A/N: Okay, apparently it's impossible to add links to FF's story format. Of course, I could always redirect you to my tumblr (the blog's name's the same as my FF username) where all of my art is posted under 'story of Rebirth' tag. On the other hand, some of the sketches (and alpha material) there can certainly... spoil a few twists for this story. There's a warning. Also, I will be returning to chapters 5/6/7 and editing them, as well as fixing typos, to make them fit better with the mythos and lore I created just for this story. Har.
Anyway, thank you for your support and kind words! And Happy Holidays! Hope you had/have a great one! Let 2015 be an even greater year!
A blizzard had cloaked the world in its blanket, eating away any sunlight that pierced through the sagging cloudscape.
Alucard could not pinpoint just for how long has he been trudging through this crisp snowfall. Well, it seems vampirism offered some perks in this regard. The Lieutenant's frost-painted carapace did chafe a little and snow had long glued his hair together into a single icicle, but apart from that, the Wolf wasn't at all vexed. Quite the opposite really. No pockets of warm air may circulate through his lungs, yet, nonetheless, Trevor found himself relishing in the chill.
Or at least until the murky outlines of a campsite stood out against the white snowstorm.
Frenzied winds tore at the last semblances of warmth and coziness, forcing many a man to seek out shelter indoors, yet, these crude, rickety hovels and huts could do little against a force that vast. A single, flouncing bonfire could neither pacify the rage of this tempest, nor reignite the glow in the hearts of the ragged vagabonds currently crouched around it.
Alucard shielded his eyes from the snowstorm and trod towards the light, snow creaking softly beneath his armor-clad boots. His senses, perception, urged him to turn back, to avoid contact with the humans and their living kin. Creatures of the night, regardless of their motivation and purpose, were not welcomed in the midst of those who basked in the sunlight – the warrior had long come to this conclusion. A wolf could not find respite, not with a flock of sheep surrounding it.
But now, he could not help, but be drawn to the flickering campfire. Curiosity, or distant realization that nothing was truly concrete in this warping dimension?
The white-haired fighter caught himself chuckling. Who could have reckoned that he'd begin to mimic his father's love for tropes and metaphors? The pathos. The style. Then again, even when of unsound mind, the Prince of Darkness had proven to be quite versed in poetry, if those passages on the Forgotten One and the blood-scrawled denunciations were of any indication.
"May I converse with the leader of your circle?"
Alucard's eyebrows arched. Well, think of the Devil and he shall appear. Without pausing to count his options, the younger vampire tumbled behind a flea-bitten counter, praying that the chink of the Lieutenant's platemail would not attract any needless attention. Trevor had no desire to be seen by his father. Or whatever rendition of his father this realm must have conjured in order to weave its story.
Still, while the alcove provided ample protection from prying eyes, he had to know what was happening. Taking a deep breath, Alucard willed for his loyal spectral familiar to materialize beside him. The ghostlike wolf sniffed the air and sprang, silent and out of sight, akin to that of a genuine poltergeist, a projection of his spirit. His own body may no longer be occupied by a sentient mind, but, at least, Trevor discovered a way to eavesdrop on the situation at hand. Without the fear of being spotted.
What he saw befuddled him.
A single Brotherhood crusader stood before the cowering vagrants. Encased in a scale of crimson and gold, with a luxurious white cloak streaming down his back, the warrior seemed oddly out of place in the thick of these slums. Could it be...? Alucard slunk closer. Tanned skin, ashen-brown locks, blue eyes. Wait, since when Gabriel favored an ornate broadsword over his Vampire Killer? The book's illustrations never have depicted him wielding a bladed weapon.
"Please, sir!" begged one of the blue-lipped peasants. "This h-h-harsh winter had w-wracked our spirit and our stocks! We had to steal! There was no other choice!"
"Why didn't you ask the Order for the essential resources and provisions?" asked Gabriel, gloved fingers tapping against the hilt of his weapon. "Larceny is never an option. The cause had thinned out our supplies, that is true, but we'd never leave common folk empty-bellied and freezing in the streets."
"The Brotherhood elders have their hands full-" began one of the women.
"Hogwash!" A man in tattered overcoat yelled out, stabbing his index finger at the knight. "Curse your Brotherhood, your cause and your wisemen! You're fighting a losing war against a fiendish demigod while we suffer in your stead."
War? Demigod? Alucard squinted his eyes.
"Silence, you daft fool!" One of the vagrants shrieked at the man. "The Brotherhood has always protected us! If not for their timely aid, you wouldn't be standing here!"
"Is that so?!" The man sputtered, red-faced. "They are nothing but a bunch of lying bastards! Where was your holy Order when the lycanthropes massacred my entire village?! I saw a beast gnaw a chunk out of my daughter's throat with my own eyes! Damn you! Damn you to Hell!"
A queerly smug smile twitched Gabriel's lips. "The provisions you have... acquired." He then calmly addressed the crowd, seemingly oblivious to the sap's ravings. "Who had presented them to you?"
The disheveled vagabonds exchanged glances. "Who had ordered us-?"
"No," Gabriel corrected. "Who had delivered them unto you?"
A pint-sized man, accompanied by a petite girl, stepped forward, fidgeting. Scrawny, greasy-haired, dressed in threadbare rags, they appeared ever more tousled than their comrades in misfortune. Why, the youth even seemed to be in his late teens as well! Alucard's wraithlike wolf crept closer. Strange, he could have sworn he had seen that face before, yet he couldn't place it as of yet.
"It... It was me, your grace," the boy stammered. "I... I have sneaked into some noblewoman's estate and took some food. We were starving and the patricians have so much!"
"Did said landlady witness your felony?"
The young man shuddered. "No. Or, at least, I think so... Please, you can't take me in, my liege! I've committed this crime only to provide for my family!" The girl beside him sniffled.
"Relax. I have no intention of apprehending you." The corners of Gabriel's mouth quirked. "What's your name, boy?"
"You don't...?" The man's slanting eyes widened. "Ah, Norachai, sir."
"Norachai? Hm, can't say I've encountered such a name before."
"I and my sister come from a land far beyond the shores of Caspian Sea, your grace."
Gabriel nodded. "Answer truthfully: did you steal prior this issue?"
"I... ah. I'm a nobody, my lord. My kin... We have no title, no wealth. We can hardly scrape by and... and thievery is the only thing that keeps us afloat."
"Well, as it so happens, Norachai," the knight expressed after a pause, "I am in a desperate need of a man of your abilities. I wish to procure a certain document. A credential that can be found in the heart of the Brotherhood's Hall of Records."
"Um," Norachai faltered, a deep crinkle lacing his brow. "Aren't you an entitled crusader, my lord? Can you not just take it?"
The white-haired warrior felt his heart shrivel all of a sudden. No wonder the youth looked so strikingly familiar! It was one of Eve's companions, Krait the vampire-turncoat! One of the Knaves!
A hollow whimper echoed in the spectral wolf's gullet. Do something, stop it, his mind trashed about, don't let this happen to someone else! It's just a youth! The same accursed fate nearly befell your own kin! Why wouldn't you do the same for this boy?
A spectator. He was a mere spectator. It had already transpired. This boy would become the Prince's Knave no matter what. Not fate, but fact. Alucard's gaze drooped. And a fact, as they say, is the most stubborn thing in this world.
"Of course, I can." The masqueraded vampire lord smirked. "Yet, I'd rather not to: the members of the Order are under direct orders to attack me on sight. Crushing the Order is certainly enticing, but it's not the most prudent of plans. Infiltration and guile, on the other hand, is sensible." He looked over the mute crowd. "Ah, but I forget myself. The unwitting eavesdroppers of our conversation. Waste."
Wait, what in the abyss is he doing? The Wolf's eyes fluttered open.
The ice-bound earth shuddered at his words. A hulking bipedal beast emerged from the blizzard, its resonating tramples making some of the vagrants to keel over. A lycanthrope. However, this one seemed fairly different from its brethren: black-furred, arms clad in skeletal barbs, and, above all, as enormous and daunting as Cornell once was.
"Lay waste, Blackblood," the elder said, curling his hand in an eldritch, red gauntlet and tearing the mask of a mortal man away with the other. "Lay waste."
"With pleasure, my Prince." The werewolf guffawed hoarsely, and charged forward, pinning the first row of the guiltless in a single, potent swipe.
Screams, shrieks, and howls, all swallowed the entirety of the campground as crimson splattered left and right, drenching the lycanthrope's pelt and dyeing his talons. Skin flayed, muscle ruptured, cadavers littered the ground. Shacks around the area leveled, yowls muffled, those who dared to flee with their life, captured and devoured. Those hapless enough to try and dart past the vampire himself found their gullets ripped out and drained of their sanguine fluid.
In under a minute, an eerie silence enveloped the scene, a hush interrupted only by the moist squelch of the lycanthrope's fangs tearing at the still warm flesh. A glob of tar clogged Alucard's throat. All of this... for what? What could possibly justify this reasonless carnage?!
The only ones who managed to escape the slaughter unscathed, – Norachai and his sister – huddled together in a close, yet quivering embrace, encircled by both vermilion stains, and bloodless corpses. The girl wept noisily, clutching at her brother's frayed vest, while the rogue rocked her slender form from side the side, in fruitless attempts to dry her tears.
The youth's teeth chattered loudly as the vampire neared. "Wh- What are y-you?"
"I am the 'fiendish demigod' one of your kinsmen babbled on about with such ardor," Dracul replied, casting his eyes to his left.
"Wh- Wha-"
"What do I want?" The vampire frowned. "I have already told you my wishes. The records on the Brotherhood members. From thirty-three years ago to be exact. Shouldn't be particularly difficult for a boy of your skill."
"B-but why me of a-all people?" Norachai hiccuped, withering beneath the crimson gaze. "I'm just a thief! A scoundrel! A coward! I-"
"Hold your tongue, cur." Blackblood lapped around the pair, growling raggedly. "The Prince's favor is not so easily bestowed. Bask in it while it lasts."
"Aaagh!" The youth's voice cracked. "Al-alright, alright, I'll do as you ask. But! One thing. P-please, leave my sister a-a-alone. She d-doesn't deserve to die."
"You are in no position to barga-"
"Very well," Dracul interrupted, and the beast's jaw slammed shut. "Not only I am going to leave her be, but I'll also let you protect her, if you so desire."
"Protect her? F-from what?"
The vampire shrugged permissively. "Roamers and criminals such as yourself will not be spared when the Order eventually arrives to investigate the disturbance. The commanders, the generals, and the high inquisitors are known for their... unambiguity and unscrupulousness, after all."
"Are you... a-are you implying that they're going to kill us?" The youth's face turned as white as the unsullied snow around him.
"No! Norachai!" chirruped the girl in the rogue's embrace. "Don't listen to him! Don't go! I don't want to lose you!"
"Siam, we d-don't a choice in the matter." The youth sniveled in return, tears streaming down his soot-stained face. "We won't last long in this cold."
"Do y-you even understand what this means?!" Siam sobbed into her brother's garb. "You're going to die!"
"'Tis all a matter of subjective opinion," Dracul stated somberly.
Norachai hugged the girl close, frostbit fingers stroking her quavering back. "Y-your well-being means everything to me, Siam," he mouthed, climbing to his feet and facing the vampire lord. "And for it, I gladly pledge both my life, and my loyalty. Direct my will... my Prince."
A fanged simper tugged at Dracul's lips. "Excellent." With this, he lunged for the youth's throat and buried his canines into the soft fle-
Alucard hurriedly cast his eyes to the side, yet the boy's vocal, ear-piercing shriek still resonated distinctly through his mind.
A vocal, ear-piercing cry of an infant chimed in the air. It resonated off of the adobe brick walls, steadily immersing the chamber in its crescendo. Dracul stirred, roused by the bizarre noise.
"Hush, hush, child." Rang a woman's voice. "I know, I know it hurts. I've experienced it firsthand. The trial is never easy. But... but, at very least, you survived. That's what matters."
He- Helena? The vampire's eyes flew open. 'Twas a moon-round alcove, bejeweled and decorated with various gems, totems, and symbols of the heathen Slavic pantheon. Large silver trays, usually brimming to the edge with offerings, such as food and animal furs, now stooped barren. A single tarnished candelabra illuminated the coarse interior, its flames snapping wildly at the gathering gloom.
Outside, on a balcony overlooking the vast forest, Helena stood, cradling the weeping babe against her chest. A blood-red embroidered cloak now streamed down her steep shoulders, thick armored plates encircled the torso, and an oak wreath adorned her coiffure.
Gaze distant, she peered at the glimmering flames spread throughout the woods as she gently rocked the crying infant. "Yes... All that matters." A puissant war-cry rippled the wind, dousing out her words. At once, a horde of legionnaires poured out of the woods, swords, crossbows, and torches aloft. Their garb and primitive equipment might have changed within the centuries, yet Gabriel has always been able to recognize a Brotherhood crusader.
Helena observed the advancing tide with a dour, yet tired expression, before twisting her head to gaze at the shrouded humanoid form at the far end of the chamber.
"Raphael." The leader seemed at peace, yet latent hostility had notched her tone down an octave.
"Helena." The man strode forward, pulling the hood of his cloak back, allowing for the blond curls to tumble over his pellucid green eyes.
The woman nodded, stiff muscles making the easiest of the motions rugged. "I may not venerate your God, but I'm no fool. I know who and what you are, servant of the One Maker."
"Then you understand why I am here, Dragonsoul."
"The boy," Helena answered simply, casting her gaze at the child. By now, the weeping had abated into shallow hiccups, and the infant appeared to be perceiving the conversation between the messenger and the woman with utmost interest. "You have played me like a flute, haven't you?"
"Alas, I am but a servant," Raphael answered over the hissing clash of steel against steel.
"Ah, of course." A deep crinkle twined the woman's brow.
"I will not fight you, heathen." The angel unclasped the brooch of his cloak and let the fabric drop to the floor. Beyond a scale mail, a tunic, hide boots, and fingerless leather gloves – the messenger hadn't worn anything intricate, and, certainly, carried no weapons. "But, the child. You must surrender him, Helena."
"You used me," the pagan mistress forced through gnashed teeth. "You and your Lord had this planned from the very start! You had tricked me into tincturing the child's very spirit with the essence of the dragons! Why should I heed anything you say, patron?"
"For we all have a part to play in this theater. The sorcerer's conduit-spell, the separation of Heaven and Earth, the rise of the Prideful One and his subsequent downfall... You worship the Old Gods and that is admirable, my lady, but my mere presence should reinforce the fact – I'm telling you the truth."
Helena squinted her eyes. "And everything you just foretold... revolves around this child?" The babe in her hold sniffled. "Why?"
"Like myself, my brothers, and my sisters, he will be flawed, fallible. Yet, at the same time, he will be capable of great things." Raphael offered the Dragonsoul a contemplative smile. "Just like any mortal man or woman. The power is theirs, not ours."
The wardress paused. A few seconds of reflective silence, and the creases on her forehead smoothed out. "I... I suppose so." The corners of her lips stretched out just a little. "Fine. You can take the child on one condition." Her incisors dug into her lower lip. "I guess Eliana had already told you that, but, I wish for our ancient bloodline to continue. Please, make sure the Dragon spreads its wings again. The true wyrms are nonexistent – the cataclysmal Necromantic Wars had claimed them all. It falls to us- no, to him to herald their glorious return one day."
A thin-lipped smile quirked the angel's lips. "You needn't worry, my lady. I promise your request will be fulfilled."
"Thank you," Helena said, passing the squirming babe to the messenger. "And... something else." Humming to herself, she pulled out a small object from behind the folds of her cloak and proffered it to Raphael. A dragon coiled along the verges of a bronze band, its wings shrouding the upper part of the ring. "Take this. Make certain he finds the relic when he is ready to embrace his heritage."
"The charm?" Raphael frowned. "What about yourself, pagan mistress? This relic is the catalyst of your drake mutare. Your change. If you choose to give it up, you will be unable to ignite your power."
"It doesn't matter now." Helena shifted her shoulders. "It all revolves around him now. You said it yourself."
The messenger collected the talisman and nodded. "Very well. It will be done." Having adjusted the infant's blanket – the boy tittered jubilantly and buried his head against the angel's chest – Raphael bowed his head. "I thank you for your aid, lady Dragonsoul. Our paths will not cross again, but may Alicha, the Echt Dragon, look over you, Helena." There, he turned around and strode towards the alcove's only exit.
"Messenger, wait!" the leader of the Apostates called out, voice cracked. "One last thing. You say we have our destinies preordained without our consent... Can you, by any chance, describe what awaits me? My order? Will the worship of the Elder Gods sink into oblivion?"
"One Lord comes to drive out the many. That is unavoidable." Raphael uttered, gazing over his shoulder. With this, the angel headed through the doorway, leaving the baffled mistress of the pagan apostates alone with her thoughts.
Outside, the battle raged on. Staffs, spears, cudgels, and other rudimentary weaponry clashed against the blades of the Brotherhood soldiers; it was rapidly becoming clear who would emerge triumphant out of this confrontation. The heretics' measly implements of war could not rival with the sheer force of the holy order. The apostate archers could not last long against the enchanted crossbow bolts. The poorly-outfitted melee combatants could not survive the vicious scourge of a shadow-imbued chain whip.
The elite crusaders of the One Faith had cornered the heathen defenders, forcing the latter to retreat into the fortress' inner courtyard. Yet, compound walls and barricades could accomplish little against a force that vast. Soon, the conflict continued with new-found fury and merciless cruelty as each side tore and massacred the other.
And, through this hell, oblivious to the gore-soaked earth, battle-cries and screams alike, the angel Raphael stepped, humming a lullaby to the dozing off infant in his hold. Indistinguishable by the naked human eye, a disembodied spirit, just like Gabriel himself. It was said these guardians of God walked alongside humankind, overseeing it, appearing only before those who they desired to greet themselves. Who they deemed worthy.
Outside the gates, apart from the mortal skirmish, a lone, yet vibrantly-dressed figure waited. Two scarlet-and-yellow streaked wings sprouting out of the man's back betrayed the truth of his origin straightaway.
"Raph!" The other angel sighed in relief, coming alongside the blond. "I was beginning to worry ye got caught in the crossfire or something. How did it go?"
"I'm fine, Uriel, thank you for your concern," Raphael returned, his voice oddly clear against the clamor of the struggle. "It went well: after I persuaded her, Helena relinquished the boy of her own accord. I have him right here."
"Well, hello there, little Mathias," Uriel nearly cooed, tapping the drifting off infant on the nose. The child sneezed and furrowed his nose.
"Uriel. This is not the best of times. We have a task."
"Eh? Oh, yeah, my bad." A troupe of Brotherhood soldiers raced past, prompting Uriel to glance after them. "Come. Eliana's excused herself: the carnage made her sick. Can't mock her decision, either. The sight is off-putting."
The pair – or rather, a trio, with the vampire shadowing their every step – trekked the deadfall in silence, until a familiar mezzo-soprano called the angels by their name. There, on the moss-cloaked log, Eliana sat, her chin cupped. Now, in addition to the seer's robed garment, two sharp, ethereal wings were outspread in foggy wisps behind her.
"You have to forgive me, my brothers, for absconding so abruptly. Violence and I had never made great acquaintances," she uttered when Raphael and Uriel gave their feet a rest beside her. "Ah, greetings, young Mathias Cronqvist. We have come a long way to find you." Her hazel gaze washed over the slumbering babe. Slowly, she reached out to brush a tuft of unruly, chestnut hair out of the child's face. "May I?"
"I don't see why not." Raphael chuckled, allowing for the prophetess to gather the babe into her own embrace. "But, it would be best if we do not dawdle. We have a task. It's nearly complete, but only nearly."
"Big O, little k, cap'n," Uriel echoed, bouncing up.
"Yes, you are right." Eliana straightened up. "I have to say though. I am astonished by the boy's strength: the fracturing of one's essence is not something an average mortal can overcome."
"He wouldn't have been chosen to be our Lord's Avenger-Champion if he couldn't," the blond denoted softly.
Soon and surely enough, the hellish cacophony of the struggle the angels have left behind ebbed away into the moonless gloam, giving way to the outcries of the nightfall. Somewhere an owl hooted. Crickets chirped in the nearby vegetation. A single canid howl blared across the skyscape. The angels' feet scraped against the pebble-stone. The messengers themselves had not breathed a word, not since they have emerged from the grove. It was as if... the saintlike beings knew they were being tailed, and preferred not to betray all of their mysteries.
Why on earth would these servants of the divine march like any other mortal? Why footslog across deadfalls, tromp through creeks, shroud oneself in grime and dirt when they possessed the very instrument of flight? Were they afraid it would sabotage their cover? Threaten the child's safety? Or was there something else, hidden from the vampire's sight?
Either way, their journey appeared to have reached its end.
There, encircled by hilltops and pines, an imposing stronghold towered above all else, a crest of a cross against sun emblazoned on its gates.
One of the Brotherhood strongholds, not as large or exquisite as the Order's headquarters near Budapest, but to underestimate the defensive capabilities of this fort would be a grave mistake. Many rabid creatures and monsters, slaves to the dreaded Dark Lords, would besiege its walls. Not many of their kind would be fortunate enough to witness the aftermath. The Founders, these beatific patrons, had guided the Brotherhood of Light across the centuries, ensured their victory on the battlefield. Be that a puppet of darkness or a marauding, unrighteous man.
The night was still young, yet the fortress seemed desolate, its residents asleep or away. However, several halberd-wielding sentinels kept watch from the structure's walls and its many embrasures, making a stealthy approach the least viable option.
But the angels needed not a mortal guise to fool the dwellers of this plane.
Eliana, Raphael and Uriel came to a halt before the stronghold's monolithic gates, prompting Dracul to hold onto his current position, somewhat to the side of the angelic troupe. Whenever they could acknowledge his presence or not, the vampire decided not to take any chances.
"There. The blankets should shield him against the chill of springtime." Eliana whispered as she cautiously lowered the slumbering infant onto the stone slab near the fortress' gates. "Tomorrow, Mathias Cronqvist starts a new life, just as it was intended." She sighed. "His path will be encrusted with blisters and thorns. Stooping stones where light melds with darkness. Where a virtue cannot be distinguished from a vice. It will exert a great toll on his heart."
"Yet, even when soaked in shadow, it would still beat." Raphael offered the seer a reassuring smile.
Uriel followed the blond's example. "He won't face it alone, Ellie. The boy's gonna experience pure, unfiltered love. The grandest of gifts."
"Yes. The means are always justified." Eliana pursed her lips.
"Fear not, my sister." The blond was quick to reply. "We have fulfilled our part of the duty. The flower has been sown, the water from a gilded cup drenched the earth. Now we observe and understand. Let us away."
"Aye, ol' Michael's waiting for our report. Best not keep him waiting," the jester added and the troupe departed, their slender-winged silhouettes glimmering away into the gloom, melding into one with the shadows.
Dracul slowly exhaled and slumped against a tree trunk.
A breathless statue, as if petrified, he reclined there for a whole minute, before a faint rustle of the quilt reached out for his ears. Without hesitation, the vampire heaved himself upwards and drew closer to the whimpering scroll.
The infant's mewling ceased as the elder approached him, bright blue eyes round with... amazement? With wonder? A second, and a wide, toothless smile graced Mathias' mouth. Hold on, the child could see him? How could this be possible? A wraith to everyone else, a tangible being to this, and this child alone? And yet... a lighthearted giggle that fled the boy's throat served as an answer to Gabriel's unspoken question.
Eyebrows quirked, the former knight let the back of his hand brush against the babe's cheek. Silky-smooth, unblemished by neither time, nor hardship. Just like the child's tattered, yet merciful soul. Innocence. The very embodiment of innocence.
"So, separated from the brood, imbued with a devilish essence, and left on the doorstep of the Brotherhood." Dracul addressed the infant in an oddly nonchalant tone. "Masterfully orchestrated by Eden's chaperons as well as their Father." He chuckled morosely to himself. "No, we're not flicks upon the wind. We're pawns. Game pieces in the hands of the chessmaster."
The vampire sighed, casting his eyes to the side. "Such a mirthless belief has vexed me across the centuries, functioned as the source of my hatred. But now... I couldn't care less. I love Marie so much. I just- I just wish for her to be happy. Even... even if it signifies that I will not be able to join her."
Seating himself beside the sniffling infant, Dracul pulled out the tome his kinswoman, Eve, was so gracious to give back, and opened it on the first page.
A charcoal sketch of a lone warrior crossing a fishing creek, outlines of the old hunting path leading into the depths of Pan's influence, the marshlands which had claimed the lives of so many... A pristine chronicle of his dark journey.
Screeee! In a single, powerful stroke, the vampire tore out a sheet, scribbled artwork and text rubbing off into nothingness. There, Dracul fetched a twig and used the scorching heat of his chaos gauntlet to char and blacken one of its ends. Spreading the now-blank page upon the hardback's cover, he wrote out a single word.
Gabriel.
God is my Strength.
A slight smile twitched the knight's lips as he folded the paper and tucked it in-between the infant's quilt. Heedful of his claws, he ruffled the child's feathery locks – 'Mathias' let out an indignant huff, – and rose to his feet. Moments later, he landed a single, thundering pound against the fortress' gates, stirring all those who slumbered, alerting all those stationed outside.
Smirking meekly to himself, Gabriel espied marksmen, sentries and even a couple of foot warriors, all draw close to the outer wall, in hopes of pinning the trespasser on the spot. Of course, no matter how hard they glowered into the darkness, their scrutiny yielded no fruit – their simple sight could not distinguish the crimson-clothed vampire lord. 'Twas an odd sensation, he admitted. To be capable of interacting with the environment, yet to be hidden out of sight of mortal me-
"C'mon, slowpoke! Aren't you tired of losing to a girl?" A piping laughter rang in his ears.
"Not fair!" Whined the other. "You got a head start! How am I supposed to win when you're cheating?"
The warrior whirled on his heels. Supernal rays of the sun overturned the pestilent shadows. A vast field of wildflowers displaced the previously-witnessed somberness of the Brotherhood's fortress. Two adolescent children skipped across this meadow, one of them riant and buoyant unlike anything else in this world. A girl in an indigo-dyed dress hopped in the lead, whilst a plain-garbed boy trailed after her, a scowl weaving his features.
The knight's breath hitched.
"I'm not cheating. Would-be squires such as yourself need to learn how to save up their strength!" Marie stuck her tongue out at her frowning friend. "We've covered only two courses, and you're already all wizened. Like a raisin."
"Raisin?!" Gabriel chirped, outraged. "I'll show you raisin!" Bestirred, the boy sprung forward and dashed past the girl, a smug simper forming in the corners of his mouth.
Marie let out a heartwarming giggle and gave chase, the hem of her bright apparel brushing against a legion of blooming buds. An unfeigned angel in mortal flesh. A favored soul in a body of a celestial. Bound to the Heavenly plane. There could be no other way-
"Agh!" A sudden, startled cry escaped the young girl's throat as her entire form vanished beneath the shrubbery's lush canopy.
"Marie?" Gabriel halted in his tracks, staring down. "Marie, oh God, are you alright?"
"I tripped." The girl's hollow voice returned.
"Tripped? Over what?"
"Rock, presumably." Marie's head poked out of the verdure, her bedraggled palm pressed against her forehead. "I... I think I scraped my brow. Ow, it stings."
"Hold on, let me see." The squire shifted her hand to the side. "Aye, that's a nasty gash. Wait, let me fetch some plantain. Its sap, healers say, can stop a bleeding. It is commonly found growing along the road- Aha!" He hurriedly squashed the oval-shaped leaves and held them against Marie's forehead. "Here we go. Keep it still."
"Aw, thanks, Gloom." Marie blushed. "I guess, this is my punishment for christening you a dried grape. Although... Gabriel the Raisin. Gloomy Raisin. It suits you, wouldn't you agree?"
A half-choked noise of protest simmered within the boy's chest. "Wh- No. No! Marie, don't you dare-!"
The girl's slim frame shivered with barely restrained laughter. "You forget one teeny-weeny detail, Gabe." She eventually managed. "Raisins may be wrinkly on the outside, but on the interior, they're one of the sweetest, honeylike things you can find."
Gabriel's pout and incredulous glare could not compete against the girl's jocund chuckles. "Are you calling me wrinkly?" he asked, a beaming smile quirking his own lips.
"Perhaps." Marie's grin mellowed. "Of course, I'm joking! But the look on your face! You should smile more often, Gloom."
"Ah," the squire said, cheeks turning scarlet. "Erm... Hm, we're ought to return to the citadel now. So the clerics could treat your wound properly." He offered the girl his hand and helped her to her feet.
"Always the bourgeois chevalier," Marie mouthed, making her friend dissolve in a fit of jovial chortling. "What? What?"
The pair then marched off, the tide between them turned. The normally broody squire could be heard nearly howling with laughter, whilst the girl pawed and elbowed at her friend in vain attempts to silence his, frankly infectious, guffaws. In the end, evidently sick and tired of his antics, Marie collided with Gabriel's side, tackling him straight into a swarm of budding dandelions.
The boy's fall sent a horde of feathery umbrellas soaring through the air. Aloof, the vampire watched them, watched as they waltzed on the wings of zephyrs, standing out so crisply against the azure skyscape.
One such floret landed upon the elder's open palm. Gabriel peered at the blossom, a surge of conflicting emotions swelling within him, before an alien, metallic glimmer, bronze against grass-green, diverted his attention. Something glistening and circular, half-buried into the soil... right about where Marie had lost her footing. A wedged in brass corona. A stifled breath halted in his throat as he lowered himself beside it.
Without a pause, Gabriel coiled his fingers around the alloy and yanked it out in a single, swift motion, motes of grime and dirt tumbling off of its surface. The jagged crown grasped in his left hand, and the incomplete horn in his right, he carefully linked the pieces up.
The fragments sputtered, melted, droplets of molten brass slithering up and down the relic's leadpipe, steadily breathing a new life into splintered pieces. Narrow, almost as long as his outstretched arm, adorned with furrows and complex patterns, the finalized Horn of Truth was nothing but a gentle weight in his hand. One could hardly believe such an unsophisticated item could mold the fate of humankind.
The knight smiled, laughter of frolicking children still fresh in his mind-
"Prince of Darkness." A strident feminine voice echoed, and something knifelike pressed against the back of his neck. "Turn around."
Gabriel complied, a disgruntled crease twirling his mouth.
Granitic, pupil-less eyes of the God Mask glowered back at him. "This time I will not run," declared the celestial, the tip of her sequined katar positioned against the vampire's throat. "For I am here for you. I am here to take you to Hell."
Crimson beads. Drops of metal in conjunction with blood splattered onto the stone in front of him. He could feel the same viscous solution, streams of red and silver, fleck his face, dribble off of his chin. Too real, all too real. Just as the breathless corpse of a martyr by his side, her throat mangled wide open.
Howling in despair, the archangel crumbled to his knees, the brilliant radiance of his majestic wings slowly fading away. And where it died, blots of ruby-red sprouted in its place.