Unnamed sequel Chapter 1: Delusive Confidentiality, an underworld fanfic

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Budapest, July 28th 2003—the end of a bloody epoch, and collaterally the commencement of a new and more intricate one. Both lycan and vampire will undergo a decisive intervention by the origin itself.

"Digging into the past is forbidden for a reason."

— Kraven

UNDERWORLD: ARCANUM

PART ONE

DELUSIVE CONFIDENTIALITY

The rain poured down incessantly, pounding against the asphalt. Although impenetrable clouds obscured the night sky completely, the running Death Dealer knew the myriad beams of lunar light tried to find a way through, as though wanting to show their extraordinary brilliance. Or maybe to admonish the vampires of what horrible things they formerly could implicate. Humans always thought the moon to be a symbol of romance, but for vampires, however, it reminded them of a raging war that had been predominant for centuries. A war between the savage lycans and the sybaritic vampires. Both breeds detested each other—wanted to exterminate the other. However, if one was to believe the old myths, lycans and vampires had a common ancestor. And if it was one thing this Death Dealer abhorred, it was just that: a common ancestor—one and the same breed.

Not three weeks ago, the reason of the war was simple: to defeat the other breed. After the well-known milestone, however, the purpose had become much more intricate. Newly, it was confirmed that some lycans and vampires had allied themselves. The reason remained unknown. Unlike before, you could no longer tell who was on which side—who would kill you, or who would protect you. There was especially one case that Blake had in mind. A great vampire, he thought disdainfully, who is in league with the lycans. Or at least he looked like a vampire … Although being hunted by an annoying perplexity, he knew it was an immoral act nevertheless, flinching in repulsion at the thought. The disunion is badly enough as it is.

His severe black coat drenched from the rain, Blake hurried across the empty street located on the outskirts of northern Pest. He glanced in both directions. Coast clear, he thought deliberately. This was a strictly esoteric engagement; no human—let alone lycan—could know about this. He didn't dare to think of the implications if an exposure were to happen.

In the adjacent park, leaves of the many birches fluttered ardently in the imposing wind, even the tree trunks moved ominously. Today's newspaper lay glued to the wet asphalt, flipping from page to page with fervent frequency. The violent storm had been raging constantly for two days, now. Well known for his intuition, Blake had a feeling that it wasn't planning to cease just yet, either.

An imposing structure loomed before him. It was impressive concerning size, but qualitatively speaking, the edifice was dilapidated to the utmost. Wet moss had found the brick wall quite comfortable—especially the deep cracks in it—, and was now sprawled all over it.

Blake shifted his gaze to the door in front of him. Bristling splinters of wood gave a sense of filthiness, and the drenched vampire suddenly felt uninvited. But he knew this was the place. He glanced at his watch. Damn! Realizing he was delayed, he flung the door open and rushed in, preparing for a long tirade about his lack of punctiliousness. That was rather hard, though, when you were about to face a leader who was feared and respected because of his notorious inclemency.

Obscure darkness environed Blake. Numerous candlesticks were mounted on the walls, environing him with vivid shadows. A set of stairs spiraled upward to the second floor, where the meeting was held. Strangely, the late vampire couldn't hear anything. I know the engagement is confidential, he thought, eyeing the shadowy place with suspicion, but there should be some noise nonetheless … Slowly strolling across the concrete floor, Blake narrowed his eyes and carefully took a firm grasp about his modified glock pistol.

"No reason for it, friend," a voice said behind him.

Blake twisted his head in alarm and raised his gun, ready to pull the trigger. A man clad in an oriental snug jacket stepped out from the shadows, his facial features partially exposed by the flickering illumination. A set of black whiskers ran down his cheeks, contrasting clearly with his otherwise ivory features. One of his azure eyes was hidden behind a tuft of wavy black hair.

"Gabriel," Blake said with a deliberate sigh of relief, lowering his gun.

The Death Dealer curved an acknowledging grin. "It's good to see you again," he said, patting his comrade's shoulder. "By reason of an unwanted intervention by the lycans, Cain, though reluctant, had to postpone our engagement. Reluctant because Mason had accentuated the importance of this gathering on beforehand. I knew you were late, so I decided I'd wait here and inform you about what had happened."

An irritating drop of rain, coming from Blake's soaked hair, trickled slowly down his nose. While holstering his pistol, he wondered how the barbaric beasts could have known about an arrangement of such confidentiality.

As if reading his mind, Gabriel told him sternly: "They say the lycans have spies—highly efficient ones—that have been 'visiting' our hideaway … and not just once, friend! Unfortunately, the reason why we haven't sensed a trifle of suspicion remains unsolved."

Bloody hell, Blake thought. While he was at the hideout, believing he was safe for the time being, damn lycanthropes—most likely in their humanoid form—had been lurking in the shadowy corners with appalling cunningness …

Wait, something's not right here, Blake reflected. "But, stealth does not accord with a lycan's nature. It never was and never will be."

Gabriel crossed his arms and glanced to his left. The aggressive rain pelted against the fragile windows, ready to shatter them any moment. "We've already contemplated that, and you are right; there exists a discordance."

"And what says our leader?"

"That they are obligated to redeem themselves for their scornful sin. With their blood, and their death."

Uncomfortable silence fell upon them. Blake should have been satisfied by this compelling compensation; by now, his tongue should have grazed his razor-sharp fangs in gratification. But something disturbed him, perhaps a dawning inconsequence. Grazing his stubbles, Blake looked around inquisitively. "What happened here?"

The other vampire didn't seem surprised by the sudden change of subject. "As instructed, we held the meeting upstairs," he informed, indicating with his head. "Cain had just began the introduction when series of thumps could be heard from above, followed by synchronized deep roars." He eyed upwards for a moment. "Fully transformed lycan beasts with uncompromising intent had landed on top of this building." Passing Blake, Gabriel strolled leisurely to the other side of the locus, next to a dust-covered oak table. He took off his glove and lightly brushed his finger along the surface of the table.

Turning around, Blake asked impatiently: "Then what?"

The other Death Dealer continued his nimble grazing. "We fled, of course. But when we reached the hallway—which now is right above us—, the wolfen beasts came crashing through the windows and blocked our escape route. The bastards approached us slowly, just for the sake of anguish. They knew they had us outnumbered."

Blake did not like the sound of this. A pack of transformed lycanthropes were not to be taken likely. The Death Dealer feared the worst.

"Luckily," Gabriel continued, "Cain knew of a passage that led to the roof. He drew his flambergé and ordered us to run for it and report to Mason, while he would detain our enemy as long as he could. We protested, but Cain stood there with unrelenting firmness, knowing that the silence treatment always worked. Every one of us knew that no convincement existed at this point, and so we turned tail." Gabriel's nimble brushing had now been replaced with coarse scraping.

"Then why are you still here?" Blake asked, his voice clearly pervaded with curiosity. His companion's voice, on the other hand, intensified with rigor.

"Elementary—I disobeyed orders. I followed the others up to the roof, but when they plunged from the rooftop and into darkness, I didn't stick to my guns. I couldn't. Cain was down there, fighting a whole pack of ferocious lycans on his own. It would be an encounter with certain death. So, I ran down the stairs, ready as ever to enter the battle …"

Gabriel ceased to talk for an instant. Probably sifting through his thoughts, Blake concluded, and thus decided not to interrupt him. Only seconds later, he was startled to see the other Death Dealer flip about with remarkable swiftness.

"But no lycan was there, and nor was Cain! Only the thousands pieces of broken glass and the tracks—brutally dug into the floor—proved the lycans' quite recently presence. Our enemy was undoubtedly superior, but no battle, regardless of combatants, can be settled this fast. Nor can such a battle end without a single trail of blood. Yes," he whispered gloomily as he saw Blake's shocked face, "I did neither perceive nor see any blood—not a single blotch! If one of those uncultivated brutes were pierced, I would definitely have perceived that disdainful smell. You know how sickening it is, friend."

Blake nodded to show his consent. The blood of a lycan was never meant to please a vampire's lust for the red fluid, but rather for pure revenge.

"I am not sure how," Gabriel proceeded, "but somehow I knew our enemy wasn't vicinal anymore. Though, in spite of my certainty, I still wielded my shotgun—just in case. Whilst I scrutinized one of the rooms to guarantee securement, I remembered your absence during the secret gathering. I needed to see if you'd eventually arrive, because I was entrusted the mandate of giving a full report on this ordeal to our leader. Who I doubt, by the way, will be pleased," he added wryly. "And, if I waited for you, I'd prevent unnecessary anxiety, as well—thus, killing two birds with one stone."

Blake appreciated his companion's decision and was glad to have him within his presence. He emitted a slight smile to acknowledge that. But it quickly vanished, however, as he noticed Gabriel's indicative finger, beckoning for him to come closer. The Death Dealer did so.

"How the lycans knew of this meeting may be unclear to us," Gabriel said. "But it is quite evident who sent those lycans here. I assume you know?" he asked, even though he already knew the content of Blake's reply. He tapped on the oak table with his finger.

Blake glanced down at the furniture, which was unquestionably in disrepair, and gave a stern nod, proving that Gabriel's assumption was correct. "We're short on time," he said decisively. "We have to report to Mason right away."

After their departure, the letters formed in the filmed dust by the Death Dealer's finger were still easy to decipher, and would remain in the same state for a long time to come. It was not the most elaborate work of calligraphy, but made it all the more perceptible, as if to symbolize the simplicity of logic.

Marcus.