Okay, then. This chapter took longer time to write than I initially thought. This is no doubt by reason of school. Several tests and heaps of homework have impeded my writing, but the plague finally had to relinquish. laughs at the pitiful attempt Errr …

Anyway, here is the third chapter of Arcanum—for those that care. >

-

PROWLERS

One of the back alleys in Erzsébet district proved to be an appropriate route for a hunted prowler. Nearly dysfunctional streetlamps positioned next to the nearby roads maintained a feeble illumination in the complex system of back streets, making a peerless path in respect of stealth. The moist air conveyed a thick malodor, which undoubtedly originated from the numerous overfilled trash barrels lined along the small path. A half-torn 'Budapest Sun' of yesterday lay atop one of the soiled lids, and a blackened banana skin with its content was disgustingly smeared over the wet asphalt. Sitting comfortably in the shades of two dustbins, a gray cat gently liked its paw just when it heard indistinct footsteps nearby. Its auricles erected.

The contours of two figures blurred in the shades of towering structures. From time to time, they ran inside a spot of bleak light. Black apparels vividly contrasted with the bright radiance before the figures quickly delved into the opaque shadows again. One of them yelped slightly, feeling its skin seething slightly. Oh no, the sunrise …

"We're almost there," Selene stated, "it's just two blocks ahead." Rapid suspiration made it difficult for her to utter the information.

The two had been on the run for five subsequent days. Taking breaks only when they felt they were secure from danger, Selene and her companion obviously could not have had enough sleep during their escape. The only respites she could recall were the times when the sun forced them to. And even then they sometimes had to continue their painful way through feeble shadows. It's hard to think you're safe and sound when you've killed an Elder, Selene realized. And it was not some kind of irrational thought created by her intuition. It was a simple, undisputed fact. Marcus was probably already awakened, and the blood used to end his slumber would impart to him that terrible night, which had occurred only several days past. She remembered that it was Victor who had coronated him 600 years ago. After that, Marcus had seemed to share his mentor's opinions and thoughts—from beginning to end. Never was there a doubt in the vampiress' mind: Marcus will attempt to hunt us down, no matter the cost.

A figure of manly character caught up with Selene and began to run by her side. Tufts of damp hair flapped in unison with his quick pace. Thank god, he thought. We have to get to safety fast. She won't abide the sunlight much longer.

Incinerating rays of daylight had made the escape extremely distressful and excruciating. Because of the dangerous sun they had to seek refuge long before it ascended on the horizon. Most of their breaks had been in dark cellars of desolate buildings, but sometimes they were however unfortunate, being compelled to rest outside. Selene had especially had times of encumbrance during these days. But they had clung to life this long. And after undergoing several tormenting days, they were finally not far from reaching their goal. Nothing was allowed to thwart them now.

"Michael, there's another intersection ahead. We have to hurry," Selene informed grimly and quickened her pace.

Michael whirled his head in surprise and noticed her resolute expression. "Don't! Your skin won't withstand the daylight. It's nearly full-fledged."

"I'll be fine," she said obstinately, her gaze inexorably focusing on the road ahead. "This crossing is our last. Just be on your guard." She pulled back the slide of her Colt 1911 Nickel, which she had found in the lycans' hideout right before they had fled. Gripping the gun tightly, she didn't find it as pleasing as her former guns: her dual Berettas. It's better then to be unarmed anyway, she reflected, considering it a meager comfort.

Using the left bricked wall as cover, she coolly glanced at both ends of the road.

Knowing Selene's stubborn disposition very well, Michael resigned quickly. He watched her spurt into the open, flinging the tail of her trench coat to her face—perhaps a feeble attempt at blocking the sunlight. Notwithstanding, some UV-radiance could strike her, but it was at least tapered to some degree. To his dismay, Michael saw her stagger slightly just as the pernicious rays hit her. But she kept running regardless, her will being resolute and irrevocable. His own, on the other hand, was tottering. There's something about this place … He squinted apprehensively at his surroundings. The Erzsébet district would probably endure a thorough disintegration in close futurity. Everything was completely dilapidated and cracked. And everything is completely wrong, he perceived. Contracting his eyes, he calmly took a few steps and regarded every window, every alley—every spot of shadow that could be used as concealment.

A crackle of guns clamored from above, testifying to Michael's premonition. "They're atop this building!" he agnized, tilting his head backward so he could see the looming wall in front of him. Immediately after, responding fire created a strobe light on the street ahead of him. Selene! he thought aghast, hurriedly shifting his stare to the transverse road. The tail of a black coat could barely be seen scarper into the darkness of the alley. Damn, did she get injured? He couldn't tell. A guttural sound emitted from his lips as he comprehended the danger of the situation. Just about to vociferate Selene's name, Michael thwarted his own voice, realizing he could indirectly imperil them even more. Selene, being an empirical ex-Death Dealer, was fully capable of avoiding such menaces by herself. No, he was the one who had to deal with the threat, here and now—not to mention fast. He looked again at the imposing wall before him. But as bone structure twisted and twirled, nails extended into great, sharpened hooks, blue eyes diminished into jet-black orbs, and skin gradually turned melanin, he began considering it a vertical shortcut rather than an obdurate hindrance. With a preternatural leap, the hybridized Michael bound upward and crashed into the brick wall fifty feet above ground. Detritus rumbled down and clashed against the pavement with a thump, but the hybrid remained adhered to the wall. A line of glaze unrestrainedly and swiftly glided up the perpendicular surface and, instantly, Michael was atop the building, finding himself vis-à-vis two men and a woman, all of them black-clothed. Standing close to a clay protuberation, they had located an effective cover from the sun. Aimed towards the street below, the guns in their respective hands rattled cacophonously, the muzzles spurting out frenetic flames.

Death Dealers!

"Come on!" one of them blurted. "She'll get aw—"

Surging decisively in the air, a 45-caliber bullet pierced the Death Dealer's chest, immediately protruded from his back, and receded into the bleak mist. He thumped lifelessly to the ground, blood haloing his body.

She's alive! Michael thought to himself, filled with satisfying relief. He was happy to see that he was right about her independence. But the threat was not entirely dealt with just yet. The female Death Dealer had ceased firing and was staring at the carcass lying next to her, completely stricken by shock. The other one, however, was still pestilently triggering his gun.

But not anymore. The Death Dealer stared at a spout of blood, which was gushing from his heavily injured thorax. What the hell had happened? Employing his sight downward, he caught a glimpse of a melanized man sitting perched on the ledge of the hulky structure. A hybrid! he conceived with a consternated expression. Was this the one they called Michael? The one lord Marcus had admonished him of, and concurrently the same person he was ordered to track down? Or perhaps it was the lord himself who was standing beneath him, roosting calmly on the bricked ledge, gratified to see his minions get killed? Recognition became harder as the hybrid, along with the ominous wall, rose higher and higher in the air. The Death Dealer had never actually had reliance toward his superior, despite trying. It was just something about his entirety, but he couldn't really define it. In fact, as he recalled the night when the disruption had occurred, he also remembered his tormenting uncertainty. On which side did he really belong? Whom did he serve? He realized however that it didn't matter how much he questioned his allegiance in the war. And still less would the other question be of any more relevance: Who killed me? Michael or lord Marcus?

As he deliberately had told himself: It didn't matter. He felt the wind growing more powerful with every millisecond, passionately surging down on him. Tilting his head backward, the Death Dealer saw to both his alarm and alleviation the ground rave down upon him. And then, everything turned to nothing.

-

The fusillade had abruptly ended, and Selene was hiding in the shade of a towering construction across the road. Running a risk, she solicitously peeked in the direction of where the projectiles had originated from the debris. Only a short moment ago, the ex-Death Dealer had heard a great clump, making her curious of what had crashed to the ground. From where she stood, it seemed to be the sanguineous remainders of a battered body, but being too far away, she wasn't able to identify who it was. Removing clustered strands of raven hair from her face, she carefully peered upward. What is happening up there? Selene curiously inquired herself. Just then, she noticed the indefinite outlines of a manly shape quickly descending from the misty sky. The contours became more distinct as it approached the rough surface of the street, and—boom!—a thud of excessive intensity made the entire block vibrate menacingly.

Standing unyieldingly amid a circular area of appalling devastation, an ebon figure looked at the vampiress. Or at least it seemed to do so; Selene couldn't tell because it seemed to be lacking eyes. A short-haired female was slouching right next to the dark shape, whose clawed hand was clenching the collar of her black robe.

Michael, she thought, assured.

With absolutely no exertion, the hybrid pulled the drooping female into the shadows where Selene was squatting. "She, along with two other Death Dealers, was the one trying to kill us," Michael informed in a soberly tone as his black tegument began to disperse, the millions of skin cells performing a tardy suffusion. "Now we know for sure."

"Marcus is after us." Selene didn't appear surprised, squinting at the female Death Dealer, who was unconsciously reclining on the mucky surface of the back alley. The insensate face implicated an easy acknowledgment, despite an abraded cheek. Her lips were particularly familiar, being embellished with black lip rogue and a golden piercing. It's Opal, Selene figured. The two vampiresses had protected their species together for circa two hundred years, but Selene knew that deep down, Opal distasted her. The ex-Death Dealer had easily discerned her diminutive frown every time they had made eye contact. What did I do to deserve her disrespect? she wondered vexingly, not recalling a single rational reason.

Michael discovered Selene's ambiguous expression and couldn't resist uttering the question, although perhaps exceeding the boundaries of good demeanor. "Do you know her?"

Looking up at him, Selene noticed that he was now fully retransformed. "Yes," she replied, a bitter smile crossing her face. "Our relation was quite complicated, so I'm not exactly taken aback by this." Safely holstered to her belt, Opal's secondary weapon, a Heckler & Koch MK23, caught Selene's eye. She ejected the magazine, suspicion escalating. The purplish illumination was easily recognizable. UV-bullets, she deduced worriedly.

Michael readied another question, but cut off as he saw Selene's chestnut eyes twitch. The daylight, he retrieved.

"I know," Selene conceded gravely, a deep furrow trenching between her eyebrows. "Even staying in the shade is becoming unbearable." Severely grabbing Opal by her arm, Selene hit her stride down the malodorous alley, the lifeless body being hauled across coarse asphalt. "Come on, the safe house is right around the corner. We'll pry information out of her there."

-

Half recalling his last impressions, Michael wasn't exactly stricken by the nondescript structure this time, either. The brownstone was still cracked in the extreme, and, in addition, as anonymous as the rest of the Erzsébet district. Retrospecting, he could very nearly perceive the unendurable agony, which he unwillingly had been forced to brook. It was the close of his life as a human. And now, having evolved into a one-person species that was feared and wanted alike, he had acquired the best of both worlds. Michael didn't know whether he liked it or not. But come to think of it, his future hadn't changed much since he set off to Hungary to continue his life as a doctor. My future was just as uncertain then, he thought to himself wryly. But this radical change had made his existence exceedingly momentous, however. Not to mention, his self-esteem had doubtless escalated for the better.

The raddled lobby was still strewn with broken and rustic furniture, and winding stairs sagged just so creakingly as last time. Still undergoing desolation, Michael thought, obliquely eyeing his decaying environs. Not that it was unlikely; a revival of such degree required a big and venturesome investment. Neglect had deteriorated the locale nigh beyond reconstruction. Considering it from another perspective: It was a nice basis for a safe house.

The two started climbing the dingy stairs that led to the uppermost floor of this less stalwart pile of bricks. Michael, still surprised by his new and improved capacity, now realized that he was easily capable of maintaining Selene's swift pace. Not like last time, when he immediately had been out of breath after ten seconds of running. And I thought that I was in good shape, he thought, grinning somewhat.

Ascending the end of the staircase with no further effort, they continued their way through the wreckage, treading steadily across a decrepit corridor, which was poorly decorated with a mangled carpet. Remaining inanimate, the slouching Opal was being tugged along still.

Rupturing the wooden double door, Selene paced into the Spartan interrogation room and quickly pulled a switch on the frugal wall. The steel shutters, reacting to the electric signal, pivoted, efficaciously impeding the sun and its deadly rays. Thank god, she thought, exhaling a sigh. No more exasperating sunlight—at least for a while. Now, she and Michael were able to discuss and plan what to do next. And hopefully, I'll get to know him a bit better. She shot a glance at him. Perhaps there existed something inside of her that wasn't completely saturated with hardheartedness? In fact, the only feelings separating her from a living dead were the ones that originated from the liquidation of her family. Revenge. But now, maybe—just maybe—she could experience another feeling. A feeling of a much more alleviating character in comparison to her otherwise sole vindictiveness. Love.

Her relieving musings fleetly vaporized, however, as she set her eyes on the apparently unconscious Opal, who was now starting to stir. Selene had totally forgotten about their subject of interrogation. Swearing beneath her breath, she frenetically gripped Opal by her achromatic garments and hurled her into a massive steel chair.

Brows knitting, Opal had ostensibly driven off the disorder that usually followed a concussion. Either that, or the Death Dealer had been conscious for a longer time than what was apparent. All the same, Selene thought. Opal was going to get it either way.

-

"Don't you understand?" Opal snapped, thoroughly affected by aggravation. "It was Viktor. Viktor all along! I've looked up to him ever since I became a Death Dealer. But despite my trying effort, I couldn't surpass you." She cast an accusing look at Selene, who was leaning against the enamel tiles covering the concrete. Glaring back at her formerly fellow Death Dealer, the exiled vampiress listened to the spoken words with musing interest.

"Viktor loved you above all else," Opal proceeded with a banal look of disdain, which Selene didn't have any problem recognizing. "And that sickened me. For I have just as high ambitions as you, if not higher. And my devotion …" she spoke softly, lowering her head.

Michael, standing by Selene's side, remained quiet, but he eyed the two girls by turns. This is definitely turning into a catfight.

"My devotion is at least sincere. You, on the contrary,"—Opal's lips curled in a snarl—"betrayed the trust that Viktor had in you."

"No!" Selene flared, lurching from her leaning position. "It was Viktor who betrayed me!"—she pointed at herself—"He raised me as his child, in spite of his abominable misdeeds in the past, as though he neglected the terrible fact. Killing my family, turning me to a vampire, mentoring and favoring me—it was all an act of selfishness!"

"A feeble fabulation, Selene. I can clearly see why he wants you dead!"

"She's telling the truth," Michael interrupted, hoping he could bring the unhelpful misunderstanding to a close. Barely able to release her contemptuous stare from Selene, Opal reluctantly turned her attention to the unknown man. "Viktor admitted it when he realized Selene knew," Michael explained. "To him, Selene had remarkably close resemblance to his own daughter, Sonja, who was married to a lycan long ago. But because of that—and the fact that she carried their baby in her womb—she was killed. Murdered by her own father."

The Death Dealer sitting in the interrogation chair carried a look of nothing but bemusement. Sudor trickled down her brow.

Selene took over: "Viktor dreaded a blending of the species, even though hybridization, in fact, could prove to be the solution to ending this war. The war erupted because of him, Opal, and it still ravages because of him. Viktor was no leader; he was an egoist. He should've taken others in consideration and accepted the birth of the hybrid."

The room quieted, intensity gradually sapping away. Michael dearly hoped they had convinced her. Switching glances with Selene, he saw that she shared his hopeful thought. But when he scrutinized the other girl, however, he saw her staring right at him, her ivory face bespeaking no comprehension whatsoever.

No sympathy, no antipathy.

The air smelled of fear.

"You're …" Opal began, giving out a sibilant sound. "You're the hybrid! I can sense it—the blood of both species! Your blood smells the same as Lord Marcus's!"

What? Selene thought, Opal's words taking her breath away. Did her hearing deceive her, or perhaps Opal was just blathering? Or did she actually hear her say that Marcus's blood was identical to Michael's? Damnation! Is Marcus a hybrid, too? Selene reasoned. The danger was even greater than she had predicted. How the hell did that happen? Looking at Michael, she got a line that he, too, had noticed the terrifying remark.

"What? What is it that Marcus want?" Selene inquired, her countenance trenched with austerity. She apprehended the opportunity of receiving valuable information regarding the Coven. But observing Opal's reaction, Selene quickly concluded that her attempt was in vain; her prior companion involuntarily juddered, and her eyelids were painfully peeled aside.

The panic-stricken subject of interrogation cast several swift glances at different parts of the room, but succedent, she locked her eyes onto something. Selene followed her gaze and saw to her great dismay a weapons rack that was not too far from Opal's reach. No, please. Don't do it.

Opal's protruded eyes studied the two again, evidently trying to see if they understood what she was about to do. Selene waited for an eternity to pass. Michael tarried, as well. He mostly kept his gaze on his favored companion, although Opal was the menace. It was Selene who had the power to decide, however. This was a personal affair between the two women, and he would only kill this Death Dealer if Selene's life were at stake. And somehow he knew that it wasn't. But the Corvinus descendant felt something prickle inside his head. He was certain, wasn't he? Tormentingly tarrying, he was curious about the upshot.

I beg of you, Opal. Do not do it, Selene thought, desperately wanting to utter her plea. But she knew full well that a single sound, regardless of volume, could incite a horrible event. Though, what else could she do? It was a foregone conclusion; one of them was going to get severely injured by the other, or if worse came to worst, one of them—if not both—would soon depart this world. The bond between her and Michael could be torn apart, and she would never see him again. Could she bear that? If the question had been asked two weeks ago, she wouldn't stagger in the least. Hell, she would in fact laugh off the query. But now … things had changed.

The infinity elapsed, and the time of forecastable occurrences was over. Like a blue streak, Opal lunged out of the chair, clinched a Vz61 Scorpion, and whirled about, fully prepared to spark off. But one thing happened that was beyond her prevision.

Grey smoke sloped upward from the muzzle of a raised MK23. Tightly grasped about the gun was Selene's hand, which had already pulled the trigger. Behind the obscure fume, Opal could scarcely discern Selene's grim disposition—the last thing she could see before hellish, purple light crept across her vision. Until now, her will had never been brought to actuality. And neither would it; that treacherous vampiress had put Viktor to death—had put her purpose to death. And for the sake of amplifying the anguish to an intolerable degree, the last thing Opal was constrained to look upon was the person who had deprived her of the reason to live. At least her last thoughts had been abundantly gratifying, and perhaps they compensated for the excruciating spectacle. Relish your life, Selene, she advised with profound contempt, for it will soon be brought to a close.

As her own was now.

-

The momentum of the UV-projectile had sent Opal back into the chair. The bullet dug deeply into her lungs. Baneful daylight began to diffuse itself effectively inside her body—scorching through veins, flesh, and bone. Witnessing the whole transformation, Michael felt a qualm suddenly bulging inside of him, despite his previous career as a doctor. He could easily handle the sight of blood, but this was completely different. I'm looking at a decaying carcass, he thought for himself, unable to impede a distorting flinch. He turned to Selene and saw that she was tottering. Just before she tumbled to the ground, he gave quick support as he embraced her.

"Don't give up, Selene," Michael pleaded.

All of her muscles entirely depleted, Selene drooped in his arms, gravity seeming ten times greater than usual. "I'm not," she retorted stubbornly. "I just need some time to think this over."

Michael stroked her back affectionately to signal his comprehension. "I know these are hard times for you, but remember, we've successfully escaped the Death Dealers; we're safe from danger for a while, now. Just relax. We'll rest here for a couple of days."

Selene inclined her head in acquiescence. She knew she was safe and that this was an opportune moment to regain her vigor, but Opal's death troubled her, stinging painfully at her heart. This was the second time she had killed one of her own. The first victim—her prior leader and surrogate father, Viktor—deserved his demise, however. But this time … This time, she had murdered someone who was completely innocent. If only they knew the truth, she longed. That was however impossible at the moment; she had been caught seemingly red-handed, and no one would even think of believing a decried vampiress who had been sentenced—to death, probably—for her so-called 'perfidy'.

She was completely aware of the future; Opal was just a commencement of a long chain of killings. Even more innocent lives would perish. And they would continue to do so—unless the secret was revelated. If the Coven were to know the entire truth, then maybe the vampire clan would accept her as one of their own again. And hopefully, with Marcus being a hybrid, too, they would consent Michael, as well. But nothing was sealed. Certainly not. First and foremost, she and Michael needed to find a way to proclaim the revelation. Afterward, the Coven would announce their fate.

Now, the two only needed to contemplate the problem—how to reveal Viktor's true disposition and reobtain trust. But how could that be feasible when they didn't know the complete truth? Or when they weren't even cognizant of the endless prevarications the vampires, including Viktor, had believed for so long?

Michael and Selene hoped for a tomorrow, and the Arcanum mocked them for it.

AN: Another chapter completed. I'm not too sure about the quality of 'Prowlers', so if you could review on this one, I'd sincerely appreciate it. Reviews amplify my urge to write, as well, so you'd be killing two birds with one stone, my lil' friends.

If everything goes as planned, the next chapter will tell more about the state of the Hungarian Coven, and more importantly: It willintroduce our beloved Kraven to the story. He's not in Budapest anymore, nor is he in Hungary. He's somewhere else planning his reconstruction and the next coup d'état. In addition, you'll be given hints about what the Arcanum really is. Ooh-ooh, spooky!