There's not too much to say, really. Oh, other than:

Aiel: Bless you for bothering! XD

So, here it goes—the next chapter:

-

THE PRIMAL

The receptionist of hotel Victoria sifted through a bundle of papers orderly stacked on his reception desk. The content ranged widely from reservations via Internet to miscellaneous queries regarding both the hotel and the worthy tourist attractions in the English capital, London. An avid enthusiast of his own home city, the receptionist couldn't help himself when he was asked questions of the latter kind. There were so many attractions in London worthy a visit: Madame Tussaud's and Regent's Park, House of Parliament, St. Paul's Cathedral (he especially remembered the marriage of Prince Charles to Lady Diana, what an event!), Trafalgar Square, and not to mention Buckingham Palace, which was situated with all its Neoclassical brilliance next to this hotel. Ah, all the lovely monuments, he thought joyously. He had readily frequented them throughout his life, and still he didn't find them tedious or trite. In addition, he had a likewise opinion about passing on his knowledge of the historical structures to other people. No, he never grew tired of it.

The clavier of Bach's Jesu bleibet meine Freunde played soothingly in the background. A few hours ago, the lobby in which he stood had teemed with tourists, but was now gradually becoming devoid of life. Only a lovely couple was emitting the little tad of spirit that could be perceived. Reclining on the leather sofa in the lobby bar, they sipped expensive wine from their chalices and had a seemingly absorbing conversation.

The receptionist glimpsed at his wristwatch. 10 P.M. Most of the hotel guests had probably indulged themselves with a stroll along the streets of the beauteously lit capital. Some had perhaps even snuggled into their beds already, gearing up for tomorrow's events.

Anyway, he thought,promptly twitching his eyes, enough of this contemplation.

Positioning his glasses on the bridge of his nose, he began reading another pad of papers. Probably an additional reservation, he reckoned and tapped a few keys on the keyboard, activating the program specifically made for such requests. Just then, an insistent voice interrupted his work.

"Where is the Bag of Nails?"

The receptionist peered up from his papers and saw a handsome man with slick black hair that reached down to his shoulders. Strangely, he hadn't heard his approach. Adorned in the finest Armani suit, the man was apparently on his way to some kind of formal engagement. But, didn't he just mention the name of a nearby pub?

"The Bag O' Nails, Sir?" he asked in an unsure manner.

The solemn guest gave a quick retort: "You heard me."

Realizing he didn't like the guest's rude disposition, the bashful receptionist coughed slightly—a trivial but excellent excuse for avoiding eye contact. "Pardon me, sir." He indicated with his hand while explaining. "You will find the pub if you cross Victoria street and continue along Buckingham Palace road. It is located on the corner, near the Royal Mews. Maybe—"

"Most plentiful," the fashioned guest cut off and left the lobby with haste. The exit doors quickly glided apart in his coming, as though fearing to hinder his will. I wouldn't try to obstruct that man, either, the receptionist saw. Sighing thoroughly, he couldn't wait to meet his wife later tonight, the skittish encounter having depleted his want of working. Perhaps he would invite her to a romantic dinner at a nice restaurant. But which one? Well, certainly not the Bag O' Nails, he deducted quickly.

-

Descending the stairs outside of hotel Victoria, Kraven saw the analogous similarity. Just like I've descended—in rank. That damn bitch. He cursed Selene for her inopportune intervention. If she hadn't poked her nose into my coup d'état, I would be on cloud nine now. Instead, I'm stuck in this shitty city, undergoing the most mortifying demotion of all. The ex-regent had to concede, though, that it was his infatuation with Selene that had ultimately brought him to this debilitating disgrace. It had made him blurt out things that should have remained esoteric. But the least favorable impediment of all: It had kept Selene alive, giving her the chance to expose his plans and bring them out into the open (a chance she absolutely had to make use of, of course). If he had been more nonchalant—which he should have been all along—then he would have ruled the Hungarian Coven at this very moment, exulting in his luxurious existence. Fortuitous for him, his ornaments—rings, golden chains and bracelets—were worth at least some. He had exchanged all of them for money, which he sorely needed. But this wealth fell short of his voluptuous disposition. Pleasure could only be exulted if it was perpetual. Limits, regarding both economy and power, were past his tolerance.

It had taken Kraven the whole flight to London to acknowledge his failure, but it had to be done in order for him to be able to commence his reconstruction. This time, he would not let anyone stand in his way. This time, his scheme would be successful. And this time, the prerequisite was not to palter; now it was all about revelations.

Oblivious to the clandestine war between the two immortal ancestors, the unencumbered pedestrians promenaded along the Buckingham Palace road. So many people, so much blood, Kraven mused. He hadn't tasted blood since … the Elders knew when. He could almost see the scarlet fluid surge in their veins, glowing through what seemed like transparent skin. Self-indulgence was without question the hardest thing to be deprived of. At this hour, he normally would be reclined on his favorite sofa, nipping toothsome blood from a heavily embellished goblet. Cloned blood from Ziodex Industries. But now such blood was not accessible to him. He painfully remembered the conventions, emphatically proclaimed by Viktor himself, that said that Blood Hunting was strictly prohibited. Well, I'm not exactly a member of the Coven anymore, he reminded himself. Besides, Viktor had never managed to follow his own rules, so why should he impede his relish? Maybe he would indulge himself with a little bite after all … But that had to wait until later, however. Now he had other matters to attend to.

The great street, which led to the palatial residence of Queen Elizabeth, radiated vividly in the darkness of night. Sparkles illumed lambently, and zealous neon advertisements mounted on the towering structures shone above the numerous footers. The average tourist would gasp in reverence at the spectacle, but Kraven was aweless, solely immersed into his appointment.

Yellow taxies and the notorious two-leveled busses zipped past the vampire as he vigorously strode on the pavement, heading toward his destination. Only one thing was irrevocably trenched into his mind: Albeit a simple letter, it expressed the most peerless of all enigmas.

A.

-

The putrid rat took wing through a rusty lattice and into the dark of a wretched tube. Like most of its species, the rat disliked all kinds of hazards. Implicating its runaway were a series of footsteps bumping rapidly against the cracked and mucky pathway. Hiding in the blackness, the rat listened carefully to the unfamiliar sound, which was menacingly intensifying. It feared the worst. And then, through frightened black eyes, it saw something quickly pass by. Relief filled inside of its body as it realized the danger was over, the footsteps tapering off as swiftly as they had appeared.

Exceedingly weary of her fetid and monotone surroundings, Erika was on the verge of leaving the despicable sewers of middle Pest. But decisive thoughts incited her to continue her hunt. Chances were that the ones she was searching for were hiding out in this filthy complex. And I cannot presume they are on the surface, she understood deliberately, the sewer is unfortunately just as good a den, if not a better one.

Erika runningly rounded a corner and reached an abrupt cul-de-sac. She swore beneath her breath, incensed because she was forced to take a u-turn. Another obstacle she could not afford. But wait, she thought, isn't that …? Contracting her violet eyes, the vampiress followed the malodorous stream of waste material flowing in torrents next to her. The disgusting rivulet had adjoined her roughly two minutes ago, and now it streamed down a wide cavity, forming a vast and noisome cascade.

The vampiress smirked slyly. Sauntering over to the brink of the hole, she continuously bounded into the air and practically took a leap in the dark. The glossy trench coat, which she recalled stealing from the Death Dealers, fluttered intensely as she plummeted down into the unknown. The flapping of the garment gave her the feeling of being a raven disentangled from lengthy imprisonment, set free to do its own bidding. The new combat apparels had made her travels considerably more practicable and had bestowed her with a genuine feeling of independency. Contrary to her former plan to achieve acknowledgement, the project she had now set into motion was much more individual. And perhaps slightly more brutal. Erika grinned at her understatement as she bended her knees to oppose the end of her 70 feet voyage.

Bang! Landing vigorously into a squatting position, she warily closed her eyes for the purpose of perceiving eventual response to her vehement entrance.

Nothing—excluding the copious swooshing emitting from the great deluge adjacent to her.

The pitchy-clothed vampiress rose to her feet and cast examining stares about her. Can't be too careful, she thought. Finding the place remarkably gloomier in comparison to her previous environments, she noted similarity nonetheless—in view of achromatism and monotony. But there was one thing that Erika had discerned immediately after parting her eyelids: The site had been brought to ruins, some of the once constituting brick walls being completely broken apart. Debris lay sprawled across the uneven surface, and films of dust recumbing atop it inferred that this part of the sewers had remained untouched for some time.

Crack.

Fleetly cocking her head in the direction of the conspicuous sound, Erika's eyes bulged out, turning instantly azure. She clapped them on the decrepit passageway from which the sound came and realized the corridor was not too far from where she stood. Who?

The vampiress coolly unsheathed her Nuit Noire Rapier from beneath her lustrous coat and began to walk toward the dilapidated corridor in a meticulous manner. The adrenaline scorched within her, and her heart throbbed energetically against her ribs. As she approached the narrow pathway, incoherent murmurings greeted her ears. Exposed fangs indicated her lust for bloodshed, and her glacial eyes symbolized the cynicism of her actions if she was to meet opposition.

-

The atmosphere inside the Bag O' Nails was thick with smoke. Kraven didn't bother counting, but his nostrils told him that this was the typical pub where the lion's share of the clientele was continuously puffing their cigars. The exterior hadn't impressed him, and the interior wasn't in any way more striking. What a nice pick, friend, the vampire thought. The pervading satire clearly implied his distressful condition. Never had he missed the sybaritic life in Ordoghaz more; the thought of mingling with pathetic humans nauseated him nearly beyond intolerability. And damnation, there were too many of them! The pub teemed with activity, the enervating chattering buzzing in his ears with the most annoying persistency. A cheap television hung steadily on the beech-paneled wall. The sports reporter's voice was immersed by the incessant cacophony from the visitants.

"Hey, there! You up for a guest ale, mate?" someone asked from behind. Kraven turned callously about, only to see one of the male waiters beaming at him. The saturating Australian accent didn't amend his earlier impressions of the pub, he realized. Ale? No thanks, you damn fool, Kraven scorned, exposing a frown. Proffer your blood, and I will reconsider the offer. Neglecting the question, the vampire passed him and began searching for the person he wanted to see. He wasn't able to note the waiter's response to his rudeness, but in any case, he didn't care.

Pie-eyed guests constantly ran into him, his exacerbation increasing proportionally with every collision. Where the hell are you? he enquired. Leaving the place was tempting, but he resolved that it was not an alternative. My ingenious plan cannot come to fruition without a bit of assistance.

Kraven had made an appointment via telephone at Ferihegy Airport in southeastern Pest just before he entered the plane. He had emphatically told his accomplice to meet him in London right after the sun had set. It was not he who had suggested this despicable place, however. Well, I can't expect much of a thug like him, he deduced.

A high-pitched whistle sounded barely to his right. Instinctively turning toward the sound, Kraven agnized that his minute search was over. His being flooded with assuagement at the gratifying thought.

"Kraven," the man said gruffly. A sharp fang was exposed as he smirked crookedly. Sitting next to a coarse-looking table, he drew out a lighter from his pocket. He put it to the cigar placed in the corner of his mouth and zipped it. A flickering flame spurted forth, revealing his sly countenance. As he inhaled the tobacco, the ignited cigar glowed with a dim incandescence.

The man's stern features connoted his Caucasic origin. Dusky skin and stubby beard eradicated all doubt in Kraven's mind. A consummate thug, he determined.

Seating himself opposite the vampire, he framed a gloating grin.

"Rex."

-

Her back pressed up against the impaired wall, the vindictive vampiress heard people approach the corner by which she stood. There are three of them—perhaps four, she perceived. Not exactly the highest probability of survival. The murmurings had now gradually turned into coherent whispers.

"The ruckus came from over here," one said mutely.

"Are you sure?" another inquired.

Erika had her eyes on her surroundings. Not one damn hiding spot, she realized. The vampiress was compelled to act, seeing that she would be spotted sooner or later. It was better to catch them off-guard when she first had the chance. Just wait a little longer. The Nuit Noir Rapier felt pleasingly harmonious as she clutched it thoroughly with both hands.

Her hunt had anything but ended—she would see to that. Not until that fallacious dolt was put to death. The voices emitting from around the corner were definitely not of Kraven's, and that actually alleviated her. Perhaps others who desired Kraven's death would have sensed the opposite, but Erika wasn't like any other. She wanted to undergo a laborious endeavor before she would put an end to the vampire she both hated and loved. As a consequence of the labor, the gratification would amplify to a greater extent—to an adequate extent.

Now they were more than close enough. With a combination of vigor and bloodlust, Erika whirled around the corner, Rapier in hand, and ambled toward the flabbergasted faces of three dark-clad men. She halted when she found herself only ten feet from them.

"A female vampire!" one of them blurted out and raised his Heckler Koch MP5 midway, as though uncertain of the danger of the encounter. The grasp about the Rapier slackened, the whitened flesh of Erika's palm turning into a scarlet hue as blood was permitted to flow once again. She scrutinized the men's appearances in brumous silence.

The three had identical apparels—dark as they were—but their respective countenances diverged from each other. By reason of ebon skin, the leftmost man's expression seemed more somber and determined than the others'. His unswerving stare was fixed onto their possible menace, one hand on his Sig Sauer P225, which was aimed straight at her, while the other clasped the hilt of a scabbarded Flambergé. Contrary to this man's relentlessness, the MP5-wielder emanated doubt. His dark-red hair hung in front of his face, and the alabaster skin contrasted noteworthily with the ebony man.

"Lower your gun, Cain," ordered the third one, probably the superior of the triplet. Opposing his short, black hair, subtle gray strands inferred his centuries of age. A stiff collar protruded upward from the man's trench coat, contouring his virile jaw. Erika had seen him in Ordoghaz before, but annoyingly, she couldn't place his face.

"I said, lower your gun," he repeated, setting his eyes on the man to his right.

The inferior, whose name apparently was Cain, squinted sidewise to his leader and then reluctantly lowered his pistol.

Trepidation turned to vapor as Erika understood she was safe from lycan brutes. Thank the Elders, they are of my kind, she assured herself. But then again, there was another hindrance uprising. The three Death Dealers wouldn't kill her—at least that was evident. But they were however perfectly capable of stymieing her in other ways. The vampiress swore beneath her breath, her right hand slowly reaching for her modified Desert Eagle. I won't allow them to thwart my mission.

Like blazes, Cain menacingly lifted his gun toward her once again. "If you unsheathe that weapon, I'll gladly ensure your demise."

Erika ceased to move and retorted with an enticing simper, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

The leader seemingly noticed the threat, too; he raised his hand, beckoning her to mollify. "We're not going to harm you," he assured and gently took a step toward her. "We are just being cautious."

Tearing her eyes from Cain, she regarded the diplomatic vampire. Cautious? Why are they being cautious? She knew full well of her rather vulgar entrance, but even so: Considering Cain and that other red-haired Death Dealer, no vampire would exhibit such hostility toward his own breed.

Strapping his UMP, the leader looked at her attentively. "I apologize for the lack of etiquette. I'm Mason. Who are you?"

Erika, turning a deaf ear, refused to listen to his introduction. "Don't play tricks with me. You intend to take me back to the mansion, don't you? Well, I am tired of being a servant and a minx, so back off!"

Mason raised eyebrows, but subsequently turned grimmer. "Ordoghaz? Why should we take you there?"

"Because of my illegal departure, of course." She rolled her eyes, sighing. "Or perhaps you haven't noticed?"

Frowning, the Death Dealer cast a conspicuous look. "Don't you know what have happened to the Coven—about the dispersal?"

-

"Is this some sort of a joke, Kraven?" Rex inquired, narrowing his left eye and cocking his right.

"No!" Kraven whispered vigorously, his ardent gesticulation implying fervent enthusiasm. "I'm telling you, Rex: Lucian is dead, Viktor is dead, and the whole war has turned into a great tumult! This is our chance!"

The cigar illumed fierily in the dimly lit pub. "Okay, okay, I believe you." Rex's sharp accent rang in Kraven's ears. "But how the hell are you plannin' on getting back your position in the Coven? If you haven't drawn a blank already, you're thrown out. Or rather, you're wanted—not alive, but dead."

True, the ex-regent conceded, but with a wry smirk. While mulling over the question, he eyed his odious surroundings for a moment. Most of the clientele had left. Except for the staff, there were only a thick-bearded sot slouching on one of the bar stools and a man sitting next a table with his back hunched forward, beer in hand. Had it really taken him so much time to explain the situation of the war?

He turned his attention back to Rex, who—considering his expression—anticipated an explanation. Kraven thought it best to answer him. "My coup d'état does no longer rely on assistance from distrustful people. Last time, I had to rely on Lucian for 600 years. Whereas, this time, I will not take that chance."

Leaning over the table, Kraven leered to his sides, making sure no one could hear him. Perhaps he had become paranoid of all this thinking, but as he deliberately had said: He didn't dare to take any risks.

"I need your help, Rex. Consider it from another perspective: You will have your revenge on the aristocracy. As we both know, you did not intentionally kill lord Nicholas."

A slight snort escaped the thug. Holding his cigar over the ashtray, Rex tapped the roll, causing the ash to drop down in the container.

"This," Kraven proceeded with his persuasion. "This may be your moment of retribution, Rex—your opportunity to recompense your expulsion. As you can see, we have a common goal, you and I. If you're willing to cooperate with me, then together we'll share the glory, the power, the wealth."

A slight pause occurred before he asked the question: "Now, what do you say?"

A stern look met Kraven. Crossing his arms and slanting his head, the vampire thug appeared to contemplate the journey on which he perhaps would embark. Kraven couldn't tell how the tendency was. Suddenly, the chair on which he sat became uncomfortably hard. He changed positions, but none felt satisfactory. Dreading this moment during the entire flight to the capital of England, he realized it was far worse than he had initially feared. What if Rex refused to comply? Who would help him then? He couldn't think of another vampire—let alone lycan—who would willingly assist him. Perhaps his fate was already sealed, he fretted. Maybe his destiny was identical to Rex's? He would rather kill himself before becoming a thug.

He finally found a comfortable position as he saw Rex curve his crafty grin.

"So, how do we set this plan into motion?" the thug asked, his smirk still etching his face.

Kraven knew. He had known ever since eavesdropping on Marcus and secretly studying the days of yore. If it weren't for that promising deal with Lucian he had at that time, he would have brought this plan to fruition right away. Now that promising deals turned out to be failures in the end, there was nothing stopping him. Yore and future would converge into one, and together, they would prove to be quite fatal.

"It all starts with the awakening of the Primal," he told Rex cunningly while a thought reverberated in his mind.

Digging into the past is forbidden for a reason.

I'm a tad happier with this chapter, in spite of it being more of a teaser. But now I'm actually quite unsure where the next chapter will take place, so I'll have to spend some time contemplating this. If you'd like, you could write suggestions, and I'll consider implementing them. Also, I've toned down the language a bit. If you have thoughts about whether it's a change for the better, then please tell me.

Till next time.