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'Kay, here ya go.... I warned you.... X)

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Three streams of light, just three, poured their way into the dimly lit room from between heavy iron bars. Something was dripping in the corner, but nobody could be bothered to find out what it was---this wasn't a place where these things were a priority. This was dark. This was an unwanted sanctuary.

This was the People's Prison of Moscow.

An old monk lay on the bench, staring at the ceiling, marking his seventh year in that room. Though it wasn't so much a room as a cell. A heavily guarded cell.

"And here I lay," he said to himself. His thoughts often veered in and out of being said out loud. "Powerless." He laughed. "I am reduced to nothing. Nothing! I have no feelings, whatsoever...."

His delusional soliloquy was interrupted by a ping sound and that of someone clearing their throat. Rasputin sat up and looked around, but no one was there, no guard had come to summon him for supper.

"Uh, hi there. Up here."

Rasputin grinned a giddy grin. He knew that voice, that bizzare, wonderful little voice. Looking to the window, he saw his little winged old friend perched next to one of the bars.

"Bartok!" he gasped. "Is that you?"

"In the flesh, there, master. Say, you're looking pretty good! Could use some daylight, though---I hear the vitamin K does wonders for a body, sir."

"Why didn't you come sooner?"

"Well, you are a difficult one to locate, sir, you know, being relocated to the highest-security prison in the country and all. That and---well, what can I say, the Poconos is lovely this time of year."

"Seven years, Bartok," Rasputin continued, off on a tangeant of his own. "Seven years I have rotted away, in this miserable solitude!"

"Well, then have I got the solution for you. It's just the thing for you, sir. I brought souvenirs."

Rasputin watched as his little bat friend flapped out of the window frame and back up into the room. He carried a handkercheif in his claws that had been knotted into a sack.

"Okay, here we go." Perching on the bench, Bartok rummaged through the contents. "Ooh!" He pulled out a seashell. "This one really reminded me of you sir. It's shaped kind of like your head I think, all though the ears are a little off---"

With a sigh, Rasputin flopped back onto the bunk. "Don't bother, Bartok. I'm in no mood."

"All right, all right," the little guy surrendered, "I figured you might say that, so I brought a little something I know you're gonna like. Time to pull out the big guns."

Bartok dissappeared out the window once more, and this time when he returned, what he held was a lot more valuable than a handkercheif.

It took him a while to drag the ancient glass cylinder through the bars, and the second he did, Rasputin snatched it up in his bony hands. "How did you get this?"

Bartok shrugged. "Eh, I just picked it up off the floor right after you dropped it. Nobody seemed to notice it was gone, so---wah!"

Rasputin had already grabbed Bartok and was swirling him around. "Bartok! You are brilliant! This is...this is wonderful!"

"Uh, wow. I tell you what, wow."

"Finally, my revenge can be fulfilled!"

"Hang on, hold your horses, there, boss," the bat interrupted. "Don't tell me you're still stuck on that old Romanov feud."

Rasputin paused in his celebration to give him a leveling stare. "You know what they say," he said sarcastically. "Old habits die hard." He began to dance around the room, Bartok still in one hand, the reliquary in the other. "It is time for the sun to set on the royal family!"

"Oh, brother."

"It's the end of the Romanov line at last!"

"Here we go."

"But how best to crush them?"

"Aaaaand, again with the crushing."

"Oh, well," Rasputin decided, "first things first." Holding the reliquary up close, he stared into the fog inside that was rapidly beginning to glow a vile shade of green. "My old friend. You've been dying for your chance, haven't you?"

The little creatures within the glass stirred in agreement.

"Now, now. Not yet. All in time."

Grinning evilly, he approached the bolted door of the cell and peered out of its tiny window. "Oh, gentlemen---could you do me a small favor?" he sang. "I assure you I'd most appreciate it."

Both the half-asleep guards outside the door looked to each other in surprise, then at the haggard face behind the bars. Finally, the one said, "Depends on what it is."

Rasputin chuckled to himself. "It's quite simple---all I need from you is the keys."

"Ha! Like I haven't heard that one before."

"You crazy?"

But Rasputin didn't say anything in return. Instead, the guards never noticed the two streams of ghostly green minions venting from the window. Each formed into a rope, and circled the throat of a guard.

"Such a shame, boys," the old monk grinned as the two outside tried to breathe. "Always doing things the hard way. Now you will pay for your loyalty to the Tsar."

Changing colors, the larger guard gasped, "We'll...give you the...keys...."

"I thank you for that, I really do---but you know what? I think I like it better this way."

At that, the guards fell to the floor, and that was the last they remembered.

The ghoulish ropes dissolved, and the minions swirled around the door, disintegrating the heavy bolt before funneling back into the reliquary.

Rasputin pulled up his hood, and all but the white of his teeth and the yellow of his eyes were veiled in black shadow. "Come, Bartok," he said, filled with a sick new kind of joy. "We have a long journey ahead of us."

The bat gulped, cowering below on the bench. "Uh, we? Where, uh, where are we going?" he asked, dreading the answer.

The unholy man just smiled his sickening smile. "To St. Petersburg. It's time to pay the Romanovs a personal visit."

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Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! XD Toldja you wouldn't expect this. Also, keep in mind that Rasputin is 100% alive. He did still sell his soul for the reliquary, but he never died on the ice, so he's not all...disconnected like he was. Next chapter, back in St. Petersburg. Reviews please!!

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