put it, 'Christian Morality'. He found it amusing that she and the Guardian only seemed to care about Aaron once he was dead and could be used for their own agendas.

An incredibly evil grin spread across his beaked lips, as he realised that they were all probably going to be dead by this time tomorrow as well. This was easily turning into one of the best days of his life.

He walked up to the small patch of woods near the pond where Titania had violated him for the first time. From here on the hill he had a most picturesque view of a lot of the island, including the great castle with many stone gargoyles resting upon the walls of the keep and the main gate, which lay open, as it always did. He briefly thought about just what kind of force would arrive soon.

The castle itself, while looking formidable could, in fact, never really be held if a determined enemy laid siege to it. The walls were too low, while the outer wall could only boast twenty towers while the keep had too large a main gate and only a handful of towers, none of which were built with defence in mind. It was a fairy tale castle that he estimated could last only an hour or so if it were defended by anyone else but the Fey. And even then, he doubted that the conflict would only last a week at most, as this force the Sisters had called in probably held a great deal of magical power as well. Even the Third Race, for all their supposed power, could not work miracles.

There was only one thing about the whole situation that he found bothering. The Sisters had said something about becoming gods. What exactly did they mean by that?

Hector rubbed the edge of his beak thoughtfully. He couldn't understand just what the Sisters meant by that, though he suspected Titania might. The only question was whether he should bother telling Titania at all. He could easily leave this powder keg right now and avoid getting caught in the explosion when it all finally went up in flames.

So…why didn't he want to?

It was most definitely not due to any feelings of loyalty to anyone present on the island, nor was it caused by any actual desire to remain on the isle, which had been the only world he had known. He was genuinely tempted to stay and watch the island and everyone on it go up in smoke, but he knew that if he stayed to watch there was more than a good chance that he would be killed.

No…it was what the Sisters had said. And this was because, if what they sought could make them gods, then, just what might it do for Hector?

He leaned against a tree and stared out to the sea, crossing his arms over his unimpressive chest, his brow furrowed in deep thought as he breathed in the sea air. The Fey, for all their power, were quite stupid and arrogant. If what the Sisters sought was something that could be held or maybe read, then it was probably in the possession of Titania and Oberon. Since it would probably be considered dangerous they would have hidden it somewhere that they could have easy access to, or somewhere that they visited often. When taking their egos into mind, it was probably hidden a place that they'd also think was very, very clever of them, somewhere that would give them a chance to secretly laugh at anyone who sought that power. Somewhere right under everyone's' noses…

So…where on the island might that be?

He looked back down at the castle. There were a few other buildings on Avalon but the castle was the most obvious place, and so it would probably be hidden there. Being Titania's errand boy, he knew every inch of the castle, including all the secret passages that Titania and the Wyrd Sisters had shown him, which meant he could probably search the entire fortress without ever being noticed. Many of the Fey were probably wandering around the Eastern plains or playing tricks on each other near the mountains where the tomb of the Magus was. It was a rarity for many of them to spend much time within the castle's walls, and the few that did would probably keep themselves confined to the library or to their private chambers. Titania would be in her room, trying to decipher the next move of the Sisters of course. And should he run into her on his search he could always tell her that the Sisters had kidnapped him for information, and that he learned of their plans before he escaped from them. He knew exactly where Oberon would be - in the chambers of the Wyrd Sisters. He awaited their return, as he always did, so that they could pleasure him and distract him from their plotting. As for the Princess and the Guardian…they'd most likely be in their own chambers together, as the day time was the only time that they could enjoy each others' company in private.

No one knew that the Sisters had broken his stone sleep; no one would have cared that they couldn't find his statue anywhere. That is, if they ever even bothered looking for it in the day.

He…he could do it. He could search the whole place out and never get caught. It might only take him a few hours. There weren't very many places that Titania and Oberon could have hidden whatever it was that the Sisters were looking for. He could find this…this source of power that the Sisters' were so desperate to have and take it for himself. He could even have left the island before all the fighting and confusion started. They'd never be able to catch him, as they'd have a war on their scheming little hands. He could leave Avalon and go far, far away, with what the Fey would gladly murder each other for. And then in time, it would be he, Hector of Avalon that would become a god! And then, he would make everyone pay…

He started down the hill, running, ignoring the protests of his thin, unfit body. For the first time in a long time, he forgot about his addiction, a rush of ambition that he'd thought he'd lost had overwhelmed it. He knew a secret door built into the western bulwark that he could use to gain access to the castle, and then he'd go through the entire castle like a breeze. No one would notice him; no one could stop him even if they did because he would die before he allowed anyone to rob him of this power, his one real chance for revenge, and Heaven help anyone who got in his way now.

dddbbb

"If he should die," whispered Gregor, his pit bull voice menacingly calm. "You're life will not be worth shit. Do you understand me Edmund?"

The fat, clean-shaven Nosferatu nodded quickly, his fear of his master obvious in the way he looked over his shoulder as he turned about and dashed down the long, claustrophobic halls. The master had made sure to build a small medical centre so that his victims could be kept alive as long as possible, prolonging their agony and the master's pleasure. He didn't feel safe again until he knew Zaitsev's storm cloud grey eyes were no longer boring into him, and that wasn't until he finally slammed the door of the medical room and locked it tight. Zaitsev's gaze always seemed to follow his victims, even when they were no long in his sight.

"Trouble?" asked Riana. She had found the closet of clothes that Zaitsev had bought for her and had quickly dressed herself in an outfit more appropriate to her personality after she had a brief wash. From head to heel, she was skin-tight black leather and white silk, though the silk and leather admittedly covered very little of her frame. Her ash blonde hair was tied into a tight ponytail while a pair of black sunglasses with silver rims concealed her light green eyes.

"They managed to revive that gargoyle," explained Zaitsev, turning to face her. "But they aren't sure that he'll last much longer."

"A pity," said Riana, coming closer. "I know how you love to play with your toys."

"Yes." Said Gregor, clearly frustrated. "I want him alive. I need him alive. There's a bond between that one and the younger gargoyle I have downstairs. I can feel it."

"Lovers?" asked Riana, suddenly very interested.

"I don't know," replied Gregor. "I don't care either. All that matters is that there is a bond there. I can hurt them better if there is a bond there. I'll cause them so much more anguish if they're both there to watch the other's agony."

"My, my," said Riana, taking another step closer to the oldest of all the Nosferatu. "I'd hate to be your enemy."

"Then don't ask to help me torture them."

"Oh but Gregor!"

"No!" snapped the vampire. "You want to torture somebody? The street is full of prey. Take your pick and go have some fun. Just remember that those two are mine. While you are under my roof it would be very much in your interests to search for your prey elsewhere."

"But they insulted me!" growled Riana.

"What has this got to do with me? I don't give a shit. It's your pride that was insulted, not mine," replied Zaitsev, already bored of the conversation. "They belong to me and no one else. You cannot touch them and if you try…well…I think you know me well enough to know what will happen…don't you?"

Riana said nothing. Instead she gave him a stare full of venom and stalked off somewhere. Zaitsev watched her till she was around a corner before heading to a door several yards away and to his left. He opened it and walked into a bedroom where the crimson gargoyle known as Brooklyn was resting on top of a bed. Furcifer was standing near him and looked over to his comrade.

"Hello Gregor."

Zaitsev stalked over to the bed where the unconscious gargoyle lay, ignoring his comrade's greeting. He stared at Brooklyn's unimpressive build and the black Sun staff, which lay at his side.

After a very long, uncomfortable moment of silence, Zaitsev said: "Furcifer, my old friend…is this a joke?"

"What do you mean?" replied the young, thin man in black.

"I mean," said Zaitsev, putting great emphasis on every word: "Is. This. A. Joke?"

"No," said Furcifer coldly, folding his arms and glaring at the vampire. "No Gregor. No it's not. He is the Anointed."

"Bullshit." Stated Zaitsev, looking Brooklyn over with his dark eyes. "That gargoyle I've got dying in the next room's more impressive than this. Just what the Hell is it that you're playing at?" Furcifer opened his mouth to say something but Zaitsev suddenly raised his arm and waved him off. "On second thought, I don't care. Just wake him up, get the gauntlets and get him out of my sight. He isn't even awake and already I grow weary of his presence."

"Riana believes that he's the one we're searching for," said Furcifer defensively.

"Riana has the brains of a rabid monkey," said Zaitsev bitterly. "Whether she really believes or not, this is just another excuse for her to indulge herself in some major bloodletting, so I fail to see the validity in mentioning her opinions here. I didn't say anything earlier because I was in her presence and I wasn't in the mood for an argument."

"Now Gregor…" started Furcifer, in as patient a tone as he could manage given the circumstances.

"Don't speak," growled the ancient Nosferatu suddenly, his pit bull voice imperious and laced with equal parts ice and venom. Furcifer gave him a look that would have killed lesser men, but Zaitsev wasn't even fazed. He continued without even looking at his colleague, instead keeping his eyes focused on the gargoyle lying on the bed. "You're up to something my old friend. I don't know what it is but I know that if this…fool gets his claws on the gauntlets, and I know he will, then I shall find myself implicated in what ever it is that you are planning, even it is only in a minor role. And I will get punished for it." Finally, his grey eyes drifted up to look into Furcifer's black-green ones. "You've got some dirty little plot up your sleeve Furcifer, so there is only one question at this point that truly matters." He turned completely to face Furcifer; his massive body towering over his thinly built comrade. He smiled darkly as he asked the question which mattered, and that question was: "What, pray tell, is in it for me?"

Furcifer uncrossed his arms and looked over his old comrade warily. "I don't trust you Gregor."

"And I do not trust you," replied the vampire simply. "But, as you well know, I can be bribed. So you'll have to make my cooperation worth my while won't you?"

"I suppose so," admitted Furcifer. "However, I could always just destroy you. Then I wouldn't have to give you anything."

"And I actually thought that you had brains," scoffed Gregor. "If you laid a finger on me you'd be hunted down by all The Powers and you know it. If you want my cooperation and silence then you had better tell me what you are planning and what it is that you can offer me."

"You've put me in quite a position Gregor," said Furcifer, suddenly very cautious with his words.

"You put yourself in it," growled Zaitsev indignantly. "You were foolish enough to think that the passage of millennia has worn away at my mind as it has Riana and undoubtedly Jeremiah as well. But I think that you will find that I am as sharp as I ever was." Zaitsev suddenly took a menacing step forward, looming over him like an oncoming storm and, much to his own surprise, Furcifer suddenly found himself taking one step back. "Either you tell me what it is you're up to," hissed the vampire, "or I'll throw the lot of you out on your arses! Now tell me!"

Furcifer glared at him impotently for a moment while the only sound in the room in the otherwise charged silence was the slow, rhythmic breathing of Brooklyn. To the other two occupants in the room, this activity was more like a bad habit than a necessity.

"Very well," said Furcifer eventually. "I'll tell you what I'm doing, old friend, and then I'll tell you what you'll be getting if you help me." The mysterious thin man that always dressed in black then told the first of the Nosferatu what it was that had dwelled in his mind, occupying every open space and crack in his head until he could resist it no more.

What he told the first of the Nosferatu in that hushed tone in those few minutes amounted to something that was supposed to be unthinkable but of course it wasn't. It was, when one such he considered the character of the man telling him these things, quite inevitable, though of course it didn't make it any less than madness. But the rewards if such a venture were successful…

Oh yes…the rewards did seem to outweigh all else in the equation…

And this is what Gregor told the tall, thin, stupid man in black, as he offered him his hand, swearing on all that he considered dear to him (which wasn't really that much) that he would do all he could to make this scheme work, in exchange for the rewards and a little help in the matter of a certain dying gargoyle, and total deniability should the scheme fail, an offer which the man in black accepted with glee.

"Now that this is all settled," smiled the vampire, "there is but one thing left for us to do."

"And what is that?" asked the man in black, smiling back.

They both looked down at the gargoyle resting on the bed simultaneously.

"Wake the stooge, of course."

dddbbb

There was a strange, grey haze hanging over him, like a huge, heavy blanket, encompassing everything. Everything seemed strange, like it was all set in slow motion. His mind, once sharp as a blade now felt dulled somehow. The cobwebs and the dust had returned, cluttering up everything. Slowing everything down.

Why…was…this…happening?

"We three, though born of different parents, and though being of different blood

This…was…familiar…

do swear here today, in the eyes of God

God…

an oath of brotherhood.

He…could…remember…now…

To stand by each other's side, in times of both Darkness, and Light.

He…loved…them…

To share each other's fate.

And…they…loved…him…too!

Be it Heaven

Lexington…

or Hell.

Broadway…

We three will go together. As brothers."

At this moment, at this precise moment it could have ended. The terrible, bloody consequences of what had started out from an immortal's wish to die and another's to gain power could have all ended at this exact moment. But, as this record shows, it didn't end there. For as Brooklyn Wyvern lay on the bed, slowly waking up as the drugs Demona shot into him drained suddenly, about to break free of a control he didn't know he was under, he, himself, chose to remember something else.

"Angela…will…will you…marry me?"

They…abandoned…him…

"I love you Alex."

They…didn't…care…any…more...

They. Had. Found. Others.

They…betrayed the oath!

And so they were not his brothers anymore.

The haze and cobwebs suddenly vanished in an instant. Everything began to go at the proper pace. Brooklyn sat up and opened his eyes. They glowed pale blue.

"I will have my revenge on them all."

"Of course you will." Said a deep, pit bull voice. "That is why we are here, Anointed."

Brooklyn looked up and to his right. Furcifer was standing across the room, his arms folded, wearing his usual black and a proud smile. The other man in the room stood closer and was much more lavishly dressed in a pin strip black suit with a dark green mandarin shirt underneath. He was hugely built with very powerful shoulders while at the same time sporting a large potbelly. His head was fat, pale and shaved, while his eyes were a very foreboding dark grey. He held a large, ornately decorated box made of brass and polished rosewood in his leather gloved hands.

"Welcome back," smiled Furcifer.

"Who are you?" said Brooklyn, ignoring him.

"My name," said the well-dressed man with a flourish, "is Gregor Zaitsev." He made a quick little bow, a predatory smile on his face. "And I am your most obedient servant."

"Are you?" replied Brooklyn as he got up off of the bed, his voice loaded with bitter scepticism. He looked Zaitsev over; suddenly comprehending just how much bigger Zaitsev was than him. He tried his best to seem superior while still having to look up slightly at his face. There was a strange smell of his breath that reminded Brooklyn of hospitals for some reason. "And what exactly are you?"

"I am both Guardian of the Plague Gauntlets, and the first of all the Nosferatu," stated Zaitsev in a very matter of fact tone, obviously enjoying looking down on him. "I am the representative of The Grandfather in our little cadre."

"A vampire representing the Lord of Disease?" Asked Brooklyn, cocking an eyebrow.

"It sounds strange, I shall agree," explained Zaitsev in a patient tone. "But if you actually think about it a bit it does make some sense."

"Whatever," said Brooklyn. He took another step toward Zaitsev. "I'm here to lay claim to the weapon which has been entrusted to you by The Prince. Take me to where they are so I can contest for them."

"No." Said Zaitsev.

Brooklyn stared at him, momentarily shocked by such insolence, which he quickly recovered from. He took a step back and picked up the Black Sun with his left hand, his eyes still faintly glowing a pale blue as he stared at the vampire. "Could you say that again please? I don't think I heard you properly."

"You will not contest for the gauntlets," said Zaitsev, the smile on his cruel lips switching from predatory to something else that Brooklyn couldn't quite read.

"Why not?"

"Because," explained Zaitsev calmly. "I already know that you are the Anointed."

Brooklyn stared at him for a brief moment. "Wha…what?"

"He said he already knows that you are the chosen one," said Furcifer suddenly, coming forward till he was beside Brooklyn. He put his gloved hand on the crimson gargoyle's shoulder encouragingly. "He feels so certain that you are the chosen of The Prince that it would only be a waste of time for you to contest for His weapons. Isn't that right Gregor?"

"Of course," said Zaitsev. One of his hands fell away from the side of the ornate box he was holding and flipped the brass latch on the top. He pulled off the top of the case and inside Brooklyn could see the Plague Gauntlets. Brooklyn stared at them for a few moments; in awe of the power he could feel emanating from them.

"Magnificent, aren't they?" said Furcifer.

Brooklyn tried to say something but found that he couldn't. Something…something was very wrong here…

Eventually he was able to look away from the carvings on the gauntlets and at that moment he found the strength to speak again.

"But," he started, "how am I suppose to control the daemon bound to them if I don't know its true name?"

"Its true name, is Zarr'yuuung'faa'dhao," said Zaitsev, using the tongue of the daemon. "With it your physical strength will be greater then even that of a Greater Daemon. You will be able to control all the diseases of the world and bend them to your will, and you shall be able to drain the very life and memories of anything that breathes so long as you hold them in your grip." Zaitsev picked the right gauntlet up. The claws on the fingertips glittered in the light of the room. He held it out to Brooklyn. "Take it in your hand, speak its true name while focusing your mind, and then put it on."

Brooklyn nodded and put the Black Sun back on the bed. He took the gauntlet off Zaitsev and did as he said, speaking the true name of the daemon within the rusted, grimy looking metal while focusing all of his willpower on it. As he did this, the gauntlets began to change shape. The ring and little fingers of the gauntlets began to merge suddenly, until they became a single finger, while the other two fingers and thumb thickened in order to accommodate a gargoyle's fingers and talons. After a few moments the alterations were complete, and Brooklyn slid the gauntlet effortlessly onto his right hand, and as he did so he began to feel a strange feeling of numbness encompass his body, which grew stronger by the second before he felt a tidal wave of non-feeling hit him so hard it took his breath away and almost knocked him over. He tried to open his mouth to say something but then the feeling vanished, as if it had never been there to begin with. He looked around the room for a moment, bewildered.

"What the Hell just happened?" He asked.

"That was just your body accustoming itself to the gauntlets," explained Zaitsev patiently. "If you didn't know the true name of the daemon before you put that on then right now it would be feasting on you, bloating your entire body with disease in order to stop you from forcing it to reveal its true name to you."

"Sounds nasty."

Zaitsev nodded. "You would have developed boils the size of fists on every inch of your body that would have kept growing. Your weight would triple in a few seconds from the amount of puss that would develop in your veins. After about twenty minutes it would have all flowed to your mid-riff and after a couple of more minutes your belly would have split right open and all of your liquefied insides and a few hundreds pounds of puss would have spilled all over the carpet. Then, the daemon would have started eating you."

Brooklyn stared at him for a few minutes before he managed to say: "Charming. Can I have the other one now?"

"Of course," replied Zaitsev, taking the other gauntlet out of its case and giving it to him. Brooklyn noticed that it, too, had changed to accommodate his non-human hands.

Brooklyn put it on his left hand, opening and closing his hand into a fist a few times in order to get used to the odd feeling of moist warmth that these had inside. It was a little weird but he had a feeling he'd get used to it very quickly. He turned around and picked up the staff again, and then turned to face Furcifer and Zaitsev.

"Well," he said. "How do I look?"

"You almost look the part," smiled Furcifer. "But I think you'd look more intimidating if you didn't have that farm boy look. Tell you what, why don't you go with Gregor? He'll get you some clothes you might feel more comfortable in. Then you can get a shower and come down to the basement of this little house, where I'll join you after I deal with a small matter."

"What's down in the basement?" asked Brooklyn.

Furcifer and Zaitsev shared a dark, evil smile.

"A surprise that we think you'll enjoy," replied Zaitsev.

dddbbb

The first thing that she became aware of was the pain, which was sharp and unrelenting. It felt like someone had left several knives lodged in her belly, but as she grew more awake she was able to focus her will just enough to drive most of the pain away. The pain mostly banished, Dominique Destine opened her eyes and looked at her surroundings. She was tied to a steel chair by several strong, thick chains that were set in the middle of a large circular room. There was a single, naked light bulb hanging directly above her, which cast its harsh light down on her surroundings. She could make out shackles hanging from stonewalls and several more around the floor. There were a few chrome tables that held all sorts of devices of torture on them, along with a foldable table with steel clamps leaning against the wall. A wooden chair was leaning beside the shut door, which glimmered like armoured plate. The scents of dried blood, decay, daemonic spice, and hospital disinfectant filled the room and her nose.

She groaned, still feeling groggy.

What the Hell had happened? The last thing that she remembered was fighting the Nosferatu that had attacked her and her clan. And then…something had attacked her from behind. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts but all she could remember after that was a man in black and the strange dream she had about Broadway.

Broadway…

"Oh God," she muttered into the air. What had happened to him? What had happened to Goliath and Lexington and the others? She tried to struggle in her bonds but after testing them all for weaknesses she doubted she could have even broken out of them if she were a gargoyle. Her head still wasn't clear enough for her to try using magic to free herself. "Dammit."

She spent several more minutes trying to free herself, regardless of the strength of her chains, until after a few moments, the door opened…

…and Brooklyn walked in.

"Hello Demona," he said, a sadistic grin on his beak.

Demona stopped her struggles and glared at the crimson gargoyle as he walked in and closed the door behind him. He was dressed in black from head to clawed toe. The daemonstaff she had seen him wield earlier hung off of his back via a leather harness off of his floor length leather coat. On the belt of his pants hung several knives and clip pouches, while he had two matte black Desert Eagle pistols hanging from shoulder holsters. A katana with a black and white handle and a silver hand guard also hung off of his belt. Rusted gauntlets with wicked fingertip hooks decorated his hands, while an amber pendant swung from a silver chain around his neck.

"You're looking good," he smiled, circling her. The business suit that she had worn the previous day was now in tatters from her transformations. "It's funny," said Brooklyn mockingly. "But I can't help but shake this feeling of déjà vu. Can you feel it Demms?"

"Don't call me that," growled Demona.

"I'll call you whatever the fuck I want," replied Brooklyn, his voice unusually calm. He strode over to the other chair leaning against the wall and picked it up. He turned about and brought it over to sit in front of the gargess-turned-human, and swung it around so that the back of the chair was facing her. He sat down and crossed his arms over the top of the chair's back and gave her a sly smile.

A few moments of tense silence passed before Brooklyn broke it.

"You know what Demona? Before the massacre, I had the biggest crush on you." He gave a smile. "But then again, so did just about every other male in the castle. That must have been a pretty cool feeling. Knowing that most of the single males and even probably a lot of the ones who were spoken for jerked off while thinking about you. We all thought Goliath was the luckiest guy on earth." The smile vanished, replaced by the now familiar look of hatred. The amber jewel glowed faintly as his eyes filled with a faint but eerie blue radiance that only amplified the hate she could see within. "To learn that it was you that caused the massacre came as a pretty big shock to me. But…even then, I think I still had that crush on you." His eyes flared fully, at last. "So…when you…betrayed me…that…left a pit deep inside of me." His flaring blue eyes looked directly into her sea green ones. Demona stared back defiantly. "And when I thought you had finally died, and…I was…banished…for my part in your killing. I still felt…empty."

Brooklyn shifted in his chair a little and looked down at the floor between his taloned feet. "It took me ages to figure out why I still felt that empty pit in me, though why it took me so long is something I'll never know, considering the reason was so obvious."

"And what, pray tell, was the reason?" asked Demona sarcastically.

Brooklyn glared at her hatefully and in a single, fluid motion, he drew one of his Desert Eagles and pointed the pistol right in her face. If common sense had not intervened at that moment, he would have fired, killing both Demona and himself. He stopped himself from pulling the trigger, barely. The powerful handgun stayed out though, the end of the barrel barely and inch from Demona's face, the arm and hand holding it trembling with rage.

Demona gave him a very smug look. "Go ahead Brooklyn," she teased. "Go ahead and pull the trigger. You want me dead don't you? Well here I am. You'll never get a better opportunity than this to have your revenge, so why not take it?" She leaned forward as far as she could, until the gun was pressed tightly against her forehead. "Go ahead. Pull the trigger. Fire. Kill me. What's holding you back? Is it fear? It's fear isn't it?" The smile on her face grew and her tone became mocking.

"Are you afraid of death Brooklyn?"

Every inch of the crimson gargoyle shuddered with the amount of hatred driven rage that was passing through his veins. His finger wrapped tightly around the trigger and for a moment Demona really did believe that both of them were about to die. What amazed her in that moment was that she did not feel fear, as she had felt the first time, when Macbeth had plunged the poison laden syringe into her arm all those months ago. This time she felt something completely different.

She felt relief…

"No," hissed Brooklyn, snapping Demona out of her thoughts. "No Demona. I won't let you off with a quick death." He shook his head while putting his pistol back in his holster, a simple movement that seemed to require every ounce of physical strength he had. "I won't kill you now because to kill you means that both you and that fucker Oberon win. Not until he is in his grave and the servants of The Prince are running amuck on this world will I even consider killing you." He looked up at her and gave her a genuinely evil smile. "You see…the reason that I felt so empty after your death before was that you didn't suffer enough before you died. Sure I may have beaten you up a little but that's all I was able to do before those two traitors pulled me off of you. You didn't suffer enough to justify my banishment, or to appease my hate."

Brooklyn stood up suddenly. He picked the chair up casually in one hand and tossed it away from him, all the while maintaining that dark, sadistic grin of his. "And when I say I want you to suffer, I don't mean by the typical physical crap, because that just means that I'll hurt myself in the process and so where would the sense in that be?" He took a step back from her, pulling his daemonstaff from the harness on his back. The runes along the shaft glowed as he held it. "You see, ever since I heard Oberon cast the spell over us, I've been thinking about the words he used every single day since then."

Running this fingers absentmindedly along the shaft of the daemonstaff in his hands, he repeated the words now that Demona never heard.

"The Lord of Avalon himself decrees,

That both shall live eternally,

Sharing each other's pain and suffering.

Neither of you shall ever die until one doth kill the other,

Whereby both your lives are forfeit."

"That's what he said," sighed Brooklyn, looking at the floor. "Word perfect, that's what the bastard said. And I've been thinking about those words now for quite some time." He looked directly at her now. The glow in his eyes had stopped and for the first time since he had come in Demona could see his hazel eyes clearly. In them only hate seemed to exist. She briefly wondered how long his sanity had held after she had tricked him into betraying Goliath, and how long it took before his hatred of her became a Hunter-like, all-consuming obsession. Brooklyn turned away from her and started to casually stroll from one side of the room to the other and back again, holding the daemonstaff lightly in his right hand.

"As both you and I know Demona, the terms of a spell can very specific about their conditions. The more powerful the caster the more precise conditions they can place on their spells and curses. And so I've been wondering…" he stopped, trailing off, looking at part of the wall like it held something of import. He turned around and faced her, a dark smile slowly spreading across his beak as he spoke again.

"Just what kind of 'pain and suffering' do you think Oberon was talking about?"

Demona opened her mouth to speak, to insult, to tease and potentially drive Brooklyn into doing something stupid because she had already grown weary of his smug voice. But before the first syllable had even formed in her mouth…Brooklyn raised his staff and in the same instant the jewel hanging around his neck and his eyes burst into flame and as the air suddenly became with the enticing spicy scent of the daemon Demona found herself hit, not by pain of the physical nature…

…but by pleasure.

She let out a small gasp of pleasure before she could get control of herself. She looked over at Brooklyn as the pleasure became even greater in intensity, and saw his grin become sadistic.

"How does it feel whore?" he hissed, the entire length of his daemonstaff shuddering in his gauntleted hands, while strands of pale blue and black flames raced up and along its rune-encrusted shell. Brooklyn spoke a word of power and suddenly Demona let out a moan as she reached climax.

"It's funny, I had a feeling that we could only experience each other physical suffering. I knew Oberon was simply too stupid to have thought that suffering is anything more than from physical pain." He paused in his speech to hear her groan as she reached climax again. "If it had been the Sisters themselves casting it as they did with you and Macbeth before, I daresay I would probably be feeling this too." He leaned forward as Demona started to writhe unconsciously, uselessly, against her bonds, all the while Brooklyn continued weaving the spell that activated all her pleasure centres, pushing her further and further over the edge towards physical and psychological dependence as he continued this magical rape of her.

Brooklyn laughed as Demona let out a roar as she climaxed yet again. "What's the matter Demms? You don't seem to be enjoying this all that much. I'll tell you what, why don't you pretend it's Goliath giving you this? That might help." He let out a long, sadistic laugh as he raised the staff and pushed the spell to the next stage, literally bringing her within moments of becoming a pleasure addict.

And then, just when she was about to cross the bounds, Brooklyn raised his free hand, spoke a word of power in the daemon's tongue, and stopped the spell.

Demona slumped back in her chair, trembling with exhaustion. Her clothes were drenched in sweat and clinging to her and her throat had become bone dry in an instant. Otherwise Brooklyn imagined that she would have spat on him. Her head was pressed against her chest, her eyes closed, her breathing was short but laboured, and her pale, human face had become a fiery red. He fancied that she was trying to stop herself from crying, and that pleased him more than anything else. He would have sold his soul just to see her weep…

But she didn't, much to his disappointment. He leaned forward and over her, raising her chin with his left hand until he was looking into her face and he said, snidely, still grinning sadistically: "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

But nothing. An anticlimax, to what had been a truly marvellous experience. Demona remained silent. She kept her eyes shut and for reasons he couldn't as yet understand Brooklyn suddenly didn't want to be in the same room with her anymore. He didn't want to make snide remarks; he didn't want to start over again with the magical violation…

…he didn't even want to see if she would lose her cool and start crying because of his violation of her. He had no desire at all to enjoy the victory he had scored over her. The closest thing to a real victory that he had ever really won against her.

Instead, the pit of emptiness that had rested in his belly since that night at the Cloisters all those years ago had grown to the point where it could have swallowed worlds whole in a matter of moments. He couldn't understand.