A hiss escaped Johnathan as he felt the sting of the knife slicing through his skin. Holding his hand over the wooden bowl in front of him, he allowed himself to bleed into it. This was the blood tribute that he must pay to Abhartach in order to prove his loyalty and worth. In actuality, he had none of the former, for he was merely doing this for his own gain.
Abhartach must trust in him. If he is to defeat Sir Phantomhive, Johnathan needed the opportunity. He was already using his funding in order to facilitate his own needs, along with what was left of his inheritance from his father that he was able to stash away in an overseas bank account. He was cultivating the right opportunity. He was cultivating the right means. Even this, the act of sacrificing his own blood, was to make himself stronger. If he could not endure hardship, then there was no way that he could defeat a monster who was molded from it. That idea was firm in his mind.
But after that sting, as he watched his blood drip into the bowl, he realised that he felt nothing. What exactly was he enduring? He knew that his foe was drained of his blood as well, forced to do so for the survival of his family, but this? This was not the same, Johnathan felt. No, he was still too much in control. He chose this, not because he was faced with death or a worse fate, but of his own volition. It was even he who proposed the offering! As he allowed his wound to heal at last and watched the bowl be taken away to be divided into jars and vials, he pondered what could be done. The attack was so close- only a matter of days away, yet he had not steeled himself to face the Phantomhive yet.
So, he had to come up with something else. After his blood was collected, he approached the former chieftain again. Bowing his head, he made a proposition. "Your highness, I am glad that you feel pleased by my offering, but surely, you don't want to try it out on the day of battle? Forgive me if I am speaking out of turn, but… isn't an unknown variable like that a bit of a risk?"
The two men loitered in the office of the Lexington estate, which was currently commandeered by the future king. Whether or not the owner of the home minded this had never once entered Abhartach's thoughts. Instead, he pondered the demons words, as while Johnathan was usually a wild card in his deck, Mister Beattie was starting to make some sense.
Sitting at the desk, Abhartach stared at the vial standing neatly upright in front of him. The red liquid inside floated on top of a somewhat clear one with an odd tint as the blood had separated. With a sigh, he leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him with a nod. He had to admit, even if it wasn't practical, he was curious. The power promised to him was immense and he couldn't even begin to imagine what it must feel like. Abhartach was a warrior, so he was no stranger to pain. He was a revenant, so he was familiar with what it was like to suddenly obtain a supernatural ability. Even as a mortal man, he was infamous for his inhuman strength and ferocity, but he did not know true supernatural power. The only way to do so was to find out.
"Tell me, devil, is this trick?" questioned the revenant, picking up the vial between his index finger and thumb. "What exactly will happen once I drink this?"
"It is no trick, your highness, but you are right in asking." Johnathan replied with a slight smile and a bow. "Unholy power will flow through you, giving you strength beyond human capacity. With ordinary humans, it also allows for a certain degree of regeneration, but with you, my assumption is that it will allow you to regenerate faster. There are a few side effects however. As mentioned, consumption of demonic blood causes the body to 'burn out' from the power, but that is because humans can't regenerate. It also causes one to become more impulsive. Every desire bubbles to the surface and you will be overcome with the drive to fulfill them. Essentially, if you take this while in search of your target, you will be an unstoppable force."
The revenant seemed to mull this over for a bit, pausing as he did so. "It may be best to take this outside, then." the hulking man said, standing up. "Meet me outside in a few minutes. I wish to change clothes so that I don't tatter these."
"Yes, your highness."
Johnathan bowed with a smile. He was pleased, very pleased. This was it. He knew that he could not defeat Abhartach no matter what he did. Even without the consumption of demon blood, it was impossible. With this, he would know defeat. Johnathan would strengthen himself through impossible odds, just as Ciel was. His power would only come to him if he was tried by fire.
Once dressed plainly, Abhartach held the vial with his index finger and thumb, making sure to have the prior over the lid so that it was securely shut. He shook it, mixing the separated liquids inside before removing the lid. He shot the demon a look, as if to warn him of the consequences of misleading him if things did not go well before placing the vial to his lips and knocking it back. It filled his mouth with the taste of iron, but it did not taste like ordinary blood. Maybe it was the fact that it wasn't warm, but maybe not. It tasted alive, that was for certain.
Abhartach stood upright, looking to his underling as he waited. Silence filled the air as seconds passed, prompting the man to look down at his hand, clenching and unclenching his fist a few times as he waited. Nothing. Abhartach felt nothing. Furrowing his brow, he looked back to the demon with a scowl, angry at the lack of a result. Quickly, he began to breathe heavily through his nose, causing his chest to puff out with each pant.
Wait. There was something. It was warm. It was a pleasant warmth that started in his stomach before spreading to the rest of his body, allowing him to ignore the cold entirely. His hair stood on end and he began to sweat. It was hot. It was becoming too hot. He was boiling. The need to move boiled over. Veins protruded from his skin and his breath came out in thick clouds of steam. Abhartach suddenly understood. It felt as though he could move mountains and it felt good. Every muscle in his body was burning to unleash the power that was suddenly compacted into them and standing before him was a willing target. A smile appeared on his face as his green eyes suddenly glowed red. All Johnathan could do was get ready for him.
Abhartach moved like lightning, closing the gap between them be fore cocking his arm back and unleashing his fist onto the side of the demon's face like a roaring clap of thunder. It forced Johnathan's head to turn as far as it would go without snapping his spine, straining his neck neck muscles as they did their best not to tear. Just as he put his foot down in order to recover, another swing came, this time aiming for his abdomen and knocking the wind out of him, forcing him to double over. Johnathan had hoped to put up a bit more of a fight than this at the start, but Abhartach was not holding back. Any inhibitions that the revenant possessed were gone and he liked it. He liked the power he had over the demon. A demon! To think one who was once a mere mortal man could overwhelm such a powerful being!
The more he swung his fists, the more of that diabolical ambrosia came forth, scattering to the air, speckling the ground, flowing down like waterfalls, and tempting the beast of a man with further vitality. Johnathan fought back. He struck at the revenant- halfheartedly at times, while others with more gusto. Grabbing hold of Abhartach's fist, the demon punched upwards with his free hand, striking the revenant's elbow and causing it to bend in the wrong direction with a loud crack and the sound of crunching. His opponent did not react in pain, however. Instead, Johnathan found himself being kicked in the side, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to let go of the other man. In an instant, Abhartach's arm shifted, moving back into alignment and regaining it's mobility again. The power Johnathan had given him had made him far stronger than he could have imagined, but the demon was glad.
Until he knew what it meant to be defeated soundly, until he knew what it meant to be humiliated and endure pain, he knew that he would never be on the same level as the Phantomhive. Even as he was struck, even as he bled, even as his bones broke and pierced his organs, in his mind, he felt himself becoming stronger and that is why he smiled. His lips were split, teeth were knocked out of his head, but he still smiled, knowing that this would make him stronger.
Even if Abhartach stopped his heart or bashed his brains in, Johnathan was becoming stronger. He would endure more, and more, and more, until he was ready. A fist came at him like a palette of bricks, bruising his bones, but he didn't mind. His ears were ringing from how his head was rattled around, but he didn't mind. Abhartach was laughing at him, high from the power he now possessed and giddy at being able to try it out on Johnathan, but the demon gladly accepted this. This, however, was exactly what set him apart from the Phantomhive.
As he fell to the ground, weary from combat in in enough pain that he realised that he needed to regenerate, Johnathan was content with this. Meanwhile, his assaulant threw his head back in haughty laughter. With this, Abhartach knew that his victory was assured. With this, Johnathan knew that his victory was assured. Both were triumphant, despite standing in two very different positions. Abhartach laughed, and laughed, and laughed, both at Johnathan, the fact that he defeated the demon, and at his victory to come. What marvelous power, this was! What marvelous power, indeed. Johnathan thought so as well. The power he gained in this fight delighted him as well. If he kept this up, he was certain that he could defeat Ciel Phantomhive.
But to Ciel Phantomhive, Johnathan was not first in his thoughts. Even after everything that he had done, even after stealing the bones of the Phantomhive's kin and disrupting his mental state with unimaginable cruelty, Johnathan was not first in Ciel's thoughts, nor was he first on his list of priorities. Arguably, he was not even in second place.
For now, the bluenette was focusing his attention on the mission that he has already been assigned. He needed to learn how to use the wooden shortsword before the thirteenth of January, which was by now only a matter of days. By then, Abhartach's army would make itself known and launch its attack. Admittedly, the logistics of practicing with the weapon were rather difficult. It was made of wood, and therefore, was extremely fragile when faced with actual and simulated combat. Part of remedying this was not sparring with his husband, who found it difficult to hold back while being a reasonable threat at the same time. Fortunately, they had a stand-in, but unfortunately, it was Sebastian.
"Kugh!" Ciel found his feet leaving the ground as a swift uppercut from the older demon sent him flying. As he landed flat on his rear end, he found himself glad that he had thought to bite down in time. He had no idea just how difficult it would have been to regenerate a tongue.
"It would be advisible to keep your motions tighter, master." the butler said, raising his leg in the air with his heel aimed directly over his employer's face. "You're leaving yourself open."
Before the older demon could bring his foot back down, Ciel quickly rolled to the side and scrambled to a standing position. Furrowing his brow, he let out: "Just what were you intending to do, aiming that at my head? You cracked the bloody concrete!"
"Just making sure to keep you motivated, sir." Sebastian said, tilting his head with a pleasant smile. No one spectating the match believed that for a single second. They knew damn well that Sebastian was having fun with this.
Ciel headed his words, however, and tried to keep his motions quicker and more contained. He kept light on his feet, dodging when necessary and advancing at a steady pace. He thrust the blade forward, recoiling his arm to stab again before fully registering the fact that he had struck nothing but air. He didn't have time to think about the fact that Sebastian was dodging him. All he could think about was the fact that he needed to succeed. It impressed the older demon. His master was perfectly focused.
Sebastian had sparred with his master many times, but he had been improving rather dramatically over the last few years. It wasn't that Ciel enjoyed fighting any more than he used to- in fact, he enjoyed it less- it was that he was simply more invested in winning. Monsters fight for the sake of fighting, not particularly caring whether they win or lose. Losing just meant that their time wandering from battlefield to battlefield would come to an end sooner. Men, however, thought about winning. Winning meant going home to one's family. Winning meant the safety of those they cared about. That is why, in spite of all that had happened and was currently happening in Ciel's life and in Ciel's mind, his heart was fully set on succeeding. Although his skills were not up to par with a master of the shortsword, he fought with everything he had.
It was quite the change from the norm, in Sebastian's eyes, after having known the bluenette for over a hundred years. He couldn't help but find it admirable. Sebastian was still growing used to these new thoughts and feelings that he was expeiriencing, but he could identify the one that swelled in his chest at the sight. He was proud. Sebastian was proud of his master. This boy that he had raised had withered into a monster before blooming into a most noble man. Yet, that did not mean that he was going to go any easier on him.
Somehow, the Phantomhive managed to tilt his head in time to dodge a punch from the older demon. It was a quick jab, so just as quickly as it happened, Sebastian was ready to throw another fist. Ducking, Ciel crouched down low to the ground before swiping at Sebastian's abdomen with his blade, only for Sebastian to leap into the air, forcing the Phantomhive to crane his neck in order to look up at him. The foot-shaped shadow over Ciel's face grew larger as Sebastian began to fall back down to earth, preparing himself to strike the Phantomhive on impact. Ciel, however did not move. Raising his free hand, he prepared himself and with expert timing, he swiped the other demon's foot to the side, prompting him to fall sideways on top of Ciel's blade. Yet, Ciel removed the weapon at the last moment, allowing Sebastian to fall at his feet in a crouching position before swinging a leg around close to the ground. He kicked Ciel's legs right out from under him, causing him to fall. With that, Sebastian stood up.
"You had a perfect opportunity, but you discarded it..." the older demon noted, looking down at his master with a shake of his head.
"If the sword can hurt Abhartach, it might be able to hurt you, too." the younger explained with a surly look. With a grunt, he stood up, dusting himself off. "Did you want me to stab you?"
"Well, thank you for your consideration, master." grinned the butler. It was a pleasant smile, but somehow, Ciel felt like he was being teased. "I only wanted the most realistic practise for you."
"What are you, some kind of idiot with a death wish? Should I be disappointed that my butler was just going to allow himself to get stabbed so easily?"
"No, sir. Not at all." Sebastian said with a light bow.
"Hmph!" scoffed his master. "I certainly hope not. I'm trusting you to hold down the fort during the invasion. If you can't do that much, what kind of Phantomhive butler are you?"
"My apologies, sir. It is not my wish- nor my intention to fail at inspiring confidence."
The side of Ciel's mouth twitched as he did his best not to smile. "Good." he said. "We will continue this in a few hours. I need a break."
As he turned away, the butler felt the need to have the last word. "You haven't changed at all when it comes to your studies… Or does it have something to do with the man watching from your office window?"
Looking up, Ciel looked toward the second story of the mansion, only to find the blonde menace standing there. Noticing this, Alois opened the window and waved at him. "Yoo-hoo~! Poochie-bear~!"
Immediately, the bluenette's cheeks turned pink. Worse still, the butler was also forced to cover his mouth in order to try and stifle the laugh that threatened to blurt out at his master's embarrassment. Looking over his shoulder, Ciel glared at Sebastian before quickly turning to walk back inside with his nose raised in the air.
With that, Alois closed the window again, now satisfied with fruits of his antics as he made his way out of the office. He was able to intercept Ciel on his way up the stairs, waiting for him where the second floor began with a roll of paper towels in hand. Nodding his head off to the side to point, all he said to Ciel at first was "Follow me" and the bluenette knew to obey. He was a good dog. He didn't need any serious explanation, but the blonde gave him one anyway.
"Your face is covered in blood." Alois told him, grabbing onto his hand and gently pulling him into a hallway bathroom. The blonde noted the strange look on his husband's face before turning his back to him in order to wet a paper towel. Ciel looked both surprised, but very tired at the same time.
The towel was cold against Ciel's face as the dried blood was delicately scrubbed away by the menace. It was soothing, prompting the bluenette to close his eyes, simply allowing the other man to work. A rather long sigh escaped him as he did his best to keep some sort of train of thought running through his head. It was difficult, however. Although he was acutely focused during practise, it felt as though his head was full of static as soon as he decided to stop.
"You have really nice eyelashes." the blonde noted, breaking the silence.
"Oh, yeah?" questioned the Watchdog with a somewhat weak smile.
"Yup. Your eyes in general are really pretty, but you also have pretty lashes." After saying that, the blonde's own smile fell, as did his hand, ceasing his ministrations.
"Hm?" Hummed the Watchdog, not opening his eye, but perplexed by the sudden loss of the towel. "Was that all of it?"
"No…" Alois answered, suddenly resuming his actions.
"Oh..." Ciel noted, pausing as he noted the change in his husband's tone. "Is something the matter?"
"Same shit as usual."
"Oh. I see..."
The silence that persisted afterwards caused the both of them to ache. The air around them as the fight approached was oppressive enough, but this? This was suffocating. Neither of them even knew where to begin in attending to it. This was especially so, since neither of them wanted to provoke the other into a panic. It was hard. It felt like the world was ending in a matter of days, yet neither of them could breathe a word of it to the other without feeling guilty about drawing attention to it. They had reached the point where even seeking comfort seemed taboo. How could they even think about embracing one another at a time like this? How could they even fathom uttering sweet words when the drums of war were sounding off in the distance? How could they dare ask for any more than this; a brief moment where doting and being doted on seemed permissible? They had done so before, but as the days stretched on, both of their thoughts dwelled on grabbing their things and rushing out the door toward the battlefield rather than tending to themselves.
On the night of the thirteenth, the Philosophers would make their move. The day that the demons were currently standing on was the eighth. Only five days remained. Five days remained until either the victory of Britain, or the fall of both the nation and the world as they knew it. If they lost, there would be nothing stopping the world from knowing the truth about supernaturals. It wasn't just their home that they needed to worry about, it was the existence of every other supernatural being in the world at that very moment. It would be the dawn of a new world, but whether that world was a good one or not, neither of them could even begin to fathom. They knew the nature of humanity. They knew what people did when confronted with that which they do not understand. Granted, that was true for all people, but humans, being the dominant species, would undoubtedly not handle the fact that they are not alone well.
That is what Abhartach was determined to unleash. In doing so, he will have robbed humanity of their sense of being in control of the world around them and take it for himself. If he won, even if it was an incomplete victory, it would change the course of history forever in ways that could not be undone. He wanted to shape the world as he saw fit, where power was granted and taken away based on how well one fought for it. He wanted to return the age of warlords, where civilizations were born and fell within the blink of an eye. That was the world that he prospered in, yet it was also the world that ended him.
No more. Now, he was deathless. He was free of fear. Pain was temporary, as was defeat. If he were to be beaten down, he would regain his forces with the passage of time and try again. He was relentless. He was tenacious. Only giving up could kill him.
Fight on! Everyone must fight on! Carry onward! Move forward! If one's right to rule was truly ordained by divine majesty, it would indeed occur, but only if one took opportunity into their own hands and fought until the very last thread of one's being wore out. Pray as one might, beg as one might, mercy would not be granted to those who simply asked for it. Only through taking one's destiny into one's own hands does one earn their right to rule. That is what separated Abhartach- and anyone like him who refuses to give up while in the unforgiving grasp of outrageous fortune- from the dogs who would simply lie down and die if told to. That, the revenant was certain of!
Yet, if this were so… If God himself granted him the power… Then why- oh, why- did he accept the power of devildom?
He bared his teeth in a snarling smile, his chest swelling and compressing as he inhaled cold air and exhaled steam. He stared down at the battered demon on the ground before him. The snow around Johnathan was partially melted from when the blood he lost was still warm as he laid in a twisted heap. He was alive, but he was still in an attempt to make the revenant leave him be. He had taken his beating and had had enough. It was time for him to stop now that his limbs were bent the wrong way and his face was purple and swollen. Abhartach, however, was not yet down from his high.
He did turn his attention elsewhere, however, causing general havoc for Sir Lexington. Abhartach demanded drink and he demanded women, living it up just as he did over a thousand years ago. This time, however, he was unable to be killed by a rag-tag band of nobles and traitors. He could have his fill for as long as he liked, and once he became king for real, he would reach his golden age.
It was nightfall by the time Johnathan decided that it was safe to move. With a grunt, he pushed his bloodied hands against the earth to hoist himself up before touching his own face. He had regenerated, for the most part, but he was battered to the point that it took him much longer than he would have liked. Still, it was a nessecary obstacle in becoming strong enough to face Ciel Phantomhive.
Standing up, he looked to the Lexington Manorhouse. It's brightly lit windows seemed warm and inviting, and the lively chatter of those inside seemed overall optimistic about the whole venture. Johnathan was glad. Everything was working, so far. Truthfully, he didn't care either way, as to whether they were successful or not,but it would make his life easier if he could live in a HELLSING-free world after he had achieved his revenge. For in that inviting home was a den of monsters, and when monsters rule the world, there is no room for monster hunters.
In a vain effort, Johnathan tried to wipe his nose with the back of his hand. Sniffling, he turned his back on the mansion and began to find his way back to his own lair. He needed to set things in motion for his own revenge. The very next day was when he would make himself known to the Phantomhives again.
A/N: Hello~! Did you miss me~? I'm sorry for not updating, but finals week hit me with all of the grace and eloquence of a semi and I needed to sit and do nothing for a while afterwards while I recovered.
This is what I was able to cobble together.
Not a lot, and I feel as though it is repetative, but it's what I got. There was another plot point that I wanted to drop, but I realised that it could set me back even LONGER, so I said "Fuck it, I'm gonna save it for next time." It would flow fine, here, but it would have most likely doubled the length. Sorry, but this is what I have to present after all that waiting!
There's some neat stuff if you squint, though. There's a neat little thing I hid in here, but I worry that if I draw attention to it, I'll end up spoiling shit, so I'll let you all figure it out on your own until I either confirm or deny your suspicions at a later date. Actually, there's more than one thing... I'm struggling not to just spill my guts and overexplain things. Unfortunately, I'm a nerd for my own shit, so I feel compelled to at all times.
Probably why I don't write a lot on tumblr...
But u should like, follow me if you haven't, tho, anyways... Wink-wink, nudge-nudge (not like that)
We're gonna get deep, y'all... After chapter upon chapter, week upon week, of hyping this shit, I just want SOMEBODY to bash someone's brains in and turn it into improvised paint while "enthusiastically redecorating." I'm sick of it! I want violence!
I DEMAND BLOOD TRIBUTE.
I say that, but when I finally get to the fighting, I'm probably gonna be like: "Oh, I just wanna write about feelings" because that's always how this goes.
Until the next chapter, my duckies~!
