Gargoyles, created by Greg Weisman, is the property of the Walt Disney Company. Dracula, created by Bram Stoker, is the property of everyone. Everything else in this story is based on real made-up history.
Special thanks to Masterdramon, Gryphinwyrm7 and Bookwyrm for beta-reading and feedback.
Tomb of Attila, May 1st, 1:55 a.m. 1926 AD
Fiona lay quietly in the dark, inky blackness coating her vision. She set to work on the rope binding her, relaxing the muscles she had tensed when she was bound. She'd picked up the trick from an American performance artist. It was slow and arduous work. Her wrist ached but she finally manged to get a hand free.
"Fiona…?" a voice murmured weakly in her ear.
The Scot let out a terrified yelp, scrambling back into a corner. "Get the Hell away from me!"
"Fiona, please," Mina whispered. "You have to get this chain off of me."
"The Hell I do, monster!" Fiona snapped, scrambling against a wall.
"I'm sorry you had to find out like… this."
"Not as sorry as I am, bloodsucker! I can't believe I thought you were my friend!"
"I am your friend, Fiona. You have to understand, I'm not like Falsworth. I'm not some soulless abomination who kills without remorse."
"So you kill people but have a good cry about it afterwards?"
The darkness went dead quiet.
"I have only killed once, Canmore." Mina spoke softly. "Can you say the same?"
"What the Devil is that supposed to mean?" Fiona snarled.
"Why don't you wear the mask?"
Fiona froze.
"It's true then. I'd wondered what exactly you meant when you said your family hunted demons. It didn't become clear until Matthias Church when you tried to slay the gargoyle."
"What the Hell do you know about it?" said Fiona icily.
"Quite a bit actually. A saved my life, if not my soul, once. We used to write. He mentioned the Hunters once, how you've spent the last thousand years butchering his kind, slaughtering innocent and guilty alike."
Fiona leapt into the dark, grabbing the creature by the collar and shaking it violently. "That's a filthy lie! Gargoyles are monsters, all of them! They're evil incarnate!"
"I have met Evil Incarnate, Fiona Canmore. He is no gargoyle," spoke Mina. "Regardless, I don't think you really believe what you're saying."
"And what makes you so damn sure of that?" Fiona hissed.
"Because that's why you don't wear the mask," Mina spoke softly. "You're ashamed."
Fiona opened her mouth to shout back but was cut off by muffled gunfire. She released Mina and pressed her ear against the cold stone slab. Screams and snarls cried out amid the gunfire, sounds of tearing meat and breaking bones.
Then it stopped.
A wet suckling sound was followed by heavy lumbering steps, drawing closer. They stopped just outside.
Fiona jumped back as the unmistakable screech of enormous talons slowly scraped along the other side of the stone slab. She sat there in stunned silence, until the heavy lumbering steps slowly drew away once more.
"What in God's names was that?" Fiona whispered.
"I think… that was Attila," Mina replied.
Fiona opened her mouth to retort when the roar of onrushing water filled the cavern beyond. Clear liquid hissed through the seams of the stone slab as their own chamber slowly began to fill.
"Fiona, I can push that slab aside but you have to unbind me first," said Mina.
Fiona hesitated.
"It's either trust me or drown," implored Mina.
"God damn it all," Fiona swore as she fumbled in the dark, undoing the slim silver chain binding the vampire's wrist. She heard the soft swish of Mina's cloak as the Englishwoman braced herself against the slab.
"There's one more thing," said Mina.
"What?" asked Fiona.
"Once I push the slab free, you'll have to carry me to shore. I… I can't cross running water under my own power.
"Not a problem," Fiona lied, holding her breath and bracing herself against the back wall of the chamber.
Twin crimson embers burned in the dark as the vampire pushed her full might against the stone slab. The stone fell forward with a crash that would have been deafening if not for the drowning roar of the Danube filling the chamber.
The wall of water slam into Fiona with merciless fury. Only sheer force of will kept her from passing out from the impact. She started swimming frantically through the abyss, feeling her way through the dark.
Once her hand rested on soft fabric and cold flesh, the vampire's lifeless form sprawled across the fallen slab no doubt. She quickly swam over the creature into the tunnel beyond.
The corridor was as black as the prison chamber save for a faint grey-blue rectangle at the edge of her vision. She swam straight for it. She was almost free. Weeds dancing in murky moonlight just beyond the threshold.
Then Fiona Canmore did something she thought very stupid.
She turned back.
[-]
"Harker…"
Mina drifted in the darkness; cold, silent and empty.
"Harker!"
Was this True Death? If so, she couldn't understand what all the fuss had been about.
"Wake up!"
A hand slapped across her cheek, snapping her back to consciousness.
"Canmore… You saved… me?" gurgled Mina. Her lungs were still half full of water but she paid it no heed. She hardly used them anyway.
"Barely," said Canmore. "I thought you were dead."
"I am dead." Mina replied, disgorging the last of the river from her lungs. "Where did Attila go?"
"No idea," the Scot answered. "He must be long gone by now."
Mina staggered to her feet. "With his tomb under the Danube, he'll have to find somewhere else to rest. Somewhere the soil is rich in blood and power, a desecrated church, a nexus of ley lines, something."
"Not hard to find in Eastern Europe. You seemed to manage on the train carriage?" Canmore asked.
Mina stood up, eying the Scot warily, "I cheat."
Canmore yanked off her boots, pouring bilge from them. "Why didn't you tell me? I woulda understood if you just bloody explained it."
"No you wouldn't," replied Mina.
Canmore made no response
"Let me clarify one thing, Canmore," continued Mina. "I owe you no justification, explanation or apology. This has nothing to do with trust or friendship. My secrets are mine, to share or not share with whom I chose, as are yours. If you can't respect that then we should part ways right here and now." Mina turned to leave.
"Where the Hell are you going?" asked Canmore?
"After Attila," responded. "You're welcome to join me if you wish?"
"But the Demon has the Sword," Canmore protested. "Surely one vampire can wait?"
"That 'one vampire' had already slaughtered thousands and ravaged half of Europe by the time of its first death," Mina replied. "And there's no telling what being locked in that sarcophagus for over a millennium has done to its mind."
Canmore sat silently as she watched Mina disappear into the treeline. "Devil take ye, Fiona Canmore," she swore, yanking on her boots.
[-]
Fiona arrived an hour later at the mercenary camp to find it in complete disarray. Tents lay shredded, supplied crates had been smashed to splinters and everywhere lay the dessicated remains of its former inhabitants.
The bodies had been roughly decapitated, as though wrenched loose from their shoulders. Their flesh was dry as old parchment, every drop of moisture drained from them.
Fiona made out the light of a bonfire coming from the centre of camp. She stalked closer cautiously.
Harker stood before a makeshift funeral pyre, several of the dead mercenaries had been arranged atop the blaze with as much dignity as could be managed. She seemed to be reading from something.
"In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to Almighty God our brothers; and we commit their bodies to the elements; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless them and keep them, the Lord make His face to shine upon them and be gracious unto them, the Lord lift up His countenance upon them and give them peace… Amen" intoned the vampire solemnly.
Fiona gingerly sidled up next to Harker, the burnt shadow where the crucifix had touched her pale flesh seemed even redder in the firelight.
She cleared her throat. "Any leads?"
"I have yet to search the camp." Replied Harker. "I must dispose of the remains before..."
"Right, right…" Fiona added. "I'll look around, see if it left a trail."
Fiona swept the perimeter of the camp first, hoping to pick up the creature's spoor but found no sign leading in any direction. Had she been hunting a gargoyle, she would have simply assumed it made its escape by air. Vampires were supposed to be able to turn into bats or birds or some such, weren't they? She supposed she could ask Harker but…
She made her way to a shredded tent larger than the others, presumably belonging to either Schappeller or the captain of the mercenaries. Most of its contents were blood spattered and scattered carelessly. She came across a small photograph of the captain himself, standing proudly beside a smiling Czech girl and a stony faced young boy.
She wondered if they were still waiting for him in Prague.
She pocketed the photograph before turning her attention towards the pile of maps that lay strewn about. Most of them were bloodied and torn as if a bear had been foraging through them. One in particular showed a map of the Balkans, a small pencilled circle along the Danube's Hungarian shore marked the camp's rough location.
A thin scarlet trail, left by a bloody talon, began at the circled camp before tracing down along the river and finally arriving at Istanbul.
No, she remembered what the strange girl had said on the Orient Express. The Hun would know nothing of Istanbul, only the eastern capital of the hated Roman Empire. The city he had sworn in life to see razed to the ground.
"Constantinople."
[-]
Somewhere on the Bulgarian-Turkish Border, 6:00 a.m.
It touched down in an empty field as the grey light of dawn began slowly creeping over the horizon. The black pinions that had carried it this far dissolve like smoke for the time being.
Men had died here in recent years; hundreds, perhaps thousands. It could still smell their blood enriching the soil, sanctifying it to the gods of war. This would be a good place to rest. It would draw strength from their sacrifice, from the rage of their unavenged spirits.
Strange that the bulk of their fury seemed reserved for those that had led them into this cursed battlefield rather than the enemy that had cut them down. No matter, they would serve just the same.
It tried to remember its name. tried to remember why it now marched off to war. The centuries of cold blackness had withered its mind almost to nothing, until only the dream of conquests unfulfilled sustained it.
It did not need to remember who it was. It remembered what it was…
Flagelum Dei, the Scourge of God.
[-]
Hungary, 6:10 a.m.
Fiona watched as the bi-plane came down somewhere behind a barbed-wire topped fence. "I thought Hungary wasn't allowed an airforce anymore?"
"They're not," replied Harker. "But several former members of the Austro-Hungarian Luftfahrtruppen maintain 'private flying clubs' to recruit and train young pilots."
"Bend the rule without breaking it," Fiona mused.
"If I can get you to one of those, can you fly it?"
"Aye, but what are you planning to do, go up and ask if we can borrow one?" Fiona turned to see Harker marching up to the gate of the airfield, bold as brass. "Oh Hell!"
A guard stepped out to meet them. "I'm sorry, ma'ams," he said in thick Hungarian. "This area is for members only."
Harker lifted her veil, locking eyes with the guard. "But my friend and I have pressing business within," she replied in strangely intoned Hungarian.
The guard blinked uncertainly. "You have pressing business within," he mumbled mechanically.
"You should unlock the gate."
"I should unlock the gate," the guard droned, doing as he was bid.
"What the bloody Hell did you do to him!?" Fiona hissed as she came running up behind Harker.
"I have a certain amount of… influence on the suggestible."
Fiona eyed her suspiciously. "You've never used that on me, have ye?"
Mina snorted. ""Please, Canmore; I've known bull elephants more suggestible than you."
"Don't flatter me."
"Come along now. It's time to pick out your present."
[-]
Topkapi Palace, Istanbul, 9:00pm.
The first rays of the rising moon streamed down from a tranquil sky upon the palace. For centuries it had been the seat of Ottoman power, now a museum of the newly democratized and secularized Turkish Republic's heritage.
"These relics are not really intended for public viewing, Miss Zade," the guard said, unlocking the heavy iron door in the castle's courtyard. "But seeing as you're a personal friend of President Kemal I don't see why we can't make an exception."
"I appreciate it, captain," said Shari as her escort ushered her into the main vault. Within were mounted eight ancient swords of the most exquisite workmanship. Each was unique in form and design, each was beautiful, and each had at one time or another been wielded by the Prophet himself.
For the first time in many many years, Shari felt humble.
Her gaze was drawn to one sword in particular, the holy names of David, Solomon, Moses, Aaron, Joshua, Zechariah, John, Jesus, and Muhammad were inscribed upon its blade.
"Ah," the guard spoke up. "You have a good eye, Miss. That is…"
"Al-Battar, the Sword of the Prophets," she intoned solemnly. "The story is told, though who can say if it be true, that this is the very blade with which King David beheaded the Philistine Giant, Goliath. The same blade that will vanquish the Masih ad-Dajjal at the End of Days."
"Uh… yes," the guard confirmed.
The vault shook as the sound of thunder rolled heavily in the sky outside. Shari cocked an eyebrow. "Sudden change in the weather?"
The Captain eyed the iron door wearily. A veteran of both Balkan Wars, some old instinct gnawed at the back of his mind. "Perhaps, Miss Zade… it would be best if you wait here for a moment?"
"Of course, Captain," she replied. "I'd hate to be a bother."
He nodded curtly before briskly exiting the vault in a manner calculated not arouse undue worry or panic in front of a civilian.
Shari was surprised. She'd expected getting left alone with al-Battar to be more of a challenge, but the Captain had been more obliging than she expected. She reached for the blade only to be distracted by the sound of shouting and gunfire coming from outside. Curious, she edged towards the chink in the iron door, peering out.
Torrential rain drowned the courtyard. Men ran in a panic across the courtyard, some opening fire with their rifles into the night sky. Lightening flashed as something with wings large enough to rival the Roc swooped down to grab a young Turkish soldier in its talons, dragging him screaming into the darkness above.
[-]
Above Istanbul, 9:30 p.m.
Fiona checked the fuel gauge on the 'commandeered' bi-plane and frowned. They'd already been forced to cover almost twice the range this model had been designed for and she wasn't certain how long more it could hold. The sudden turn in the weather certainly wasn't helping.
"Something wrong?!" Harker yelled from the rear compartment, fighting to be heard over the torrential rain and howling winds. The engine sputtered ominously.
"I need to find somewhere to put down, now!" Fiona cried back. "Or we're liable to drop out of the…"
Something vast and unseen suddenly collided with the bi-plane, sending it hurtling violently through the skies. It took every shred of skill Fiona possessed to keep the aircraft from turning into a nosedive as the tatters of a destroyed wing flapped in the whirling winds.
A dark shape careened through the clouds, swooping in for another attack. Lightning flashed, Fiona only saw the creature for split- second but the image was indelibly carved upon her mind for all time.
The Hun was not gaunt and pale as she had imagined. It was corpulent and ruddy, its stomach was morbidly bloated and gorged with stolen blood like a gargantuan tick. Even with the vast vulture-like wings that rose from its shoulder blades, it seemed incredulous that such a thing could remain airborne. Its lips were pulled back in a permanent rictus snarl, revealing massive canines more like tusks than fangs.
The sight shocked Fiona, but not as much as the sight of Harker climbing from her pit and clambering onto the wing.
"Harker, what the Hell are you doing?" she shrieked against the wind.
"Buying you time!" The words seemed hoarse and slightly slurred but before Fiona could give it any thought, Harker leapt from the plane, colliding with the attacking scourge in mid-air and sending them both hurtling to the ground below.
"MINA!" Fiona cried in terror.
She searched the surrounding landscape desperately for anywhere to put down safety. "Shit!" she muttered as she tightened the straps on her 'lucky back pack'.
[-]
Eyüp Cemetery, Istanbul, 9:45 p.m.
The storm abated almost as suddenly as it had erupted. Fiona found herself touching down safety somewhere near where she thought Mina and the Hun had gone down. Austere grey structures rose on all sides of her, silent empty footpaths winding between them.
At first she thought such silence uncanny in the heart of a major city, particularly one that stood at the crossroads of two continents. Then she realised the truth. The grey structures looming about her were tombs. She had landed in the middle of an ancient and sprawling necropolis.
The sepulchral silence was shattered by a howl of rage coming from somewhere deep within the cemetery. Fiona raced through the maze of tombs, towards the unholy sound. Something she bitterly thought in keeping with her judgement lately. She halted with a shudder, coming upon a sight that froze her in her tracks.
It was unmistakably the same winged devil that had attacked the bi-plane. Even forced to the ground it was a gruesome sight. But for Fiona, the Hun was no more horrific than the beast it was currently locked in animalistic combat.
The beast resembled a wolf only so much as a true wolf resembled the tamest Labrador. It was a massive, shaggy monstrosity with dark grey fur. Its fangs were like sabres. Its eyes burned with hellish fury, hunger and lust. The beast bit deep into the Hun's bloated belly, unleashing a crimson fountain that only seemed to inflame rather than slake its rage.
"Mina?" Fiona whispered.
The Hun responded by sinking its talons deep into the beast's back, savagely ripping away strips of scarlet flesh as its foe only bit down harder.
"Fiona!" a voice cried out amid the chaos.
The Scot turned to see Shari of all people racing towards her. The girl lunged her arm forward, tossing something that gleamed in the light of the moon. Fiona reached out her hand to grab the hilt of a long ornate sword, arabesques etched along its blade.
Taking the weapon firmly in both hands, Fiona rushed to where the Hun still trashed wildly in 'Mina's' jaws. The beast could only hold the devil a moment more at most.
The blade rose to strike a moment too late as the undead warlord finally hurled its foe aside. The Hun was still prone on the ground, its eyes locked with Fiona's.
It hesitated.
For decades, Fiona would wonder why the Hun did not simply gut her where she stood. Perhaps after a millennium of undeath, the great conqueror it had once been only desired the warrior's death that had been denied him in life. Perhaps it was simply tired.
But in that moment, Fiona Canmore did not think. She was a Hunter and her prey had dropped its guard, instinct did the rest.
The Hun's severed head rolled across the graveyard as fifteen centuries of decay claimed their due. By the time it came to a rest, what had once been the head of a slavering nightmare fiend was simply a cracked skull trailing dust behind it.
Fiona had just enough time to let out a low sigh of exhaustion before she was tackled to the ground by a massive shaggy form. The Harker-beast pinned Fiona's sword arm with one gigantic paw, making the blade useless. Its grey fur had been matted and dyed an ugly rust by the blood.
Fiona looked up into the blazing, battle maddened eyes of the thing that had been her friend. "Mina, listen to me. This isn't you!"
The beast's fangs slowly lowered towards Fiona's throat.
"You said you weren't like other vampires… Prove it!"
The beast paused, the bloodlust cleared from its eyes. Rage and hunger were instantly replaced by horror and loathing.
Fiona looked up into those eerily human eyes for the briefest of moments, before the vampire suddenly fled into the night.
The Scot almost tried to call her back before the futility of it stopped her. What could anyone possibly say after something like that?
Someone helped her to her feet. "Are you alright, Fiona?" asked Shari
"I..," Fiona gazed at the young girl without comprehension. "I'm fine."
"I'm glad," the girl smiled, utterly nonplussed by what she had witnessed. "Could I get that back, by the way?"
"Oh, of course, thanks," Fiona said, wiping clean the sword before retunring it. "Shari… What on Earth are ye doing here?"
"Well that's a very long, story," the young girl said, amiably taking the Scot's hand and guiding her through the cemetery. "Why don't I tell you over a hot meal, my treat?"
[-]
15 Pall Mall, London, 11:55 pm, May 15th
Fiona double checked the address on the telegram before knocking. This was undoubtedly the place her informant had specified. Though she could not imagine why he would choose this a meeting place.
The door opened and a doorman appraised her wordlessly.
"Sorry 'bout this but I'm supposed to meet a Father du Plessis here?" she said.
He waved Fiona in, leading her to the door of a small reading room, holding it open.
"Fiona?" a voiced called out from within.
The Scot's eyes widened in shock. There, sitting in an armchair with a book open in her lap, was Mina Harker.
The doorman closed the door behind him, leaving the two women alone. Uneasy silence filled the room for several long minutes as Fiona nervously paced the thickly carpeted floor.
"I'm sorry…" Mina finally spoke. "About what happened in Istanbul."
Fiona pulled up a chair across from the English woman. "What exactly did happen in Istanbul, Mina?"
"I let it out," she whispered. "That beast you saw in Eyüp Cemetery; I'd kept it locked inside me. It's always waiting for me to drop my guard, constantly clawing at my mind every minute of every night for fifteen years since…"
"since what?"
"When I first… died, the thirst was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. I was little more than an animal. It took away all my reason… all my vaunted Victorian morality… my Johnathan."
A vampire killed my husband, I can never forgive the monster responsible.
The words rose unbidden from Fiona's memory. "My God, Mina… I…"
"I understand why you hate me, Fiona. I hate myself. Finding Quincey is the only thing that's kept me from freeing myself from this Hell."
"I don't hate you, Mina." The Scot's eyes were downcast. "Ever since my brother died, I've… done things. Things I thought were absolutely and unquestionably right at the time. I told myself I was protecting Mankind. All the while, Mankind seemed more interested in blowing itself to Kingdom come. Maybe there are people out there who can see how the whole tapestry fits together. Who know how to save the world from itself. I bloody Hell don't know what's right and wrong anymore. But I know this…"
She placed here hand on her friend's. "Alive or dead, yer a good woman, Mina Harker."
Mina smiled weakly, for the first time Fiona could ever recall. "As are you, Fiona Canmore."
[-]
The room was dark save for a single shaft of light shingin down upon a round marble table surrounded by six high backed chairs. Three of which were already occupied. This was the Star Chamber, reserved only for the Club's most elite and secretive members. A tapestry depicting a golden pyramid topped by a single all-seeing eye adorned each wall.
"Your Eminence, you have the floor," Shari spoke.
A crimson robed Cardinal rose and bowed. "Mademoiselle Zade, Fiona Canmore has proven herself cunning, ruthless and unrelenting in the pursuit of her goals. All qualities valued highly by our… Fraternité. It was she who slew the demon Attila, as you witnessed for yourself."
"I do seem to recall Mrs. Harker helping with that, Your Eminence?" asked Shari.
"And yet, I cannot help but notice that… 'Mrs. Harker' has failed to deliver the Sword of Mars as promised," replied du Plessis.
Shari turned to the corpulent gentleman still lazily puffing on his cigar. "M?"
For a moment, it seemed as though he too would rise from his armchair before releasing a sigh of exasperation and sinking back into the cushion. "Madam, as you just pointed out to my most learned colleague, Miss Canmore would have been dead half a dozen times over if not for Mrs. Harker's intervention. She possesses unique skills and a certain… incentive to work with us. I admit the loss of one Sword was an unfortunate setback, but Mrs Harker's exploits did provide you with useful distraction. Which is why I stand by my initial nomination."
"This is true." Shari admired al-Battar, now laid reverently across the marble table. In the chaos caused by the Hunnic vampire's attack on Tokapi Palace, exchanging it for a replica had been simpler than any of them had hoped.
She steepled her fingers. "It seems to me that having to choose between one or the other misses the forest for the trees. Having had a chance to observe them twice, it seems they complement each other well."
Du Plessis cocked an eyebrow. "What do you suggest?"
Shari flashed a cat-like grin. "Send them both up."
[-]
The Borgo Pass, Romania, November 5th, 1997 AD
Demona soared over the dark forests which seemed to cover every uninhabited inch of land in this region. It was easy to see why the humans had named this place the 'The Land Beyond the Forest'.
She had read once that long ago, before humanity had spread across the continent, forests such as these covered all of Europe. A squirrel, if it had been so inclined, could have travelled form Brittany to Moldavia without once having to touch the ground.
Perhaps one night soon, they would again. The thought brought a curl to her lips.
She spied the castle, its crumbling towers a black silhouette against the bone white moon. From a distance it looked more like the rotting carcass of some slain dragon than a man-made artifice.
She clutched her package closely, a long object swathed in leather wrappings.
Touching down in the ruined courtyard, the first thing she noticed where the dozen or so oblong man-sized crates stacked neatly just inside the castle gates. One sat open, it's lid yet to be nailed down. A thin layer of earth, no doubt dug from beneath the castle, was spread along the crate's bottom.
A low growl rose behind her. In an instant, she spun around. Her eyes blazed red as she flared her wings and bared her fangs.
Several wolves stalked out from the courtyard's shadows, baring their own fangs in turn. They circled the gargoyle as they would any other intruder in their domain.
Demona was about to pounce and rend the nearest beast to ribbons when a harsh bark rang out. At the sound, the wolves drew back, admonished.
A new beast padded out from the castle's iron door, larger and darker than any of the others. The pack's leader, thought Demona.
Once the rest of its kin had skulked back to wherever they hid themselves, the great beast stepped to the side and sat silently by the open door. Its meaning was clear.
Enter freely and of your own will.
She followed the great wolf to a small dining chamber in one of the better preserved towers. A long table was laid out before a roaring fire, stacked high with several platters of cooked meats. At the head of the table, sat the Abomination.
He was clad in a simple dark robe, the hood shadowed his features but she could still make out the visage of a charred skull, tendrils of pale flesh were slowly regenerating over the blackened bone. Twin glowing red embers regarded her thoughtfully from otherwise empty sockets.
If he expected her to inquire about the source of his injuries, then he grossly overestimated the interest she placed in his well-being.
"Demona," he spoke softly, little more than a whisper, gesturing to an empty chair with a skeletal claw. "Please sit and eat. I'm sure the journey was tiring."
She stood silent and unmoving.
"Very well," he sighed. "Berserker!" He tossed a cut of meat to the wolf who lay down by the fire to devour it on it.
Her eyes narrowed. "I have no interest in blandishing insincere pleasantries with you, Tepes. You have something I want as I have something you want. Let's get this over with."
"If you insist. Though I'm curious, Demona. You've had the Sword of Mars in your position for of seven decades yet to the best of my knowledge, you've never made any use of its power. And now, you offer it in trade?"
She unwrapped the leather package, revealing the ebon blade. "The Hunnic shamans who created the Tear of Danu also placed a ward on this blade. Only one of who possesses the blood of Attila may wield its power."
"Such as myself?"
"If your boasts are truthful," she sneered. "What do you offer in exchange?"
He slid an envelope across the table. "Enclosed within is the current location of the Tenebris Custodia, a tome written by the Master of the Scholomance Himself."
She tore the envelope open and read, cocking an eyebrow bridge. "The Vatican's secret archives? I suppose that explains why you never tried claiming it yourself."
"A fair bargain," he spoke. "Something I cannot take for something you cannot use."
For a moment, she considered fighting her way out and taking the Sword with her. After all, she had no way of confirming his intelligence. Still, he was right, it was useless to her. A scrap of sharpened metal wasn't worth the aggravation.
"I have a condition," she said.
"Oh?"
She laid the black blade on the table and turned to leave. "Kill as many humans as you can with it."
He raised the Sword, testing it. Despite his seemingly thin form he wielded the weapon as though it were light as a switch of willow. The runes inscribed along the ebon blade glowed blood red. He let out a rasping chuckle.
"Agreed."
Never the End.