It didn't require Tremere to look back in order to see that there was joy on Daniel's face. This turn of events was beyond anything he'd though possible. It was completely impossible, by all means. This dunpeal whelp had beaten Grigori, a three hundred year old dhampir with the power of his vampire sire in him! How was this possible! It wasn't, by all means! The hunter should be dead!
The dunpeal stepped into the great hall. Several mutants rushed forward to stop him, but in a flash, that golden blade moved with a speed and grace that Tremere had never before seen. In that single instant, those malformed creations of terrible science fell dead at the hunter's feet, corpses on the ground. A single motion had brought them down. Impossible.
That same blade came up to aim toward the vampire. "You and I have unfinished business, Arkhm," the dunpeal stated. His voice was deadly calm, yet at the same time expressing so much anger and fury. "Your son has been dealt with, and now it's your turn."
Grigori. His pride, his legacy. The boy was indeed dead, and Tremere found that he was actually saddened to know that his offspring had been killed. "How dare you strike down the son of a vampire lord!" he roared. Tremere pushed Catherine aside, now moving to face the hunter himself. "Who do you think you are, what right do you have to attack those who are your masters, dunpeal!"
The boy halted in his stride. His eyes had shifted their focus now, no longer gazing at Tremere, but at something behind him. It took only a moment for the vampire to realize that he was looking at the massive portrait which hung upon the far wall. What was the boy doing, trying to take strength from that image? Tremere snorted as he turned to look at the painting, then suddenly, for the first time, truly looking upon that face. There was something about the face of the man labeled by the plate on the frame as Vlad Crusadas. He had seen it before, but he couldn't quick recall.
Now that he thought about it, Tremre realized that he had seen this hunter somewhere before. He claimed that there was unfinished business between then. But what could it be?
Wait, a memory, from a long time ago. It was centuries in the past, but he still remembered. A family he had attacked, not for need of food, but because he wanted to make a point. Yes, he remembered it. That was where his blade had obtained those ancient bloodstains, in the blood of that family. A woman and her children. A girl and two boys. He'd been warned to treat the children as half-breeds, to kill them in a way that insured death. Yes, he had done so with the girl and one of the boys, but the third child had managed to escape after being shot repeatedly.
Could it be? Could it be that this hunter was that same child who had escaped his lust for blood four centuries ago? Could it be that those children had all been dunpeals, the offspring of that woman with a vanpyr? It was the only explination. And yet, the boy drew on another string in his mind, somewhere else he had seen that face.
The portrait. Tremere looked back again, now realizing with horror what he hadn't seen before. Vlad Crusadas. "Vlad the Crusader". The vanpyr sire, the legendary father of all those who were of vanpyr blood. A handsome man, strong yet youthful features. That pale blonde hair...
And crimson eyes.
He turned once more, now staring at D. Everything now fit. This was the child that, four hundred years ago, had escaped from him, had cheated death, and had been seeking revenge for all those centuries. But more importantly, he had been on a mission far greater than being hired to hunter vampires and monsters. It was a mission passed down, if the legend was true, by the Divine itself to the first of the vanpyr.
To his father.
"You can't be," the vampire whispered, but he knew it was true. In those eyes was the same look of purpose as the eyes in the painting held. "Your father...is him! The sire of all vanpyr!"
The hunter said nothing. He only continued forward toward his enemy, ever filled with his purpose. Those mutants who started to block his path quickly thought better of it the instant they saw his eyes. They knew that they would die the moment they stood in his way, meaning nothing at all to the dunpeal hunter.
"I was charged with a mission," D began, his pace not wavering nor gaining. "These three hired me to protect them and to eliminate you." A pause in his words, but his movement toward the vampire continued. "I intend to carry out that task, Arkhm."
There was no more running, Tremere knew it. For centuries, he had heard about this boy. A powerful half-breed, surpassing even pure blood Kinthea, who was charged with the same mission as his cursed father. He had heard the original tale from his own sire, the legendary Dracula himself. A man who fought in the ancient crusades was so overcome by the guilt of all the bloodshed he had cause, that he offered his own life up to the Heavens as the price for his crimes.
But he had not been allowed to die. Instead, he was reborn as a vampire being, the vanpyr, made this way by the Divine itself as both punishment and as a test. His mission was to protect humanity from itself, to bring them on the road to redeeming their own sins, and to defend against the forces of darkness that belonged not on this world.
He was known as Vlad the Crusader.
That man was the figure in the portrait. Tremere now understood it all. This boy before him was the son of that ancient soldier, the survivor of his own crime against the family of the vanpyr sire. And now, his crimes had caught up with him. In return for what he had done, Tremere's own son had been killed. Now, as the hunter said, it was his turn to face justice.
Not without a fight, however.
The vampire gave a snarling roar. His hand flashed out, and in an instant, a large broadsword flew from its display stand into his palm. With a shout, he lunged at D, thrusting with the massive blade in attempt to impale the hunter, but D was far too quick. He deflected the strike, spinning while coming about to stop ten feet away from Tremere's reach. There was no emotion now in the dunpeal's eyes, only his mission. His only thought now was to see this task through to the end. The money meant nothing, his revenge meant nothing. This was all about the final deliverance of justice.
Tremere swung again. This time D brought Varda about, parrying the blow and coming around to bring his right leg slamming into the vampire's side. Another such movement brought his left foot against Tremere's head, bone crunching under the force of the strike. The vampire was down, but D still did not press his attack. He waited, allowed Tremere to rise up and push in with fury. Blow after blow, the blade of Tremere's sword was met by that of Varda, causing a cascade of light and sparks to fly out with each meeting of metal. Never before had the vampire felt such calm and control from an enemy. It was like facing not a person, but instead a force of nature.
The golden blade swung around, meet just in time by the great broadsword to avoid injury. There was no fear of this weapon in D's eyes. It was not iron, nor even if it was, would he fear it. He was beyond fear, beyond desire, beyond anything of human wants. He was now justice itself, bringing upon Tremere the judgement of the heavens.
"Your crimes," he stated, pushing the vampire back as he now stood with blade held down, "are the wanton killings of innocents, including Emily Beatrice Bradson, Mary Lucia Bradson, and Vergil Maro Bradson." D narrowed his eyes. "For these deaths, and others far too numerous to count, I have been sent to carry out judgement."
A clash of blades once more, sending Tremere stumbling back. How could this stripling of a half-breed be this powerful! He was overpowering a seven hundred year old Kinthea, a creature who was almost invincible! This was impossible!
"For the crime of rejecting your humanity," D continued, still moving forward toward the vampire. "For the crime of accepting existence as an unliving thing, the sentence is damnation." The golden blade rose, now shimmering with its own light. "It's time for you to burn in the fires of Hell, Arkhm."
The vampire snarled. He could not escape this foe, but he could still outdo him. With a roar, Tremere raced at the dunpeal, pushing away the gauntlet blade and pressing in his own attack. Now D was on the defensive, but he didn't seem to be one bit disturbed by this reversal. On the contrary, it was like he had expected this to happen. The way he smoothly changed his stance and movements was far too natural to have been made out of surprise.
It was as if he had planned this entire battle, move for move, right from the beginning.
Tremere drew in just before making his move. The large weapon he held was forced down by the blade mounted on D's arm. For a long moment, they stood there, pressing their strength against each other. Then, with a quick narrowing of his eyes, D shifted his own blade about to push the sword up into the air. In that instant, he slammed Varda down, the blade shimmering and flowing into the gauntlet even as it traveled down into the stone floor. A mighty crack could be heard, and seconds later, the stones collapsed under him and the vampire, sending them tumbling down into the depths of the castle.
They all stood there, looking at the gap fissure in shock. After realizing what had just happened, the mutant servants of the vampire began to flee, now realizing that they were nearing their end. It gave Daniel the chance to run to his sisters once he touched ground. Iria quickly snapped out of the trance, but Catherine was still under the effects of Tremere's domination. She did not respond to anything her older siblings could do.
"Daniel, we have to get out of here!" Iria stated. The fear in her voice was clear; she still was afraid of what Tremere could do.
The boy shook his head. To leave now would be abandoning D. After all the hunter had done for them, even after they had treated him like scum, he couldn't just leave D behind. "Not without D," he replied at last. He quickly swept Catherine up into his arms. It hurt trying to hold her weight, considering just how exhausted he was, but right now, that didn't matter. All that did matter was getting her to safety while they waited for D to return. "We don't leave him behind, not after what he's done for us."
Amazement was in Iria's eyes. She never would have expected her brother to show loyalty to the hunter, not after learning what he was. But then again, D had still come back to save them, despite their treatment of him. Perhaps it was time to listen to his words and afford him the respect he deserved.
"Alright," she said at last. "We wait for him." ooo
They continued to plummet down into the castle depths, darkness overcoming their senses. Tremere swung only to cut through thin air where he thought the hunter had been, his blade coming to clash against a piece of the falling debris. Again he swung the moment he caught a glimpse of D, but once more, nothing was there. The only thing that met his blade was more falling rubble.
Something flashed in the darkness. Tremere brought his sword to defend, but nothing struck. Still, he could feel the movements of air go by him, like something slim and sharp had narrowly missed striking his head. They were still falling, yet since they'd been engulfed by the pitch black of the underways, he could not see his foe.
There was light now. The artificial lighting of the catacombs was visible now, and Tremere saw that his enemy, the hunter dunpeal D, was above him. The vampire hit the ground first, rolling away to bleed away the impact. Quickly he came to his feet, readying the broadsword in his hands for battle.
However, the young hunter spun about before landing straight on, kneeling as he came to a stop. A powerful rumble could be felt from his impact, while the ground beneath him cracked and caved down about a foot from the sheer force of his landing. His left fist was grounded against the rock, right arm spread back while his coat billowed before falling down to drape about his form. Slowly, the hunter raised his head to look toward Tremere, now rising up. His dangerous landing had no effect whatsoever on him. Even a dhampir would have shattered most of the bones in their body from that kind of impact, but D rose to his feet, upright like it had only been a drop of a few feet.
The gauntlet glimmered before the golden blade erupted into form. D's eyes were narrowed, pupils slit while the red of his crimson irises glowed vibrantly. He took a step toward the vampire, noting the fear in Tremere's eyes. He knew how this battle would end. In fact, the battle was over the instant it had begun.
And as D charged his foe, Tremere raising his blade to defend himself and to attack, the final note of this conflict was sealed. The ending of this battle had already been written, the victor already won, and the loser already dead. As the blades struck each other, it was just playing out the finality of a chase that had begun four hundred years ago, a chase that only had one end.
The rest is just details.
Blades continued to strike each other, a collision between the extensions of two souls. Sparks and flashes danced about from each blow, an elaborate one-time only unequaled performance for an audience that would never see it, for there was no one to witness this epic clash of power. Hero and monster, monster and hero, spinning, twirling, clashing and crashing, slash and parry, whipping and ripping about the air around them with the raw power of their movements.
It was like a dance, one so masterful that it could never again be repeated. And it never would be. Perhaps one day it would be out done, its shine overcome by an event that even this could not equal, but for now, this final conflict between two bitter foes was perhaps the greatest display of skill and determination that had ever been.
Tremere has the power and skills of centuries at his command. He rules over the horrible creations of unholy science, he commands the night and the powers that lie beyond the land of the dead. His vast armies have served him four hundreds of years since the end of the old world, his ability and skill with the blade one rivaled by few who are or were mortal. His power is that which few among the Kinthea could even dream to compare.
And yet all this means nothing. His centuries of skill, his levels of power, mastery of the undead disciplines, all the wealth he holds, his unequaled breeding, exquisite tastes - all the pursuits and pride of centuries that he had attained and garnered - all of this means no more than chains about his neck as he bends down before the axe.
Even his knowledge of the lost world and all its powers and secrets has become a joke.
He sees it in D's eyes. He knows how this will end, the way that fate has ordained this battle to be resolved. He knows that everything he has done means nothing in the face of what is inevitable. And yet, Tremere refuses to accept this simple fact, he continues to fight, continues to deny that he could never win this, deny that at last he has challenged someone who he cannot beat.
And that is why he has already lost.
Because D is fighting for more than just vengeance. Revenge is not the only reason he fights. Revenge is hardly even part of the reason he continues to battle the vampire. His purpose is one of justice, to see that the terrible crimes of the past are at last brought to an end. He stands between three innocent humans and the damnation that this monster would bring upon them, between darkness and those how belong in the light. In his heart is a powerful dragon, raging against all the horrors of the world, fighting to protect those who suffer so that what he was forced to witness would never happen again.
And despite the horrible memories that tell him that he cannot win, screaming that he will in the end fail, D continues to fight. When Tremere flies at him, the hand of his lost brother rises with D's own to send the vampire tumbling back. When all the powers of darkness at Tremere's command send rubble and debris flying at him, the loving words of his sister smash them aside.
And when the vampire strikes with all his might, the embrace of his beloved mother envelopes D with such power that his enemy is flung back with a force that causes the entire underground chamber to shudder.
Before this moment, his anger, his rage, have always been held back. It has always been his creed never to unleash such a power, because when it occurs, nothing can survive. Four hundred years ago, he had unleashed the raw fury of his anger, and he swore to never let that force cloud his mind again. Yet here, all the containment was let go as the haze which would have clouded him was blown away. Here, D saw with perfect clarity, saw the road that lay before him.
All he had to do was one thing.
Decide.
And so he decides to win.
The golden blade crashed against ancient steel, causing Tremere to stumble back. The vampire thrust forward, but his sword only met air as the hunter spun on the heel of his foot, coming about from a twirl to stand opposite of his foe. Coat furling about, D sprung into action once more, Varda clashing against the broadsword while making quick and precise strikes that sought to pierce Tremere's defense, to make contact with his flesh.
"Why do you continue on this foolish path!" the vampire roared. In the next instant he was leaping away to avoid being cut by the golden blade. Landing, Tremere looked long and hard at his enemy. "Such stupidity will only result in your death boy! No one can take on the Kinthea nation and live!"
The hunter silently stepped toward his foe. His fangs flashed as he let his mouth open just enough to reveal the vampiric canines. "I've been doing it for centuries," the young dunpeal replied firmly. There was no fear in his voice, no apprehension. D was now devoid of any doubts in this battle. He knew that he would see his purpose through, that justice would be delivered, and the terror that this vampire had reigned with over the course of centuries would end. "I promised my father that I would follow his mission to protect humanity from your kind, and I have no intention of breaking that promise, Arkhm."
It began once more just as suddenly as it had ended but briefly. A crack resounded from the impact of the two blade. A shockwave sent the water that lay about on the rock floor flying away from where vampire and dunpeal stood, testimony to the power behind that single clash. Even now, sparks flew while the ancient steel scrapped against the golden blade of the gauntlet which served as Varda's prison. They stood there, staring into each other's eyes. In Tremere's was terror and anger, seething hatred for this dunpeal who dared to defy him.
Yet in D's there was only calm. His eyes, while slit like those of a cat, did not hold rage or anger. They held only grim determination, something that frightened Tremere more than anything. The boy was determined to win, to bring justice upon the vampire monster who had slaughtered innocents over hundreds of years of time.
"I am the son of Vlad," the hunter stated, voice calm yet firm. "In me flows his cursed blood, the blood of the Crusader." Those crimson eyes narrowed once more, reflecting his drive and sheer will. "But more importantly, in me is the soul he once thought he'd lost."
Tremere snarled and pushed away, landing about twenty feet from his half-breed foe. "What do I care of whose blood you have, or the soul you possess!" he hissed angrily. "It won't mean a thing once you're dead, boy!"
D brought his let arm back, Varda's blade gleaming even in the low light. Dust was still slowly drifting to the ground as result of his hard landing, but his body and posture were not affected. "Nothing you have been seeking to attain will mean a thing once you have been sent to the damnation you have earned," was the hunter's reply. He tensed, kneeling slightly, then began to run toward Tremere.
The vampire saw the move for what it was and responded in kind. He brought his sword about, right to strike as soon as he had the dunpeal in range. For him, time seemed to slow, his moments and the dunpeal's appearing as nothing moe than the wound-down play of an event which had already happened. As the hunter drew near, Tremere adjusted his grip on the hilt of his weapon, readied to swing. It would only take one strike to finish this. The forward motion began...
And there was a flash. A bursting pain as Tremere realized too late what had just happened. He stumbled for a moment, almost seeming as if he would recover. However, it was then that the ancient sword clattered to the ground, his hands unable to continue holding its handle.
The vampire took a step forward while a splatter of blood hit the stone. "How," he gasped while blood began to drip to the ground. He could not understand it at all, how it was he'd lost. Across his neck, a thin line of red began to dribble down. "Who...what...are...you?"
The hunter said nothing as the vampire fell to the ground, his head rolling away from his body. Blood continued to seep from the gapping wound that had been were his head once connected to his body. The vampire's skin went blue for a moment, then cracked. A small puff of smoke came from the cracks along the corpse, and then there was nothing. Tremere was dead.
D silently took a breath, then looked out into the darkness of the catacombs. He saw her shining eyes, shimmers of that red hair. He didn't need to see her in order to know that there was a smile toward him. "You are now free," the hunter stated into the shadows. He turned away, began to walk, then stopped and turned his head back toward the blackness. "But if you should follow the path of a monster..."
"We shall not meet again under those circumstances," came the sultry voice. "I need only a bit at a time to survive, I give my word I will not drain any human dry in order to feed."
He nodded, allowed Varda's blade to recede into the gauntlet, then continued into the darkness. The body of Tremere lay there for a few minutes before the deterioration continued to the level where the vampire corpse fell apart, nothing more in the end but dust.