Chapter 5: There's No Place to Hide
Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica Schwarz, Volker Maynard the vampire, and the plot that isn't from the movie is mine.
Author's Notes: Thanks for all the reviews! They're really encouraging! Here's what you've all been waiting for: the fight between Kroenen and Volker! Since everyone was looking forward to it, I expanded upon the original half page it took up, and now it's three pages long. A note to my readers: do not, I repeat, do not attempt a re-enactment of the fight scene in here! I'm not sure where you would get a vampire from, but I'm sure some of you have your ways! Ahem, now that I got that out of my system… Ilsa will show up towards the end and get into a little argument with Kroenen. As expected, this chapter has some mild language and violence. Here are the German to English translations: 'Ja' is yes, and 'Nein' is no.
amyltrer Hey! Exactly who's side are you on here? Just kidding, between Volker and Kroenen, I guess it would be hard to choose! I hope you like the fight scene—I re-wrote it since you wanted something a bit spectacular!
iluvrocknroll: Thanks for the review! As for Kroenen's study, I think visiting would be cool, but I'd hate to think what would happen if anyone stayed longer than that and he found them there—! Eeek!
The Common Wind Deity: In response to your question, the flashback to Kroenen and Ilsa in Volker's castle happened before all the other chapters, but the beginning of chapter four took place after Volker's run in with Erica and Hellboy. So everything is in order, Kroenen was just remembering meeting Volker. Sorry for the confusion!
Gestalt: Yup, more Kroenen. And you gotta love his obsession! More on Volker in this chapter.
CicadaS: Thanks for the review! A bit more Kroenen angst in here. Hope you didn't starve while waiting for this chapter!
musicamode: Glad you liked the chapter! Here's more Kroenen and Ilsa for you!
"There are people I know who won't hurt me. I call them corpses."—Randy K. Milholland
"Trust thyself only, and another shall not betray thee."—Thomas Fuller
October, Present Day
A Castle in Norway
Night
Kroenen shook himself to bring himself back to reality, his sudden movement shattering his memory of his meeting with Volker. The clockwork assassin glanced around his study. Yes, I will have my revenge soon. Either Volker will bring Erica to me, or Grigory will surely go after her once we bring him back.
And Grigory would be back very soon. The books from Volker's library had been invaluable in helping him and Ilsa finish their research. Those books made up most of the current mess in his study, some of them were still open and had sheets of paper lying beside them, each covered in notes written in Kroenen's spidery, elegant handwriting. The notes spelled out every detail about how to resurrect Grigory. In fact, in a day or so he and Ilsa would be leaving for Birgau Pass, Moldavia.
Hopefully everything will go as planned and Volker will bring Erica to us before we leave, Kroenen thought. That way I can remove one of the main obstacles to our successful release of the Ogdru Jahad. As for the obstacles Erica presented, fortunately the Ogdru Jahad had intervened as far as Erica's visions were concerned—they had been preventing her from using her abilities to pry into what Kroenen and Ilsa were doing. Which meant she would have no idea he had sent Volker to bring her back to him.
Kroenen felt a surge of self satisfaction at that thought. Once Volker delivered Erica to him he would no longer have to merely entertain daydreams about torturing and killing her—and though those thoughts were a little satisfying, they only added fuel to his burning desire for vengeance. And he wanted revenge almost more than anything else. The desire for it was like a fire blazing inside him. His hate and anger had been growing inside him for the past six decades. He would avenge her treachery. And the loss of my left hand, he thought, Which she is entirely responsible for.
He glanced at the Nazi and Thule Society flag hanging from the bookshelf. The red dragon's wings were spread wide open against the black cloth, a swastika gripped in its claws as the dragon roared. The flag reminded him of the flags that had hung from the ruins of Trondham Abbey, the cloth drenched by the rain as explosions had lit up the night—the flags flying and flapping in the gale force wind as the Allied Soldiers and Nazis locked in a battle that would decide the fate of the world—Images flashed and sounds echoed through Kroenen's mind like ghosts and phantoms as he remembered that terrible night…
BANG!
The sound of the gunshot rang through the air.
Kroenen felt the impact and a tearing sensation as a bullet ripped into his back. Unconcerned, he whirled around, the blades on his wrists raised to strike down his opponent. But instead of an Allied soldier he saw Erica aiming her handgun at him. He paused and his gaze traveled from the anguish on her face to her outstretched arm, still aiming the handgun in his direction. He stared at Erica in confusion and disbelief—
—Erica plunged her blade into his left forearm. The blade went straight through his arm and pinned his wrist to the wall.
"You may kill me, but you'll never forget me!" she yelled.
The words were barely out of her mouth before Kroenen's fingers closed on her right wrist so tightly that she cried out in pain. He yanked her hand away from him so the blade slid out of his arm. He twisted her arm and threw her to the ground. Erica's face crashed into the cold cobblestones. She started to push herself up from the ground—
—He crushed her exhausted body against the stone wall. She struggled weakly, straining to escape despite the fact that he had trapped her against the wall.
"No second chances this time," Kroenen hissed, "Now you will pay for your treachery!"
He saw her grey eyes go wide with horror as his blade rushed at her heart. A moment later she was screaming in agony as he violently thrust the blade into her left shoulder—
—Kroenen lunged for the grenade, his fingers reaching as far as they would go, groping and trying to grasp the grenade with his left hand. But his damaged wrist wasn't working properly anymore, and bones were grinding on bones and making it hard to move. He reached too far and the spinning ring on the portal generator shredded the cuff of his trench coat as he reached for the grenade. He desperately tried to wriggle closer to the grenade without having his hand ripped off. Precious seconds had already been wasted.
"KARL!" Erica yelled, her voice cracking as she cried out.
Kroenen turned his masked face towards her. Karl? He thought, She's never called me that before. Never. He gazed at her broken body lying in the mud at the base of the stone wall. Her clothes were stained red where blood was trickling down from the wound in her shoulder. Her face was pale and the "T" he had cut into her cheek was slowly oozing blood.
"Checkmate!" Erica shouted weakly, her hoarse voice ringing out. She smiled sadly. "Finally, you lose!"
And then the grenade exploded!
There was a blinding flash of light and a hellish blast of heat accompanied by a deafening boom as the crystal inside the generator shattered, adding even more strength to the explosion. The next thing Kroenen knew he was flung through the air, propelled by the force of the explosion. Kroenen screamed, his limbs thrashing like a spider picked up by one leg—his flight ended abruptly as he felt his back smash into a stone column with bone breaking force. He bounced off of the column and then stumbled backwards and crashed into it again. He stood there for a moment, trying to orient himself. His head felt like it was spinning, he had no idea which way was up—
"Uunhuff." Kroenen moaned.
A long piece of shrapnel pierced him through the stomach. He felt the sickening sensation of metal tearing through his flesh and organs, and then a small 'explosion' inside him as several of his vertebrae were crushed. The piece of shrapnel went out through his back and into the stone column, pinning him there like a spider in an insect collection. His left hand felt strangely numb and he looked down. The explosion had finished what Erica had started when she had stabbed him in the arm—his hand was irreparably destroyed—
The memory ended abruptly. And that brought him back to the present and his work on his left hand.
Kroenen's lidless blue eyes flicked down to the back of his left wrist, critically examining the stump of his arm where six decades ago he had cut off the shredded remains of his hand. He had since rebuilt his entire hand and wrist, relying on his skills with clockwork and black magic to construct something that would perform to his high standards. The end of his wrist was covered by a metal bracket that his mechanical hand fitted into. Below the metal bracket an expanse of pale white scarred flesh covered his arm. But it was one scar in particular that held his gaze: a set of initials that read E.S.. Kroenen's expression hardened and anger writhed inside him. E.S.—Erica Schwarz. Damn her! He thought fiercely, remembering how he had gouged her initials into his wrist as a reminder of the traitor he was going to kill.
Kroenen gritted his teeth to suppress his anger. He tore his gaze away. I'll have my revenge, he assured himself. He grasped his mechanical hand firmly and pushed it into the metal bracket on his left wrist. There was a satisfying metallic click as the two pieces connected. He let go of the mechanical hand and experimentally rolled his wrist and flexed his fingers, trying out the new adjustments he had made. Pleased with his work, he pulled a black glove over the shining metal hand. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and noted that Volker was three hours late.
Where is that vampire? He thought. Kroenen hated it when people were late. What's more, he didn't have much faith in the creature. Ah well, if he displeases me, I can always inflict something…unpleasant on him, he thought, pausing a moment to listen for any unusual noises in the castle that might herald the vampire's arrival.
The room was silent except for the crackling fire and the ticking of clocks. There was no sound of footsteps in the hall or on the stone stairs, no sound of the massive doors of the castle being opened.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock…Kroenen's mechanical heart was heard clearly in the silence.
He began putting his tools away in his desk and then paused as he sensed something about the castle change, as if it had suddenly gotten much colder. But there was no sound of a door or window opening to let in a draft…He cocked his head to the side and listened. As he realized what it was the scar tissue around his exposed teeth twisted into a vague shadow of a grim smile. Kroenen glanced at a nearby clock. And now he's more than three hours late, he thought.
Even as the thought crossed his mind the terrible stench of burned flesh wafted into the study, growing in sickening intensity by the second as the vampire got closer.
Apparently Volker met with some resistance, Kroenen thought, Erica must have put up a good fight. A pity I wasn't there to watch. I would have liked to see how close it was. He smiled almost proudly, but then he frowned in displeasure, sensing that the castle was too silent for Volker to have brought Erica back with him. Apparently she won the fight, he thought furiously, Why must I always FAIL where she is concerned!
In a sudden outward explosion of anger, he clenched his mechanical hand into a fist and struck the top of his desk. The small gears lying on top vibrated from the impact. The blow left the impression of a fist dented into the wood, but in his anger Kroenen chose to ignore it. He gritted his teeth to keep himself from screaming in rage and slowly brought himself under a semblance of control. He could feel a dark, burning fury seething and squirming violently inside him.
Volker, I dare you to come up here and face me, Kroenen thought as he began to wind up his mechanical heart, I dare you to come up here without her.
Almost as if on cue, Kroenen heard the rustle of a cape dragging over the threshold of his study. He didn't bother to turn around or stand up. The clockwork assassin had nothing to fear from a vampire: his blood had dried up into dust, and a vampire was unlikely to inflict any lasting damage on him.
"You're late." Kroenen announced simply, speaking over his shoulder to the vampire as the creature slunk into the room.
Volker remained silent, but Kroenen knew he was there: the reeking smell of burned skin would have been overpowering for anyone but himself.
"I thought I told you to bring her back with you." Kroenen said, forcing his voice to remain calm and level.
"I tried—I vas so close, but ve vere…interrupted." Volker said.
Kroenen turned to face the vampire lurking in the shadows beside the doorway. Volker's black frockcoat, hair, cloak, pants, and boots meant that he blended in well with the darkness, but Kroenen was still able to see him clearly. The assassin's detail obsessed eyes flicked over the vampire's pallid skin, studying the two huge cross shaped burns on the left side of the creature's face. The vampire reached up to tuck a few loose strands of his long black hair behind his ear, and the cuff of his frock coat slipped a little, revealing a third cross shaped burn on his left wrist. All of the burns were black in the center and surrounded by fiery red blistered flesh that was weeping fluids. Volker's face was impassive, but an expression of pain glinted in the vampire's electric blue eyes.
Obviously he did something to Erica to make her fight back so violently. And I doubt that 'something' was within the rules of our agreement, Kroenen thought grimly.
"I also thought I told you not to touch her." Kroenen said sternly.
"Touch her?" Volker asked, feigning innocence, "Of course I had to. How else did you expect me to capture her—?"
"You know what I mean," Kroenen said harshly, "I told you not to harm her and that included biting her to kill her."
Volker was silent, astonishment plastered across his ashen face. "How—?"
"People are extremely predictable," Kroenen replied curtly, "And no one knows that better than assassins. Now, considering the burns are on your face, it implies that she was trying to prevent you from biting her."
"Don't vorry, she's completely unharmed." Volker quickly assured him.
"Despite all your best efforts, I'm sure." Kroenen replied dryly, a hint of anger in his voice. "And don't try to change the subject. It's obvious you tried to kill her, unless those burns on your face are some form of vampire tattoo."
Volker's pale fingers strayed up to the burns, his hand shaking with pain and anger as they trailed over his wounds. "She did this. The Angel of Death? Hmf, the Bloody Angel vould be more fitting. And I say that from personal experience." the vampire said bitterly.
"Oh, ja, I know. No one knows my Angel better than me," Kroenen said confidently, "Though I prefer to call her The Angel of Death. There is a reason I called her that, but I see I don't have to explain that to you. You shouldn't have underestimated her, she was my student. But I see you discovered for yourself just how capable of defending herself she is."
"Yes. Quite." the vampire snarled.
Kroenen turned his back to Volker and picked up some of his tools and put them neatly inside one of the desk drawers. Filled with frustration, he pushed a little too hard on the drawer and it slammed shut. He mentally berated himself for his outward display of emotion, which only irritated him even more. Volker's failure was both immensely frustrating and strangely, a source of pride: Kroenen was frustrated that his revenge had been delayed, but he was also proud that Erica had managed to win the fight with Volker. Her fighting skills were a tribute to him, since he had been her teacher. At least she's an opponent worthy of the title of my enemy. I'll get my revenge eventually. For the moment I'll satisfy myself with revenge on someone more readily available, he thought as he picked up the last of his tools and opened another desk drawer—
"I don't know vhy you vould vant her alive anyvay," the vampire muttered under his breath.
Unfortunately for Volker, Kroenen heard him. Instead of responding he clenched his gloved hand around the edge of the desk drawer as he struggled to maintain his self control. Not that it really matters if I don't, since I wasn't exactly planning on doing so, he thought.
"If I had wanted her murdered don't you think I would have gone in person instead of sending you?" Kroenen grated out, speaking over his shoulder, "Volker, tell me, were my instructions not clear enough for you? I thought that telling you to bring her back unharmed was a fairly simple and clear instruction, and still you managed to fail me."
"I could go back." Volker quickly suggested. It seemed he was finally catching on that Kroenen was not in a good mood.
"Nein, nein, it's too late for that. There was only one chance—she knows we're after her now. Which is why my last instruction was so important. Do you remember was it was?" Kroenen asked. He released his death grip on his desk drawer and ignored the dents his fingers had put in the wood. He put the last of his tools inside and then slowly, almost idly began sorting though the things in the drawer. In his seething anger his fingers bumped into objects in the drawer, knocking over several glass vials filled with chemicals and various fluids. His fingers inched closer to the back of the drawer and the rag that hid the weapon he was seeking: a sharpened wooden stake.
There was silence as the vampire thought over Kroenen's words. "Nein." he finally answered.
"I thought not," Kroenen said, his simple words thick with a foreboding finality. In the drawer his fingers brushed past the rag and triumphantly curled around the stake. It was a weapon he didn't normally use, but he knew the baton swords strapped to his legs would do little damage to the vampire. "Shall I refresh your memory for you? I told you not to come to Norway without her. So exactly why are you here?" Kroenen asked, an edge in his voice.
"Vhere else vas I supposed to go? By now she and her friends are probably back in America. And I thought you might like to know vhat had happened. Besides that, I think you owe me something for my injuries." Volker said, glowering.
"Do you now?" Kroenen asked, his voice dangerously polite, "Oh, have no fear, you will certainly be rewarded for your services. However, your performance has been…much less than satisfactory. And you shall be rewarded accordingly." Kroenen savored the moment and then grasped the wooden stake, bracing himself to attack.
"You will be rewarded with DEATH!" Kroenen snarled as he whirled around and thrust the wooden stake at Volker's heart—
Kroenen saw Volker's electric blue eyes widen in shock. To the assassin's disappointment, the vampire just barely reached out in time to save himself. Volker's pale hands wrapped around the wooden stake, his claw-like nails digging into the wood as he pushed the weapon toward Kroenen to prevent the assassin from driving the stake into his chest. For a moment they stood there, each of them straining to push the stake towards the other, Kroenen pitting his combination of clockwork, science, and black magic against the vampire's supernatural strength.
With a sudden burst of strength, Volker twisted the stake to the side and flung Kroenen into the wall. Kroenen's body slammed into the stone wall with bone jarring force. The impact heavily dented the side of his mask, but he still managed to hold onto the stake. With practiced ease he quickly regained his balance and used his momentum to bodily throw Volker to the ground. The vampire landed on his back—Kroenen stood over him, bearing down on the stake with all of his strength and weight. Slowly, ever so slowly, the point inched closer to the vampire's chest. Volker pushed back, holding on with both hands, his desperation shining clear in his eyes. Kroenen pushed down harder—all of a sudden, Volker let go of the stake with one hand, and still holding onto it with his left, he drew a long knife from his belt. Before Kroenen could react, the vampire's arm darted towards Kroenen's leg like a striking snake—and the knife blade sank into the taught muscles on the outside of his left thigh. Weakened, Kroenen's left leg shook and quivered unsteadily as the metal he had improved his muscles with slowly began to compensate for the injury—Volker seized his opportunity: he snatched the wooden stake from Kroenen's grasp and then rolled out from under him. Volker quickly scrambled to his feet, smiled smugly, and threw the wooden stake at the roaring flames in the fireplace.
Kroenen watched the wooden stake arc towards the fire, knowing it was next to impossible that it would actually land among the flames. He bent down and tugged on the hilt of the knife embedded in his thigh—The stake hit the mantelpiece and fell to the floor with a clatter, out of reach of the flames. The vampire's triumphant expression vanished instantly. He glanced towards Kroenen, and with a look of resolute determination on his pallid face, Volker reached into the sleeves of his black frockcoat—
Kroenen yanked Volker's knife out of his leg. A small stream of white sand trickled from the wound, but the clockwork assassin wasn't concerned. Compared to what he was used to, the wound was barely a scratch. Kroenen heard the distant metallic sound of blades being drawn from their sheaths and looked up to see Volker pull two long, thin knives from inside his sleeves: poniards.
The vampire attacked, his eyes burning with rage. Volker's poniards flashed in the light as they darted towards Kroenen's throat in a maneuver that resembled a pair of scissors—Kroenen ducked under the blades and heard the air sing as the poniards whistled over the top of his head, one blade crossing the other in a way that would have beheaded him had he not moved. The assassin quickly stepped to the side and grabbed the vampire's wrists with his left hand as Volker tried to uncross his blades—crushing Volker's wrists in his mechanical hand, Kroenen pushed the vampire backwards into the side of a shelf of books—the assassin raised his right arm and stabbed Volker through the shoulder with the vampire's own knife, effectively pinning Volker to the bookcase. Volker screamed in pain and rage as Kroenen backed away and watched the vampire struggle to free himself. How fortunate that I bolted all of my book shelves to the walls, Kroenen thought.
Volker finally dropped one of his poniards and yanked on the dagger pinning him to the bookshelf. And that's my cue, Kroenen thought as he pulled out his baton swords with a flourish and ran towards the vampire.
Volker pulled the knife out of his shoulder just in time to leap out of the way of Kroenen's attack. The vampire snarled and threw the knife at Kroenen. It whizzed through the air in a blur of light—and sank into Kroenen's chest. Kroenen glanced down at it, unconcerned. He idly pulled out the knife and tossed it in the direction of the doorway as Volker took the opportunity to retrieve the poniard he had dropped—and stood up in the nick of time to block Kroenen's baton swords.
Their battle became a never ending series of equally matched lightening quick attacks and ferocious defenses as they made their way around the room, finally ending up in front of the fireplace. Kroenen struck out at Volker, twisting his baton sword as it made contact with the poniard in Volker's left hand. As a result the poniard went flying over Kroenen's head and landed on the floor behind him. The vampire's shock at being partially disarmed was displayed clearly on his face—before Volker could recover, Kroenen whipped his other baton sword towards his opponent. The sword went through the vampire's wrist, pinning the hand still holding a poniard to the mantelpiece. The assassin stabbed his other sword towards Volker's stomach, impaling him. The vampire grimaced, and then relaxed and turned his electric blue eyes to face Kroenen.
"Between you and Erica, that's the third time in about a veek I've been impaled on these swords," Volker said, a sardonic smile on his face, "You know, this could take hours. So, I vas vondering, are ve going to continue fighting into eternity?"
"Nein! I'm going to kill you!" Kroenen spat.
"I think not!"
And with that Volker tore his wrist free of the blade pinning it to the mantelpiece and seized Kroenen's wrists in a grip like iron, forcing Kroenen to drop his baton swords. The vampire pulled him in close and Kroenen could see the vampire's eyes burning with insanity—suddenly the world spun as Volker pulled on Kroenen's wrists and flung him into the fireplace. Kroenen shrieked and tried to twist away from the flames. It was to no avail. He crashed into the pile of burning logs. His head hit the back of the fireplace and the impact cracked one of the thick glass eyes of his metal mask. Thick smoke blinded him and glowing red hot embers snapped as he turned and thrashed, trying to escape the terrible heat. He finally managed to roll out of the fireplace. He flopped onto the floor and lay there in a heap. The smoldering embers he had kicked out of the fire lay scattered around him on the floor, each one smoking and slowly dying. He lay there for a moment, breathing heavily as the heat from the fire dissipated from his body and went into the cold stone floor. Kroenen briefly considered how fortunate he was that his clothing was made of a material that was mostly fireproof. Then the assassin got onto his knees and started to push himself to his feet—
"Hmm. I guess I vould have been asking for too much if I had expected that to kill you." Volker said.
Kroenen looked up and saw Volker standing near the doorway, holding both of his poniards. Obviously he had retrieved his other one while Kroenen had been otherwise occupied in the fireplace.
"Ja. It would have been," Kroenen replied, his voice hoarse, "You can't kill me—I'm not alive enough to die."
"A pity. But this is vhere I leave you." Volker started for the doorway.
An insane laugh bubbled up inside Kroenen and escaped from his lipless mouth. Volker stopped in the doorway and turned around to stare at him.
And that was when Kroenen reached out and hit the lever that was disguised as a part of the decorative molding on the mantelpiece.
Instantly, a row of needle sharp, stainless steel spikes shot down from the lintel of the doorway and fell straight towards Volker. It was only the vampire's unnatural speed that allowed him to move: Volker tried to get out from under the falling spikes, but he tripped over the knife lying on the floor—the same knife that Kroenen had pulled out of his chest. The vampire fell and landed on his back. He dropped his poniards and they skittered across the floor out of his reach. And before he could move again, it was too late.
The spikes came crashing down on top of him—and went right through his torso!
There was a horrible crunching sound of ribs snapping accompanied by Volker's shriek, and then the sound of metal grating on stone as the spikes came out through the vampire's back and sank into the stone floor. Impaled on the spikes, Volker lay there for a moment. Kroenen could tell that the vampire was unharmed—he was just trapped. Which was exactly how he wanted him.
Kroenen stood up and picked up his baton swords. He put them back in their sheaths and then retrieved the wooden stake from the floor next to the fireplace. And then he started walking towards Volker. There wasn't any hurry, Kroenen knew the vampire couldn't escape. Kroenen saw the vampire's eyes flick from him to the wooden stake he was holding in his hand—and then he saw Volker panic. The vampire struggled, pulling at the metal spikes that were pinning him to the floor. Kroenen walked closer. Volker desperately tried to reach his poniards, which were now laying outside in the hall. He stretched and clawed, but it was useless. The weapons were several inches out of his reach.
"Your efforts are futile, Volker." Kroenen said in an even voice, "And you know it."
By now he was standing over the vampire. Volker was shaking. Suddenly the vampire's eyes lit up—his arm snaked out and snatched up the knife he had tripped over—and plunged the blade into Kroenen's calf muscle. Kroenen winced a little but ignored the wound. He leaned down over Volker.
"You know, you were right. This is where you'll be leaving me." Kroenen said.
The clockwork assassin drew back his arm, preparing to strike the killing blow—The vampire's eyes widened with horror—
And then Kroenen stabbed him straight through the heart.
"AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrgggggggggggggggggghhhhh!" Volker's ear-splitting shriek echoed off the stone walls of the castle, making the air ring.
The vampire's electric blue eyes rolled in his head as he clawed at the stake impaling him, desperately trying to pull it from his body. Kroenen simply shoved harder on the stake, driving it deeper into Volker's heart—Volker thrashed and flailed violently, but Kroenen ignored the rain of blows even as the pain maddened vampire's long nails scrabbled against the floor, leaving long scratches in the stone mere centimeters from Kroenen's boots.
A guttural gasp escaped Volker's throat and his electric blue eyes stared out of his head as his back arched and he suddenly went into convulsions. The vampire's nails tore at the stake embedded in his body and his tortured screams grew louder and more intense as his body began to dissolve into ash. Feeling satisfied, Kroenen finally released his grip on the stake and stood up to watch the dying vampire. Volker's last dying shriek hung in the air as Kroenen calmly watched the distorted remains of the vampire's body disintegrate. A moment later there was only a thin scattering of dust on the stone floor with a wooden stake and a few metal spikes lying in its center. For once the clockwork assassin's skull-like grin actually expressed how he felt: supreme satisfaction. But his triumph slowly faded as he realized the reality of the situation: He had failed. Again.
Damn it! Kroenen thought, slamming his fist into the doorframe in his frustration. Erica was almost in our grasp! I practically gift-wrapped the whole situation for that vampire, and he still failed to bring her back! By now she'll be back in America and she'll be too far away for me to kill her before Ilsa and I leave for Moldavia!
He glared at the pile of ashes lying on the floor just inside the doorway.
"Why is competent help so hard to find?" Kroenen asked of the empty room, voicing his deep frustrations aloud.
Kroenen reached down and pulled the knife out of his calf muscle. I'll have to start stitching my wounds closed, he thought. That was when he glanced at the flames in the fireplace and noticed that a huge crack in one of the glass eyes of his mask was distorting his view of the room. He instinctively put a hand up to his mask and felt the surface to assess the damage. His gloved fingers slid over the metal and into the large dents from the vampire's attacks. Kroenen swore vehemently and kicked angrily at the pile of Volker's ashes, scattering them across the floor and out into the hallway.
Cursingintensely at the inconvenience, Kroenen dropped the vampire's knife on his desk and then sat down and fumbled with the leather straps and the two buckles that held his mask on. This was so much easier when Erica was there to help you, wasn't it? a little voice said in the back of his mind. Kroenen mentally squished it into oblivion as he took his damaged mask off and set it on the desk. He reached for one of the other masks on his desk, wincing as the dry, bookish air of his study hit his exposed gums and lidless eyes. I almost wish I still had eyelids so I could blink, he thought. He slid the mask on and began buckling the straps with a practiced, if slightly awkward, gesture. He finished strapping the mask on just as he heard a pair of jackboots tapping sharply against the stone floor, heading towards him. He looked up and turned toward the doorway, waiting expectantly. A moment later a slender, beautiful woman with short blonde hair appeared in the doorway. She was dressed head to toe in black and was carrying a sledgehammer in a very business-like fashion. She looked exactly like the other woman in the black and white photograph of The Three on Kroenen's desk, and for good reason. She was Ilsa Haupstien, and like Erica, Grigory had given her the gift of immortality and eternal youth on October 9, 1944.
Ilsa's cold, piercing blue eyes glanced down at the wooden stake lying among the scattering of ashes and dust on the floor. Then she looked at the row of metal spikes embedded in the stone floor in the middle of the doorway. Her lips curled into a mock expression of disgust. "Why don't you ever clean up after yourself, Karl?" she asked.
Kroenen ignored Ilsa's jab at his obsessive compulsive tendencies, though he did glance at the room around him long enough to realize what a mess it was. He really did need to clean up. But that could wait for later. Kroenen turned away from Ilsa and got out the tools he needed to fix the damage Volker had done to his mask.
Ilsa leaned against the doorframe and wrinkled her nose, this time in an expression of real disgust. "Why does it smell like burned flesh in here?" she asked calmly. She shot a sideways glance at the top of Kroenen's desk. "You haven't been cutting yourself up again and cauterizing the wounds, have you? It would be such a pity to have missed the show."
"No, I haven't been 'cutting myself up again'. I was dealing with Volker."
Ilsa's eyes lit up with excitement. She knew that 'dealing with' equaled torturing or killing to Kroenen's mind. "And?" she asked.
"You're standing in what's left of him."
"Scheiße," Ilsa said, looking down at the ashes. She was obviously disappointed. "A pity. I would have liked to have helped. I never liked that vampire."
"Is that what the sledgehammer was for?" Kroenen asked. He glanced at her warily, knowing how Ilsa's temper had a tendency to flare up at the most random things, especially when she was bored.
"Yes and no. I heard screaming and thought you might be having some fun with a trespasser." Ilsa glanced around room and then back at Kroenen. "I take it Volker failed to bring Erica back."
"Is there an inordinate amount of agonized screaming coming from my lab?" Kroenen replied, his voice betraying the bitterness he felt.
"I'm assuming that means no," Ilsa said as she came further into the room, stepping over the metal spikes and then pausing for a fraction of a second to deliberately grind the vampire's ashes into the floor with the toe of her black boot. She walked over to one of the red, high-backed armchairs and wrinkled her nose in distaste when she saw the chair's cushion was heaped with books. She moved the books to the floor and then sat down, laying her sledgehammer on the floor next to the chair. She threw one of her legs over the arm of the chair and crossed her arms. "I really didn't expect Volker could do it."
"Good help is nearly impossible to come by," Kroenen grumbled.
"If you wanted to make sure Erica was captured you should have done it yourself." Ilsa said, a bit harshly.
Kroenen shrugged, ignoring how rude she was being. He knew she was probably just trying to irritate him. Or she was angry about something. "It didn't have to be done. It was simply an opportunity that presented itself and one that I decided to take advantage of." He opened one of the desk drawers and took out an extra glass eyepiece to replace the cracked one in his mask. "Next time I won't have to send someone to fetch her. I'll do it myself. I'm sure it'll be a pleasant visit."
"For you or her?"
"Do you really need to ask that?" he said, glancing up from removing the cracked eyepiece from his mask.
"You're obsessed." Ilsa stated. There was a hint of affection in her tone, "And insane."
"Aren't we all." he murmured distractedly.
There was silence as Kroenen finished replacing the eyepiece of his mask and then carefully cleaned the surface of the thick glass. He pretended to be looking down at his mask as he worked, but he was really watching Ilsa—something that was made much easier by the mask he was wearing since it hid his eyes. Ilsa was quiet, but he could tell she was growing impatient. She swung her leg back and forth as it dangled over the arm of the chair—not a good sign, and one that meant she was angry about something and trying to hide it. She finally broke the silence.
"I came to tell you something."
"Good. I was wondering why you were still here." he replied, hoping to irritate her so he could find out what she was angry about.
Ilsa looked at him crossly. "I finished preparing our forged passports and IDs. All the arrangements are made. We can leave for Birgau Pass, Moldavia whenever we're ready."
"So you found a way around airport security and their cursed metal detectors?" Kroenen asked. Metal detectors were a huge inconvenience for them, especially him. Besides both of them preferring to be armed at all times, his body was laced with metal from the improvements he had made over the years. Explaining that to airport security would be nearly impossible.
"Ja," Ilsa replied, pretending to idly examine her long red fingernails in an obvious effort to hide her anger, "It's amazing what people will do for a few gold pieces, even if they are marked with swastikas."
"I'll pack when I'm finished here," he said, making a dismissive gesture in her direction. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, knowing he had probably just pushed her over the edge. Good. Maybe I'll find out why she's irritated, he thought.
Ilsa stood up stiffly and glared at him, her icy eyes flashing. "Clean up while you're at it, arschloch. I never thought someone with OCD could be so horribly disorganized," she said cruelly. She picked up her sledgehammer and strode towards the door.
"I wouldn't talk to me like that if I were you," he warned her. He put down his mask, stood up and stepped into her path, blocking her way to the door.
She stopped and looked at him, a spiteful smile hovering on her lips. "I just did. Get over it." Ilsa quickly stepped to the side to get around him—and fell over a stack of books on the floor.
"Damn it, Karl!" she yelled as she pushed the books aside and scrambled ungracefully to her feet. "How many times do I have to tell you to—!"
"Clean up?" he finished for her, "At least once more. Things get untidy when you're doing research. And some of this is your mess. And if you don't want to fall over things, perhaps you should watch where you're going. Or perhaps you should simply avoid coming in here."
Ilsa snarled at him and, without thinking, swung her sledgehammer as hard as she could at his chest. Kroenen reached out and effortlessly caught it by the handle. The wood made a sharp slapping sound as it hit his leather glove. Ilsa glared at him. Clearly she knew she wouldn't be able to pull the sledgehammer away from him. But she was also too stubborn to let go. Kroenen took the opportunity to look down into her burning blue eyes. Sudden understanding struck him.
"I see," he said quietly, "You've been robbed of Volker, your intended target, so now you've found someone else to take out your frustrations on. Maybe we could find more…creative ways to do that."
"Shut up." Ilsa said through clenched teeth, the threat clear in her voice.
"Then stay away from here when you're in one of your moods," Kroenen advised sternly, his voice quiet, "Like you are now. Then maybe you and I will avoid regaining consciousness in a predicament you'll later refuse to remember, and I'll spend the next few days recovering from."
Ilsa half gasped, half hissed at him, torn between anger and an emotion Kroenen couldn't identify. "Just because Grigory doesn't know…" she trailed off. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then shook her head. "Never mind. What Grigory doesn't know won't hurt him."
"Or us." Kroenen added dryly.
Her blue eyes flew open, the expression in them unreadable except for her ever present sense of purpose. "You should start packing. We're leaving in the morning. Take anything you might need—we might not be coming back here."
Kroenen nodded and slowly let go of the sledgehammer. Ilsa nodded, turned on her heel and walked out. She stopped abruptly just outside the doorway and picked up the pair of poniards that had belonged to Volker. Expressionless, she stepped back into the room and left the pair of blades on one of the bookshelves before she turned on her heel and left.
Once the tapping of her footsteps had fallen into silence, Kroenen surveyed his study. I won't need much, he decided, Just my blades, some medical equipment and tools, a few extra masks and repair pieces, a few books, and my phonograph.
He walked around his study and began sorting through the mountains of books and paper to find the things he needed. He gathered up an armload of books and dumped them on the desk along with their corresponding notes and a backpack. He started packing, organizing the books and sorting through his tools and medical equipment for the things he would need.
I'll want my baton swords and wrist blades, too, he thought, If we're not coming back, I'll want them for when we get to America and I can focus on killing Erica.
He might not have any more time over the next few days to devote to his obsessive 'hobby' of trying to track down Erica and kill her, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be thinking about it. He had been thinking about it for the past six decades and wasn't about to stop now. What did it matter if her treachery had been sixty years ago? The passage of time had done nothing to make the pain of betrayal fade away. If anything, it had intensified it to the point where his pain had become a murderous obsession. His blood, though it was only dust, still felt like it was boiling in his veins whenever he thought about her.
But that was to be expected.
After all, he hated her with a passion, and technically, she was part of his blood.
No doubt my blood is trying to separate from hers, he thought bitterly, despite how useless the effort is. I would do it myself if I could, but the magic of the bond is too strong. Her blood will never go away. Just like Ilsa's will never go away. We're all a part of each other, we all have each other's blood in our veins, thanks to that damn ceremony.
When Erica had willingly agreed to join them, Grigory had bound Erica, Kroenen, and Ilsa to each other through a ceremony where they each cut their hands and touched the others wounds and shared a little of their blood. The original intention had been to bind Erica to her oath and to make it easier for The Three to work together, since they'd have some insight into where each other were, how they felt, and so on. It was an unbelievably strong bond, one that Kroenen doubted even Grigory could break. Which meant he and Ilsa were tied to Erica, no matter how much they hated her or wanted her dead.
But then again, the bond does have its uses: it will help lead me to her once I'm fairly close to her, the clockwork assassin thought as he put a few extra daggers into his bag, And once Rasputin is back we're sure to be going to America to find Anung-un-Rama, or Hellboy, as Professor Broom has named that demon. We need him to release the Ogdru Jahad, since rebuilding the portal generator would be pointless, as the crystal that powered it was destroyed by the explosion. And I'm sure that while we're in America I'll have some extra time that I can devote to hunting Erica down. Who knows, as soon as she's aware of my presence, she might even come looking for me and make my task a little easier.
He finished putting his few belongings into the backpack and then picked up a black leather trench coat that had been lying over the back of a chair. He pulled it on with a practiced gesture and then sighed contentedly as the familiar weight of the leather settled over his body. There, he thought, that's finished. I'll leave everything else here. I should go downstairs and make sure the castle is sealed to prevent people or anything else getting in. After that I'll take care of my injuries. The assassin started towards the door and then paused, turning back to look at his desk. Wait, I did forget something, he thought as he picked up the black and white photograph of himself, Ilsa, and Erica, I'll bring this, too.
As he looked at the photograph his promise to Erica from sixty years ago echoed in his mind: "I'll find you, though Heaven bar the way!" He still didn't know if he had meant it as a threat or not.
He gazed at the photo with lidless, staring blue eyes. You have eternity to wait for us, don't you Erica? You're a problem that's not going to disappear on its own. Well, no matter. No one lives forever, he thought, You might only be able to die a violent death, but never fear—I intend to make sure that you do.
Kroenen tore his gaze away from the picture. He gently slid the photograph out of the frame, and then put the picture in the inside pocket of his trench coat.
The next time he and Erica met, only one of them would walk away—and it wasn't going to be her.
And he and Ilsa were leaving in the morning.
Author's Notes: Hehe, now you know what happened to Volker! I hope everyone liked the fight scene, the flashback to October 9, 1944, and the insinuations about what Kroenen and Ilsa might have been up to together over the past sixty years, hint, hint! The next chapter will be at the BPRD, and might have a short bit of it with Kroenen and Ilsa in it. Please review!