Thank you for the review, iridescent eyes—I sincerely appreciate it.

AN: I have thought a little about what Aiel said in his latest review, and tried to add some inconsequential reading, which, frankly, isn't that inconsequential after all (logical, huh?). This chapter will bring out some past occurrences and introduce you to … a missing link.

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DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ELUDE YOUR FATE

"In my mind's eye, a great tale depicts a fatal selection, the decease of the very first female Elder, and a superlative egoism. Renowned for a steady perseverance and next to divine beauty, Luna was an eminent crowd-pleaser beyond all else. Truly a fine vampiress, that one. Her and Nicholas's coronation on which the vampiric populace sincerely concurred, took place in the little hamlet of Timisoara in anno Domini 603. If the Apocrypha are historical correct, then Luna and Nicolas's accedence ran parallel with the dissolution of the Huns, the dominant Byzantine Empire, and the regime of a Turkish tribe of humans, the Avar. It was at this point of history that the vampires' existence nearly was unshrouded to the public eye as humans began to settle themselves within the borders of Timisoara. As an implication, Luna—together with Lord Nicolas—was now forced to uphold the cohesion, and thus made history.

"The first decision she made as an Elder was to move the vampiric society to the lands of Moldavia. Their community endured difficult times during this migration, their day-to-day routines changing radically. But as not two months had passed, they made their peace with the conversion, and the society could start to develop in its sluggish manner once again. That was when Lord Nicolas uttered a proposal of implementing a chain of sole sovereigns. 'Perpetual swayers are doomed to become immersed by tyranny,' he said. Luna agreed and continuously brought forward the idea of having three Elders maintain the Chain. The council showed accordance with both propositions, and therefrom, the Covenant was effectuated.

"One awake, two asleep.

"Performing what would become a predominant rite, Lord Nicolas sent Luna into hibernation. Rumor has it the spectators marked a tinting tear trickling down the Lord's cheek. Because of this, vampires have ever since believed there was quite the relationship between the two Elders. Certainly, I herewith tell you they were good friends, but perhaps you have interpreted this tear as a fact that there was more to it. Yes, maybe there was. No one can actually contradict this hypothesis. In fact, the majority believed and still believes they were lovers. On the other hand, proof of a more intimate relationship between the two can never be found, either. The question of whether the rumor is true or not, remains to be answered subjectively by our several intellects.

"Forgive me—I digress.

"During his first century of administration, Lord Nicolas was given the task of vesting the echelon as the third Elder in a vampire. However, he could not find the appropriate one. Destiny made him wait up to the time of his hibernation and Luna's assuming control. This was in anno Domini 703. Before he reclined into his sepulchral coffin, Lord Nicolas proclaimed Viktor—a vampiric soldier showing more than abundant potential—as the third Elder, in spite of his age that was circa the life of a human at which point. But unfortunately, as yet, the reigning Elder's choice has implicated a whole millennium of destruction and suffering, solely by reason of egoism: Viktor's profound contempt toward their cousins, the lycan species.

"It is his despite that started the war, his scorn that caused the demise of the beloved Sonja (his own daughter). Viktor and his followers' actions enraged the lycanthropes, whom they had treated like slaves for two whole centuries. And concurrent with the origin of the war—namely Sonja's death—was the second calamity when Luna was assassinated only one year before her Awakening, by premeditated and vengeful lycans. This happened in 1402, immediately after the war had commenced. Using this act to his advantage, Viktor declared this as another explanation of their former disunion with the wolfen. 'And therefore the separation will precede until I stand before death's door!' he said. And to that he held, it seems.

"But, believe me when I say that, at bottom, Lord Viktor was not to blame. As widely known, one cannot distort one's very disposition—your destiny; that would be a dishonor to the gods' creation. I say: Do not attempt to elude your fate … Be the one you are born to be, even though your nature equals the abominable disposition of a god.

"I will leave it at that for now."

-

The cool night breathed out its tranquility upon the district of Erzsébet. Gentle breezes swirled intermittently amongst and between the oak trees, while trickles of raindrops descended the peaceful sky, moistening the myriad green straws of grass. The Erzsébet Park was a stark antithesis compared to the rest of the district, which never really had shown its picturesque sides since before the days of Soviet control. A crescent moon, flooding light with all its gelidity, cast an azure tinge upon the dismal and decaying district.

Lounging listlessly on the floor in the utter darkness of the safe house, Michael had problems sleeping. Too much was on his mind right now: vampires, Death Dealers, and Elders. But where on Earth had the lycans gone? Ever since the death of Viktor, he had seen none of them. It was as though they had departed Budapest for good, leaving the vampires alone for some unknown—and irrational—reason. As though, he repeated in his mind. He certainly could not prove it, but somehow Michael knew that the lycans still remained within the borders of the Hungarian capital. The question was where, as well as when they would play their part in this story.

Selene, however, was probably enduring a situation of a more encumbering character than he did. She had killed Opal, a priorly fellow Death Dealer, earlier that day. By reason of a UV-bullet, Opal had undergone a thorough combustion, slowly turning her to a heap of mere ash. Michael remembered Selene's appearance so clearly. Gripping the smoking MK23 handgun tightly, her hands had trembled nervously while fingers pressed against the trigger. Conjoined with tears of sorrow, the gleaming perspiration had run down her alabaster face, followed the bridge of her nose, and come to a halt next to a couple of quivering lips. Michael, who had used all day to provide succor for Selene, had finally seen signs of her recomposing. Just a few hours ago, she had collected the ashen remnants of Opal, walked over to the windowpane, and cast it out into the darkness of night, letting the breeze disperse it. Selene had told him it was a ritual gesture serving to symbolize the liberation of the soul. Afterward, quiescence had immersed the safe house.

Michael clapped his eyes onto the person adjacent to him. The lambent silver light from the gibbous moon shone upon Selene's lustrous apparels, but it did not illume enough for a human-formed Michael to see her alabaster features. But he was however perfectly able to feel her petite body pressed up against his own and her head reclining on his chest. He was unaccustomed to the lack of warmth emitting from her body. Myth depicted vampires as cold-blooded, but Michael never thought of the description in a literal sense. Did he, too, lack human warmth now? Nonetheless, he needed not her warmth to understand her feelings; her tight embrace was more than construal.

Retrospecting, the hybrid recalled the first time he set eyes on the astonishing vampiress. It was just as he took the escalator down to the subway station, right before that appalling event occurred. Selene's pallid appearance—despite reflecting doubt—gleamed with fairness, while his own, he presumed, was gawky and undoubtedly a target of ridicule. Notwithstanding, Selene must have found something in him, because, after all, she was lying next to him this very instant.

She raised her head with seemingly profound exertion and slanted it so the lunar rays brightened her favors. Looking thoughtfully at Michael with a pair of tired chestnut orbs, Selene crossed her arms and reposed them upon his chest. The blunt grogginess enclouding her eyes evinced her exhaustion.

Contemplating her, the hybrid took easily note of the delicate contours of her face shaping her loveliness. He could not restrain a grin, though, as he noticed her rather funny visage. She was thoroughly depleted—no doubt. However, contrary to the dubious facial expression she wore in the subway station, her dimly lit face was now pervaded with certitude. Michael realized that her countenance actually had altered since they first met. She has softened somewhat, he thought, continuing his smile. But it's definitely a change for the better.

Then, for the first time ever, the hybrid witnessed a phenomenon of incomparable rarity: Selene was smiling. Never thinking it possible, he now conceived he had been wrong. For here she was atop him, indicating her unquestionable pleasure. He could not have requested a more beauteous spectacle.

Slithering closer, the vampiress bent over him and tenderly met his lips with her own. A reminder fell upon the hybrid: the alluring kiss she had given him a week ago—before she fleetly manacled him. It, too, happened in this very place. She had left him here a whole night. He recalled it so vividly: the pain throbbing inside his head, the frigid aura emanating from the interrogation chair on which he sat. But something was however quite different from then. Now, caressing Michael's sinewy arms, Selene was not staggering as she kissed him again and again. Now she would not restrain him with fetters and abandon him in a stone-cold interrogation chair. This night, her body howled for togetherness.

Promptly returning her kissing, Michael closed his fatigued eyes, sensing a pleasurable feeling welling up inside his entire being. At that very moment, when their bodies entwined, Michael realized something.

He loved her.

-

"… Don't you know what happened to the Coven?" Mason queried with one eye contracted. "About the dispersal?"

No, Erika did not know. All the same, this new knowledge would probably not help her and her furtive prowl. But on the contrary, it was definitely not going to disadvantage her in any way, either. And maybe … If she was fortunate, then maybe this Mason knew where Selene was. Having no inkling where Kraven had skittered off, Erika suspected that Selene knew more than she did. Within seconds, this fortuitous encounter had seemed to form hostility, but now, the tides had turned, and this could actually become quite beneficial to her.

The instinct of watchfulness was overwhelmed by curiosity, which nearly came out of her ears. Sheathing the 44 inches of argent steel, the revengeful vampiress pored at Mason. "I don't know what you're talking about," Erika retorted glumly, putting up a little façade. She wanted to expose no trifle of compliancy.

Casting a sideways glom to both his confreres, Mason framed a visage of ambiguity. Paining silence stung Erika's heart over and over as she awaited a response. Fortunately, the leader required only few seconds to acknowledge the authenticity of her reaction and replied in good time. "It's not safe here. Come." With a wafture of his hand, he beckoned for her to follow. "Allow me to take you to our hideout, and then we'll talk." His associates—Cain in particular—exhibited great discomfort, starting to retrace their steps into the vile, obscure tunnel from which they came. Erika barely saw Cain gritting his teeth. What's with that guy? she pondered curiously.

Erika's mind was tore in two. On the one hand, this could impede her mission greatly. She needed to find clues, and she needed to find them while they were still fresh. If she were to follow this triplet of vampire warriors, then her vindictive act would possibly have to stay on hold for a while. Screaming for her to go away, this part of Erika's mind tried desperately to persuade her. Continue your one-person search! They are all deceivers! You can only trust yourself! But on the other hand—and this one carried an inclining predomination—this Death Dealer could actually aid her cause. Not to snuff out the life of Kraven, of course; that she wanted to do by herself. This Mason would simply assist her with his counsel and knowledge of the situation.

Nodding, she trod toward the three. Two of them—Mason's colleagues—had already turned their backs on her, the pitch blackness of the tunnel nearly having engulfed them. But Mason, however stood by and waited up for her. The small pile of rocks almost crumbled beneath her feet as she meticulously stepped on it. Hell, we'll be lucky if this place doesn't plunge down on us.

"Forgive my confreres," the leader entreated as the vampiress came to stand next to him. "They have a hard time restraining their skepticism toward strangers. Especially after we fled Ordoghaz."

Erika sensed bewilderment coiling up within her stomach. What did he just say?

"No, you heard correct," Mason confirmed, briefly smiling. "It's not like we wanted to. It was Marcus's condition that forced us to take flight. You see, the conflict is not how it used to be—it's not like the time when you were a chambermaid."

The vampiress almost tumbled over and began floundering. "Y—you know?" she blurted, bug-eyed.

Cracking another smile, the leader turned and began walking into the nauseous tunnel. Not slowing down, he probably assumed she would follow.

His presumption was right. Erika's inquisitiveness was like a halter fastened about her neck—it was as though an invisible chain yanked her forward. What in the Elder's name has happened to the Coven while I've been gone? she meditated anxiously. Suddenly, the vampiress found herself in a state of uneasiness. If Mason told her the truth, then she knew she was oblivious to the ruckus occurring around her. Annoyingly, she was aware of the oblivion, but could not rid herself of it. The thought almost caused a mental breakdown.

Realizing Mason had quickened his pace, Erika accelerated considerably, as well.

"The strife has reached a milestone," he informed, swerving his head toward her in part as he did. Erika had difficulty seeing his face because of the erect black collar partly concealing it. "All we can do," he continued, "is to adapt to these radical changes. We chose to flee because if we had stayed, the disharmony between Marcus and us would've eventually become our bane. Why? Because the Marcus we once knew has changed. I think Viktor's decease has made him completely mad; he started prating about 'Corvinus', 'Demetrius', and 'derivations'. No one could actually fathom his uttering, and thus a quarrel originated once we interpreted it differently. There were mainly two sides: The aristocrats and Isaac's platoon against us—the Death Dealers. We thought him to be stark mad, whereas they showed their consent regarding the junction—"

An earsplitting fusillade reverberated through the tunnels, and with a brief but bright flash, a bullet ricocheted as it hit the uneven floor and fleetly drilled itself deep into the concrete wall. Small rock fragments drooped before gravity jerked them down to the floor. Zealous, lavender light pulsated from the little hole into which the pernicious bullet had delved. It irradiated the repelling corridors, creating a bloodcurdling and wicked atmosphere. Vociferous clamor in the background thundered into Erika's ears, bearing a likeness to the malevolence from the very Perdition.

Trotting with a steady gait, Erika passed by Mason. Daylight bullets, she discerned. What type of danger is this? Just before she turned the corner, utterly ready to participate in the weaponed combat, a strong hand caught the tail her trench coat and yanked her backward. Fluttering angrily about, Erika sibilantly bared her pale gray fangs.

"Calm yourself!" Mason spat, his dark eyebrows sinking into a frown. "Cain and Bryce won't lose their ground so easily. Here,"—he pulled out a black Walther P99 from beneath his pitchy coat—"you will need this. Silver bullets. Just be quick on the draw, and the lycans will tumble to the ground."

Erika's eyes burst open.

Lycans!

-

Baneful bullets chipped the floor, making it sparkle with all its avidness. In earnest, Erika spurred across an opening and came to a halt next to a corner. Reaching the cover she felt a volley of incandescent projectiles graze the back of her blonde hair, flaking the concrete into disrepair instead. The vampiress pressed her body against the viscous wall as she heard the guttural sounds brawl behind her. They were there—I saw them! Her body seethed with profound contempt. Damned beasts! Infuriated, Erika yenned to witness a bloodbath. Gritting her teeth, she prepared to swirl around the corner and pump the beasts' wicked hearts full of silver.

Just then, a deadly salvo spurted out of a machine gun to her right. Instinctively cocking her head in the direction of the perilous sound, Erika almost sensed the daylight perforate her skin. Luckily, it was that Death Dealer—Bryce, wasn't it?—who was effectively clearing a path. His narrowed gaze was firm, resolute, as it peered through the scope of the MP5. Sparkles illumed here and there, the bullets—argent and incandescent alike—surging past each other by turns.

Erika, glancing down, cursed under her breath. It was quite the peril she had gotten herself into. And worst of all, the danger was irrevocable; she was compelled to face the menace, and maybe … her death. The irises of her eyes nearly blazed into nothingness, leaving her fixed pupils alone, as if exhibiting her relentlessness.

"Never!" she sibilated and practically took a leap of fate out into the open, gun raised. Electrified, the vampiress realized she stood vis-à-vis a towering, hirsute body of brawny muscles. Five sinew blades thrust out of a hairy paw in unison, accompanied by a familiar growl that greeted Erika's ears.

Holy … she thought, completely in terrified awe as the noisome malodor oozed from the lycan's feral grin and down on her. Loathly, the putrid smell crept up her nostrils, sending a shiver down her spine. Cobalt-blue eyes gazed warningly at her pistol, then shone their ominous energy upon the vampiress, who—despite sensing the fear attempting to entangle her—stood her ground still.

Its face contorting, the lycan gave forth a savage bellow and launched at her with its talons protruded. Efficiently whirling to the side, Erika eluded the beast's assailment, but did not expect the second slug, which came immediately after. Lacerating her delicate skin, the pernicious slam left her a ghastly wound across her cheek, and the momentum sent her flying into the nearby wall.

Fragments of rock tumbled down about Erika. She could hear the amplifying cacophony from the battle waging all around her, rendering the atmosphere increasingly tenser. Moaning, she put a finger to the crimson lesion, but quickly withdrew it when she felt it singe fervently. Blood trickled down from her mouth as she got up to her feet, ice-blue eyes continuously and intently clapped on their foe. Bloody varmint! You can't stop me! she thought scornfully. A disgusting lycan won't be the end of me!

On all four, the lycanthrope lurched toward its victim, foam dripping from its mouth as it thought of her juicy flesh. Cocking its lupine head, the werewolf aimed for her slender neck.

With a fluid motion, Erika ducked beneath the lycan's jaws and sprang behind it, elegantly rendering it assailable. With her P99 in hand, she concurrently jammed the muzzle against the enemy's neck, ready to witness the blood gush forth. Die!

A voice of which Erika never had heard before, bawled within the narrow corridors, repeating its demand as it echoed off the walls: "Stop!"

-

Okay, now the 'blood memories' are implemented into the story. You will eventually see what they are for. Other than that, I had a difficult time finding a way to introduce the missing lycanthropes. They will be more vital in Arcanum than you might think, but revelations and goals will not be disclosed right away (or at least, that's what I have in mind at this point). Concerning Michael and Selene's little scene, I thought I would write a little something about their growing love. I profoundly hope it's not too much of a cliché. If it is, you need to tell me right away—that's very important (!) because I'm really green regarding love scenes. Actually, I don't think I have written one before … Doh.