The werewolves were still gaining. With the restrictions of the castle halls preventing him from using the overdrives, D knew that he didn't have much time before those monsters were on him. "Autodrive," he stated, engaging the automatic computer pilot while he swung around onto the back of the motorcycle and opened a side compartment. One hand dipped in and pulled out the weapons case, then D slipped back into the driver section and shut the armor plates. He didn't have much time, so as quickly as possible, he opened the case and began assembling the pulse rifle. "I really, really hate lupus dogs."

With the gun locked into form, D pulled a power cell from his belt, locked it into the chamber, and opened the plates to slide the case back into the compartment. The werewolves were getting closer, but that wouldn't matter soon enough. "Suck it down, furballs." Raising the rifle, D flashed a grin and fired, catching one of the beasts in the arm. The impacted limb was torn off, causing its former owner to howl in pain, but the beast was still going. Another shot blew its head off, which downed one werewolf but left about eight more to go.

Another burst fired. This shot slammed into its target's chest, blowing open a massive hole the size of a watermelon and sending internals onto the face of the werewolf behind the struck creature. Another of the monsters was down, but when the motorcycle made a sharp turn, D nearly fell from his perch. A shot fired at that moment, only catching one of the werewolves in the side of the leg. The hunter took aim again, fired, and smiled when the third of the werewolves was struck and lost its head. Too bad lupus didn't have the awareness to recognize when they were being killed off.

"This is getting damn annoying," D muttered before slipping back into the seat and shutting the armor panels. "Manuel drive." Controls now responding, he made a turn, gunning the engine once he saw the very long hallway he had to go down. The six remaining werewolves were still chasing him, just as he expected. He didn't have time to get back out and start firing again, plus he still needed to give Tremere a real distraction from the wedding.

An eye went to the control board of the motorcycle. "I hate this part of the job."

"D, what are you planning?" Varda asked. When the boy made a sharp turn-around, the demon realized what was being planned in the hunter's head. "D, no! We need this machine to get back to Enoch!"

D's right hand tapped away on the control board. "We'll pick up a horse on our way out, but we've got half a dozen werewolves still on us, and not enough time to deal with them." He growled, opened the panels so that he could reach into the cold storage compartment and pulled out his blood case. "And I paid fifty thousand for this art piece too..."

Now pushing out of the vehicle, D hit the ground, rolled for a bit, then came up and aimed his rifle. The moment that the werewolves were in range of his 'cycle, the dunpeal fired, a bolt slamming into the exhaust of the machine and causing it to erupt. The six werewolves were consumed in an instant, leaving the remains of limbs and the stench of burnt fur.

He slowly rose to his feet. D sighed as he looked at the burning remains of his motorcycle, then turned to continue down the hallway, rifle in hand and ready. This was turning out to be one hell of an annoying mission. It had already cost him a good chunk of his blood supply, his prized motorcycle and almost all his weapons, and to top it off, he still hadn't been paid yet.

Even as D was continuing on his way through the castle, Daniel was trying to find his own way toward the great hall. Currently hiding in a small alcove so that he was found, the young man breathed in and checked his rifle's power charge. Still over half-full left in the cell, enough to do what he had to do.

Someone was coming. Daniel quickly moved to hide behind a pillar. A figure clad in dark blue and a cloak shot by as if seeking a rampage. Not the vampire, he wouldn't let his wedding be interrupted for anything. It must have been that servant of his. Well, the less in his way the better chance Daniel had.

Making sure that the dhampir was out of sight, Daniel continued down the corridor, now able to hear a voice speaking. It was the words of a wedding ceremony. Daniel had found his goal. Now, though, he didn't know what he was going to do. How did one kill a vampire with just a blast rifle?

But at this point, logic was hardly what was on Daniel's mind. He gripped his weapon and ran, ready to slam against the massive doors that suddenly weren't there. In the instant it took for him to realize that the doors had been flung open of their own accord, Daniel was hoisted into the air by an invisible force. His rifle dropped from his hands, the boy now hovering while Tremere smiled and gestured to the assembled ghouls and monsters.

"Welcome to this joyous gathering, my dear boy," the vampire stated while moving toward the human. "I'm so happy you could join us this night."

The boy struggled against the invisible force holding him up, then spit at Tremere. The wad of saliva fell short, but his hatred for the vampire was made very clear. "Burn in hell, monster!" he screamed. "All of you should burn in hell!"

Acting as if he was wounded by the words, Tremere feigned shock. "I'm hurt," the vampire intoned. He moved his hand once more toward the congregation, then toward Daniel's sisters. "I invited you into my home, bring you into my glorious family, even make your younger sister my bride, and this is the thanks I receive?" Once more, a smile. "Anger, hate...and let's not forget the hunter you hired to kill me. Such an insult, my boy, but one I will forgive of my soon-to-be brother and son-in-law."

A movement of his hand sent Daniel flying back into the group of creatures. Suspended in the air, he could do nothing as the ceremony resumed. All Daniel could do was pray that Tremere intended for a full ceremony before turning Catherine. It was the only thing that would buy D the time he needed to arrive.

Footsteps echoed through the halls as the young dunpeal hunter continued running. He had already discarded his pulse rifle, now holding his force gun at the ready should the need arise. D could feel that a fight, a terrible battle, was awaiting him just ahead. It was the resolution of four hundred years of searching, hope almost lost, but always holding to by even just a thread.

Memories, painful images, flashed through his mind. The memory of a blonde young woman, body laying across the room from her head, a boy who looked just like him pinned to a wall by the iron stakes in his chest and the sword through his throat. The brunette woman who lay on the ground, mauled by lacerations and bullet wounds. The people he loved, that he cared about more than anything in the world.

All taken away by the man now known as Jonathan Tremere.

This was not about revenge, not about getting even, or even about the fact he had been hired to do this. None of those things mattered in why he kept going. The money meant nothing to D now. It was beyond personal, it had gone beyond that after a century.

This was about pure justice. About a man who was a monster being made to pay for his horrible crimes. About a man who had escaped justice for so long that the only one who even remembered was a teenage boy who had lost everything to his greed and lust for power.

This was about a family who didn't deserve the horrible fate it had met.

"D," Varda spoke. He didn't need to see the look in the dunpeal's eyes to know what was there. "D, listen. I've been thinking about all this."

There was no answer. D didn't care to reply, because he felt there was no need to.

"What do you plan to do once Tremere is dead?" the gauntlet continued. "You've been hunting this guy for centuries, made him the entire reason you are still alive. What are you going to do when-"

"He's not the reason I chose to keep living," D hissed. He didn't even bother looking at Varda, but that gesture wasn't needed. "The reason I keep living is because that's what they would have wanted, why I survived."

Someone was coming toward him. D clenched his left hand and extended Varda's blade. His senses came alive while his eyes became slits, body ready for battle. Even now, he could smell the tainted blood of a dhampir; Grigori. The dhampir monster was coming to finish what he'd started back at the ranch, thinking he could kill D and be done with it.

A smile found its way onto D's lips. Justice was indeed his purpose here, but no one said having a touch of revenge was out of the question. It was only fair, since Tremere took everything precious away from D, that the dunpeal take something in return.

In an instant, he flew up into the air, firing down at the blue clad figure even as he was turning to face upside-down in mid-flip. The blast slammed into the ground while Grigori surged forward, sliding against the stone floor while dust and debris fell. As D landed, he turned, brandishing both firearm and blade while Grigori readied his own weapon. New blood stained the blade, D's own blood, and it disgusted the dunpeal to see that these vampires didn't have the decency to clean the sword.

"I hope you're ready to die, freak!" Grigori hissed, bringing the broadsword about to be held in both hands. There was a dangerous look in his eyes; he wasn't going to tolerate any more failures at the hands of this hunter that stood before him.

D's eyes narrowed. "Do you have any idea just who I am?" he asked. It's wasn't a trick question that he placed before Grigori. He honested wanted to know if the dhampir realized just who it was he faced. "Do you know who's blood is in my veins?"

A sneer as the dhampir stepped closer. "I could care less who your scum ancestors were. All that matters is that they were pathedic excuses for vampires, and that their legacy dies with you!"

His lips curled up and a growl emanated from deep in his chest. D fought to keep himself from leaping at Grigori and tearing the dhampir's throat out. "My father is not scum," he hissed angrily. "He is a great man who fights to protect the humans from your kind, Kinthea spawn!" The dunpeal flashed his fangs now as his body tensed. He was ready for this fight, been ready since he first encountered Grigori. "And you are not fit to dwell in a house that was made by one he sired, dhampir."

Nothing more was said as Gigori rushed forward. The iron sword clashed against the golden blade of Varda as D deflected a thrust. His right hand quickly swung about the moment he leapt back, a rippling blast firing out and narrowing missing Grigoiri. The dhampir hit the ground in a roll and rose to use his weapon in a swinging motion that smashed through the force gun, shearing the barrel from the rest of the firearm.

In disgust, D threw the remains of his weapon away, now depending solely on Varda. His expression was a tight growl as the dunpeal continued to weave about and deflect attacks. This was not the fight that Grigori had expected, he had sought to simply make a few strikes and be done with it, counting on D to be more aggressive and foolish in his motions. Instead, what he faced was a honed and seasoned soldier, someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

Someone who had learned from his mistakes.

Blow after blow, the iron blade was pushed away with little effort, revealing now the kind of skill and ability D was capable of. The fight at the farm had been one of D's lack of control, unable to focus his emotions and his power, but here, it was a different story. He was centered, focusing only on this fight with a foul being who regarded himself as better than the humans. In the back of his mind were the Rans, his mission and task that even now were dangerously close to failure, but in the forefront of his mind was this spoiled child who demanded everyone bow down to him and his father, merely because of the damned blood which ran in their veins.

It was easy to have such a view, to believe that all those around you should just bow and worship merely because of what you are, or claim to be. Most vampires followed this rule, that because of their ultimate sire, because they were the Kinthea, they owned the world, that they owned mankind. They demanded, by virtue of species alone, that they were to be respected, worshipped, and given power over everything. All this because they were the undead, because they could not die.

But in the end, what truly made one worthy of power and respect was not what they were, but what they made of themselves. And D was very much a person who made sure he earned that power, that he deserved that respect. Because he was the best there was, and he had made himself that way.

And no one, not even this dhampir monster or his father, was going to take that away from him.

Not again.

The blades crashed against each other, sparks flying as the edge of the iron sword scrapped along the golden edge of Varda. D tightened his expression into a frown, now pushing back against Grigori and making his move. A series of rapid attacks caused the dhampir to suddenly realize something; he was outclassed. His victory at the farm was fluke, an event that occurred only because he had been lucky, because D had not been at all focused on the fight. Before, he had faced an uncontrolled young man, someone who hadn't been holding onto his emotions or brought his focus to bear.

But this time, he was facing something more channeled, more powerful than anything he had ever seen before. This was not rage, nor hate, nor brute power. This force he fought, the force that resonated in each strike made by the hunter was purpose, pure purpose and duty. He was facing a soldier who had been through more and seen more than Grigori could possibly imagine.

"Why do you hate my father so much!" the dhampir bellowed as he swung hard, shattering a pillar while D simply stepped away from the attack. "What reason do you have for continuing when you have been beaten, hunter!"

Their blades crossed, now locked against each other. D's eyes went narrow as he looked into Grigori's own, almost as if he was staring into the dhampir's soul. "He never told you?" the youth whispered. "Never told you what he did four hundred years ago, before the Great War?"

They pushed away from each other. Grigori took the chance to catch his breath. It seemed that the hunter was allowing him to recover, because from all appearances, D wasn't even breaking a sweat. That alone was enough to send a child down Grigori's spine. "You mean those killings back before all the fighting?" he replied in question. Such a foolish thing to ask, of course he knew about his father's exploits as a killer before the war. Feeding off of the humans, because it was his right to do so. "Merely sheep who's sole purpose was to be his prey."

The expression in D's eyes went cold. "Did he ever tell you about the family he slaughtered?" the hunter continued. There was something else in the dunpeal's eyes now; a thirst, almost as if for revenge, but it looked to be even stronger than that. "About the life he destroyed just because he felt it was his right?"

There was a laugh from the dhampir youth. "Because it is his right!" Grigoir returned, truly believing his own words. "Humans exist only to be our food, our playthings! If your idiotic vanpyr sires would realize that, you and I would be friends, not enemies!"

"Then you and your father are even bigger fools than I'd thought possible." D snarled and raced at the dhampir, Varda raised and ready to strike. In a flash, Grigori brought his own weapon about to defend, reacting just in time to block the attack. In an instant, the blade came about again, slamming against the iron sword while Grigori stared in horror at D.

How could this be happening? The dunpeal shouldn't even still be alive, but to be causing this kind of terror in the heart of a dhampir prince, who this very night, even right now, should be ascending to full vampiric power, it was unthinkable! Who was he!

There was that look again in D's eyes as he bore down on Grigori. His lips curled back to reveal his canines, revealing the barely controlled fury that was behind his blows. This was no ordinary hunter, Girgori realized, nor even any simple half-breed. This was a force of nature itself.

In an instant, with a great crack, the iron sword shattered upon impact with Varda. Gigori could only gasp in shock just before the golden blade plunged into his chest. He stared into D's eyes, seeing there something he had never seen before; righteous fury, the fire of justice itself.

"Your father took away everything I held dear," the dunpeal hissed angrily. He pushed with his left arm, causing Grigori to wince in pain. "He walked into my home, and killed my family, just because he had the ability to do it." The hunter paused, allowing his words to soak into Grigori's mind. This dhampir was going to die now, for his crimes and those of his father. It was only right that he know for what crimes his father was going to join him in death for. "He took away my mother, my sister, and my twin brother, all because he wanted to prove something. And now..."

D hesitated. There were tears in his eyes. He was reliving those painful memories all over again, but this time, it was strength he drew from them. This was what he had to do, because if he didn't do it, no one else could.

"Now, I return the favor."

Varda was withdrawn from Grigori's chest. The dhampir gasped for breath only moments before D swung about and cut open his throat. Blood now gushed out, the dhampir choking on his own fluids. He stumbles about, grasping at his throat before falling to his knees. He was gurgling, trying to breathe in a futile attempt. Grigori stared at the hunter, now at last realizing who this powerful being was. This was no mere half-breed, no simple vampire hunter. This was something far beyond that.

"You...your father..." The dhampir was barely able to get the words out before he slumped over and hit the ground face first, dead at last. His blood continued to pour from his throat, covering the floor with crimson. D breathed heavily, the stress from the fight now revealing itself, but he did not afford himself the time to recover. He wasn't finished here, not yet.

Now racing down the hall, the hunter's eyes will filled with such purpose and drive, unlike any he had felt before. He had his revenge, but revenge wasn't what mattered. It was justice that mattered. The delieverence of justice and the protection of the Rans. No longer did his personal vendetta with Tremere have sway over his mission. Now, D's purpose was that of protecting the humans from one who intended to take away what they held dear, to do to the Rans what he did to D.

Like hell D was going to let that happen again.

The ceremony was almost concluded. No vows truly need be taken, since this was hardly a marriage in accordence with the ways of humans. All that need be done after the last words were said was to claim Catherine's mortal life and make her immortal. Once Grigori returned, at least. The boy did deserve to witness that moment.

There was pain. Tremere paled as he felt a flash of rage, pain, and then nothing. He turned toward the main doors, unsure why he felt those sensations. Surely, Grigori had slain his enemy, this time for good. It was unthinkable that the boy had been struck down, not after everything that had been put into making him what he was. No, it was just the play of battle. Grigori had probably taken some wounds, but emerged victorious. They would be badges of honor once he returned to the wedding.

The vampire looked toward Daniel. The human was still hovering in place, struggling, but less defiant than when he had tried to burst in. Perhaps he'd finally accept that nothing could change his family's fate.

The ghost was finishing the speeches. Good. Soon, it would all be over. So sad that Grigori would probably be a bit late, but that would be punishment enough for delaying himself.

"I now pronounce you lord and wife."

A smile formed on Tremere's lips now. His fangs grew, his eyes lighting up as he turned Catherine's head and tilted so that her neck was fully exposed. "Never have I had such trouble for a woman," he whispered to the girl. "It makes you all the much more worth the effort I put into obtaining you."

As he moved toward her throat, Tremere suddenly halted. The doors had suddenly been blown open, crashing down to the ground with a great clatter. Grigori would not dare do such a thing merely to show off, who could possible have done this? Tremere snarled and stood upright, turning to face the fool who had the gall to interupt his wedding in such a fashion.

And then, his blood frozen.

"Hello, Arkhm," came the calm piercing words from the youthful figure standing in the doorway. Golden blade shining from its place on his left arm, black coat draping down to come around his legs, and that pale blonde hair which hung about over his crimson eyes. Those eyes, red like blood, shifting as if the irises themselves were indeed blood. There was only one person who had such eyes.

It was D.