Summary: Elena's back, but it's not _quite_ 'happily ever after': While Stefan agonizes silently that she's mortal again, a new Power stirs that threatens all vampires.
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Author's Note: Rating's upped to PG13 for violence. Tension's mounting. Please let me know how it's going!
~ Twelve ~
It was the eve of the Solstice.
Tomorrow, she would have marked a full year since her return. Not long ago, she and Stefan had looked forward to celebrating that occasion, and now…
::Oh, Stefan, what am I going to do?:: she asked hopelessly. ::Will I even survive tonight? Will I ever see you again? Where are you? Why haven't you come for me?::
The past two days had worn her down. Nightmares kept her awake. Tired, uncertain and anxious, her imagination ran wild. Loneliness and fear eroded her spirit; boredom supplied ample time to brood.
After that initial conversation with the man, whose name she later found out was Jerrick Edom, she had been confined to her room. Anything she requested, with the exception of one Stefan Salvatore, was delivered impersonally.
The only other human contact she had had was with the frighteningly competent Crystal Baron, whose voice she recognized as the exasperated one in the alley. Crystal had said that during the attack, which would come this evening, she would be guarding Elena. That was all. No other details, no reassurances.
Even in her isolation, Elena realized that a crowd was building outside her door. She had seen a sizable group of fighters out in the lawn the day before, and an even larger group today. The hunters were gathering to make war.
With nothing else to do for two days, Elena had requested pen and paper and had set out recording her reflections and goodbyes.
Now, as the sun set and the grandfather clock downstairs struck seven, a neat row of letters clearly marked with names of intended recipients lined her dresser, to be delivered to the various individuals if... if she could not give it to them in person.
Elena was suddenly aware of the stillness in the air. She pressed her ear to the door but could not detect any sound. This was a far cry from the commotion generated by an ever-growing population of aggressive, individualistic hunters packed into a comparatively small estate.
Suddenly the door opened and Elena nearly fell through. Crystal regarded her in bemusement briefly, then said two weighted words: "It's time."
There was nothing else for Elena to do but trail her to where they would make their stand.
* * *
The vampires stormed the slayers' mansion, through the traps and blinds that had been set up. These took their toll but the multitude of attackers ran over the remains of friend and foe alike, intent on one goal; the Enemy.
The moles had done their work. Renegade hunters invited vampire after vampire past the threshold of this human dwelling.
He strode among the horde, killing one hunter after another with clean sweeps of his falchion. He made it look easy, effortless.
::They may be many, but these hunters were never meant to fight together. They get in each other's way more often than not,:: he commented contemptuously to his second. A vampire to his right spasmed, then promptly turned into a pile of dust. He, in turn, reached out and killed the slayer responsible.
They fought through one room after another, up one floor, down to the basement. No sign of the Enemy. ::This is getting tiresome,:: he snarled. He grabbed the next hunter he came across. Sinking his fangs into the woman's neck, he stripped the information he wanted from her mind brutally.
::Hm...refreshing. Pity we haven't time to drink of our kills; all this Power going to waste:: He pushed the limp body away without a second glance; he'd found out what he wanted to know. ::They are in the attic.::
* * *
::Man, this place is trashed.::
Tristan's comment rang in Aodhan Makoe's mind. He was in the next room, which might have been the AV room, if the soundproofing was any indication. Leon was at the end of the house, in the kitchen and no doubt, doing his lunatic counting. Makoe did not bother to respond to the tall, blond vampire. He eyed the muscular slayer in front of him coldly. The human grinned at him, much as Tristan might, and feinted. Makoe let him tire himself out with fancy style and complicated patterns, then calmly reached out, turned the spear the man was wielding towards him by pure force and rammed it into his belly.
His next opponent was a little more of a challenge. A pixie-like girl, but intense and fast. Makoe left her incapacitated with broken bones and furious but otherwise all right. Dispassionate grey eyes bore into hers, implanting mental compulsions until her eyelids drooped and she slumped senseless onto the floor. He paused, then, to take in the scene around him.
Potted red palms – perhaps as old as twenty years – lay torn and trampled on the floor. The soil from the pots was ground underfoot and into the thick, rich carpets. Furniture was overturned or smashed, glass shattered; shards and splintered pieces were sometimes used as impromptu weapons.
Blood stained the walls, splattered the upholstery, the combatants. Severed limbs and disemboweled bodies lay scattered like discarded toys all through the Baron mansion. Most of these were humans, with an occasional new vampire. A curtain had been ripped off its railing and used as a makeshift shroud for one body.
Ash and dust hung thick in the air, all that was left of the numerous vampires who had met the pointy end of the stake. Makoe tried not to think too hard about what he was inhaling.
Instead, he kept an eye out for Nigel Emery; where he went, things were bound to happen. Peripherally, Makoe saw him climb the stairs with one of his close followers. The way they walked was almost leisurely, Makoe noted. Emery appeared heedless of his own safety.
::Upstairs,:: he said shortly to the other two and started to trail the lead vampire.
Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Author's Note: Rating's upped to PG13 for violence. Tension's mounting. Please let me know how it's going!
~ Twelve ~
It was the eve of the Solstice.
Tomorrow, she would have marked a full year since her return. Not long ago, she and Stefan had looked forward to celebrating that occasion, and now…
::Oh, Stefan, what am I going to do?:: she asked hopelessly. ::Will I even survive tonight? Will I ever see you again? Where are you? Why haven't you come for me?::
The past two days had worn her down. Nightmares kept her awake. Tired, uncertain and anxious, her imagination ran wild. Loneliness and fear eroded her spirit; boredom supplied ample time to brood.
After that initial conversation with the man, whose name she later found out was Jerrick Edom, she had been confined to her room. Anything she requested, with the exception of one Stefan Salvatore, was delivered impersonally.
The only other human contact she had had was with the frighteningly competent Crystal Baron, whose voice she recognized as the exasperated one in the alley. Crystal had said that during the attack, which would come this evening, she would be guarding Elena. That was all. No other details, no reassurances.
Even in her isolation, Elena realized that a crowd was building outside her door. She had seen a sizable group of fighters out in the lawn the day before, and an even larger group today. The hunters were gathering to make war.
With nothing else to do for two days, Elena had requested pen and paper and had set out recording her reflections and goodbyes.
Now, as the sun set and the grandfather clock downstairs struck seven, a neat row of letters clearly marked with names of intended recipients lined her dresser, to be delivered to the various individuals if... if she could not give it to them in person.
Elena was suddenly aware of the stillness in the air. She pressed her ear to the door but could not detect any sound. This was a far cry from the commotion generated by an ever-growing population of aggressive, individualistic hunters packed into a comparatively small estate.
Suddenly the door opened and Elena nearly fell through. Crystal regarded her in bemusement briefly, then said two weighted words: "It's time."
There was nothing else for Elena to do but trail her to where they would make their stand.
* * *
The vampires stormed the slayers' mansion, through the traps and blinds that had been set up. These took their toll but the multitude of attackers ran over the remains of friend and foe alike, intent on one goal; the Enemy.
The moles had done their work. Renegade hunters invited vampire after vampire past the threshold of this human dwelling.
He strode among the horde, killing one hunter after another with clean sweeps of his falchion. He made it look easy, effortless.
::They may be many, but these hunters were never meant to fight together. They get in each other's way more often than not,:: he commented contemptuously to his second. A vampire to his right spasmed, then promptly turned into a pile of dust. He, in turn, reached out and killed the slayer responsible.
They fought through one room after another, up one floor, down to the basement. No sign of the Enemy. ::This is getting tiresome,:: he snarled. He grabbed the next hunter he came across. Sinking his fangs into the woman's neck, he stripped the information he wanted from her mind brutally.
::Hm...refreshing. Pity we haven't time to drink of our kills; all this Power going to waste:: He pushed the limp body away without a second glance; he'd found out what he wanted to know. ::They are in the attic.::
* * *
::Man, this place is trashed.::
Tristan's comment rang in Aodhan Makoe's mind. He was in the next room, which might have been the AV room, if the soundproofing was any indication. Leon was at the end of the house, in the kitchen and no doubt, doing his lunatic counting. Makoe did not bother to respond to the tall, blond vampire. He eyed the muscular slayer in front of him coldly. The human grinned at him, much as Tristan might, and feinted. Makoe let him tire himself out with fancy style and complicated patterns, then calmly reached out, turned the spear the man was wielding towards him by pure force and rammed it into his belly.
His next opponent was a little more of a challenge. A pixie-like girl, but intense and fast. Makoe left her incapacitated with broken bones and furious but otherwise all right. Dispassionate grey eyes bore into hers, implanting mental compulsions until her eyelids drooped and she slumped senseless onto the floor. He paused, then, to take in the scene around him.
Potted red palms – perhaps as old as twenty years – lay torn and trampled on the floor. The soil from the pots was ground underfoot and into the thick, rich carpets. Furniture was overturned or smashed, glass shattered; shards and splintered pieces were sometimes used as impromptu weapons.
Blood stained the walls, splattered the upholstery, the combatants. Severed limbs and disemboweled bodies lay scattered like discarded toys all through the Baron mansion. Most of these were humans, with an occasional new vampire. A curtain had been ripped off its railing and used as a makeshift shroud for one body.
Ash and dust hung thick in the air, all that was left of the numerous vampires who had met the pointy end of the stake. Makoe tried not to think too hard about what he was inhaling.
Instead, he kept an eye out for Nigel Emery; where he went, things were bound to happen. Peripherally, Makoe saw him climb the stairs with one of his close followers. The way they walked was almost leisurely, Makoe noted. Emery appeared heedless of his own safety.
::Upstairs,:: he said shortly to the other two and started to trail the lead vampire.