An investigation was launched into Mathew Westley's death the following day. Just as planned, he was found by Nathan Westley, who went into his parents' closet in search of hidden alcohol, and he called the police. Also just as planned, the police did not look very carefully, and chalked the politician's death up to suicide. Naturally, it made the news because the man's position, and everyone was in search of a Mister Paul Blackwood on suspicion of stalking and harassing the politician and driving him to his fate. The only problem was that the man was missing.

The police couldn't find him and neither could the Round Table. He was suspected of fleeing the country, with was a correct guess. Days before Westley was assassinated, he had been packing his things. The man had left Britain, and the council soon discovered that he had booked a flight to Norway. While they knew what flight he took and where it landed, there was no telling at all where he exactly he went from there.

He made his way as far from the airport as possible, moving from place to place. There was no particular route as he twisted and turned throughout the country, despite his lacking in the ability to speak Norwegian. Blackwood ran for as long as he could, but was becoming tired. He wasn't used to not having a home, and the travel was taxing. He was always frozen, and often hungry. The man hadn't showered or shaved in a week or so, and was becoming quite scruffy. Paul wasn't sure how much longer he was going to last, if he didn't come up with something.

Eventually, the man made it back to the coast, and sat in a bar with a few members of staff that thankfully spoke English. Blackwood had brought quite a bit of money with him, and hid the fact well. The man only paid in cash, as a card was out of the question. He hadn't used much of his funds, trying to conserve as much of it as he could. His hunger became too much for him, and he was sick of the cold, so he stopped for a meal. There wasn't a single care in his mind for what exactly he ate as long as he did, and there was a lot.

Obviously, he was very invested in his food and nearly burined his face in it as he sat. Granted, it did take some effort to ignore the staring of other patrons who showed disgust for his appearance and odor. Blackwood was not accustomed to such treatment, as he was a white collared sort who always looked like an upstanding citizen. He hoped that he wouldn't be asked to leave again, as with other places he had been to.

It became unbearable, and he was forced to look up. Out of habit, he looked through his left eye, with his right eye closed and looked up at the group that was sitting at a booth along the wall. The sight made him choke on his food, spitting some of it across his own table. Coughing, he closed both eyes as he tried not to appear worse, and he opened him when he was calmer, seeing the group again.

Now, they appeared to be normal folks, albeit a tad shady. There were five of them, sitting at all shapes and sizes. The noise that Blackwood made grabbed their attention, and his staring didn't help.

"Kan du se at jeg ikke snakker dette språket?" asked one of the women at the table. She was ridiculously pale, with fair hair and eyes to match. Unlike the others in her company, she didn't change.

"Sorry?" Blackwood reflexively let out, prompting further response.

"She asked what you're lookin' at." answered a large man at the table. When Blackwood saw him, he was furry with sharp teeth and pointed ears. His loud voice caused the former assistant to shrink in his seat.

"N-nothing..." he quickly said in response, although he was visibly worried. Thus, the group unfortunately did not believe him, causing a bit of a stand off to see which one would leave first.

Blackwood was frozen in his seat and could not bear the thought of moving. All he did was sit there and eat slowly. He carried on at a snail's pace, eventually prompting the group to seemingly get up and leave. They paid for their food, and exited the building, seeming to leave the Englishman in peace. Paul felt as though he was in the clear to finish his food and spent several more minutes finishing up. He then paid his own fee and left the bar as well, only to be met with a unwelcome surprise.

As soon as he left the bar, a pair of hand grabbed at his shoulders and forced him against the wall. The contents of the pack on his back were jabbing against his ribs, causing his eyes to clench shut before one opened. What he saw was not to be scoffed at.

A bona fide werewolf had him in his grips, accompanied by another, and a few other creatures that he did not recognise. It was the same group from before ambushing him and it was just now that he realised that they had things in common in their sense of fashion. They all had a splash of red somewhere, which made him wonder if they were part of an organised group, but he had bigger concerns to focus his energy on.

"What're you here for, you English fuck?" growled the beast. Despite his words, he too, had an accent that obviously originated from England, confusing the man further. "Huh? Who sent you?"

"No one!" Paul replied, putting his hands up. "Honest! I'm here on my own!"

"You fucking liar!"

"Jason! Pull back, there's people here." said one of the others, an effeminate man with pink skin and horns. "We shouldn't do this here."

"Take him with us." suggested the pale woman in a heavy accent. "We need to make sure he's not with H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G."

There that organization was again. It seemed as though he could not escape it! Never did he suspect that he would ever hear that word again, but here he was, being manhandled by what appeared to be an enemy of the organization. That did give him an idea, however. Perhaps the enemy of his enemy could be his friend.

"I'm not with H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G!" Blackwood declared. "I came out here to run away from it!"

"Wha'd you say?" demanded the wolfman, narrowing his eyes and baring his teeth.

"I am! I've been trying to flee them! They want me back in England. They want to lock me away! That's why I came here!" the human attempted to explain. "I came because it was far away, and I didn't think anyone would look for me!"

"Do you know who we are, little man?" one of the others said. "Do ya? We're H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G's worst nightmare, and we're about to be yours."

"No! Please, no!" Blackwood cried out. "Please… I… I-I can give you news! About the Round Table! I used to work for one of it's members!"

"Then why should we trust that you're not a spy?"

"He's dead! He's dead. My boss is dead. They want me for it… That's why I ran away..."

To Paul's surprise, the grip on him loosened and his attackers grew quiet. They looked to one another, trying to figure out what to do. Eventually, they had to speak, as their eyes were insufficient.

"Like I said, we should bring him with us." repeated the pale woman. "We should bring him to Preston."

"Maybe we should." agreed the man with the horns. "That's some pretty good information he's got, there."

With that, the former assistant was released, causing to utter a sigh in relief. His turmoil was not yet over, however, and he didn't count on it. He could understand what they were saying, but it wasn't as though as he could stop it. They had decided to take him with them, and he was instructed to come with them to the docks. It wasn't as though he could refuse. Their teeth and claws were very persuasive.

As they had no car, they walked the entire way, although they occasionally had to stop for the human to catch his breath. He needed rest somewhere warm and comfortable. The man had understandably not slept for more than a few hours at a time each day. He hoped that his plan would work and he would be able to lodge with them, but as soon as they reached their destination, he wasn't certain if he wanted to.

Up against the shore was a large ship that was flying a large, red flag, and Blackwood took it as such. The flag had three black skulls on it, and looked like something that would adorn a pirate ship, and Blackwood knew what the red flag meant in the language of pirates. It meant that they did not take prisoners, and he certainly hoped that this is not what they were trying to convey.

He was intimidated by its look and his size, but was unaware that their previous ship had been larger. The Scarlet Order had managed to strip what they could of their previous vessel, and sell the rest. This ship was smaller, but it was no small fishing boat! Some of those were nearby, however, amoung others. They flew flags similar to those on the larger ship and had names on the side. There was "The Prudentia" which displayed a flag with with the silhouette of a knife through a heart on it, and there was "The Princess of Rose", which flew a flag with a black rose on it, amoung a few others. Blackwood's captors, however, made a beeline for the biggest ship, and walked toward the ramp that lead inside.

"Welcome to the Brahmastra, little man." one of the wolfmen darkly chuckled as his walked up to one of the supernaturals guarding the entrance to the ship. It took a few minutes of explaining before one of the gaurds allowed them to take Blackwood inside on the condition that they are escorted.

As the group entered the ship, the former assistant was completely on edge. He was surrounded by supernatural beings, and didn't know what to do with himself. It was obvious that they knew that he was not one of them. Those who didn't were informed in whispers as they passed by.

Perhaps the most concerning thing, however, was how his captors seemed to grow tense as they appeared to get close. While "Preston" was certainly not a name that Paul would associate with a fearsome leader, he had certainly seen stranger things. He too, was scared for his life, as he lost faith in the idea that he was going to live. He didn't expect him to last long in Norway, but he tried. He didn't expect him to survive being detained by H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G; but he somehow made it. The man was tired; he was so, so, tired. Paul was starting to wonder why he even bothered to persist, as he knew that he was going to die some horrible, grisly death. Somehow, he had accepted it. He didn't know when, but he did. It was now only instincts of self-preservation that appeared to be keeping him going. It wasn't as though he had anything to look forward to in life, as it was all gone. All of it. Everything he had worked toward over the past few years was gone, and it all started with that trip to the hospital. No. It started years ago. Perhaps it was back when he first started working for Westley. His spirit was broken and there was nothing left to look forward, to.

"The Boss is through here." the guard said, looking over his shoulder at the group. Taking a moment to compose himself, he knocked on the door to alert those inside of his presence.

"What is it?" called a voice from the other side. It sounded like a young man, but was muffled enough for Paul to be uncertain.

"Someone to see you, captain." answered the guard. "Some men picked up someone who has information on the Round Table."

Then, there was silence, like the other person had to think. From the gaurds perspective, he could hear mumbling on the other side as people debated. Eventually, however, the door unlocked and opened to reveal a woman with a rather serious expression and a surgical eyepatch over her left eye.

"Come in." she said, stepping aside to allow the group inside. Once they were past the door, it shut, and the supernaturals lined up and saluted. Naturally, Blackwood was confused as he analysed the room.

There was a short table in the center with a large map of Europe on placed on it. The table was so short, that the three people who were originally in the room had to sit on cushions on the floor. Walking past them, the woman walked back to the table and took her seat. She was on one end and on the other was a large, werewolf-looking creature that was covered in thick, black fur, with a human face. To Blackwood's astonishment, he looked the same whether he was looked upon by the assistant's left eye or both, making him think that he was already in this form. The creature was frightening, wearing a big grin with even bigger, jagged fangs, but he was not the scariest one in the other group. No, that was taken by the man who sat between the two. It was the young man.

Blackwood felt crushed under the weight of his gaze. The man's golden eyes seemed to stare through him with nothing but contempt. He had dark circles around his eyes and bags that made him look ill. Perhaps the most disturbing thing about him, however, was the black growth that seemed to crawl out of the man's shirt and wrapped around his neck. It seemed to be trying to devour him, but the man didn't seem to let it.

"Sir," began one of Blackwood's captors. "we found this man who knows about H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G; and we thought it best to alert you at once."

None of the others seemed impressed. They simply looked at the group with indifference before gold eyes scanned Blackwood up and down. Then, the young man spoke.

"You said he knows something about the Round Table." the man replied. "What is it."

"He says that a member has died."

"And this is important because?"

To this, the first group had no answer. They didn't know what was and was not important when it came to these matters, which is why they relied on Preston to tell them. After several moments of unbearable silence, Blackwood took a deep breath to summon his courage.

"It was Mathew Westley." Paul informed, observing the subtle flicker of change in the leader's expression. "He stole money from the council and was assassinated by the Round Table, most likely."

"How do you know this?" questioned Preston. "How do I know you're not making this up?"

"Because I used to be one of his aides." Blackwood answered, shocking the others in the room with his boldness. "I worked for him for many years, and it was I who passed the information on to the Conference's flunkies under interrogation. Really, I did it because I despised him. I was going to let the information go public, anyway. I had been collecting data on him for weeks."

"So you feed the information that killed him to the Round Table out of revenge?" asked Preston.

"Yes, sir, Mister Omid."

Using Preston's surname was a gamble. It could either lead to further dialogue, or get Paul killed. At this point, he wasn't sure if he minded, either way. Naturally, Preston's eyes widened and his expression faltered, causing the air in the room to consist of almost entirely of the feeling of looming dread.

"How do you know my name?" demanded the leader of the order. His face contorted into a deep scowl as he glared at Blackwood, causing the man to shudder.

"You were one of Daniel's friends at one point, correct?" the assistant asked. "I didn't recognise you are first, but that's who you look like."

The Omid was silent following that explanation, causing even his fellow commanders to look nervous. Blackwood, however, appeared calm. In reality, however, he simply believed death to be imminent and had resigned himself to his fate.

"Everyone get out." Preston instructed, prompting his underlings to quickly file out of the room. Even his fellow commanders got up and left without much to say, although they were far more relaxed then those of lower ranks.

Once the door was closed, Preston stood up and walked toward the former assistant, looking him over. He then circled around him, trying to figure the man out. Blackwood was lucky in the sense that Preston was not sure what to do with him right away. Finally, the man stood in front of Paul again and looked him in the eye.

"How is Daniel, these days?" inquired the Omid with what seemed like genuine curiosity.

"He could be better." Blackwood answered. "He's just been through a bad break up."

"With Kristopherson?" Preston asked further. "I'm not surprised, to be honest. Daniel lacks the maturity to give what Kristopherson is looking for."

"That's the impression I got." Paul was extremely wary of the captain of the Brahmastra. The man seemed unpredictable. There was a wildness in his eyes that clashed with his manner of speaking. He looked as though he would jump at any moment and tear Blackwood to shreds with his bare hands. He was capable of it, too. Blackwood could tell. "He seemed rather headstrong."

"Nice to see nothing has really changed." the Omid said, walking back to his table and sitting down. "Have a seat." he instructed, and Blackwood wasn't about to deny his request. Paul sat at an appropriate distance on the other side of the table away from Preston, not wanting to get too close. It was a wise decision, as Preston would not have appreciated it otherwise.

"So how did my men come across you?" inquired the captain, arching an eyebrow. "You don't seem like the kind of bloke who would go around picking fights."

"We came across each other at a bar." stated Paul, placing his hands on the table. "I hadn't eaten in a day or so, so I was getting something to eat. I came here with money, clothes, and a few snacks, but no plan. I was in a hurry to leave, so I've been wandering a while. Obviously, with my appearance, I draw quite a few disgusted reactions, and I don't blame people. I just happened to look up and stare too long at your men. I didn't intend for any confrontation, but I guess they thought I was suspicious of them."

"Why would you be?" asked Preston, causing the other man to visibly falter. Still, Paul decided to tell the truth.

"Because they're supernaturals." he said, laying everything out on the table. "I can see them, even if they're wearing a disguise. All I have to do is close my right eye."

"But you're human, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am. I wasn't born like this, it just happened. I went to the hospital for a fracture and got caught up in some supernatural nightmare realm or something. Then, when I woke up, I could see supernatural's real faces. It sounds crazy, I know. I'm getting kind of used to it, by now."

Raising his eyebrows, Preston pondered what the assistant was saying. With what he had seen thus far, he believed him. After all, Preston was living proof that humans could develop abilities that were otherwise considered to be beyond their reach. He was very interested in this power, as it was both rare and perhaps useful.

"Is that why you were staring?" he asked, prompting Paul to nod his head.

"Yes." said the assistant. "I didn't mean anything by it. Supernaturals are more common than most people will ever know. I just assumed they were there getting lunch as well. Still, it was quite surprising, since I haven't seen a supernatural in a while."

"Well, you found them. Congratulations." grinned the Omid, but it wasn't clear if it was a friendly smile or not, just from looking at it. "If you have nowhere else to go, you're welcome to stay here among them."

"But I'm human?"

"There are a few humans, here." Preston assured. "They are essential to our operation, in some ways. Besides, with that ability, no one will bat an eye."

The silence that the offer brought invited the captain too add: "It's alright if you can't make up your mind right away. Until then, you're welcome to at least rest here. There's always a place for you here, at the Scarlet Order."

"Scarlet Order?" questioned the assistant, arching a brow.

"That's the name of our group. We are the sworn enemy of H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G. and all that they are. Our goal is to ultimately crush them. Right now, we're amassing the people and tools we need."

Paul had to think about that. It was tempting. Too tempting. He still was not satisfied with the revenge that he wrought, and felt as though he needed more. He was still angry at his predicament, and had nothing more to lose. Everything had already been lost except for his body and his soul. There was nothing more on this earth for him, but he yearned for something. Causing H.E.L.L.S.I.N.G. to crumble seemed like it could be just the thing, and besides, who was he to refuse perfectly good lodgings and food?

"I like the sound of that." Blackwood said. "If you'd behappy to have me, I'll be happy to be here."

"Well then," began the other as he extended his hand. "Welcome aboard then, mister...?"

"Blackwood." the assistant said, taking Preston's hand and shaking it. "Paul Blackwood."

"Well, Mister Blackwood," Preston continued, "Welcome to the Scarlet Order."

"It's good to be here." Paul replied, staring back at golden eyes.

From the look of the Omid's eyes, Blackwood felt as though he had just made a pact with the Devil by shaking his hand. From the look in Blackwood's open left eye, however, it was apparent that he had fully embraced that.


A/N: Another rather long chapter, and rather soon! I'm on a roll! Yes!

Feels good, man...

Even though things are pretty bad, hahaha...

This chapter is kinda funky, because what happens in the chapter after this one actually happens BEFORE this. This is about a week after chapter 252, while the next chapter happens like, the next day after Westley's body is found.

The reason for this is actually because of poor planning hahaha... I didn't quite have everything for this upcoming chapter sorted in my head just yet, so I was kinda stalling. Still, there's some pretty important stuff, here.

Also, someone asked me a question:

"I'm not sure if you explained it, but where did Blackwood get his power? Did he always have it?" by Honeycloud of RiverClan

I did, but I'm not sure how in-depth I went. I did a little bit in this chapter, too, but not really.

He didn't always have this power. He got it by coming out of the "nightmare realm" that the mare from that weird dream arc put him in and surviving. The reason why he developed the ability and no one else did is because Blackwood is left handed, which is kind of uncommon, and is thus more in tune with his left side. That's the only side the ability works on, which is why he can only look through his left eye to see supernaturals.

He just had the right combination of things to get it. Another method of getting this ability was not mentioned (yet? I'm not sure if it ever will be) is by drilling a hole in your skull through a process called "trepanation". I do not recommend either of these options, though, so you're probably just better off being ordinary.

Until the next chapter, my duckies~!


CHARACTER SHET

Question: "To Everyone: What is your favorite song right now? To Luka: How have you been liking Pokémon recently? Any new favorites?" by BravestarBDB

Ciel: "I don't know. I haven't been listening to music that much, lately."

Alois: "Probably 'Young and Beautiful' by Lana Del Ray or something. It just gets me. Makes me wanna make out in the rain."

Kristopherson: "Everyone has been sending me links to 'My Moon, My Man' by Feist, and it was funny until it got stuck in my head. Now it just pisses me off because I can't quit listening to it until it's out."

Logan: "There's this one song on the radio I like, but I don't know the name."

Daniel: "I dunno. I haven't been up for a lot, lately."

Audrey: "Uh... I can't think of anything that's not an anime opening..."

Travis: "'Lone Digger' by Caravan Palace. Patricia has been listening to Beyonce. I figured she wouldn't tell."

Patricia: "What's it to ya?"

Luka: "I haven't, really. I'm afraid I'm getting bored with it or something... I told Audrey and he told me to watch this show called 'Naruto', and it's pretty great."

0000000000000000000000

Question: "Ciel, do unicorns exist?" by anon

Ciel: "I've never seen one. I imagine if they existed, they wouldn't be in England anymore or are extinct."