A/N: ACK! I can't believe it's been almost a year and I haven't written anything! I cannot count how many apologies I have to give to you guys. Not only did I have to take summer classes, I also had to take an extra course to make of for this class I tanked. I've been so wrapped up in trying to ace this class that I completely forgot about writing. Not only that, I had to help my editor Jedi Skysinger with her recent Burn Notice FF: "What We Leave Behind." Plus I got grounded for a WHOLE month which put me WAY behind in my update! AND to top all of that I had writer's block, AGAIN! Anyway, now that's out of the way, I hope you all have been good, because here's the next chapter of Trinity Blood: Revelations! ;) Today we shall be playing host to a certain Know Faith priest and a certain maid whom we all love to hate. Enjoy!
Chapter XII: Nothing Covered ()
The human heart has hidden treasures,
In secret kept and silence sealed;
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken if revealed
- Charlotte Brontë, "Evening Solace"
"The human heart dares not stay away too long from that which hurt it most.
There is a return journey to anguish that few of us are released from making."
- Lillian Smith
Earlier That Evening
After an eternity of crashing lips and heaving mixed breaths did the destined ones finally break from their kiss.
Abel was the first to open his eyes and look upon his beloved. Her cheeks, even in the darkness of the Ghetto, were a lovely shade of flushed pink and her eyelashes sparkled from crystalline dew, her cherry red lips swollen from kisses... his kisses. Even in shadow, his star's beauty still reached him and took his breath away.
After a series of endless seconds of catching her breath did Esther finally open her eyes, those breathtaking lapis lazuli pools brimming with moisture.
"Abel, I..."
"Shh," he whispered, touching her opened mouth with his fingers while taking in the sound of his name that came forth from her lips, for the first time, without the usual honorific. If only she could hear the beating of his heart like his wings in flight at the feelings of his joyous reverie.
He leaned in and kissed her forehead as he caressed her face and then pulled her into his arms.
"Close your eyes and don't peek. No matter what you hear or what happens keep your eyes closed," Father Nightroad whispered into her ear.
She nearly protested with, "But I have already seen-" before he cut her off.
"Trust me, Esther, please."
She complied and buried her face into his neck.
After a long, torturous ride through the elevator, the priest was met with a guesome sight. Bodies of both enemy and ally were spread out upon the carpeted floors and those who had outlived the unfortunate ones, held the duty of removing their corpses with pangs of woe, grief and weariness upon their visage. Many among the survivors were soldiers, others palace guards and some being the staff of Buckingham.
Abel knew this would be the sight Esther would have seen and knew of the guilt and grief that would scar her in this moment had it not been for his intervention. Knowing his love, she would have broken down in sorrow knowing they died for her when no one had needed to die.
He, too, shared that belief and he, too, felt the need to break, had it not been for the woman in his arms. She needed him now and this was a time he needed to be strong for her. In all those times he didn't protect her, he had vowed he would do so now, even from herself. There would be a time to mourn for those who were lost this night, but in the present moment, seeing to her comfort was what he had to do. Holding her closer to his arms as a means to keep himself from splitting apart at the seams, he finally made his way to her chambers.
Once he had reached her guild-ed doors. he crossed the threshold and kept the terrors of the world locked outside, where they belonged.
"Open your eyes."
She rose her head up from his shoulder and abided a moment before she asked, "Why?"
Despite the multitude of meaning within her question, Abel knew the answer.
"I don't want you to get hurt again, not at my expense."
Esther then pulled his face closer and whispered against his mouth, "If you don't want to hurt me, don't leave my side."
Once more their lips met in a passionate dance. Abel continued to hold her until he lowered her onto her bed, never breaking their kiss, as he knelt beside her.
Esther's hands then traveled from his shoulders, to his throat, to his cheeks and then tangled into the silver stands of hair, her fingers memorizing the feel of the rivers of platinum threads as she found the base of his neck and pulled him ever so close.
The priest felt a stirring of passion he had not felt in the the long centuries he had spent in darkness. The feeling, once known but believed lost, had returned, renewed by the joy of new-found love, willingly accepted and returned. As she pressed closer, he could only revel in these returned sensations until the voice of chastity began to urgently speak to his clouded mind. It was then he knew that if he continued, his self-control would be cast aside.
Breaking their kiss, he had in turn kissed her cheeks as she caught her breath, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against his own as he rested his forehead against hers.
Esther opened her eyes and smiled dreamily at him. She had never felt this before, but she felt her soul knew that this is what she had wanted and this is what she had longed for in her decades of existence. She caressed his cheeks to ascertain that her Angel was with her and this was not a dream.
She let out a small yawn and Abel in turn whispered, "It's late, you should sleep."
"Do you promise to still be here when I wake up?"
He kissed her eyelids and gave his answer.
"I promise."
†
The Next Day
Father Václav Havel, AX Agent "Know Faith," felt a deep sense of foreboding after return from Morning Mass after completing a forty-eight hour surveillance on Emmanuel D'Annunzio. His pretense that he was going to spy on Caterina when he was in fact going to report to her was readily accepted by the Archbishop, who could not wait for the mission to bear fruit.
This wasn't the first time. He normally felt like this before a great calamity or when he felt like someone close to him was in danger. It was Václav's belief that God had given him this "sixth sense," as Father Nightroad called it, so he may be able to prevent said calamities and misfortunes.
Nothing, however, could have prepared him for this.
He followed his instincts, which led him to Cardinal Sforza's office. After he opened the door, he was met with a horrid sight. Lady Caterina, the woman who he had viewed as a daughter for over fifteen years, was convulsing on her desk while lying in a pool of blood that she was still coughing up.
"My Lady!" He rushed over to her side. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders as she went limp in his grasp.
Almost an eternity passed as he held her, waiting for the paroxysm to end. The only thing to do was to wait until the tremors ceased.
Many within the Vatican adored and admired the Duchess of Milan for her strength and iron will and her charisma; however, seeing her like this reminded Havel how frail she was. He knew from being her Father Confessor and her most trusted comrade that her heart was filled with desire for vengeance for losing her mother. Caterina had also confessed that she felt horribly guilty for having used her own blood brother as a political sacrifice in her quest for retribution. He was the only family that she had left besides Cardinal di Medici and she had used him and hurt him in ways he may never forgive her for. Knowing all of this, Václav knew that even though she was strong in the face of adversary, inside she was a fragile, emotional woman.
Not only was her heart adulterated with vengeance and guilt, her heart was debilitated by a chronic disease and her body suffered from tuberculosis.
Caterina was very weak.
Father Havel did the only thing he knew how to do: pray. He prayed that God would continue to give her strength, prayed that her heart would gain the strength it needed to go on and prayed that her body would fight this canker.
In times like these, he dared not, could not, doubt that God had heard him. Even though he had doubted whether or not He cared about the state of the world because God hated those who oppressed the weak, but yet such people existed. In his time in the Inquisition, he had seen how those who had strength and power tormented those who had none. He knew God hated those who held riches but did nothing with their gifts to help their fellow man that were starving to death, but yet He had given them their fortunes to squander and waste in the first place. He knew that God hated slaughter but yet He did nothing to stop the one who had committed the act. If He cared about those in his service, why did He give Caterina these maladies that He knew would trouble her later in life and possibly take her life?
As confusion entered his mind, Caterina's steel-blue eyes then miraculously opened, answering his prayer.
If He did care, why did the innocent have to suffer and where was He in this fallen world?
†
Earlier
After last night's ensuing battle, the weather had, ironically enough, turned cold and snow and ice had begun to rain down upon the once battered and bloodied sight that was Buckingham Palace. Even though the guards had cleaned up the bodies and the servants had removed the blood both outside and within the palace walls, the weariness of battle was still upon those who had fought and to them the storm was a reminder that no matter whom one was, either Terran or Methuselah, no one could escape death.
Eventually, the wind had kicked up and soon the snowfall became a blizzard, flying with the swift wings of the Angel of Death. All those who were unprotected could have been caught its icy chill to their demise. Such a storm was not uncommon during the beginning of winter in Londinium. However to Horace Ethridge, the former Lord of Appeal, the whipping winds resembled the low howling of a hungry wolf and he was soon to be its next meal. The ice outside reminded him of a certain Italian poet's epoch through Hell.
To him, the last ring of Hell was cold and it was reserved for traitors such as Judas Iscariot and Brutus. Mr. Ethridge held no doubt that Adam Sutler, his former leader and inspiration, was waiting for him there and he was soon to join him for his treachery against not only Albion, but also to the Knights of Tudor. His offense had been not only to Crown and Country, but his Order as well.
He was damned and nothing was going to change that fact. Even though he had been promised penance in this life, there was no escaping his fate in the next world.
Even the illusion of safety within the palace walls could not take away the chill that broke down his spine at the possibility that he was going to meet death today, especially at the hands of the devils that were the Order of Rosenkreuz.
"Pulvis et umbra sumes.(1)" Horace Ethridge whispered, acknowledging the dark fate he placed upon himself.
†
My name is Edith and I'm a servant of the Albian Queen.
Okay, scratch that last part, I'm a servant of that high-and-mighty "lady saint" who became a queen. No doubt the Vatican had to forge documentation to enable that Hungarian orphan girl to sit on the Throne of Roses that probably didn't belong to her, just as it didn't rightfully belong to that militaristic bastard, Mary.
Of course, I cannot openly complain about that or say such things to their faces without Mary glaring daggers at me to the point of submission.
Take today, for example. First, vampires attacked the palace and I had to dirty my hands with blood from vampire corpses because everyone knows that servants have to clean up the mess the military leaves behind. Second, despite working all night to clean the mess, I have to still wash "Her Holiness'" sheets, make her bed, wash, iron and mend her clothes, sweep the halls and the stairs, dust everything in sight, mop up all the floors to the point I can see my own reflection in them, clean the carpets of stained blood, get rid of ruined furniture that was destroyed in last night's attack. Third, and this is the worst part, I have to listen to Sarah the Pit-bull, Death-Glare Erica and "oh-I'm-so-cute" Naomi give me orders for the rest of the evening. -How those peasants and that Hispanian girl became handmaidens and now rule the roost like butlers is beyond me.
In other words, I had a long day ahead of me and no one would appreciate me for it.
This is why I usually spread the latest gossip that you hear about "Her Holiness" to all the other maids in her service. Some of them adore her to the point they are blinded by so-called "morals" and to refuse to spread said gossip. Others who share my pain of serving under "Her Highness," they sympathize with me and then add their own embellishments to my latest news. But I have to be careful that Mary doesn't overhear me, or worse the Pit-bull, who wouldn't hesitate to report me to the Head Maid about demeaning "Her Majesty."
As I was on my way to collect Her Majesty's sheets, I noticed a group of military men heading toward the Privy Council Chamber. At the head of the column of men is someone I recognized, the Lord of Appeal Horace Ethridge. Following him is Mary, the Hellsing biyotch, a weird looking silver haired priest and a cloaked man carrying a staff, I don't give a rat's ass about what has transpired a second glance. I've got work to do and the sooner I get it done, the sooner I can let out my frustration about working for "Her Holiness" to a fellow maid.
That was until... I ran into a strange devilishly handsome man in a black uniform. I hadn't seen him before; at least I was pretty sure I hadn't. I would have remembered someone like him. He was very compelling, almost hypnotic. I knew I'd get in trouble if I was caught talking to him instead of doing my job, but somehow I didn't care anymore. I had to speak to him, I just had to.
Mary Spencer looked down the line of troops with a cool eye. For the most part, they were exactly what she wanted and expected of a group guarding such a high profile prisoner, except the last two in line. They were recent transfers from Scotia, which was where they sent soldiers to remind them of the consequences of breaking with military discipline.
As if to prove her point, the last one in line was now talking with one of the maids. What was her name again? Ah yes, Edith, the gossiping troublemaker. What was that old saw about birds of a feather? Edith had picked the most likely of them to break discipline and flirt with her.
As the line of soldiers moved forward, escorting Mr. Ethridge into the Council Room for his debriefing, Colonel Spencer stood to the side watching him as he glanced hurriedly at her before turning his attention back to the maid. Edith reached out and swept her hand over the man's cheek. Mary had had enough as she strode down the hallway towards them
"This is why you were transferred to Scotia in the first place!" she barked, as the maid beat a hasty retreat away from the conflict. "And don't think you are getting out of this either. Expect that the Head Maid will hear about this!"
Colonel Spencer was still grumbling as she came back into the Council Room, watching the placement of the guard.
"Problem?" Sir Integra inquired.
"New recruits transferred from Scotia. They seem distracted by the scenery at court."
"Typical," the "Duke" of Lancaster scoffed. "Always thinking with their little heads instead of their big ones."
It was then the two women's attention turned to Father Nightroad whose face was glowing with heated embarrassment, whereas Hugue looked upon the man in question with cool indifference. At this point, Abel's glasses slid comically off his nose and his countenance would have been laughable had it not been for the situation. Hugue, on the other hand looked upon "Sir" Integra with a disapproving eye.
"Excuse me...?" Abel stammered.
Integra repressed a giggle and snorted "Oh, I forgot we had a priest present, Mary. Is our conversation too much for your chaste ears, Father?" she snarked.
The priest's face grew even redder until Mary stated coldly, "This is not the time for this inane prattle. I suggest we commence this interrogation. Her Majesty wanted to be present for this."
"I'll get to that," Abel stated, more than happy to have a reason to be elsewhere.
Soon Horace Ethridge, Lord of Appeal, found himself seated, bound and surrounded by a semi-circle of armed guards and faced with the quintet of Mary, Esther, Abel, Hugue and Integra. Colonel Spencer and "Lord" Hellsing stood closer to him, partially blocking his view of Esther, who was being overshadowed by the protective figures of the two priests.
Under their questioning, he began to reveal how the Order of Rosenkreuz had made contact with the Tudor Knights, how they promised his organization financial backing, weapons and access to places and people to aid in their effort to overthrow the monarchy and end Esther's reign, putting one of their own in her place.
As Mary Spencer was interrogating Horace, he had told her the events that lead to last night's attack. The attack was not just a arranged bloodbath in the hopes that the Albian Queen would be amongst the casualties, but also to attain certain lost technologies that the Order had deliberately had kept them in the dark about. Even though Mary had pressured him into telling him what the said technologies were and why they wanted them, he couldn't answer because the Order kept both him and Mr. Heyer ignorant. He had also noted that the Order had sent them blindly into the fray in the hopes that the information they carried would die with them.
Finally, the information that the Order hoped would die along with Horace and Jasper had finally been disclosed. According to the former Lord of Appeal, the Germanic Court was deeply involved with the Order of Rosenkreuz. Mr. Ethridge relayed that the Germanic King was the unknowing puppet of the Contra Mundi. If one had access to Pre-Armageddon records, one would take notice to the similarities between the current events to the incidents in Germanicus over a thousand years ago. During that time, the Prime Minister was fooled by the High Chancellor and his armed thugs, who were merely pretending to be a political party with the interests of the people at heart which lead to the Preliminary War. That war was the interlude between the first Great War and the ultimate war that nearly ended mankind.
The previous King's involvement with the Rosenkreuz eventually led to his death, such is the hallmark of evil, betrayal at their hands. The current king, Ludwig II- or as he was infamously nicknamed Ludwig the Bloody- had been trying to wipe them out in his pursuit of vengeance against those who killed his father. But according to Horace, the King was actually not killing the right people, and he didn't care, and the Rosenkreuz was seeing to it that their enemies were being destroyed at his hand. Mr. Ethridge barked a short laugh that the head of the Germanic secret police was actually their puppet, secretly doing their bidding instead of obeying the King's intention to eliminate the organization from his court and his country.
Eventually the disgraced politician had recounted that if the Knights of Tudor's plans to kill the Queen had come to naught, the Enemies of the World would then pick up where they left off. They would not only ascertain the demise of the "witch" but also bring death to the nations that they held with contempt: the Vatican and the Empire. Horace then expressed great fear in knowing that their plan involving the Holy Mother Church was soon to spring into action, especially with the help of a certain prelate and someone by the name of "Cherubim.(2)" However, the Rosenkreuz had kept them on a need-to-know basis about this particular scheme and specifically who was the said "holy man" involved. But Mr. Ethridge had known who was to be sent to Rome to perform this operation.
"Who is he?" the Colonel demanded. "What do you know of this agent? Talk!"
"He's... inspiring, but at the same time... frightening." Horace had visibly shivered. "If he knew I talked, you cannot imagine the torture I would be put through at his hands."
This was not a comforting thought. If such a hardened man such as Horace Ethridge was trembling from just merely mentioning this agent, then God only knew how terrible this monster truly was.
"I need a name, Ethridge," Mary cut in icily. "Who is he?!"
There was an eruption of noise at the back of the room, but Colonel Spencer was so intent on the man in front of her that she didn't pay attention. Sir Integra, on the other hand, saw the solider that Mary had chided move out of the line and draw his weapon. But her attention and her warning cry was far too little, far too late.
"He is Duke-" Horace began, but the rest was cut off when a metal shell entered his heart and the sound of the shot echoed through the chamber.
Abel's reaction was immediate, which was good as the next shot fired came hurdling towards Esther. But the redhead was already behind the priest and the metal object intended for her demise was already in his hand.
The guards' reactions were instantaneous. Before Abel could order them not to shoot, they had already blasted the soldier in question, cutting the man to pieces with a hail of automatic weapons fire. His bullet ridden corpse was still twitching and jerking as the priest knelt beside him. He was dead, but his movements were inconsistent with leftover nerve impulses animating his body. Something was going on.
It took the Queen longer than Father Nightroad to react and move from where she had previously stood being shielded by her black robed guardian to come stand by his side as he was bent over examining the bleeding remains of her would-be assassin. Colonel Spencer was barking orders, reordering the troops present and calling for others. Sir Integra left her position as well to come to stand beside Esther, partially to support and partially to protect her liege. Hugue immediately was at the door with his sword held aloft as to keep away any who dared to take the life of the Queen in the current state of crisis.
The look on his face, the concern in those winter blue eyes behind the glasses when he turned to face the two women and the second priest left no doubt in their minds that something was very wrong indeed. The white gloved hand rose from the bloody destruction before him with a stain of red on the fingers that pinched something unseen between them. They both stared, trying to see what he was holding. Esther understood, rather than saw, what it was before Integra finally asked in frustration.
"What kind of infernal thing is that you have there?"
"It's a..." the redhead stammered. She couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it, but no other explanation made sense.
"A puppet string," intoned the priest gravely. He rose swiftly to his feet and went to Mary's side. "I need to know. Was anyone touching this man before we entered the council chamber?"
"Yes," she answered sharply. "I reprimanded him for flirting with one of the maids." She made a disgusted sound and turned towards the camera which fed into the room where the Queen's handmaidens and the Count of Memphis had been monitoring the interrogation along with the Walsh siblings.
"Sarah," she barked. "Fetch Edith immediately and I want her alive if you don't mind," she finished tightly.
"No," Abel contradicted flatly. "Belay that order. It's too dangerous for them, for anyone. If it's what I think it is, then I'm the only one who can-"
"Do you really think it's-" Esther faltered as she tried to read any hint of doubt in his expression. But his stern visage left no doubt what was on his mind. "But how can it, how can he-"
"Apparently, I'm not the only one who's returned from the dead."
"What the bloody hell are you two prattling on about?" Integra finally demanded, frustrated by the lack of coherent, complete sentences.
"An agent of the Order of Rosenkreuz, who was presumed dead, has returned it would seem," Colonel Spencer cut in. "How many times do we have to kill Dietrich von Lohengrin before he finally stays dead?!"
"I'll see what I can do," the AX enforcer responded. He was already turning towards the door when the Queen reached out and laid a restraining hand on his arm.
"Please be careful," she pleaded. As much as she hated the fact that he would be facing a powerful enemy alone, her memories of their last encounter with Dietrich kept her from insisting on going along this time. It was because of her interference that her beloved had been fatally wounded.
"Just stay here." It sounded like an order to all but Esther's ears. The redhead clearly heard his plea for her safety in that request.
"I will," she promised. He nodded towards her, a hint of a smile on his lips, and then he became all business. "Seal off the entrance to the Ghetto"" He stated before he swept past Hugue with his black robes fluttering like dark wings as he made his exit.
†
However, right after Abel walked out the double doors separating him from Esther, the handmaiden Mary called upon earlier- Sara or Sarah, what was her name again?- barred him from completing his assigned objective.
"I'm sorry, priest, but you've been summoned by the Earl of Manchester. I'm here to escort you to him," she said with dripping sarcasm on the word "priest," and cast him a glare that would have given him silent chills if he was in the mood to be impressed. Unfortunately now was not the time to let this girl interfere with his mission.
"Tell him I'm going to have to save his invitation for later. I have to-" he nearly matched her glare with his own words of ice until she interrupted whilst brandishing a stiletto that she retrieved from her sleeve.
"I'm afraid Lord Walsh insists. Don't force me to bring you to him," she finished on a cold tone.
Abel considered the two options before him; ignore the girl's request, no... Demand and be forced to fight with her, or abide by the Earl's wish and give the possessed maid a chance to escape. It was then they realized that a Terran, a being beyond inferior to them, especially a woman, had dared to challenge him. But before the Crusnik could demand to reveal itself and show her true fear, he gave his reply, whilst masking his internal struggle with a challenging grin.
"I guess I have no choice but to go to him then and be appreciative of your escort," Abel returned.
"Follow me," she demanded.
Through the hallway and down the hidden elevator into the monitor room, the priest and the Queen's servant walked in a tense silence that reminded Abel of a time in the past when he would have been the source of tension. He noted the irony that, over nine-hundred years later, the roles had been reversed and now he was the one on the receiving end of a cold glare from an embittered Albian, a look that no human should ever have possessed.
Only after taking a slight glance at the girl did he take note that she looked familiar. He had seen those semi-curled blonde locks of hair and recalled similar saxe-blue eyes that were slightly obscured by spectacles. Her appearance reminded him of someone else that he met nearly twenty-four hours ago, but her expression put him in mind of the lost boy that he once was.
"Uh, may I ask..." he nearly began until the handmaiden cut him off.
"You just asked. What?" she demanded in her characteristic frosty tone.
"Are you any relation to Dame Ruth Buchanan?"
"Other than the fact she's my biological mother, no, I can't think of any."
"I see then, you're her daughter. You look like her."
"I shall take that as a compliment," she said with a tone that meant the opposite.
Finally, they reached their destination in front of an automatic sliding door. Sarah then placed her hand on a palm identification device and then lowered her glasses so the retina scanner could get a better identification.
"Access Granted. Welcome, Lady Buchanan," a feminine computerized voice answered from beyond the door before they slid open. They beheld the Methuselah nobleman, along with his sister and the other two handmaidens.
"Thank you, Miss Sarah," the Earl stated in gratitude, his coal-grey overcoat swishing about his legs with the swift movement as he walked over to the girl and gave a slight bow. His attention then turned to the remaining persons in the room and quietly commanded "Leave us. I wish to speak to him alone."
The two remaining girls left with Sarah, while Vanessa glided past her brother after whispering to him a faint "I hope you know what you're doing," before she made her exit.
And then the priest and the vampire were alone.
"You look like you're doing well," Abel remarked.
"Mr. Ethridge was a good doctor, he not only tended to my wounds, but gave me Aqua Vitae which sped up the healing process, and he also did the same for the Count of Memphis, Lord Ion, in atonement for what he and his former comrades did to him earlier. Lord Ion was reluctant, of course, until I spoke up in his defense." Virgil trailed off
"I can see why he would be, and he can be stubborn to a fault."
"Indeed, but we're not here to discuss the Count. I ordered Sarah to bring you here so we could talk about your condition."
"My condition?"
"The Crusnik."
Abel stared at the nobleman in shock. How did he know what he was? If that was the case, then he must also have known who he once was. Why is it that when he had headed back to Albion, God had placed in his path so many individuals who had known those secrets about himself and yet he had never met them before? First the Sybil, then Ruth, now Lord Walsh? What was this world coming to?
Virgil let the priest gather his wits again before he plainly spoke. "When was the last time you fed on the blood of a Methuselah?"
Abel turned his head away because he knew that Virgil had the answer.
"If you wish to remain with Her Majesty and protect her, then you need to assure that your... other side is not going to inadvertently hurt her. In other words, I need you in prime condition. I noticed after the battle that you showed minor signs of injury and of thirst, while not many Methuselah have the same self-control that you possess." Lord Walsh could already see the denial forming on Father Nightroad's face, so he pressed harder.
"You already know it won't last and eventually the Crusnik could take over your mind. Once they force you to feed, you know that given their nature, they won't be satisfied. After having fed once, they'll keep glutting themselves on more Kudluk Bacillus until their thirst is quenched. I wouldn't want to count how many Methuselah would die if they do decide to take control."
"I won't let them take my mind, not like..." Abel tried to argue, but Virgil interrupted.
"There's another topic of concern besides the inevitable hunger you feel. If this is Dietrich von Lohengrin of the Rosenkreuz, you need to face him in your highest strength. According Her Majesty, after the last time you faced him without drinking blood, the Crusnik backlashed on you. We cannot allow that to happen in this fight. So this is why..." as he spoke the next words, he undid the red ascot around his neck and undid the collar button on his shirt. "I am willing to give you my blood."
Abel's eyes widened. His Crusnik senses became alert to the sight of fresh prey. Instead of looking upon the nobleman, he saw the crimson streams that were his circulatory system that lay below his skin. Those winter blue eyes could not move from the where the blood ran it's thickest at the jugular vein in his throat.
Abel shut his eyes at the sight, attempting to hold them in check; however, his ears picked of the sound of a beating heart that further drove his urge to feed. In that moment, he felt his canines extend past his lips, beyond his gritted teeth.
"No," he rasped. "I can't... not like this..."
"You must, if you wish to protect Her Majesty. I am doing this because I, too, wish to protect her, for the sake of someone that was dear to me, and you seem to be the best individual to fulfill her wish. You are far beyond worthy of Her Majesty's favor. I have seen during these last twenty-four hours, despite what you once were, that you have repented of what you have done. That is the virtue that I find most honorable in you, which is why I am willing to give you blood.(3)"
"No, I don't want Esther or anyone to think that I'm-"
"She will understand. So now..." the Earl then lowered his collar further down and, in that second, crimson eyes began to bleed into the crystal-blue irises, yet in those hunger-filled eyes, he saw hesitation.
"You wish to stop Dietrich and protect her, correct?" Virgil asked.
"Yes..." Abel strangled out.
"Then you know what you must do."
Right when the blonde nobleman braced himself for the inevitable pain, Abel began to button up his collar. "I don't intend on taking your blood like this."
He knelt before him and rolled up the coat and shirt sleeve to reveal Virgil's pale wrist. Then the Crusnik took control of their host and he bit into the vampire's skin.
†
One would have thought he was an idiot for making such a rash decision with complete impetuousness, but he didn't care. All he knew was he wasn't going to let someone else suffer the same fate as his late Tovarås.
After hearing the hated name of the Rosenkreuz agent that he wished dead from the moment they were introduced in the Imperial dungeons, Ion Fortuna then abandoned his post from the monitor room -whilst using his "haste" mode to conceal himself from the unwanted attention of his fellow near-immortals and the mortals within the room- and with his currently reinstated Methuselah abilities, he dashed through the exits looking for the possessed maid in hopes she would lead him to that blighted puppeteer.
The mere thought of that man's twisted, evil smile brought back the memories that he had tried to keep locked within the confines of his mind: his childhood friend, Radu Barvon, first with a gun aimed at the young Earl's chest in hopes of ending his life and terminating their friendship in the most final of ways.
Worse yet, the memory of the Baron of Luxor announcing his allegiance to the Imperial Extremists, whilst aiming the gun turret of a tank at him. And then his Tovarås last moments when he was apparently burned to death by the ultraviolet rays of the sun and then his heart pulverized out by Brother Petros' "Screamer." Then, in what he had thought was the most shocking moment, he saw Radu alive within the Empire, filing his mind with doubts about the girl he loved.
Despite how horrible those memories were, nothing could have compared to the one that dominated his mind. Radu, whispering to him his intention of killing the Empress... when he raised his sword to impale him in the forehead... then Radu... what little was left of his soul... attempted to warn Ion of the Order's intentions... only to be silenced forever by the one who had manipulated him.
Dietrich von Lohengrin.
He was the main reason why he joined Father Nightroad in his quest to destroy the Order forever. That man had taken away almost everything that made Ion who he was three years ago. He had taken away Radu, the one who had stood by his side. The villain had besmirched his honor, a trait that he took great pride in himself, by framing him for the murder of his own grandmother, the relative he most admired, and making him a fugitive within his own homeland. The worst of all that bastard had attempted to take Esther from him in hopes that he would kill her with his own fangs.
All he could think now was that he had to put an end to the Puppeteer once and for all. To not only restore Radu's lost honor, but also to protect Esther from the man that she feared. That day when they were officially introduced, Esther, in whom Ion had always seen great courage, had been trembling in terror when she realized who had taken over the shell of his friend.
The Count of Memphis then filled his mind with ways he could end that damned Terran's life. He could drink him dry, down to the last red blood cell of his body, but then he thought otherwise. There was no way in Hades that he was going to put the cursed blood of that Marionettenspiler in him, and make him the "vampire" that insensible Terrans feared. The idea that he had found most appealing was to take his sword and impale him in the head, like the fiend intended Radu's possessed form to do to the young Earl right in front of his grandmother in her guise as the Empress before the ghost of Radu that remained in the shell of his body had intervened.
Once in the lower levels of the palace, he found the maid attempting to access the Ghetto. The exit was in the process of being sealed. The possessed form of Edith was tapping codes into the pad to the right of the elevator doors at a frantic pace, but to no avail. Only Esther's DNA could open the doors, which had closed too far for her to enter, but somehow an untrained maid was programming like a master hacker. However, Ion knew that a master hacker was guiding her movements.
But before Ion could move to strike at the maid, Edith had uttered in a distorted voice like someone was speaking though her; "I'm quite surprised that you finally came back. What possessed you to return after two years, Crusnik 02?"
It was then the Ion realized that his target wasn't talking to him, but rather to the priest that faced his current opponent.
And he was fortunate that he didn't see him from where he hid in the shadows, because when he looked upon him- his sub-zero glare was bad enough!- he saw a blood red hue ensuing from the icy depths that were his eyes.
Suddenly his entire physical being was screaming at him to get away before things got worse.
He didn't listen and was about to regret that he hadn't done so earlier.
As "Edith" turned to face her opponent, she noticed the young vampire hiding in the shadows. The maid cracked a smile that was so sadistic it obviously originated from the one controlling her.
"Why Ion, you're here, too. How appropriate that you two should be the ones to face me. Though, even with your intense hatreds of me-"
"'Hatred' doesn't even begin to describe how I feel towards the likes of YOU!" Ion screeched, "If it weren't for you, Radu would still be alive!"
"Enough, Ion!" Abel commanded sternly, "I know you want to kill him, but she isn't the one you want to take your anger out on."
"Edith" chuckled, "How amusing, since we're on the subject of Radu, I didn't see you hesitate to activate the Crusnik when I possessed him. What makes this girl so different from him? And you even went so far as to attempt to activate the Crusnik to full power back then, why don't you use them to that extent right now?"
"Radu was already dead before I reached you." Abel stated coldly. "And since you think you know so much about me, you should already know that answer."
"Then why don't you speak your reasons aloud? I'm certain the vampire next to you would love to hear the answer about how you attempted to put an end to his dear Tovarås AND about the one who actually caused his demise. Besides it wasn't me who turned Flammenschert to salt and ash."
"What is he talking about?"
"You didn't know? Your Beloved Empress was the one who caused the Baron of Luxor to die."
"She was trying to destroy you!" The young Count shrieked.
"Oh, you really are so innocent, aren't you? How odd for one of your kind to maintain such ignorance. Aren't you going to enlighten him, priest? Aren't you going to let him know that the only reason that you didn't crush dear Radu with the beast inside you is that you'd forgotten to feed them? How absent-minded of you!"
"Enough!" Abel shouted as his grip on the revolver tightened with suppressed rage.
"No I don't think I will. The boy needs to know, especially with the involvement that the Duchess of Kiev and dear, sweet, Esther had in the attempted demise of his 'friend.' Had I not stopped the vampiress with fire, she would have killed me without any regret, and of course, Esther would have met her fate had 'Lord' Abel directed my attention elsewhere. And where were you when all of this occurred? Waiting outside until the battle was over because you couldn't lift a finger to aid your dear Tovarås, or the girl that you cared so much for. If that isn't cowardice, I don't know what is."
"I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR VILE WORDS!" Ion snapped, "YE DAMNED TERRAN, YOU WILL DIE!"
"ION, DON'T!"
The young Methuselah noble unsheathed his sword, shrieking his fury as he rushed towards the possessed maid with every intention of eviscerating her. Now, he had no choice. Father Nightroad had to act.
"Nanomachines: Crusnik 02. Power output to 40%. Activate!"
In an instant before the possessed maid there appeared a fallen being with crimson eyes. Each strand of hair formed a silver diadem upon the creature's brow and protruding from its blackened-blue lips were fangs sharper than knives. In the being's taloned hand emerged a distorted, blood-red scythe.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, Ion's mad rush ended abruptly as "Edith" waved her hand in his direction and the Count of Memphis was then bound in a web of electrically charged strings, binding him and digging into his skin... into his nervous system.
Ion let out a scream as Abel roared and rounded on the servant. Without giving its opponent a chance to strike, the Crusnik made its first fell sweep, destroying all but the intended target. The maid, having gracefully evaded him, unleashed numerous strings and attempted to bind the creature before her. The priest evaded them, thanks to his superior speed; however, he could not dodge the next attack of his companion's scimitar. It drilled into his ribs and then protruded through his chest.
The Crusnik's cry of pain echoed throughout the hallways as the bewitched maid began to giggle, enjoying the show before her as the blonde youth withdrew the blade, preparing for another strike. Abel nearly collapsed from the pain that rampaged through his system, but what was even more difficult was hearing them demand more freedom.
The priest knew better than to let them do as they pleased, especially with Ion and the possessed girl being present. However, the temptation was becoming unbearable with the raw agony that was surging through his system. While they literally began crying out for blood he blocked Ion's second attack with his scythe. The blades met and the distorted music of grinding metal met their ears. It was in that moment that Abel desperately looked at the Count, whose eyes were widened in great fear and shock, not at the creature before him, but at the fact he had done the unthinkable. His sword had wounded Father Nightroad in his current state of Crusnik capacity and he was forced to fight a being that could kill him in three seconds. All the while the girl began to laugh with fresh taunts ensuing from her lips.
"Did you honestly think I was going to repeat the same mistakes of two years prior? I wouldn't dare face you when you've drunken the blood of vampires, especially with this new shell, so to solve that issue I had your little friend take care of that for me. Mind you, I don't really care about talking through a maid of all things, but she was foolish enough to have sought me out for her own pleasure. I had to take the opportunity that presented itself to me and to imagine that you attempted use them on a defenseless, human girl." Edith giggled. "What shall you do now?"
What indeed? Father Nightroad began racking his brain for a solution. But he was rapidly running out of options other than to use them at their highest capacity. Suddenly, a miracle presented itself: the wires binding the Crusnik and the Methuselah snapped.
"What the-" Edith gasped and the next minute she was staring in horror at the dagger protruding from her palm. Once the strings had snapped, Ion took his opportunity to quickly grab his hidden knife and assure that the fell monster wouldn't attempt to play them the same way he did earlier. Before she could utter a scream, she was pinned on the ground by the fallen beast with its claw at her throat, the force of impact causing all the air to rush from the possessed maid's lungs.
"Tell me who you really are! Why are you targeting Esther?! And more importantly, who are you working for?!"
Edith choked out a laugh before responding; "One, I can't answer the first question. The answer is so obvious that no doubt that even someone as stupid as you can figure out. As for the second question, its simple. Mien Herr wants her dead. If you think I'll be the last to pursue her, you are gravely mistaken. I'm only the beginning and it will only end when she's dead."
And with one last laugh, the maid named Edith breathed her last.
All that could be heard were Ion's shuddering breaths as he watched Father Nightroad return to his human form and the sorrow-laden cry of the priest along with the metallic roar of the Crusnik combined.
†
Unseen by the priest and the nobleman, hiding in the shadows, was a woman garbed in a cloak blacker than the night over a pure white dress. During the fight with the technologically controlled maid, she could not stand by as the Dark Angel and the Boy of Fortune were forced to fight one another and dance as if puppets to the tune of that cursed advocate of the Angel of Death. Had the one possessing her been of the Shadow, she could have saved her. No, she chose to associate herself with the advocate, even if she was truly possessed, she still would have suffered the fate he placed upon her.
As the fight progressed, the puppeteer further tormented the Dark Angel and his companion. She knew if she didn't intervene those damnable creatures flowing through the Dark Angel's veins would have taken him over and would have forced him to do the unthinkable and thus, bring forth further suffering on his account.
She knew she should not, could not be seen. So to aid him, she had commanded the air particles to interfere the electrical current running through the technological twines thereby counteracting the current within the strings with her own force of electricity, thus forcing the threads to snap.
Then, when that monster in human skin took the life of the maid as a means to spite the Dark Angel, all she could do was repress the swelling rage within her to prevent herself from finding the advocate and curse him there on the spot. But that was not her calling and her power did not work in that regard. However, what had occurred afterwards had broken her heart once more, just like that day she had first awakened.
The Dark Angel was crying out in agony, as he held the body of the one he attempted to save, and the Boy of Fortune was standing there in guilt and regret, shedding his own tears. As she watched the priest shed tears of his own blood, she clenched her fingers over her heart, almost like she shared his grief and sorrow and crystalline tears began to fall from her hidden winter-lake colored eyes.
†
The Count of Memphis could only watch in sorrow and remorse as his companion cried. When the youth had rushed from the monitor room to confront the foe that had taken so much from him, his only thought was revenge. He hadn't given any consideration as to how he would defeat this enemy without causing the death of the young woman over whose body the priest now mourned. Worse yet, he had also attacked Father Nightroad under the direction of that foul being. Shouldering the blame, albeit well placed, for the fiasco in front of him would not alter what had happened, but Ion felt the weight of it nonetheless.
The vampire approached the hunched figure silently, unsure what words he could offer, if any, that would adequately address the situation.
"Go, Ion," the voice was a raspy imitation of his normal tone. "Go now."
"Father Nightroad, I-"
"Don't. Just leave. Leave now."
But the young nobleman was rooted to the spot. "No, Father, I should-"
"What you should have done-" responded the silver haired man, as he raised his head to deliver a cold stare to the boy. "-is stayed in with the Earl of Manchester where you belonged. Who would have protected Esther if this had been just a ruse to draw you away?"
"You needed-"
"I didn't need your sword in my back while-" The priest cut himself off. "Take yourself to Lord Walsh, now." The last words were tinged with metallic fury of the nanomachines that still clamored for control of the man, who stood before the Methuselah,
Ion knew better than to argue further. He moved swiftly past the tall figure of the AX agent before he became more than a man again.
†
To say the Queen of Albion was tense was something of an understatement.
Abel had been gone for too long. How long would it take to get a possessed maid back for questioning?
As that question rose up, many other doubts began to swim within her mind.
Was Abel hurt?
Was "Dietrich" torturing him?
Was Abel going to survive?
Was he forced to activate the Crusnik? If so, would he keep his sanity should he have been in use of it?
Once that question entered her mind, the memory of his violent resurrection came back.
The Dark Devil with his lurid eyes, cursing everything they saw. His body utterly blackened with alien-blue markings upon his skin like poisonous-blue rivers. His black feathered wings had become distorted, bladed wings. With those wings he soared out of the church like a bat out of hell, shattering the stained glass window in his wake, with a trail of darkness following behind him.
Did he blame her for what he was forced to become? After all, if she hadn't interfered, he would probably be dead and he would not have haunted her dreams every night. The world would probably be a safer place if it hadn't been for her foolish choice to follow him. And more importantly, Abel would not have spent two years seeking him out and attempting to fix the sin that she committed.
Almost immediately after these thoughts darted through her mind, the priest in question had returned, but not in the state he left.
His cassock was torn open near his heart, like he had been stabbed and rips around his shoulders like electric wires had cut into him. There were with faint bloodstains upon the fabric due to freshly-healed wounds. His silver hair fell in cascades behind his back and his glasses were nowhere in sight. In his arms was the maid he had been ordered to retrieve, except... she wasn't breathing and a knife was imbedded in her palm. What was more heartbreaking than seeing the girl dead, more grievous than seeing him wounded, was the look of utter raw guilt and sorrow upon his visage that was intensified by his winter-lake eyes.
"I couldn't save her..." was all he uttered.
†
He was a monster.
He had failed her again.
He had vowed to her he would never take a life nor allow anyone to die as an atonement for his sins.
Instead, the gruesome shooting that had occurred tonight right before his eyes had not led to him killing whoever had possessed the solider, nor had he succeeded in saving the maid who next had come under the spell. No, all he could do was watch as the girl die in his arms, almost at his own hands.
When Mary had demanded to know what had happened that resulted in Edith's demise, all he could do was rasp out whom he thought had killed her and that she needed a proper burial. Even though many disliked the late maid, the Colonel, the Head Maid and the handmaidens agreed that she deserved the honor of one who died in the Queen's service, along with those who had fallen in the previous battle.
Father Abel Nightroad sat among the statues of the royal garden, silent, unmoving and frozen, looking like one of their number. The lightly drifting snow accumulated on his shoulders and head, the same as theirs. He made no more move to brush it away than one of them would. The priest stared at the dry fountain in front of him and might have had cause to drawn a poetic analog between the barren condition of the empty pool and his own heart, but he did not see it at all.
In his mind was the vision of two red heads, the loves of his life, and he had failed them both so miserably. He had loved them both, he had lost them both and it was entirely his fault. Only somehow God in His Infinite Mercies had chosen not to let the stain of what he was take Esther from him. He was a cowardly, selfish creature to continue to be in her world. He would disappoint her one day yet again and that day the cost could be her life.
"But you promised her you would stay by her side."
He mentally sighed as the voice of his departed beloved seeped into his consciousness, her smiling visage totally understanding, an understanding he didn't deserve.
"I don't deserve her."
It was her turn to sigh. "She loves you. Would you hurt her by denying her love? Would you cause her to suffer as you do?"
"She doesn't know what I really am. She doesn't know what kind of monster she's given her heart to."
"Abel," she chided gently. "She's seen you, all of you, time and again. Yes, you frightened her at first, but she's accepted you time and time again, in Carthage, the Empire and she has accepted you here of all places, within the nation that created you. She's not afraid of you."
"She should be."
"It is your brother that she rightly fears. Will you leave her defenseless against his evil desires?"
That sparked something deep in his heart, the need to protect her, the instinct that demanded he defend her against such wickedness. He was being a self-absorbing, self-pitying fool, moping by himself, when his place was there at her side to shield her.
Father Nightroad stood and shook the silver, white flakes from his silver white strands and brushed the remainder from his shoulders, squaring them and straightening his posture. He pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose and strode purposefully toward the palace. This was not about him, this was about her. His self-loathing, an art form unto itself, would only hinder his mission to safeguard the Queen and his only true love.
†
He had done it this time.
He had never taken the life of a Terran before and believed he possessed the cleanest record in the Empire, until today.
No form of repentance could remove the crimson stain for he had committed an act most unnatural being that he was involved in a foul murder(4).
If he had thought his plan through, he would have never gone down there and interfered and stained his hands with the blood of a human.
If he was the intelligent being he prided himself in, she would not have died.
His desire for revenge against that damn puppeteer and his impetuousness had killed her.
To make matters worse, Father Nightroad had gone so far as to growl at him, something that has never happened in the course of time he had known the priest. Back when he was a bigoted fool and deserved it many a time, Father Nightroad hadn't even raised a hand at him.
That proved to him that he had really pushed the proverbial envelope beyond recognition.
Even more so, what would Esther think of him now that he had done the worst crime he could commit?
Would she turn away from him, cast him aside; even go so far as to banish him under pain of death?
It was nothing more than he deserved and Ion Fortuna felt that he deserved to be cast into that ancient realm of punishment and chained to the Wheel of Ixion(4).
"Excellency."
He dared to look up from the carpeted floors of the Cross Gallery in the Albian Palace and met peridot eyes.
"Father de Watteau."
The Count of Memphis had most often seen this blonde priest alone, standing by ready for attack. Sometimes, he had seen him with that handmaiden -Erica, whatever her name was. Seeing the man before him now had somewhat alerted the young Methuselah that if he was going to speak to him, it was of great importance.
"You seem troubled."
That he spoke to him was strange enough, commenting on his visage and his apparent distress was quite out of character.
"I find myself... regretting some of my recent choices, yes..."
"Regret is a common emotion."
Ion remembered when he had first met the Sword Dancer, appearing to be nothing more than a heaving knot of seaweed and scaring the living daylights out of him in the process. After meeting him, the ship they were on was attacked by vampire bandits intent on stealing smuggled explosives heading for the Empire and wringing out Esther and Abel's blood to sell on the black market. As he looked at Hugue's eyes, he recalled that even then their opaqueness as a Terran was rather unique. He had also learned that the priest had artificial limbs, especially after his leg was caught in their grip, and learned that his biological arms were taken by Methuselah like himself.
He had guessed from looking at the pale priest, then and especially now, that he had much to regret as well. Though it seemed odd to share with someone he hardly knew, the young Count had the feeling that this man would understand.
"I... had always believed myself higher than those common vampires. I always thought I possessed an untainted reputation and I prided myself on that... However today... everything I believe and everything I prided myself on has been thrown into confusion. I..."
"Taken a life?"
"Inadvertently, yes. I have sought vengeance against this... monster for over three years, but I thought I never could because I believed him dead. But now… when I first heard that he was alive and was here, all I could think about was my desire to see my blade split his skull. And... in doing so, I have not taken his life... but the life of someone who wasn't involved in my revenge and I damaged my ally to the point that I'm certain he would not forgive me or would anyone else should they hear of what occurred. I'm... lost."
Hugue wasn't one for small talk and went right to the point. "This is exactly why you should not pursue a path of revenge. The regret you feel now will only be the first of many regrets, each regret more painful and more personal than the last."
Father de Wattaeu's tone was that of a strict mentor to a pupil, teaching him a lesson that would enlighten on the darkest of subjects. "There are different types of vengeance. There's the vengeance that is fueled by fire, by blind passionate rage, the vengeance that drags not only your enemy into the depths of the abyss but those who aren't involved and even allies, including yourself. Then there's the vengeance that is fueled by ice, a cold, collected hatred that ascertains the fall of your enemy. The vengeance that causes your enemy's permanent slide towards his own destruction, but that kind of revenge comes with a price."
"What kind of price?" Ion queried.
"Your soul. 'Those who live by the sword die by the sword.' Once you take someone's life, no matter how bad they were, the time will come when you will be hunted. You must keep using your sword, even in self-defense, and so you commit more sins. Eventually, though, one day you'll be killed by another's blade... That is the way of the sword. I don't want anyone to suffer that fate and fall into that trap." As he finished the memory of that terrible, fateful day had returned from the depths of his consciousness. His home attacked by vampires, his entire family butchered before his eyes, his younger sister, swallowed in darkness ever since, and he, the young heir left for dead, both arms severed, as a stigma, from his being.
Hugue noted the irony that he had been giving his personal life lesson to a being which was the object of his hatred. Fortunately for the young Methuselah, Hugue had taken a liking to the youth, especially after he had saved him from those bloodsucking pirates. Furthermore, it seemed they both understood one another, seeing that when he first met the lad, Father de Wattaeu knew that they both held a similar regret. However the Imperial was more clean than he was; his hands not stained with the blood of countless lives, both guilty... and innocent, and that was what Hugue had admired in the Count.
It was then Ion Fortuna had interrupted his thoughts with his own muttering of a new regret. "I should have taken that woman's advice. I think she was warning me about something like this. And I didn't think about the consequences of not listening."
Hugue didn't know who Ion meant by "that woman" but he was not one to meddle in the affairs of others. "We can never know what could have been. All we can do is focus on what we can do to change the moment and our future.(6)"
"You're right. I need to quit brooding and speak with Esther and Father Nightroad." Ion pushed himself up off the ornate bench and left the darkness seated there behind him.
"That's a start, I wish you luck in your endevour."
Ion stared quizzedly at the priest for a moment and questioned; "I thought priests didn't believe in luck."
"How do think I've manged to stay alive this long?"
Ion smirked, before he made his departure. "Point taken," and then strove off to find those whose destinies were intertwined.
†
The Queen of Albion didn't feel very regal as she paced about her apartments, fretting about the unusual actions of the priest and the nobleman. That they were upset was obvious and they should be. Some mysterious force had overtaken a soldier and killed Horace Ethridge before they could get any useful information out of him. That same force had apparently murdered one of her household staff.
Fear plucked at her heart as to who might have been those attacks. He was dead; it couldn't be him. But that did not mean there was no one else that could do what he did. It was a technology, not an inherent talent. There could be more than person who could wield... couldn't there?
It didn't matter who she thought it was, it mattered who Abel thought it was because apparently Father Nightroad was devastated. She'd seen him hurting, like that time in Carthage when she...
She followed him to the restroom where the door was ajar and she heard his breath straining like painful intakes of air. It was dark in there, but she could make out the priest's frame. He hadn't seen her, but she knew there was something wrong, especially when she noticed the neck guard was undone. His hands were fisted at his sides and his face was covered in sweat. She noticed his eyes were glowing with a lurid light. A light that she had never seen in his characteristic winter blue depths that were normally filled with false hilarity and loneliness- they were filled with a dark hunger that was warring with a light of self-control. He was staring at this reflection in the mirror and commanded -apparently to himself- in a rasp
"No... Don't come out. You must all remain... Crusnik."
That was the first time Abel had uttered that word in her presence, as that memory came into in her mind, another memory that she had repressed for the longest time came into being...
She had asked him the meaning of his words, but then when he attempted to hide himself from her, he had inadvertantly unleashed the rage that she had repressed for so long.
"You really don't trust me, do you? It's true I took action without consulting anyone... and I am an outsider. I may seem like a burden."
Then his stupid expression and half-assed excuse poured gasoline on the sparking fire that she had held within her heart.
"SO?! Is it your job to shoulder all the troubles in the world and also to protect me?"
She was so caught in her anger that she didn't take note of the silver-haired priest's shocked image and how white his skin had become.
"Father Tres told me... that I should ask you directly, but... you still won't tell me anything, Father! You dodge my questions. You've saved me, you've protected me... but I still don't know who- or what- you are!"
She felt the need to cry, but her ire kept the tears at bay as she grasped his cassock and shook him yelling, "Why? Do I not have the right to know? The necessary 'Level of Clearance?' Have... Have you ever thought about how it feels... to have your protector hide his true self from you?!"
Then Abel's eyes cast down, like he had seen over a millenia of sorrow and, knowing that he could not answer her and could not give a reason, because there was none to give that could satisfy her. All she could think about then was that she was in shock at her heated lash of words, not knowing the damage she had done to him.
At that reminiscence, she saw within her mind's eye the being that had haunted her dreams that night.
A black-winged berserk being had descended from a sky stained with fire and blood. Its silver hair formed a diadem upon its brow. Torn, black scraps of cloth were its robes, tinted blue, muscular skin had revealed itself through the tears. In its taloned clutch was a deformed blood-red scythe. It came closer to where she clutched the unconscious Methuselah aristocrat in her arms, as it came closer, all she could do was stare in fear at the monster before her. Her mind screaming that this... demon was not,
could not be her gentle, Father Nightroad. However, another part of her, in that moment had told her that this was what she had wanted to know and now she was reaping what she had sown. As it raised its claw towards Ion, all she could do was scream.
"NOOO! MONSTER!"
It was then she saw widened recognition in those crimson, blood-stained eyes.
"No... Please don't."
"Esther... it's alright..." the being rasped, as it came closer, a talon, a hairbreadth away attempting to wipe away her tears.
"Keep away from us! KEEP AWAY!" she shrieked in complete terror
"Esther..."
The creature's scythe was cast away as it looked upon its distorted, deformed claws in acknowledgement of the great sins that it had committed.
"God forgive me... FORGIVE ME!"
All she could do was stare in shock at his howl of bereavement she heard within the depths of the immortal before her, the sorrow-laden cry of Abel Nightroad.
The knowledge that she had done the unthinkable to the one that had sworn to protect her had hurt her more than any pain that she endured over the seventeen years of her life. Even now, two years later, she still bore the scars of what she had done. However, that very evening, within the Medical Room of the Iron Maiden II, reminded her of another time when he had been hurt, not by her words, but by what he had forced her to endure at the sight of what he could become.
She was in the medical room of the Vatican battleship, her mind's eye flashing images of that sight of Father Nightroad in that terrible form. He had heard him from the depths of that creature, but what firghtened her more was his reaction to her antipon. Would he remind her about what she said at the inn and scare her again? Would he slap her again after she had failed him? After seeing this dark side of her beloved priest, would he continously show that form to her? After hearing his soft voice, she hid herself from him with unadulterated fright, saying that he might not see her again and he hoped that his message would reach her in her feigned sleep.
"About today, I repent of putting you in that situation. You were afraid, weren't you? Of course you were afraid. I'm afraid of myself. Did you know that? But I think it was more frightening for you."
"What do you mean by that?" Esther asked him in the depths of her consciousness.
Abel, who had once looked so intoxicated by the destruction, had admitted to being afraid of himself? Esther hadn't known in that moment she was listening attentively to the priest's confession.
In that moment the raw emotions of agony, despair and sorrow had broken through his mask of the unreliable, people-loving priest. His voice was laced with pain almost like he was vomiting blood.
"I am sorry, Miss Esther, so sorry that you had to see that. What you saw, that was the mark… the mark of my sins..."
Abel clammed up for a little while. Then he confessed: "Now you know the secret I was keeping. When I become that... I can no longer hold myself... No, I can no longer hold
them back. That is why... If possible... I wanted to protect you from that. So that you would not be afraid of me."
Esther raised her head as she heard a sorrowful smile in his voice. "Yes. If possible. I would have liked for you not to have seen that. I'm running out of time. But... please believe this. I... wanted to be on your side. You... and... Ion... I wanted to protect you no matter what. That is the truth..."
Abel left and Esther could not bring herself to move.
For the rest of her life, she'd always remember the look on his face at that moment. She'd called him a monster and then told her he was still on her side after all that time. He confessed he was afraid of himself.
It was then that Esther realized that Abel was very, very much alone.
A hundred recites of Mea Culpas(7) and Confetearos(8) would never had been enough for what she had done to him. That night she set out to make right her wrongs and even though he might not have forgiven her, she would do everything in her power to be his friend, Crusnik or no.
However, even though two days ago she had confessed her love for him and he had returned her love, he was still reluctant to abandon his habits of bearing everyone's pains and sorrows. She had known he was like that and that's why she loved him, but she had never seen him like this.
His glasses left behind and his silver white was unrestrained and flowing around his swirling robes. But that had only been when she'd seen him last and that hadn't been since before dinner today.
And she had never known him to miss a meal. Something was very seriously wrong.
Why did he do that to himself? To both of them?
But she had no further time to contemplate her issues with the priest. For she had felt that someone's eyes were currently upon her.
She walked over to her vanity drawer set, took off her necklace, making an appearance of putting away her jewelry and pulled out her Craft of Albian Works Peacekeeper revolver and then discovered who had been watching her from the shadows.
A/N: DUN-da-dun-dun. DUN-da-dun-dun-DUN! (Cue maniacal laughter.) The Sith Lady came back... and left you all a cliffy once again! (Evil laugh) I got behind in my planned update, Sorry about that. But at least you all got some Crusnik action and some blood to slate your thirst. But, hey, I least I finally got an update for the new year... and on... the Ides of March! :O The day that Julius Caesar met his demise. And a day before Da-da-da-DA MegaCon! (WHOO-HOO!) At least I finally finished my Vocaloid MAGNET cosplay that had been also putting me behind schedule too, but hey, at least its done. And speaking of cosplay... I'm now friends with Sheila and Sylar of Aicosu on FB! (Squee!) If you want a link to their DA here it is: aicosu. deviantart (remove the spaces, FF is stupid picky about that. :P)
Anyway, now that ramblings are done, I have some questions to ask you as the audience:
1. Was there anytime that I was OOC with my characters? If so, let me know and give me some advice about better ways of counteracting this.
2. Is the involement of my OC balanced with the interactions of the other characters, so much so she doesn't take up the whole plotline?
3. How are you enjoying the story?
Please reply to these questions in a review, I'll take CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, but NOT flames. Anyway, I hope you all have a blessed day 3.
() Indirect quote from Luke 12: 2-3 the original verse is "...There is nothing covered that shall not be revealed; neither hid, that shall not be known. Therefore whatsoever ye have spoken in the darkness hall heard in the light; and that which ye have spoken in the ear in closets shall be proclaimed upon the housetops."
(1) Quoted from Odes, by the poet Horace (ironically enough ;) ) the translation from Latin means "we are dust and shadows."
(2) Cherubim are said to be the second highest angels in the Heavenly hierarchy, Seraphim are said to be the highest. Note: this is a Trinity Blood Rage Against the Moons: Judgement Day reference, to any who have read the novels ;).
(3) Inspired from Smcandy's fanfiction "Trinity Blood: War Continuum." I had to add a homage to her work within my fanfiction.
(4) Indirect quote to William Shakespeare's Hamlet Act I Scene V.
(5) Referenced to Grecian Myth of King Ixion who had committed the first murder and went so far as to attempt to seduce Hera, the Queen of the gods and wife of Zues, god of Thunder and King of the gods. Zeus, in retribution, then had Ixion chained to a ceaseless spinning wheel in Tartarus, as punishment. Compared to Sisyphus and Tantalus, Ixion's punishment was the worst the gods could grant.
(6) Indirect quote to C.S. Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia (That book series is my #1 Christian fiction and made many a report off of those books ;). )
(7) The literal translation from this Latin phrase is "my fault." It's also a phrase that is used in the prayer of the same name as a confession of one's sins and how one confesses their guilt to their sin. (If you recall in the Disney edition of Hunchback of Notre Dame, in the song "Hellfire," Judge Claude Frollo's conscious took on the form of condemning judges and chanted "Mea Culpa" during the bridge... That song is SCARY! :O)
(8) The literal translation of this Latin phrase, obviously means, "confession." Like with "Mea Culpa" it is a prayer of confession for one's sins.
Mysteriously Yours,
ObsidianEmpress