First of all, I want to say that I'm sorry for a sluggish update. I've been quite busy this week, despite it being a vacation.
Then, my comments on the reviews:
Someguy: Well, it may have been the lack of good description, but Selene never found UV-bullets in the safe house. When she examined the unconscious Opal in Prowlers, she discovered a pistol by accident. Ejecting the magazine, she found a cartridge packed with UV-bullets. It was this gun and these bullets that caused Opal's unfortunate demise.
Lady Sirinial: Thank you! It's always nice and mentally uplifting to hear that someone appreciates your story. I hope you like this chapter, as well.
If you already didn't know (cough), I'm sincerely grateful for every single review I receive, so please, keep them coming.
Well, other than that, there isn't much more to say, so here is the sixth chapter. Hope you enjoy it.
TIME
"Jakob. The lastborn.
"I recall his face—his severe visage framed by a wavy mane of chestnut brown and charcoal black, the easily observable cheekbones contributing to his visible asperity. I recall him as the stern, meticulous and enigmatic one. The two others … Their personalities and looks contrasted starkly with Jakob's. Whereas they would readily describe how their day had been, Jakob would usually fall silent if queried. I wonder, did I ever get to see him smile? Most likely not; I would assumably have remembered such a rare sight.
"Never speaking unless it was needed, Jakob seldom uttered anything. This, unfortunately, conduced to an absence of communication and sociality. Only by considering people's faces, you could without much effort discern their uncertainty growing immediately as they attempted to make a conversation with Jakob. Yes, their hesitancy existed beyond question; people's babbling was yet another convincement. No one knew what lurked in the abyss of Jakob's mind. And no one wanted to know.
"Still waters run deep, Anthony Trollope said. Despite Jakob's brusque manners, I still loved him—dearly. Many were the times when he gave me the brush-off, but I supported and helped him all the more so. In my very last minutes, however, the otherwise blasé Jakob actually emanated what I have later on interpreted to be an emotion. Albeit ambiguous, his affections brought comfort to my soul. Alas, if only time would cease its perpetual advancement …
"No, please expunge that last remark.
"Something unknown evolves within me, leading my thoughts astray. As history vividly passes through my mind, I am not too sure what to think. I am a bit overwhelmed—confused and uncertain. And that, I must admit, is quite rare. My feelings seem to blend together into an unfathomable mass from which I cannot escape. I know I should have rid myself of this perplexity by now, but the current situation—the outcome of the past—has proved to be unpredictable. I had never foreseen such implications as these I see before me now. Even worse, implications do not just go away; one after another, they unite with the past, etching permanently into the chronology of history. They cannot be altered, regardless of your power. For no existence is able to exceed the peerless power of time—the strongest force within our humble perception. However, I feel the need to say that the definition of time is barely within our borders of understanding. Who can really explain what time is? How do you define it? Some think it is the fourth dimension of this world, whereas others simply see it as a variable of life—or the parameter, if you prefer. But the only thing we do know for sure, is that without it, we would not exist. And inasmuch as the progress of time is both unchangeable and unavoidable, we, the existence who live parallel with time, should find a way to attain harmony with it. We should be exulting in our lives, which are solely a result of time's admirable bounty. My following question is: Are we? That I will weight in my mind somewhen later.
"Now, in which way should I interpret my annoying bewilderment? Should I be feeling indignity? Exasperation? Perhaps fear? Or should I follow in Jakob's footsteps and act nonchalantly? I know there is something within me, something disturbing my interior life. And that something is a call, I am certain. It is just waiting for me to comprehend its message. Unfortunately, I will need some time in order to fulfill its anticipations, but the consolation of knowing that I eventually will comprehend, brings me comfort. And that, I always remind myself, is all on account of time. Time. Alas, of all the living things on Earth, I seem to be the only one who shows gratitude to the understated force that we all require, namely time. But, then again, I am in many ways inexistent."
"Selene!" Michael whispered persistently, jiggling her shoulder. "Selene! Wake up!"
Except for a scarce groan, the sleeping vampiress gave off no response. The sun had set latterly and the jet-black night was gradually approaching on the horizon. Normally, Selene would be awake by now, suited up in her trench coat for another day of hunting. But spending two days hiding in one of the vampires' safe houses, Michael and Selene had lost all sense of time, so to speak.
"Please get up!" Michael requested in a low voice, preserving his urge. "I hear them! I hear the lycans approaching!"
Lycans! Selene thought aghast, eyes flaring up. She lay completely still, casting a purposeless but relentless stare at absolutely nothing. Sight was of no importance now. What mattered was the perception of hearing.
She waited in utter quiet. Meanwhile, thoughts mingled inside her head. How the hell did they know the location of our hideout? She could not recall telling anybody. That was however not what concerned Selene the most. The question whether the lycans were allies or foes, bothered her past anything else. In this state, nothing was certain. Thinking back on the unbearable situation right after she and Michael cooperatively put an end to Viktor, Selene recollected the lycanthropes receding into the opaqueness, as much as she had felt her mind do the same thing—just not in a literal way. Because no matter how hard she stubbornly tried, there was no way she would fathom the lycans expressions; they had been too cryptic. The lycans themselves would have to word their meaning.
"There!" Selene hissed silently, heeding the potential enemy's activities. "They must be right outside—in front of the back door, most likely."
She rose to her feet. Sensing her composure slowly receding, Selene fleetly grabbed her ordnance atop the adjacent table. She tugged back the slide, the smooth click gratifying her. Now, at least, she was not completely defenseless. "Follow me."
Michael, who was just seconds ago squatting next to a sleeping Selene, stood up and regarded her ethereal being. A detectable furrow had deepened her eyes, evincing the distress, which seemed to increase exponentially within her. "Where are we going?" he inquired, making sure that he still kept his low voice.
"We need to find a way out of here." With a fluid motion, she kicked open the door that led to the main staircase. She glanced over the wooden rail in case the intruders already had entered. Fortunately, contrary to the last time they had stayed in this demolished lump of brick, no one was in view. Ascending the winding steps, she heard Michael's rapid footsteps behind her.
"Wait," he insisted, taking two steps at a time.
Selene stopped short at his request, letting him catch up with her.
"Just give it a thought," he bespoke. "What if they actually aren't hostile?"
Selene cast him an ambiguous look, willingly letting the silence take over. It was just a sign showing her need of further persuasion. After all, she did not know where she was standing. It was extremely difficult to get rid of a once rudimentary scorn, she realized. And everything had gotten so confusing. At one moment, she had been a next to top-rank Death Dealer—a devoted protector of the vampiric society—and with a snap of one's fingers, the vampiress found herself on both sides and at the same time on nobody's side. And worse than anything: She was no hunter anymore; she had become the hunted.
Michael had noticed her dilemma during their escape through Budapest's bemusing complex of back alleys. He knew, because—vexingly enough—he was nearly becoming accustomed to this state of bewilderment; Selene and he were facing the same predicament. However, there existed a slight difference. Whereas Selene, at some time, had known her position in the war, Michael never had. Ever since the moment Lucian—the deceased leader of the lycans—had tasted Michael's flesh, perplexity had mired the hybrid, prohibiting him from choosing a side. And before that, when he still had been an oblivious human, Michael had never even thought about picking a side, because he never needed to. In point of fact, he had not known that such absurd sides actually existed. Amid the never-ending vexation, however, there was a thing he was certain of: One person could he trust. Selene. Yes, he was on Selene's side.
"Come on, what if they intend to join us?" he persuaded energetically. "It is as plausible as anything else. Besides, if we mean to end this war, we are in desperate need of enforcement."
Selene was about to give a quick retort, but shutting her mouth, she decided not to. She had to concede that Michael had brought forth a good point. Never had she thought the possibility of lycans being friendly. To date, she had automatically assumed that 'lycan' and 'benignity' were antonyms. But perhaps they aren't … What is more, if they continued to act on their own account, they would most likely become a victim of the war. In fact, Selene was quite surprised they had survived their far-fetched elusion as yet.
She sighed profoundly, ready to predicate her consent, just as the staggering jumble of red brick encircling the massive stairway began to stir to and fro. Both Selene and Michael turned to the menacing ado around them, not sure whether a storm had substituted the breeze, or if there was some other cause. The first hypothesis lent little color, however; the soothing breeze had whispered outside just moments ago. Perhaps the moth-eaten condition was simply the reason alone?
Painfully slow and ferine growls exuded from between the segmented bricks, suddenly rendering the rare phenomenon fully explainable. The perilous cacophony propelled Selene and Michael up the stairs. "Damn, they are climbing up the walls!" the vampiress exclaimed warningly as debris spewed from decadent walls and plummeted around her. "We need to get moving!"
Michael nodded in agreement, then tilted his head backward in order to witness the threat clearly. He had to acknowledge that the chances of the lycans being on a friendly errand were quickly evaporating with every passing second.
The discordant sounds of the jarring walls, though still bearing their deafening loudness, reduced in volume as the tumult quickly elevated toward the topmost portion of the lofty room. They think we are on the top levels, Selene surmised and stopped short.
"I think we should reconsider our escape route," Michael proposed, cutting off his spurt, as well.
Hurriedly cantering over to the ligneous railing, the vampiress peered over it once more, but this time she fixedly aimed her gun down the entwining composition of red-carpeted steps. Twisting downward like a DNA-molecule, the stairway fuddled Selene slightly. Luckily, it also caused her anxiety to vanish in part as her suspicion appeared to be wrong. Thank god, they haven't surrounded us.
"Let's go," she advised sternly. "I think I know another way out of this hell." Showing no hesitancy, she caught a firm hold of Michael's plain black t-shirt and pulled him next to her. "A little shortcut," she said dryly, eyeing him. And together, they sprung over the railing and plunged down several stories. Fluorescent lights caused their flickering garments to shape ghastly, shadowed apparitions on the disintegrated wall.
The plummet conjured a sense of déjà vu in Michael's mind. This was just like the time he had realized he had incurred otherworldly abilities. Because of a repercussion, he had fallen head first out of a window, which was probably 20 feet above ground. But miraculously, he had instinctively landed on the asphalt without a single laceration. Now, as he witnessed a plunge of his life, he was certain he would survive this one, as well.
Selene and Michael hit the matting ground in unison. Evidently unaffected by the drastic descent, they contiguously got up to their feet and ran through a tall archway.
We need to get to the southmost parts of this building, Selene contemplated as the two rounded a corner. Then we'll reach Damjanich Street. If we get there, then maybe we can ride out this attack. Maybe.
Spurring together with Selene through the abounded, high-reaching hallways of the building, Michael felt as though they continued along a nondescript path ad infinitum; it never seemed to end. And knowing that a pack of lycans, feasibly voracious and malevolent from the looks of it, were prowling furtively about in close vicinity, made the entire experience even more reminiscent of a nightmare. No matter how fast you run, the monster will catch up with you regardless. Michael desperately hoped that signs of reality would be exposed soon.
"Take the door to the left," Selene insisted decisively. Her words were savorous to Michael, who began to reconsider his atheistic leanings. It was as though a divine being of some sort had heard his acute plea.
Running shoulder first into the mahogany door, Michael used his momentum to rupture it. A loud crack of sagging wood sounded as the door violently flew open. Feeling more and more assured, Michael was sequentially becoming habituated to his preternatural powers.
But would his strength be strong enough to thwart the three ravenous lycans, which he now was suddenly standing face to face with?
Shit, he swore silently, trepidation suddenly washing over him as he saw that the chances of a successful escape were quickly wearing thin.
The lycans' yellow fangs were coated with trickling froth, the imaginary taste of flesh watering their mouths. Their pheromones (or their lack of hygiene) had precedently contaminated the air with a putrid malodor. Guttural growls reverberated constantly, displaying their malicious intent. Michael, who had already begun his changing, had caved in; as far as he noticed, the lycanthropes had shown no indications of benevolence, and thus he had no choice but to face the danger.
A metallic click emitted behind Michael, who perfectly knew what that meant.
Cocking her pistol firmly in the direction of one of the lycans, Selene pulled the trigger apace. The gun recoiled as a burst of argent bullets spewed out of the chrome barrel. The clattering sound initiated two of the wolfen, which began to set upon their luscious prey. The silver slugs perforated hirsute skin, but they could not thwart the two lycans' ominous assailment.
Fluidly spinning away from the doorway, Selene took cover behind a paneled wall. "Damnation!" she cursed indignantly. I hope Michael's strength is sufficient. Ejecting the ammunition clip, she let it fall to the tiled floor with a percussive rattle.
Michael would try to fend off the two lycans' attack as best he could, but the metamorphosis was not complete. His eyes, turning jet-black, locked onto the menacingly approaching werewolves. Agitating his right arm, Michael mauled one of the two. The strike sent the lycan backward as it vehemently hit its lupine nose, but it also made Michael an easy mark for the second lycanthrope, which took full use of the advantage and viciously backhanded the turning hybrid. Supernaturally strong, the propulsion drove Michael through the entryway and hurled him frantically against the utmost concrete in the hallway from which they initially came.
Thoroughly appalled, Selene watched Michael wringing in acute pain as an avalanche of dust and detritus rolled down beside him. Michael! she fretted, round-eyed. Pulling out a new magazine from beneath her pitchy trench coat, she jabbed it into the pistol, and the metallic slide snapped back into place.
Just as one of the voracious beasts stepped incautiously into the hallway, Selene was quick on the draw and pumped the lupine being with pernicious silver. With a great thump, accompanied by a feral roar, the lycan sunk down lifelessly to the ground. Crimson blood exuded out from the hairy body and began locating the nighest depression.
Selene turned her attention back to Michael. Tottering, he was getting up to his feet in a sluggish pace. Come on, faster! Faster! she begged frowningly, swallowing hard. She could clearly discern Michael's skin changing into coal-black while the snapping of crackles sounded as his bone structure altered formidably.
Smash!—a portion of the wall next to Selene exploded yieldingly, wood cracking as it ruptured apart. It was hard to see past the dusty mist, but not much contemplation was required for Selene to realize that there was a rapacious lycanthrope standing vis-à-vis her. Narrowing her eyes, she could scarcely see the towering lupine beast befogged by debris.
Not wasting a second, the werewolf lurched into the air with its razor-sharp claws extended, ready to decapitate the vampiress in a single blow. Swiftly and deadly, Selene tried to counteract the onset by squeezing off the remaining silver slugs into her enemy's chest. It's not going to stop it! she realized in apprehension as the lycan loomed in the air not five feet from her.
Like a blue streak, an agitated, black claw jerked forth and snapped around the werewolf's hairy neck, digging deeply into its flesh. Selene fell backward instinctively and watched in horrification a fully turned Michael fling the brute upward, sending it crashing into the ceiling. Before gravity even was allowed to yank the heavily injured lycan back to the ground, Michael leapt from the floor and impacted it, sending the two combatants into orbit until they crashed to the ground with a loud thud. Atop the enormous beast, the hybrid hammered it repeatedly with his keen-edged talons.
Selene spun reluctantly around in the direction of the sound of shattered glass. It came from where we initially encountered the lycans, she collected. Casting a swift glance back at Michael, she saw that the hybrid had efficaciously liquidated the assailer. Good, she thought, nodding. Then I'll go check on that suspicious clamor. A new cartridge was slammed into place.
Deliberately passing the doorsill, the vampiress was not exactly taken by surprise at the sight before her. Distinct cobwebs encased a great breach in the window. Gliding into the room through the rupture, a breeze got ahold of Selene's brown hair, causing it to waver gently. She had not felt nature's soothing wind since their five-day run through Budapest's less aesthetic areas. Casting aside the dark clouds that churned within her mind, it was truly refreshing.
Selene turned about as a bloody Michael entered through the doorway. He walked over to her in a sauntering gait. "The third one escaped?" he asked rhetorically.
Nodding in affirmation, she veered her head back at the breach. "It's probably gone to report back to its superior," she surmised and trod over to the broken window. "Whomever that is."
"It seems that I was wrong." Michael sighed. "They are still as hostile as before. What do we do now?"
"Well, one thing's for sure: We can't stay here any longer. Soon, this place will be jam-packed with lycans. Frankly, I don't know why they didn't send more in the first place."
"Yeah, that's something to chew over."
"Anyway," Selene cut off, suddenly emanating a fiery ardency. "We need to get going; we're short on time. I know of a way. Damjanich Street is directly connected to the sewer. It isn't pretty, but it appears to be the only place where we can lie low."
Thereupon, the two quickly left the safe house. For the first time in two enduring days, Selene and Michael tasted the freshness of a chilly night. It revived some of the hope that had recently diminished, and now, the two were fixed upon bringing to pass the hideous revelation. Thoroughly exulting in the invigorating air, they prepared themselves for a stay in fetid and nauseous environs.
The cacophony had nearly turned void in the murky corridors.
A tall figure strode through the ankle-deep water, signaling the other lycan to fall back. It did so immediately. Coming to loom over an injured Erika, the man scrutinized the dark-clad vampiress.
Erika returned a glare, which seethed with scorn and anger. Strangely enough, he carried no weapon. I can't kill him if he doesn't pose a threat, Erika figured, lowering her gun. My mere purpose is to kill one particular person, and this is not the right one. Nonetheless, there existed no doubt about it; his strong aura evinced his authority. He must be the lycan's superior, Erika guessed. The towering humanoid werewolf was appareled in a brown leather blazer. Beneath, a tight, dark-green turtleneck encircled his brawny neck from which an aureate medallion hung. Erika noticed a flamboyant A inscribed into the center of the insignia.
"You! Stay away from her!" a familiar voice sounded behind the vampiress. Already knowing whom it was, Erika turned around to see Mason with his hands steadfastly wielding a UMP, which was aimed straight at the imposing man standing in front of her. "I said stay away," he reiterated grimly, "or your blood will be spilt."
Raising his brown-gloved hands defensively, the humanoid lycanthrope curved a smile that was surprisingly friendly in appearance. "We're not here to hurt you," he said sedately. "We're here to join you."
A great actor, it seems, Erika thought skeptically, even though his utterance was strangely genuine. She regarded Mason to see if she could predict his response to this peculiar statement.
It proved to be quite difficult, she figured. Mason's visage showed neither scorn nor a sign of convincement. His azure eyes were fixed upon the calm lycan, as though trying to penetrate the flesh of his physical being, see past him and espy his sincere soul. The Death Dealer's attempt seemed unsuccessful, however.
Appearing from their respective corners, Cain and Bryce leered as they saw what Mason had encountered.
"We don't have time for this!" Cain said coarsely, baring his teeth. "Don't listen to that brutish rascal! It's a feeble and easily discernable wile. They're only here to throw us off tra—"
"Keep your mouth shut, Cain," Mason ordered gravely, interrupting Cain's scornful utterance.
Cain chose not to retort, but maintained his contemptuous stare upon his enemy.
Erika had fallen silent a long time ago. It was as if she was completely neglected by the two opposing sides, which she had to concede she was irritatingly accustomed with. Just like the time when I was a servant girl … But the vampiress was notwithstanding quite intrigued by this little drama that was occurring right before her. It is somewhat riveting. She wondered what would happen next. Eyeing the sinewy humanoid werewolf, Erika realized he was still emitting his benign smile and his hands had impressively enough not moved an inch, still raised in the air in relinquishment. Mason, on the other hand, appeared to undergo a vexing strife within himself. The vampiress could almost hear the question commixing within Mason's mind: Should he or should he not trust the lycanthropic foreigner?
After a long moment of silence, Mason opened his mouth to speak, contracting his eyes as he did. "Who are you, stranger?"
The query triggered the muscular lycan's once stonestill hands. He pointed at himself casually. "Me?" he asked, glancing about as though to see if the question was meant for someone else. When he clearly comprehended that everybody expected him to answer, he did so nonchalantly:
"The name is Jakob."
I'm not sure if there has been too much action these last two or three chapters, so please give your opinions on that. Anyway, I'm probably going to let the bloody vendettas, deaths and action recede into the background for a little moment now, because I believe it's time for imparting more story and information here.