Chapter 10: May Darkness Prevail!
Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica Schwarz, the Shadow Man, Razvan Arcos the guide, and the plot that isn't from the movie are mine.
Author's Notes: A HUGE thank you to those who reviewed! Sorry about the long wait for this chapter when the last chapter had a cliffhanger ending. What can I say, high school seniors are extremely busy! So here is the long awaited chapter—I think you all know what's coming by now! Here is the only German to English translation: 'Geh' zur Hölle' is 'Go to Hell'. Enjoy the chapter!
vihnanime: Yeah, gotta love (or hate!) those cliffhangers.
Psycho Llama: Thanks for the ton of reviews, they made me really happy! Kroenen spiking her drink…I have a feeling there's a story behind that I should address at some point. Sounds funny! I do enjoy writing in suspense and subplots, and of course Abe's confused thoughts! Erica actually is dizzy from Rasputin being back, but in this chapter you'll find out exactly why she feels dizzy.
musicamode: The Shadow Man is back! And just wait until you see what he's up too!
iluvrocknroll: Are you reading my mind? All that time analyzing text in English must have paid off—you're dead on! And yeah, that kind of love triangle sounds deadly at the very best.
Fade: I like writing in twists, especially by bringing back unexpected characters. And Erica and Kroenen's first meeting is VERY intense, as you expected!
amyltrer: I liked the Rubik's Cube analogy too…it took me a while to come up with, and actually happened after I was playing with one!
"May your god go with you in all the damned places that you walk. Soon, such places shall be all there are."—From "Curtain Call" in Dracula in London
"The report of my death was an exaggeration."—Mark Twain
The Dead Garden
Night
As the Shadow Man uttered her true name, Erica grimaced as if he had struck her with a whip. The Shadow Man's lips slid up in a satisfied smirk.
"I've been waiting to do that to you for years," he said.
Erica stared at him, unable to look away. He was far worse than she remembered him, almost as if his years in exile had concentrated him. He was so cold and so empty, like a bottomless abyss. The very wrongness of it froze her blood. He was pure Evil.
"You!" she exclaimed.
"What? Surprised to see me? I did promise that I would come to you."
The memory of the last time they had met flashed through her mind:
"Some ideals are worth dying for," she said, "I would rather die than lose my soul to you!"
"We'll see about that," the Shadow Man said as he slowly backed away from her, "You may have rejected me for now, but you'll be back, I know you'll be back. You can never be completely rid of me—I am a part of you, as I am of every human being."
"I'll resist you."
"We shall see," he whispered, melting into the shadows beneath the twisted trees, "We shall see. Even if you don't come to me, I will come to you. Either way you can be sure that I'll be back."
"Is that a threat?"
"No. It's a promise," he hissed.
The Shadow Man's smug voice interrupted the memory. "Ah, see? I knew you would remember."
"How did you get here?" Erica demanded, "I banished you!"
The Shadow Man chuckled darkly and he idly picked at the bark of the rotting tree he was leaning against. Evil leaked past his nearly featureless exterior and radiated from him in waves of cold. Thunder rumbled overhead; the storm was getting closer.
"You cannot banish something that is a part of your nature. Oh, don't even contemplate trying that whole 'true name' routine again. You won't get rid of me that easily; I'm in your blood."
She stared at him in confusion, feeling helpless and stupid. "What?"
The Shadow Man turned back to face her with a knowing smile on his lips. "The darkness in your blood awakened again and let me in."
"My blood?" Suddenly she understood. "You mean the blood in my veins from Kroenen and Ilsa? That blood bond is active again?" Impulsively she looked down at the faint, thin scars on the palm and wrist of her left hand—all that remained of her initiation into the Thule Occult Society.
"That would be telling, wouldn't it?" A slight smile hovered on his lips. He was obviously enjoying frustrating her.
Erica knew she was right. For a moment she ignored the Shadow Man and ran a hand through her wind tossed hair as she tried to think. If the blood bond was active again that presented some very scary possibilities. Kroenen or Ilsa could have been 'eavesdropping' on my emotions and god-only-knows-what-else without me ever knowing it.
"Truth be told, the blood bond was never inactive," the Shadow Man explained, "You weren't using it and neither were your dear friends Kroenen and Ilsa. At least not on purpose."
Well, that's some small comfort—wait, 'weren't' is past tense, she realized. "Are they using it now?" she asked, suddenly afraid of what they might be trying to do to her.
"Possibly." The shadows of his face contorted into a repulsive grin. "But why so concerned about them? You and I have so much to talk about," he said, his voice hissing unpleasantly. He walked towards her slowly, gracefully; the shadows beneath the tree drained away from the rotting wood and glided across the ground with him. Erica's eyes darted from the Shadow Man's almost-face to the slithering, bubbling shadows pooling around his feet.
She turned to run—in an impossible move he was suddenly directly in front of her. Erica lurched backwards to avoid running into him and he circled around her, drawing closer with each purposeful, threatening step as if she were the center of a spiral.
"We have so much to catch up on; to discuss. A lot has happened since we parted last. Betraying the Thule Occult Society and the Nazis? It really is terrible, the things you do when I'm not around to guide you. But you'll come to regret it."
"I seriously doubt it."
"Really," he said, his voice like black oil. Quicker than she could move he was behind her, speaking over her shoulder. "Then it won't disturb you to hear that seven of my dear friends have been waiting for you. They are…displeased with you."
Though his words froze her blood she tried to put up a brave front; she arched an eyebrow. "Displeased? Is that all they are?"
"Ever the bold one, aren't you? At least you don't make some pitiful attempt to deny what you've done," he said, sliding back in front of her. The shadows around his legs poured across the cobblestones and along every crack and crevice between them; Erica noticed with alarm that they were headed towards her bare feet.
"It is not in the Ogdru Jahad's nature to be forgiving. They will have your blood and they will destroy your soul," he said, "Unfortunate, really. It creates such a conflict of interest between me and them."
Erica was tired of playing games. "Why? What do you want?" she asked warily. The unpleasant answer hovered in the back of her mind. My soul, she thought, he still wants my soul.
"Don't play the fool, it doesn't suit you," he spat, leaning towards her so he was in her face, "But I'll humor you. You already know what I want."
She desperately wanted to deny it. She jumped as silver lightening flashed blindingly just beyond the garden walls. Thunder cracked sharply; the storm had almost reached the garden. Erica swallowed thickly as she looked up at the Shadow Man's constantly shifting face. She knew he could feel her breath. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, forcing the words out.
The Shadow Man snarled angrily; his horrible, contorted expression froze her in place. Before she could react, the Shadow Man's fingers closed on her wrists. His hands, as strong as steel and as cold as ice, held her wrists in a crushingly tight grip that made her bones ache. He violently slammed her body against a slimy, black tree trunk stinking of dry rot.
"I have grown impatient with waiting, Acire," the Shadow Man hissed into her face; his breath was as bitterly frosty as the wind in winter. He crushed her wrists against the rough tree bark and dug his fingernails into her skin.
Erica was terrified; her heart hammered in her chest as adrenaline pumped through her veins. Shadows, as cold as metal left in a freezer, slowly wrapped around her ankles and began climbing up her legs. A memory of Grigory surrounding her with similar shadows flashed in her mind; she tried to scream but her throat constricted until she could barely breathe.
"You've always longed to return to me and the blackness that welcomes you with open arms! At night when you should be sleeping you lie awake, wishing that I had taken your soul! Don't deny it!" yelled the Shadow Man.
Just as suddenly as his anger had flared up, it disappeared; the harsh, shadowy lines of his face melting away into a calmer exterior. He slowly let go of her wrists and then stepped back a few paces; the shadows around his feet slowly unwound from her legs. His chest heaved from his outburst. Erica could only stare at him, her back pressed against the rough tree bark. The skin on her legs tingled numbly like it had been plunged into water in the Arctic Circle.
The Shadow Man cleared his throat and then continued in an arrogant tone flecked with bitterness. "It doesn't matter. I can't have what I want, though it has nothing to do with your determination. Grigory Rasputin will never want or take you back. And when Rasputin has you sacrificed I certainly can't have your soul then, can I? The Ogdru Jahad will have it for themselves. And as much as I'd like to have your soul, if I can't, I'd be more than satisfied with helping Rasputin to destroy it."
"But…he's dead." Her voice was barely above a whisper.
The Shadow Man laughed. "Not as dead as you'd like to think. You of all people should know that."
She felt her stomach knot at his words. I really don't like that answer, she thought. "You didn't come here to warn me," Erica said, "Why are you here?"
"To torment you," he said simply, "And to force you to realize that I'm still here, that you want darkness and always will."
"You're delusional. I don't want anything to do with you."
The Shadow Man only sighed; it was a horrible hissing sound. "When will you stop lying to yourself, Acire? As much as I like liars, you aren't doing anything constructive." He smiled; it was terrible, like a distorted, wavy line in polished obsidian. "But you'd never give me the satisfaction of admitting I'm right, would you? You're too stubborn for that. No matter. You'll find the truth for yourself."
Suddenly he cocked his head to the side as if he could hear something she couldn't. A broad smile flickered over his almost-lips.
"It seems you will be leaving me. Apparently you have places to be, old friends to see again…" he trailed off and laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "A pity, I was looking forward to spending some quality time with you. But this is going to be your night for renewing old acquaintances, no?"
What is he talking about? Erica wondered. Her stomach twisted; something was wrong—horribly, terribly wrong.
"Come now, Acire, I wouldn't want you to be late," the Shadow Man said, stalking towards her. Shadows poured along the ground, following him.
Erica's unease mutated into bubbling fear and panic and she pushed away from the tree and backed away. Her eyes frantically searched her surroundings for a way to escape. The high, stone garden walls loomed in the darkness; there was no gate in them. The ivy clinging to the walls whispered and rustled as the wind rushed through it on its way to toss and sway the freakishly gnarled branches above her. A drop of rain hit the cobblestones, leaving a dark stain that was quickly swallowed by the writhing shadows clawing their way towards Erica.
She continued to back away; the shadows flowed towards her with an air of purpose and hemmed her in on three sides like thick, black spider web. Behind her Erica heard the trickle and splash of falling liquid; the shadows were herding her towards the fountain!
Her heart, which had been working overtime since she had first recognized the dead garden, suddenly began to beat even faster. She didn't know how that was possible, but figured that being cornered against a fountain by a man made of shadows had something to do with it. Her body temperature skyrocketed, but she shivered despite the heat. Rain splashed against her skin. Her blood rushed through her veins at a dizzying pace, and she could feel every beat of her heart in her chest and at the back of her head, where each beat was slowly making her head pound with pain again. She swayed a little and put a hand to her forehead as her vision blurred at the edges.
"Why Erica, feeling a little sick?" the Shadow Man mocked, "I can't say I'm surprised. Being forced to be in two places at once can't be all that pleasant."
What? Erica thought. But she was all too aware of the trap she was falling into, and she pushed her thoughts away. She forced herself to focus and faked trying to run left. The Shadow Man leaned left—Erica quickly ran to the right. She felt an overwhelming sense of darkness and evil rushing towards her—she clumsily jumped over a rope of shadow that was swinging towards her. Instantly the pain in her head tripled and the garden began to spin and swim before her eyes. Disoriented, she staggered—she felt biting cold as the Shadow Man's hands easily closed around her wrists. Her stomach lurched as she felt his icy shadow-skin moving and shifting against hers.
He leaned down so their faces were only inches apart; cold rolled off him in waves. It was like a blizzard brushing over her skin; her face was going numb and she could feel her lips turning blue.
"Care for a swim?" he asked, somehow managing to smirk at her.
He forced her backwards until her legs ran into the fountain's basin; the back of her legs felt cold where they were pressed against the stone. She shuddered as she heard the thick liquid splashing behind her. Is he going to drown me? she thought. She started to panic; she knew he was strong enough to do it.
The Shadow Man's face that wasn't a face leaned down until it was almost touching hers; he gazed at her with his soulless eyes. Erica's breath came in short, frightened gasps.
"Say hello for me, won't you?" he asked.
Without waiting for an answer he pushed her backwards into the fountain. Erica shrieked and her arms flailed as she tried to grab the edge of the stone basin. For a split second she saw the fountain's gargoyle grinning down at her, and then she hit the thick black liquid and sank. She held her breath, expecting the Shadow Man to reach in and hold her under. When that didn't happen she kicked her feet and tried to swim upwards. Instead she continued to sink.
Erica opened her eyes—she had fallen much further than she should have. Her surroundings were pitch black, and when she stretched out her legs and felt around with her toes she couldn't find the bottom. She didn't even seem to be surrounded by water. Her lungs aching for air, she cautiously breathed in, and then again when she didn't choke on water. In the darkness and silence she could hear her pounding pulse. Her throbbing headache made pain lance through her eyes. The blood rushing in her veins sounded like water flowing violently over rapids, dragging her towards the edge of a waterfall with such force that she was helpless to resist—there was a sudden, sharp lurch in her stomach. Suddenly she could see again.
Erica squinted at the sudden reappearance of light and shielded her eyes with one hand. She sighed with relief as she realized her headache and dizziness had vanished. Where am I now? Wherever she was it was bitterly cold. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the light and the scene before her came into focus.
She wasn't in the dead garden or her bedroom.
She was in a cave, surrounded by ancient, simplified human figures carved from stone and covered in snow and ice. Cold blue light filtered down from somewhere high above her. Her bare feet were freezing cold, and when she looked down she saw she was standing on a stone floor dusted with snow and sparkling ice crystals. She stared at her feet. She could see through them! She held up her hands; they were the same, and so was the rest of her body. She was barely there at all, almost like she was a ghost.
A cold ghost, she thought, shivering in her T-shirt and pants. She wrapped her bare arms around herself and stamped her feet a little to get them off the freezing stone floor. Her teeth chattered and she clamped her jaw shut to stop it. Am I dreaming? Or is this a vision that came on its own, like the one caused by my silver crucifix? I certainly felt bad enough for it to be. Erica rubbed her transparent hands together and blew on them, noticing how pale they were from the cold.
If this is a dream, why can't I dream about somewhere nice and warm?
She looked around the room to see if there was anything to keep her warm. The perfectly circular room was empty except for the steps below her that went all the way around the room. In the center of the room were some strange, wavy grooves carved into the floor that led to a shallow basin. Erica stared at the grooves, an uneasy feeling in her stomach.
For sacrifice, a voice in her head whispered.
Erica shuddered, and not just because of the temperature. Beneath the sterile, cold smell of stone and ice was the smell of old blood.
Footsteps muffled by snow disturbed the silence. Erica looked up and saw three figures coming toward her down a curving passage. Two of them were dressed in black, and the other, clearly a guide, was wearing furs and leather. All three had their faces covered. Erica stared at them, debating whether to call out to them. The figure in front, dressed in black and carrying an open book, looked right at her but made no sign that he had seen her.
Erica looked down at her transparent body. I'm invisible?
XXXXX
Birgau Pass, Moldavia
A Cave
Late Evening
Ilsa slowly led the way, the snow crunching under her boots as she walked. Behind her Razvan's walking stick made a soft, hollow thud as it struck the stone floor beneath the thin layer of snow, and Kroenen's presence at the end of the line was only betrayed by the rasping of his breathing. But all those sounds were small and muted, as if muffled by the absolute silence and huge scale of the architecture in the cave. With her face encased in her cold weather mask Ilsa's breathing was loud in her ears; a combination of her excitement and the thick tension in the air that pressed in from all sides and exerted a strong pressure on her lungs.
She looked down at the book she held, and with a gloved finger she traced the symbols surrounding the hand drawn picture on the yellowed page. She read the arcane language over and over and over again; there could be no mistakes. Ilsa glanced ahead and saw an opening in the passage: they had reached the center of the labyrinth. Smiling craftily, she stepped aside and allowed the guide to pass her. Razvan was too awestruck by the scenery to think anything of it and continued walking, oblivious that he was walking to his doom. Like a lamb to the slaughter, Ilsa thought. She smiled cruelly—now that they were behind him Razvan had no chance of escaping.
Kroenen stepped up beside her and nodded slightly; Ilsa couldn't tell if it was in approval or simply a gesture of reassurance, but it didn't matter.
They both stopped on the threshold of the circular room. Five steps went all the way around the room and led down to a snow dusted stone floor covered in grooves radiating from a shallow basin. Ilsa looked up at the faceless stone statues towering above her; it felt like they were watching her. The air was tense with waiting. Here we go, she thought, taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to slow the excited pounding of her heart.
Erica was only a short distance away from the opening in the wall. She watched as the three figures surveyed the round room. Something just didn't feel right. The place was thick with tension that was growing stronger by the second. Erica had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach as she looked at the guide; she knew instinctively that something bad was going to happen.
The guide walked forward, gazing up at the strange architecture. He was so close that Erica could have reached out and touched him as he passed. "This is a sacred place," the guide said, his accented voice full of awe. He started down the stairs and stopped just short of the last step. One of the figures in black followed him, the one with a book stayed on the threshold. The guide set down his backpack and took off his hat, still staring at the room. His snow goggles flashed in the cold blue light. "Give me my gold. We shouldn't be here."
Kroenen's fingers curled around the small bar of gold he held in his hand; he had anticipated the guide's words long before they had been spoken. Greedy men are always predictable, he thought. He tossed the gold over Razvan's shoulder; there was a metallic clink as the gold struck a stone step. As the man bent down to pick up the gold Kroenen's hand immediately went to the hilt of his baton sword. The anticipation of the easy kill made him wish he had lips so he could smile. No one turns their back on me if they want to live, he thought.
Razvan Arcos slowly bent down and picked up the small bar of gold, noticing the swastika stamped into the surface for the first time. He ran the thumb of his fur glove over its lustrous surface. Who are these people? He wondered, Where did they get this? Are they Nazis? Razvan's stomach knotted as he began to realize bringing them here was probably a mistake, no matter how much they had offered. He had no idea what their true intentions were—
The blade of Kroenen's baton sword hissed through the air as he drew it from its sheath and plunged it into Razvan's back. The scar tissue and raw flesh around Kroenen's mouth contorted into a wide skeletal grin as he felt the blade go through the man's body. Razvan's brief, hoarse gasp of surprise and pain was music to Kroenen's ears. Truly there was nothing like a job well done.
Erica gritted her teeth to stop herself from shrieking in surprise at the sudden murder. Her skin, already covered in goose bumps from the cold, crawled from the man's dying gasp. Nauseating fear bubbled up inside her as she recognized Kroenen—she knew that the man in black had to be Kroenen, he was the only other person that used baton swords. Oh my god, she thought. All she could think about was the last time they had seen each other—when he had tried to murder her. I have to get away, she thought frantically, He'll kill me! But she stayed frozen in place, watching as Kroenen smoothly pulled his blade from the man's body and allowed the man to fall to the floor with a sickening thud.
He'll kill me if he sees me, she thought frantically, I have to—wait, he didn't see me when he and the others came in. She looked down at herself; she was still transparent. Maybe he can't see me. Maybe this is a vision of some sort? But I thought the Ogdru Jahad were preventing me from using my visions to spy on Kroenen and… the other person in black must be Ilsa, the book she's holding is the one Grigory gave her on October 9. Erica thought for a moment, watching as Kroenen bent down and cleaned his bloodstained blade in the snow. Maybe I'm only blocked from spying on Kroenen and Ilsa when I'm trying to do it. And this is a dream—nightmare— that's turned into a vision…so I'm not really here, then; I'm just a spectator like in all of my other visions.
Still uneasy, Erica watched attentively, memorizing everything so the BPRD could use the information to their advantage. What are they doing? she wondered, It can't be anything good.
Ilsa left her position on the threshold and joined Kroenen on the stairs. She pulled off her cold weather mask and looked down at Razvan's body with a cruel, uncaring glint in her blue eyes. Her expression was as cold and hard as the ice and rock around her. Erica noticed with some shock that Ilsa, like herself, had not aged. I shouldn't be all that surprised, she thought, Grigory told me he had made her immortal.
Ilsa watched with cold satisfaction as steaming blood leaked from Razvan's body and began flowing along two of the winding grooves cut into the stone floor. The metallic, sickly sweet smell of the man's blood tainted the crisp mountain air. He has served his purpose, she thought. She heard a slight hiss as Kroenen removed his cold weather mask, revealing his usual smooth metal mask beneath it. His raspy breathing was louder than it had been before and now she could just barely hear the ticking of his clockwork. They both walked along the last step, taking up positions on either side of Razvan's body; and as he went Kroenen stepped over the dead body as if it were nothing but a fallen log. Ilsa's eyes focused on the blood running along the carved channels, silently urging it to move faster.
Erica had a feeling something terrible was about to happen. She watched as the man's blood flowed along the grooves carved into the floor and slowly trickled into the basin. Dread sat in her chest like a lead weight and made it hard to breathe. The gathering power and tension in the room were building to the point where she could hear her heart pounding frantically in her chest and every muscle in her body was on edge. All of her attention was on the blood in the basin; she couldn't have torn her eyes away if she had wanted to. What are they summoning? Some sort of demon? she wondered. Gradually she became aware of an odd pressure in the room: it was a presence; a suffocating, dominating presence she hadn't felt in six decades. It was worse than a demon. Erica felt all the blood drain from her face. Oh. My. God.
Erica watched in horrified fascination as Grigory Rasputin began to rise from the blood filled basin, his head bowed and his naked body completely covered in blood.
Ilsa approached Grigory as he rose from the basin. Behind her Kroenen hung back. She knew he was afraid Grigory would punish him for his failures sixty years ago.
"Master," Ilsa whispered ecstatically, smiling at Rasputin in complete adoration. Her joy was squashed by horror as Grigory looked up at her, blood running over his skin and dripping off his face.
"Your eyes! What did they do to your eyes?" Ilsa gasped.
Erica cringed as well; Grigory's eye sockets were as empty as when his eyes had been wrenched out and sucked into the portal sixty years ago. Even worse, he had an expression on his face of madness, of vengeance, and of purpose—a terrible, disturbing expression that stole her breath.
A thought registered in Erica's brain. This is a vision of the future, she thought. She watched as Ilsa helped her Master into a set of black robes, ignoring the blood that already stained the inky fabric. Grigory is coming back. I have to warn Professor Broom! We might be able to stop them in time—!
The back of her neck tingled; instinctively she shifted her eyes from Ilsa to Grigory. All thought instantly disappeared from her mind and was replaced by black terror as she met Grigory's intense, eyeless stare. She couldn't breathe—he was looking right at her! No, through you, a little voice said in her head, He can't see you because you're not really here. And he doesn't have eyes. As much as Erica wanted to believe it, she was paralyzed by Rasputin's empty gaze. I'm not here and he isn't either, she thought, trying to be rational, It's just a vision; this hasn't happened yet—
"Acire," Rasputin hissed. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, and there was an unpleasant twist to his thin lips as they parted cleanly—horribly—like skin beneath a scalpel. But what really stopped Erica's heart was that he didn't look surprised to see her—he had known she was there the entire time!
Overwhelming horror shot through Erica's body so fast she thought she was going to die; she gaped at him as adrenaline rushed dizzyingly through her veins. Impossible! H-he shouldn't be able to see me! I'm not here! I can't be! She looked down at her previously transparent body and discovered she was completely solid! Oh no…she thought.
Kroenen looked at his Master, bewildered. Why did he say Erica's true name? But Rasputin made no effort to answer Kroenen's unspoken question; he continued staring over the clockwork assassin's shoulder. Like there's something behind me… Kroenen turned around—he stopped and stood perfectly still, consumed by shock and anger, barely believing what he was seeing. Erica was standing no more than a few feet away! He spotted the silver glimmer of the crucifix hanging around her neck; it was the same one he had returned to her six decades ago. The hate he felt for her—and for the religion that had influenced her actions—surged into boiling anger.
"Erica," Kroenen hissed; he sounded like a king cobra about to strike.
He felt an intoxicating thrill as the dilated pupils of her grey eyes shone with the fear of a trapped animal.
"No," she stuttered, "You can't—it's impossible—this is a vision—"
Kroenen paused in the act of reaching for his baton swords; he cocked his head slightly to one side as he turned her confusing words over in his mind. He didn't know how she had gotten there, and he didn't care, but it struck him as odd that she didn't know how she had gotten there either. "Ah, you think this is one of your visions?" he said at last, "You think you're not really here? But you are. In fact," he said as he savored a delicious idea, "I could kill you."
In one motion he dropped his backpack and shed his coat, ignoring the cold air. He grabbed the hilts of his baton swords and drew them. The action felt like it had been well rehearsed, something he had been waiting for, dreaming of, something he had been expecting. Pent up rage flooded his body with fiery hatred as his eyes locked on Erica. TRAITOR! Kroenen's mind screamed. Nothing existed for him in the world except for an overwhelming desire for revenge. He started towards her—
"Kroenen." Grigory's voice, hoarse from lack of use, cut through the red fog of bloodlust that clouded Kroenen's mind. The assassin heard the unspoken command in his Master's voice. But why does he want me to stop? It didn't matter—Kroenen knew he couldn't refuse his Master.And though it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, though his heart was black with rage, Kroenen obeyed. Slowly, as if moving through frozen mud, the clockwork assassin forced himself to stop and turn towards his Master.
"There will be time for justice later," Grigory said, "I have a purpose for her."
Erica shuddered at the chilling tone in Rasputin's voice. That can't mean anything good, she thought. She glanced uneasily down at Kroenen; her heart was racing from how close she had come to dying. The assassin stood below her, poised to run up the stairs and rip her throat wide open. Erica could see him shaking with the effort to control himself; his hatred was practically radiating from him. Thank God Grigory stopped him, she thought. She shivered again as Grigory looked at her—she swore he could actually see her even without his eyes.
"And she's not as real as you think, Kroenen. She's fading," Rasputin said, gesturing at her.
Erica instinctively looked down at herself. She sucked in a breath of cold air in shock; her hands were becoming more see-through by the moment. She could see the stone floor through one of her bare feet again; it was a stomach turning sensation.
"She'll be gone soon," Grigory added softly.
Kroenen nearly snarled in frustration. I've waited sixty years! I want to kill her NOW! Erica was teasingly just out of his reach, almost as if she was trying to torment him. It was maddening! Then again, what's a little longer when I've waited six decades? After all, Rasputin might change his mind. Kroenen slowly dropped his arms to his sides, but he kept his baton swords in his hands in the hope that Rasputin would decide he wanted Erica dead.
Erica shifted uneasily from foot to foot. Kroenen's discontent was clear in his body language; he stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at her. She could see two pale, perfect reflections of her terrified face in the dark lenses of his mask. And in the silence the mechanical ticking of his internal clockwork could be heard.
"How did she get here?" Ilsa asked, breaking the silence. Erica's head whipped around to face the Aryan woman at Rasputin's side. Ilsa's pale blue eyes were full of hate and she was holding her sledgehammer with the same purposeful air that Erica knew always preceded pain and suffering for her victims.
Ilsa understood Kroenen's frustration; she also desperately wanted to kill Erica. It's her fault Grigory has been gone for sixty years. It's her fault! Ilsa thought. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her weapon as she contemplated shattering Erica's ribs and then cutting her throat. Ilsa knew she would laugh at Erica as she lay there with her lifeblood spilling out. Unfortunately she also knew the opportunity for revenge belonged to Kroenen and Kroenen alone. He, and no one else, would kill Erica. It was his duty.
"How did she get here?" Ilsa repeated.
"Forced astral projection." Grigory's accented voice was barely above a harsh whisper. Blood continued to drip from his body.
Erica finally managed to find her voice. "You? You did this?"
"No. You did."
Erica frowned at his cryptic words; Grigory only looked pleased with himself. His expression was as devoid of warmth as a glacier.
"Your blood oath binds you to us in ways you can't even imagine. Your chains are invisible but they are still there. When you swore an oath to serve us and sealed it in your blood you stepped into your chains of your own free will. And you are here because of that. Your blood bound you to appear, despite that you could not be here physically. It wouldn't be fitting for one of The Three to be absent at the moment of my return, would it? After all, we know how loyal you have been to the Ogdru Jahad, Acire."
Erica winced as if he had slapped her.
"This isn't a vision of the future. I am back." He smiled; the insanity in his expression made Erica's stomach turn. "The Seven Gods of Chaos will never release you from your oath; you belong to us, mind, body, and soul. I am still your Master and we will punish you for your treachery."
Erica glared at him. "You aren't my Master anymore! You are not my judges and neither are those things you call gods!" she yelled defiantly. She was surprised by her own daring.
"Don't blaspheme!" Grigory thundered; his voice made the air vibrate. Fleshy shapes writhed lazily beneath the skin on his neck and arms. The shapes looked like tentacles.
That's new, Erica thought, repelled and nauseated by the bizarre spectacle. Ilsa, however, was staring at her Master in fascination. Erica glanced at Kroenen; he was completely ignoring everything but her. The glass 'eyes' on his mask glinted eerily in the cold blue light as he stared up at her.
The movement beneath Grigory's skin faded away as he calmed down, but Erica knew his anger was simmering just below the surface.
"In the absence of the Ogdru Jahad we are judge, jury, and executioner." Rasputin paused and stepped closer to her. His black robes dragged across the floor, leaving a bloody smear on the stone floor. "You may recall the dream you had after the battle on October 9th," Grigory said, "You refused the choice I so generously offered to you! Now you will have no choice; Kroenen will kill you."
Kroenen heard the words he had been waiting for; he stalked towards Erica with all the grace and menace of a cat. He started up the steps, eager to carry out his duty—
"Karl," the tone in Rasputin's voice was stern. Kroenen stopped in his tracks, frustration tearing and clawing his insides. It was all he could do to restrain himself from beheading Erica on the spot. So close! He wanted to scream.
"I want this done properly," Grigory said, a hungry expression on his face as he looked at Erica, "Death is too good for her. The Ogdru Jahad will have their sacrifice."
"It would be my pleasure to do that now," Kroenen said, his voice dangerously polite. He stepped towards her again; Erica shrank away.
Rasputin stopped him with a harsh order, "Do not doubt me! I know what is best for our plans!"
Kroenen bowed his head, glaring but chastised. He knew from the anger in his Master's voice that his punishment wouldn't be long in coming to him—punishment for his past failures and for the act of disobedience he had just committed.
"And as for you, Acire, I would advise you not to use your visions to pry into our affairs. Attempting to do so will have very unfortunate consequences. You know what to expect from us," Grigory said with a cruel grin.
"I'm not afraid of you," Erica said defiantly.
Grigory laughed; it was like the sound of an ancient, rusty mausoleum door being wrenched open. Blood ran down his neck and seeped into the neck of his black robes.
"Not afraid of me? You're lying, girl. You've always been afraid of me."
"Geh' zur Hölle!" Erica yelled.
Rasputin's expression was unsettling. "Hell? You will see what the powers of Hell can do. Tonight it will begin again," Grigory announced, "May Darkness prevail and may whatever God you now believe in have mercy on your soul!"
His words froze Erica's blood in her veins more than the cold weather ever could.
Without taking his eyeless gaze from her face, Rasputin made a jerking motion at Kroenen with his blood covered hand. The gesture flung drops of blood everywhere; one splattered across the stone at Erica's feet.
"You may torment our guest—and that is all—until she leaves. We'll be seeing her again soon enough," Rasputin said.
Kroenen slowly started up the stairs; his mask glinted eerily in the light as he stared at her. He was as devoid of humanity as a black marble statue. Erica retreated from him as fear rushed through her body like a flood of ice water. She knew instinctively that he was grinning behind his mask.
"I will come looking for you," Kroenen said, "I know where you are. So don't try to run. If you do, our blood bond will tell me where you are, and then I'll come for you. I was always going to come for you."
Kroenen advanced towards her with his baton swords gripped tightly in each hand. Erica backed away from him until her back ran into an ice wall. It was cold; she could feel the heat from her skin melting the ice and making the back of her shirt wet. That alone made it perfectly clear to her that he could hurt her if he wanted; she wasn't insubstantial enough to go through walls yet.
She eyed the room's only exit knowing there was no chance she could reach it in time. She was trapped; she could only stare in horror as Kroenen came towards her in a terrible imitation of the last time he had tried to kill her. What is he going to do to me? she wondered. She flattened herself against the wall, willing herself to go through it as he came within three feet of her. She was painfully aware that she was unarmed and defenseless.
"Mercy," she whispered. She knew her plea fell on deaf ears; she had spoken on instinct and nothing more.
"I've given you proof in the past that mercy isn't one of my qualities." Kroenen's harsh voice dripped with venom and his mask seemed to glare at her, almost as if the smooth metal was capable of expressing the hatred in his voice. "I have a gift for you. Consider it a memento of the exile I've endured for the past sixty years!"
His baton swords flashed and moved in a blur as they rushed towards her. Erica threw her arms out and twisted her body so her heart was as far away from him as possible. The lethal silver blur descended on her—she could clearly read the script writing on the blades: Alles für Deutschland—the blades flashed—Erica shrieked as a steel blade bit into her right forearm, creating a long, thin gash. The cry was more of a reflex that anything; the wound didn't hurt nearly as much as she had expected.
But then again, for a moment, she had thought he was going to kill her.
Kroenen savored the shriek he had just heard—the sweet, sweet sound of vengeance. Sometimes justice can be most satisfying, he thought.
He watched as Erica clutched at the wound and pressed her left palm against it to stop the flow of blood. Her hands and arms, even her blood, was now transparent; it was like looking through colored glass. She was disappearing rapidly.
"I know this meeting will not remain a secret," Kroenen said, his voice made even harsher by his mask, "Take that back to your friends as proof." He paused for a moment, considering. He wanted to finish his task and kill her. But Grigory intervened. He must have a reason for sparing her worthless life—at least for the moment, Kroenen thought, But that doesn't mean I can't make her life hell.
"And I have something else for you," Kroenen hissed. He sheathed one of his swords and reached towards her. Erica flinched and tried to get away—he roughly grabbed her shoulder and concentrated, forcing his way into her mind and leaving a beacon to guide his way back again. Whenever he chose to invade her mind again distance would no longer be a barrier.
"Expect to meet me in your dreams. I'll be waiting for you. And don't worry, I won't be late. I wouldn't miss turning your dreams into nightmares for anything." He laughed, cold and cruel; depraved and psychotic.
"Go away! Leave me alone!" Erica yelled. Even to her own ears her words sounded weak and childish.
Kroenen only laughed at her. "Oh, no. You'll never be alone as long as I can get inside your mind. It's too late; you've already let me in. I'll be the thing that keeps you awake at night, the thing that haunts your dreams."
He leaned down towards her. She was so transparent that he could barely see her.
"And Erica? Checkmate," he whispered.
Erica turned pale at the irony of his words. The next thing Erica knew she seemed to fall through the wall of ice and rock behind her. Kroenen rushed at her, darkness and steel and the scent of leather and old, dried blood.
She screamed herself awake.
Erica's eyes flew open. She was in her bedroom at the BPRD.
She lay frozen for a moment, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath, trying to comprehend the situation. Her sheets were tangled around her limbs and she was soaked with sweat. Her heart was pounding like a drum and all the muscles in her body were tense to the point of cramping. She laid in the dark, listening to her abnormally fast and shallow breathing. Her mind was a whirlwind of terror and confusion; it was like she had had a nightmare.
She felt something wet on her right forearm and looked down. It was blood, slowly oozing from a long, thin gash—exactly where Kroenen had cut her.
It definitely hadn't been a nightmare.
The blood from the cut was warm and thick as it ran over her clammy skin. Shaking, she touched the wound. The darkness of her bedroom was suddenly smothering.
I have to tell someone, Erica thought.
Almost before she had completed that thought she was violently kicking free of the tangled, sweat soaked sheets wrapped around her body. She catapulted out of bed, stumbled to her feet, and then staggered towards the door, dizzy from standing up too fast. Force of habit made her grab a dagger on her way and she shoved in her belt. Then she fled her bedroom.
The corridors were dimly lit; only the emergency lights were on. Erica mentally cursed the BPRD's policy of saving money on electricity. She really wished Marie Baker wasn't so efficient at turning out all the 'extra' lights in the hallways; Erica didn't want to be alone in the dark, not now. Shadows crouched in the corners and the thought of what could be behind her only spurred her to run faster. Erica didn't dare to stop running; she was sure that if she did that all the demons from her worst nightmares would spring from the shadows.
Her bare feet thudded loudly against the slick linoleum floor as she ran; it was the only sound she could hear except for the thunder of her heart. Abe, she thought, I have to find Abe.
The trouble had begun, and she wasn't ready.
They were back!
Author's Notes: Another cliffhanger! Well, sorta. Poor Erica, life is about to get a whole lot more complicated and scary. I hope you all liked the multiple points of view I put in, as well as the scattering of humor! Please review!