Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else is mine. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 6 January 2003
~ Thirty One ~
It was done.
All preparations that could be made, had been made. The Baron mansion was lit like a torch, external floodlights ensuring that any attack would not come unnoticed while protecting the occupants of the house from becoming sitting ducks, silhouetted in the windows.
The attack would come tonight. Jerrick had been able to tell them that much before he left. ::He'd better have been right!:: Crystal growled to herself.
The call to stations had gone out bare minutes ago, but everyone was already settled in their assigned positions and waiting in silence. Crystal had to grudgingly admit that the former non-combatants had not done too shoddily. So far. The true test would be when the battle ensued.
She alone drifted from one attack force to another. Two hundred humans against – according to Jerrick – more than a hundred vampires. Crystal had been unable to boost her numbers as much as she'd like and the few she had found were not of the caliber of her earlier batch of recruits. Still, two-to-one odds were not impossible. Considering the difference in physical ability between a human and a vampire, the disparity in numbers set the two sides on equal footing. The advantage of home ground was offset by the danger of the untried members of the defenders.
No, Crystal couldn't predict the outcome of this night. The absence of her little knife-fighter and her elegant sharpshooter stung out of proportion to actual loss. Taura and Karen's presence might have tipped the balance – not just for their kills but for the confidence and optimism their competence would have instilled.
Still, one made the best of what one had and Crystal was too shrewd a combat leader to hold petty grudges in the midst of a fight. Afterwards, yes, but now, she would treat each member of her team, hunter or ex-vampire or witch, with equal consideration.
"Here they come!" The shout came from Jason, perched on the wide ledge of a window above the immaculate spiral stairway. One square of the French windows had been removed to allow him to shoot through it.
He drew a bead on the leading edge of the vampiric charge and let fly when they were ten paces from the front door. The force of the bolt flung an over eager vamp off his feet and sent him crashing into the unfortunate colleague behind him. The wave scarcely paused, save for the brief disruption the hit caused in the ranks.
Crystal nodded to the hunter beside her and went to take her position, just as the first wave reached the house. Vampires parted to admit a half dozen dazed humans in their midst. These stumbled through the threshold and robotically began inviting the vampires in. The first vampires through the door defended their human 'sappers' from the hunters, buying time for the rest of their forces to get into the mansion. For their part, the hunters would have been content to knock the influenced human out, but if the need arose, they would not hesitate to kill them.
Well, isn't that ironic, Crystal mused, mounting the stairs.
* * *
Death was puzzled.
He had wandered the streets for a good hour and all the places that held prey were strangely empty. Where have all the pitiful dregs of human society gone?
His unhurried, gliding pace never changed as he flitted from one secluded path to another. Perhaps his antics two days hence had sent the entire community into hiding. No matter; he would find other quarry, he thought, firm in his confidence. They cannot elude me forever.
* * *
"Move!" Seth shouted furiously. Sheila batted away a knife with her flexible lance, sending a gleaming black gun flying as the stick rebounded to crack sharply on the vampire's hand. She drew back another step, trying to obey Seth's command to fall back as quickly as she could.
The vampire struck like lightning. She didn't even see his hand move to catch the end of her staff and yank her forward. Taken by surprise, Sheila didn't have the wisdom to release the spear. Her momentum carried her straight into the reach of the invading vampires.
She didn't even hear Seth screaming her name as hard, cold hands dragged her towards the press of bodies and she was submerged in pain.
* * *
He was getting tired of this. Death paused in yet another empty alleyway – how _could_ they all be empty? The brow within the inky cowl furrowed and Death sent out a questing thought.
There! The bright glow of minds drew him two blocks down, to quiet little lane. It wasn't too far from where he'd had his frolic two nights ago, actually. He paused to survey the occupants of the hovel, backlit by the streetlamp. Miserable brown lumps of suffering huddled among cardboard and rags. One rocked continuously to a melody and purpose only it understood. Most were deathly still with only an occasional twitch to mark the life within them.
He considered each individual critically, selecting his target. The little fête of two nights past was _not_ his usual style, but that particular band of humanity had been especially pitiful and Death had seen no reason not to arrange a mutually satisfying turn of events; an end to their suffering and enjoyment for himself.
This lot may be little better, he thought as he stepped deeper into the alley. He paused beside one oldster, whimpering in his sleep and bent with the fingers of one hand stretched out as if in benediction.
He paused as a new, long shadow covered the little alley. _This_ silhouette was rimmed with light, not darkness. The figure was cloaked as he, but in incandescent white rather than deep gloom. The golden locks flowing out from beneath the cowl glinted in the light.
He sensed a challenge. Or perhaps a trap. He almost laughed, save that it was not part of his nature. Was _this_ was it was all about? The mysterious lack of prey this night? Did this lone female think to add another vampire to her kill ratings? Did she know what it was she faced?
He straightened leisurely, withdrawing the outstretched hand. He had only taken a single step towards her when three of the other denizens of the alley rose and shed their concealing rags. From the arms they bore, Death guessed that they were indeed vampire hunters. Four of them – five, counting the sniper on the roof – against him; they knew something of what they faced then.
Unseen, Death's eyes glinted hungrily. They were still too few against a being that _could not die_.
But things were getting interesting all the same.
* * *
Green eyes glittered in the darkness, a waiting gleam in their depths. Crystal stood motionless in the shadow, watching while anticipation fired her blood. On the wall beside her, a shadow play was enacted, mirroring the struggle between the vampire and human. Predictably, the hunter was cast aside, and dismissed for all that he still drew breath; the vampire lord was intent on a foe worthy of his attention – the Enemy, who by all accounts awaited in the attic.
Eagerness twisting his lips, he mounted the stairs. Movement at the top caught his eye; the gleam of laminated wood. Another human stood before him, idly twirling a wooden sword in one hand. He recognized her from the descriptions of vampires who have encountered this particular huntress – and lived to tell of it. Her red hair was darkened to almost black in the shadow but her green eyes glowed in the dark eerily like a cat's and her bearing held an almost vampiric superiority.
"You're not the Enemy," he rasped, barely audible. His extended fangs lent a slight sibilance to his words. She remained where she was, leaning casually against the wall, one leg bent with the foot flat vertically.
"No," she agreed. "I'm not."
He did not hesitate but struck first, taking the advantage of initiative. Her foot against the wall propelled her forward with vicious speed as she met his strike. The battle was joined.
* * *
The white lady was the key.
Death knew this instinctively, having watched human group behavior for time immemorial. She was the heart and soul of the band, the trap, the bait. The challenger, the challenge. In a situation where the prey wished to escape, he would target the female, for without her, the attack would be blunted and impotent.
That was not the case here. To a being invulnerable and immortal, the circumstances were an ideal opportunity to... play.
She was the leader and her vulnerable point, he knew, would be her companions. Like the captain of a ship, the worst thing he could do to her was to make her watch helplessly while he destroyed her people.
With that in mind, he turned to the closest of the band; an elfin girl holding twin knives in her hand. A string of throwing knives was belted about her slim waist. The foolish girl actually looked excited when he took a step towards her.
Once again, his hand reached out as to deliver a gentle blessing. Once again, he was halted. The white lady spoke and her words changed... everything
"_Darahdha_, Ambrose Meremoth." [[Greetings, Ambrose Meremoth.]]
* * *
The vampire was faster and stronger – that went without saying.
Crystal crouched in a battle-ready stance, watching her opponent closely. Her blood sang with adrenaline and triumph. She had reaffirmed her abilities tonight, proven it to herself time and again with each vampire she had staked. Being defeated first by Kier Achmed and then by the crippled Jerrick had shaken her confidence more than she cared to admit. But now, there was no doubting herself. Not at all.
She had set aside her blade during the previous fight; in the tight confines of the corridor where she now stood, the sword hampered her movements, as the vampire facing her was discovering.
Yes, he had inhuman speed and supernatural strength. But that didn't make up for his complete lack of hand-to-hand technique. And under these circumstances, it was she who had the advantage.
It was almost child's play to break his nose, then his hand and let his blade clatter to the ground. Spin him around, dislocate his shoulder, break his neck. She slid the short wooden knife out of her boot sheath and staked him through the heart from behind.
When no other opponent appeared, she stepped over the quickly mummifying body and made her way – alertly, warily – down the stairs. There were pockets of fighting scattered throughout the huge dwelling, but those were quickly ended as humans went to the aid of their fellows.
The second vampire attack was drawing to a close. This time, there had been no weirdling storm, no shattering defeat to scare away the vampires. It had been a fight to the end. Dust – all that remained of the vampires – coated everything.
Dust and blood.
Of the two hundred humans who had started out the battle, perhaps sixty remained. Among these, most bore wounds. Terrible losses, no doubt, but considering that the numbers had been matched in the beginning, the survival rate was impressive. In return, no more than a double handful of vampires had managed to escape.
Crystal moved from one room to another, from one level to the next, checking for vampires lurking about, looking for any more unfinished fights. She saw many bodies in the various rooms, sprawled on the ground or draped over furniture. Some were survivors catching their breath but most were corpses of comrades, lying where they had fallen and died.
The leader of the hunters forced herself to deal with the incredible loss of life. She had seen many battles by now; odd that she was not hardened to it yet. She sent word for the servants to return and begin cleaning up, gathering the dead and making appropriate arrangements, etc. The healers that Jerrick had left with her were already hard at work, setting up the wardroom, directing the able-bodied to move the injured and so on.
She received the reports from her seconds-in-command calmly. She told them that they'd all done well. Yes, even the greenies, the ex-vampires and the witches. She made a comment about how a celebration was in order. Not right away, of course, but soon.
She kept her outward appearance confident and upbeat; showed them that all was well, told them what a great victory they had won! She was their leader, after all. Such was her responsibility.
Author's Note: 'Darahdha' can be loosely translated into 'Greetings'. For future reference on the Old One's Name, Ambrose Meremoth means 'the immortal harbinger of death'.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 6 January 2003
~ Thirty One ~
It was done.
All preparations that could be made, had been made. The Baron mansion was lit like a torch, external floodlights ensuring that any attack would not come unnoticed while protecting the occupants of the house from becoming sitting ducks, silhouetted in the windows.
The attack would come tonight. Jerrick had been able to tell them that much before he left. ::He'd better have been right!:: Crystal growled to herself.
The call to stations had gone out bare minutes ago, but everyone was already settled in their assigned positions and waiting in silence. Crystal had to grudgingly admit that the former non-combatants had not done too shoddily. So far. The true test would be when the battle ensued.
She alone drifted from one attack force to another. Two hundred humans against – according to Jerrick – more than a hundred vampires. Crystal had been unable to boost her numbers as much as she'd like and the few she had found were not of the caliber of her earlier batch of recruits. Still, two-to-one odds were not impossible. Considering the difference in physical ability between a human and a vampire, the disparity in numbers set the two sides on equal footing. The advantage of home ground was offset by the danger of the untried members of the defenders.
No, Crystal couldn't predict the outcome of this night. The absence of her little knife-fighter and her elegant sharpshooter stung out of proportion to actual loss. Taura and Karen's presence might have tipped the balance – not just for their kills but for the confidence and optimism their competence would have instilled.
Still, one made the best of what one had and Crystal was too shrewd a combat leader to hold petty grudges in the midst of a fight. Afterwards, yes, but now, she would treat each member of her team, hunter or ex-vampire or witch, with equal consideration.
"Here they come!" The shout came from Jason, perched on the wide ledge of a window above the immaculate spiral stairway. One square of the French windows had been removed to allow him to shoot through it.
He drew a bead on the leading edge of the vampiric charge and let fly when they were ten paces from the front door. The force of the bolt flung an over eager vamp off his feet and sent him crashing into the unfortunate colleague behind him. The wave scarcely paused, save for the brief disruption the hit caused in the ranks.
Crystal nodded to the hunter beside her and went to take her position, just as the first wave reached the house. Vampires parted to admit a half dozen dazed humans in their midst. These stumbled through the threshold and robotically began inviting the vampires in. The first vampires through the door defended their human 'sappers' from the hunters, buying time for the rest of their forces to get into the mansion. For their part, the hunters would have been content to knock the influenced human out, but if the need arose, they would not hesitate to kill them.
Well, isn't that ironic, Crystal mused, mounting the stairs.
* * *
Death was puzzled.
He had wandered the streets for a good hour and all the places that held prey were strangely empty. Where have all the pitiful dregs of human society gone?
His unhurried, gliding pace never changed as he flitted from one secluded path to another. Perhaps his antics two days hence had sent the entire community into hiding. No matter; he would find other quarry, he thought, firm in his confidence. They cannot elude me forever.
* * *
"Move!" Seth shouted furiously. Sheila batted away a knife with her flexible lance, sending a gleaming black gun flying as the stick rebounded to crack sharply on the vampire's hand. She drew back another step, trying to obey Seth's command to fall back as quickly as she could.
The vampire struck like lightning. She didn't even see his hand move to catch the end of her staff and yank her forward. Taken by surprise, Sheila didn't have the wisdom to release the spear. Her momentum carried her straight into the reach of the invading vampires.
She didn't even hear Seth screaming her name as hard, cold hands dragged her towards the press of bodies and she was submerged in pain.
* * *
He was getting tired of this. Death paused in yet another empty alleyway – how _could_ they all be empty? The brow within the inky cowl furrowed and Death sent out a questing thought.
There! The bright glow of minds drew him two blocks down, to quiet little lane. It wasn't too far from where he'd had his frolic two nights ago, actually. He paused to survey the occupants of the hovel, backlit by the streetlamp. Miserable brown lumps of suffering huddled among cardboard and rags. One rocked continuously to a melody and purpose only it understood. Most were deathly still with only an occasional twitch to mark the life within them.
He considered each individual critically, selecting his target. The little fête of two nights past was _not_ his usual style, but that particular band of humanity had been especially pitiful and Death had seen no reason not to arrange a mutually satisfying turn of events; an end to their suffering and enjoyment for himself.
This lot may be little better, he thought as he stepped deeper into the alley. He paused beside one oldster, whimpering in his sleep and bent with the fingers of one hand stretched out as if in benediction.
He paused as a new, long shadow covered the little alley. _This_ silhouette was rimmed with light, not darkness. The figure was cloaked as he, but in incandescent white rather than deep gloom. The golden locks flowing out from beneath the cowl glinted in the light.
He sensed a challenge. Or perhaps a trap. He almost laughed, save that it was not part of his nature. Was _this_ was it was all about? The mysterious lack of prey this night? Did this lone female think to add another vampire to her kill ratings? Did she know what it was she faced?
He straightened leisurely, withdrawing the outstretched hand. He had only taken a single step towards her when three of the other denizens of the alley rose and shed their concealing rags. From the arms they bore, Death guessed that they were indeed vampire hunters. Four of them – five, counting the sniper on the roof – against him; they knew something of what they faced then.
Unseen, Death's eyes glinted hungrily. They were still too few against a being that _could not die_.
But things were getting interesting all the same.
* * *
Green eyes glittered in the darkness, a waiting gleam in their depths. Crystal stood motionless in the shadow, watching while anticipation fired her blood. On the wall beside her, a shadow play was enacted, mirroring the struggle between the vampire and human. Predictably, the hunter was cast aside, and dismissed for all that he still drew breath; the vampire lord was intent on a foe worthy of his attention – the Enemy, who by all accounts awaited in the attic.
Eagerness twisting his lips, he mounted the stairs. Movement at the top caught his eye; the gleam of laminated wood. Another human stood before him, idly twirling a wooden sword in one hand. He recognized her from the descriptions of vampires who have encountered this particular huntress – and lived to tell of it. Her red hair was darkened to almost black in the shadow but her green eyes glowed in the dark eerily like a cat's and her bearing held an almost vampiric superiority.
"You're not the Enemy," he rasped, barely audible. His extended fangs lent a slight sibilance to his words. She remained where she was, leaning casually against the wall, one leg bent with the foot flat vertically.
"No," she agreed. "I'm not."
He did not hesitate but struck first, taking the advantage of initiative. Her foot against the wall propelled her forward with vicious speed as she met his strike. The battle was joined.
* * *
The white lady was the key.
Death knew this instinctively, having watched human group behavior for time immemorial. She was the heart and soul of the band, the trap, the bait. The challenger, the challenge. In a situation where the prey wished to escape, he would target the female, for without her, the attack would be blunted and impotent.
That was not the case here. To a being invulnerable and immortal, the circumstances were an ideal opportunity to... play.
She was the leader and her vulnerable point, he knew, would be her companions. Like the captain of a ship, the worst thing he could do to her was to make her watch helplessly while he destroyed her people.
With that in mind, he turned to the closest of the band; an elfin girl holding twin knives in her hand. A string of throwing knives was belted about her slim waist. The foolish girl actually looked excited when he took a step towards her.
Once again, his hand reached out as to deliver a gentle blessing. Once again, he was halted. The white lady spoke and her words changed... everything
"_Darahdha_, Ambrose Meremoth." [[Greetings, Ambrose Meremoth.]]
* * *
The vampire was faster and stronger – that went without saying.
Crystal crouched in a battle-ready stance, watching her opponent closely. Her blood sang with adrenaline and triumph. She had reaffirmed her abilities tonight, proven it to herself time and again with each vampire she had staked. Being defeated first by Kier Achmed and then by the crippled Jerrick had shaken her confidence more than she cared to admit. But now, there was no doubting herself. Not at all.
She had set aside her blade during the previous fight; in the tight confines of the corridor where she now stood, the sword hampered her movements, as the vampire facing her was discovering.
Yes, he had inhuman speed and supernatural strength. But that didn't make up for his complete lack of hand-to-hand technique. And under these circumstances, it was she who had the advantage.
It was almost child's play to break his nose, then his hand and let his blade clatter to the ground. Spin him around, dislocate his shoulder, break his neck. She slid the short wooden knife out of her boot sheath and staked him through the heart from behind.
When no other opponent appeared, she stepped over the quickly mummifying body and made her way – alertly, warily – down the stairs. There were pockets of fighting scattered throughout the huge dwelling, but those were quickly ended as humans went to the aid of their fellows.
The second vampire attack was drawing to a close. This time, there had been no weirdling storm, no shattering defeat to scare away the vampires. It had been a fight to the end. Dust – all that remained of the vampires – coated everything.
Dust and blood.
Of the two hundred humans who had started out the battle, perhaps sixty remained. Among these, most bore wounds. Terrible losses, no doubt, but considering that the numbers had been matched in the beginning, the survival rate was impressive. In return, no more than a double handful of vampires had managed to escape.
Crystal moved from one room to another, from one level to the next, checking for vampires lurking about, looking for any more unfinished fights. She saw many bodies in the various rooms, sprawled on the ground or draped over furniture. Some were survivors catching their breath but most were corpses of comrades, lying where they had fallen and died.
The leader of the hunters forced herself to deal with the incredible loss of life. She had seen many battles by now; odd that she was not hardened to it yet. She sent word for the servants to return and begin cleaning up, gathering the dead and making appropriate arrangements, etc. The healers that Jerrick had left with her were already hard at work, setting up the wardroom, directing the able-bodied to move the injured and so on.
She received the reports from her seconds-in-command calmly. She told them that they'd all done well. Yes, even the greenies, the ex-vampires and the witches. She made a comment about how a celebration was in order. Not right away, of course, but soon.
She kept her outward appearance confident and upbeat; showed them that all was well, told them what a great victory they had won! She was their leader, after all. Such was her responsibility.
Author's Note: 'Darahdha' can be loosely translated into 'Greetings'. For future reference on the Old One's Name, Ambrose Meremoth means 'the immortal harbinger of death'.