Mullen Institute, Dublin

9 May, 2011

23:55—Dr. Lyte's Perspective

:-:

The heart is a funny thing. Happiness, sadness, love, hatred; two sides to every emotion. This instability is what makes us human.

Humans and nightwalkers are similar in many ways:

We play games with the heart to keep ourselves satisfied. These games are unfulfilling, however, because…no matter how many we play, win or lose… It's inevitable. The heart is *never* satisfied; it's insatiable, an unappeasable thing.

…To conquer oneself, one must transcend superficiality. What one "sees" is cosmetic; what one "feels" is spiritual… Becoming ideal beings of greatness: Only the scion of love and the last Kresnik can accomplish this.

The doctor sees all in the shadows of her mind: Stuart and Dawnavan's struggle against their antitheses; spectacles of wonder. Speed, strength, endurance, durability, intelligence, stamina, skill, killer instinct, and undying willpower… They're fighting like never before, pushing themselves beyond their limits.

"We…were born to unite the races, scion of love." Stuart's antithesis confesses, mentally disorienting him. The "other" self capitalizes with a skillful combination punch variation of the Sol Crusher to Stuart's jaws and stomach!

The Brit is struck to the ground, his targeted areas burning from exposure to the antithesis' solarized fists. He still has a long way to go: Stuart is strong of heart, but his mind… In so many ways, he's mentally broken.

His antithesis bypasses him, unwilling to observe Stuart's suffering.

"Stop! Don't…you dare…*walk away from this*!" Such resilience… The antithesis halts and turns, provoked by Stuart's obstinance.

"What is it, scion of love? Do we wish to continue?"

Stuart struggles to stand. With a little effort, he manages.

He's out of breath, and it hurts to move. But…

"I…must continue… *I won't give up*.

Enlighten, Paradise!" —he's a stubborn man. Stuart releases the superficial bounds of his existence, casting a solar territory from his recovering body.

Then, a miracle of nature occurs…

He's about to discover it: The power…of the Nightlord.

—Paradise's activation affects the atmosphere: The sun and the moon appear in the skies above, parting the clouds and creating a solar eclipse.

Stuart is exhibiting the might of the Von Dracula bloodline.

Valdo shouldn't be the current Nightlord. He stole that title from his father, and corrupted a world the late Count Orlok was trying to heal… Orlok hadn't given up his humanity. His heart was always with the people.

Orlok, Frederic, Christian, and Stuart: The Von Dracula bloodline is strong and virtuous, destined to unite the races. Valdo, despite his lineage, has fallen from the path… He has stained their name in the blood of mortals.

But Stuart…what his "other" self said about his name…

"Oi, can I ask you something?"

The antithesis is amused. "What is it, scion of love?"

"You say my name isn't 'Stuart;' that it's something else. This pertains to my identity as a whole, and everything that I accept as truth.

My existence, Paradise: Why does it feel…so familiar to me?"

Stuart lifts his head and meets eyes with the antithesis.

He's beyond serious, and his "other" self realizes this.

"If you wish to know, scion of love—" Before the antithesis can finish its sentence, Stuart surprises it by Stepping into a fierce series of varied strikes! Punches, kicks, blitzes from every angle: Not a single trace of the antithesis is left unstruck by Stuart's relentless assault. "I—Impossible…this strength…"

In a fit of irritation, Stuart's vampire blood excites: He sends the antithesis flying with a high-impact elbow smash! "Stop jerking me around…*and talk*!"

His statistics have increased. Mr. Bennett realizes the importance of his existence, and now wishes to understand more about it.

Adventurous, strong-willed and motivated: All qualities of the first Nightlord.

Dr. Lyte sees through the antithesis' eyes. She felt the impact of Stuart's elbow, but it didn't hurt. The Brit's attack injured his "other" self, not her.

The doctor feels the impact of the roof against her back. The scent of dust, the passing of the wind, the warmth of the eclipse: Everything feels real, but the pain is ineffective. "We…are blossoming once again, scion of love.

Beautiful. Can you…

—do you understand…*who* you are meant to be?"

"Stop speaking in riddles." Stuart approaches the fallen antithesis, grabs it by the collar with his left hand and rears his right fist to strike it unconscious. "Talk, and make sense when you do. My existence… *Why does it feel so familiar*!?"

"…It's a gift from the first Nightlord; an inheritance. The heir to the throne will be born with it. But our name… *What* is our 'true' name?" Stuart is mentally disoriented once again, giving the antithesis another opening: It places its right hand against his chest, and… "Release, CM Ejector!"

—casts a storm of coronal plasma that repulses Stuart, throwing him over the edge of the building!

"Guh, huh…AAH—!"

He feels the pain, the agony… This release, the CM Ejector, is related to heliophysics: The physics of the sun and its interactions with objects within the heliosphere. His existence…for it to be capable of something like this…

Mr. Bennett is the inheritor of the Nightlord's power: The wonders of heliophysics. His existence, Paradise, serves as a medium.

He is the heir to the throne of the night.

Scratch that. Mr. Bennett should *already* be the ruler of this world. At the very least, preparing to be coronated. But this was deterred: Count Valdo *fears* Mr. Bennett…because he knows what he's capable of.

This is nothing to him. His lineage is stained in blood, but purified by a symbol of greatness: Action, vibrance, vitality… Mr. Bennett, you must remember who you are.

What is your *true* name?

Mullen Institute, Dublin

10 May, 2011

00:00—Dr. Lyte's Perspective

:-:

Meanwhile, Dawnavan's struggle against his antithesis… It seems one-sided, given his inexperience, but his wounds aren't serious.

His "other" self is fast, *too* fast in fact.

The field of anemones is bloodstained. But not only blood has tainted these flowers, there's another impurity among them.

His emotions… Mr. Crowley's heart is tainted with negativity.

Loss, depression, the feeling of being defeated, never achieving anything, always at the bottom of the barrel: This child, despite his connections, has never known what it means to be victorious. He only knows failure.

His loyalty has kept him in this battle; endurance is definitely his strong point. But that alone cannot win this war… Fortunately, Mr. Crowley is bred from those who have defied limitation; nightwalkers born to achieve greatness.

I believe in him, everyone does.

Even if he doesn't believe in himself, he has what it takes to overcome doubt: The courage given to him by his loved ones. A power that defies all odds.

"Are we tired now? Honestly…

—this isn't the extent of our power. Get serious!" The antithesis engages Dawnavan once again, Stepping beyond the limits of his perception.

But suddenly, he feels something: The intense need to move. And he does… Daring to embrace his instincts, Dawnavan leaps leftward and evades the antithesis' advancement. On top of this, he can see its movements: His "other" self bounded forward into flight. However, something is strange…

—very strange indeed. Just a moment ago, Dawnavan couldn't see the antithesis' methods of movement. But this doesn't seem to be an issue anymore. He wrestles with what to make of this sudden ability.

"Our lineage is swift but steadfast in its pursuit for peace. Enslavement does that to the soul: The desire for freedom, liberty from condemnation." The antithesis flaps its wings, and alters its course to pursue the airborne Dawnavan. He recovers from his escape by rolling, then leaps forward into another roll to reverse his position. Dawnavan excels at evasion, so much that it seems as if…

He's avoiding direct contact with the antithesis. Mr. Crowley lacks the heart to confront himself. At first, he struck with brute force, but, as time progressed, he lost the will to fight back… He doubts himself to this extent?

—he's running away from himself. The agony of the past: It's too much for him. This pain…is deterring him from moving forward.

The antithesis capitalizes on this, taking to the air with a flap of its wings, and and diving towards Dawnavan with its talons extended… He knows what it's trying to do: The antithesis plans to swoop down and grab him. Dawnavan can see its movements; thus, he dares to do something foolish… "Alright. Here I go!"

—he runs forward, purposely engaging his antithesis.

This comes as a shock, even to himself. "—!? Interesting.

Have we reclaimed our will to fight?"

"Of course not. But I can't die here!"

"…We still have a long way to—" The antithesis is silenced by Dawnavan's speed. In a flash, he Steps into a leap that levels him with his "other" self, and delivers a spinning sidekick to its chest. The brute force of his advancement launches the antithesis through the air, and downward…to an eventual crash.

Liberation, to end all forms of captivity and enslavement…including the condemnation of the heart. To ensure good health, harvest and happiness: The Kresnik symbolizes these things and much, much more.

Bred from darkness to serve the light. Their lineage lies with the moon. Emotion, mystery, intuition: Attributes he all those before him exemplify.

Dawnavan suddenly undergoes an eerie transformation: From his back sprouts wings, but they're quite unlike what one would expect… These wings are made of his own blood, and appear to have special attributes.

They're solid, yet their origins are that of a liquid. These wings of blood are but a staple of his contract, which allows him to fly like his ancestors… The antithesis recovers from his blitz, amazed by Dawnavan's growth.

"Good, we've discovered this much. But like all bats, we cannot ascend like a bird. We must already be airborne.

That is why we must be quick: The witches gave us strong legs to outmaneuver even the fastest nightwalker… Our speed is our strength. Never forget that!" The antithesis motions to stand, but Dawnavan surprises it once again: He Steps forward and places his right foot on the "other" self's chest, keeping it grounded. Dominance… His ancestors were forgiving, but also demanded respect.

"I understand completely: I'm bred from Kresniks, vampire hunters. This has been burned into the back of my mind. I can't deny it…even if I want to.

But I'm not a killer! What happened back then—" Denial creates an opening the antithesis capitalizes on: It exercises its contract, releasing a geyser of blood from its frame that launches Dawnavan into the sky. "Guh, DAAH—!"

Then, the antithesis recovers by flipping to its feet, Steps into the air and punishes Dawnavan with continuous blitzes: Clawings that serve to remind him of his lineage. Every swipe is chastising… "We…*are eaters of vampires*.

Smite the evil…by consuming it! *We must understand this*!"

Mr. Crowley has progressed, but he's hindered by the past: The guilt of what happened on that night… He believes he's responsible for his father's death.

But he isn't. The Old Man, Count Valdo, is to blame for that.

You must accept this, Mr. Crowley. Release these horrible feelings, they're not your burden to carry… You weren't responsible, despite your retaliation. And your mother…even this wasn't your fault. Mr. Crowley…please…

—you must release this guilt, or it will surely kill you.