Disclaimer: I do not own HunterxHunter, nor do I profit commercially from these writings.

Lucian's Story Part 10

RETRIBUTION

The attack came when twilight had fallen.

The Holy Saint had been in private chamber, mulling over the report that the Holy Knights had given him regarding the eerily empty torture chamber and the missing people. It deeply disturbed him that the Holy Knights hadn't been able to enter the torture chamber without being assaulted by intense agony that had rendered some of them unconscious, that the torture chamber looked like it hadn't been recently used while he knew for a fact that it was being used, and that all the Crusaders and the few clergymen taking part in the torture had gone missing. There were no bodies, no blood. Nothing.

He had been deep in contemplation when suddenly explosion shook his entire world. The explosion had been so strong that fine powdery bits of the stone ceiling had crumbled onto the floor like drizzling rain. By instinct he jumped from his seat and ran for the window leading to his balcony. He stood shell-shocked as he saw flames rising to the dark night sky, engulfing the entire Hiera Sedes with vengeance. There were screaming echoing all over the city. It took him three seconds to realise what was going on, and that his fear had come true.

They are here, a piece of his mind whispered to him. The friends of the undead had come for retribution in blood.

The old man had been so distracted in his fear that he didn't even suspect anything when there was a polite knock on his door. It didn't register to him that there was nothing urgent in the way the door was knocked when the situation warranted a frantic banging on his door.

"Come in." He had called out absentmindedly.

But there was no sound of the door being opened. Nor were there any sound of footsteps. Bewildered, the Holy Saint turned from the window and approached the door with quizzical expression on his weathered face. He thought that whoever beyond the door hadn't heard him, which was strange. Halfway through the room, however, the Holy Saint froze in his track as he felt icy grip of fear ran down his spine and locked him on spot.

Someone was in the room.

Someone was in his room, and that someone was overflowing with bloodlust and staring at him with predatory eyes.

The Holy Saint's awareness was promptly reduced to the immediate vicinity, limited only to the enclosed space of his chamber. Gone was the distant screaming of the people and the roaring of the fire, gone was the feeling of shaking ground as explosions after explosions rocked the compound. Everything was tuned out, except for his fearful breathing and the presence of the other someone.

"Good evening, Holy Saint."

The voice was velvety; rich and clear. It was a charming sound, something the Holy Saint would have appreciated if not for the rage boiling underneath that smooth voice.

"Thank you for inviting me into your room. That is very gracious of you." The voice continued.

He didn't know if the person—the man, a part of his mind supplied—had meant to be sarcastic or not, but to the Holy Saint's ears it rang so sarcastic that he could almost hear the "you are such an idiot" behind those polite words. But still the Holy Saint said and did nothing. Like a small animal paralyzed by fear when stalked by an invisible predator, the Holy Saint stood very very still that he looked almost like an awkwardly posed statue.

He was so so afraid.

"I assume you are aware of the torture that your religious members have inflicted on the child?"

Those words chilled the Holy Saint's innards.

"C, child?"

The Holy Saint could not see the man, but even he could feel that the man had been very unimpressed by his pathetic squeaking, and more so by how ignorant he had sounded.

"The strigoi your Crusaders had caught and tortured may look like a young man, but he is still a child among us." The man said with cold, cold voice. "My child."

The Holy Saint's heart dropped to his stomach. He didn't know anything about the undead and their classification, but even he could feel the power emanating from the man who was intimidating him with his mere presence alone. This man—this undead—was far greater than the one they had captured. Much much greater, in all sense of the words.

He was so doomed.

"But I reckon after all this, he would be a mature strigoi ifhe awakens from his recovery." The undead continued dryly.

With all the flimsy courage he could muster, the Holy Saint forced his legs to move so he could turn around to address the mighty undead who had invaded his private chamber. Slowly and painfully, the Holy Saint turned around and scanned the room cautiously until he spotted him.

The undead man was comfortably sitting on one of the extra chairs in the room, the view of the black night sky through the window as his backdrop. His legs were crossed around the knees and his spindly fingers stapled together with his elbows on the armrest. His dark hair was slicked back loosely, a few stray strands falling onto his pale face. His pallor skin gave him an appropriately unearthly look, and his high cheekbones gave his face a sharp edge that made him seem all the more harsh. His eyes were the colour of stormy sky in the sea; grey, cold, and sharp. His whole pose and being were commanding, and it spoke volumes to the Holy Saint that this was THE nobility of the undead.

The Holy Saint thought that having a face to identify the voice with would lessen the fear, but he was wrong. Those unforgiving eyes struck more fear in his heart than ever.

"I…" The Holy Saint faltered when his voice cracked nervously. He swallowed thickly and licked his dry lips, and tried again. "I… I'm sor—"

"Taci! (Silence!)" The undead man snarled, and in his fear-driven instinct the Holy Saint dropped his head down submissively.

The undead's voice had been inhumanely harsh and cruel, and his visage had morphed into that of a demon. His eyes were blazing crimson and his fangs were bared menacingly like he was about to tear at the Holy Saint. However, it vanished as soon as it had appeared, leaving the Holy Saint fearfully wondering whether it had been real or he had just been imagining things. To the Holy Saint's horror, the undead man had left his seat, and the Holy Saint hadn't seen him standing up.

"Apology won't heal the trauma dealt on him, human." The undead man spat. "Save your breath. I do not wish to hear such disrespect against my son."

The Holy Saint didn't understand which part of an apology is disrespectful to the undead's dignity but he did not ask. Perhaps the ways of the undead were different from those of the humans. He hastily bowed his head meekly and made a vague apologetic gesture for his supposed blunder. At least he hadn't killed him on the spot.

"Ignorant humans." The undead hissed as he approached the Holy Saint with a gait that reminded the elderly man of a prowling predator. "You eliminate those that you have no understanding of. Fear of the unknown blinds you. Disgraceful."

In his desperate attempt to maintain a shred of dignity, the Holy Saint lifted up his chin and stared into those harsh eyes. He almost coiled from the intense fury radiating from those cold eyes, but the Holy Saint bravely stood his ground.

"We humans are imperfect." The Holy Saint said with his humblest voice.

The undead's sneering expression at his words was like a slap.

"Indeed." The undead purred, and the sound sickened the Holy Saint. "Would you like to see, then?"

The Holy Saint didn't trust his vocal cord not to whimper, not when he was being subjected to those wicked glints in the undead's eyes. In fact, the undead seemed to take his shaky attempts at putting a brave front sadistically amusing. The Holy Saint was almost sure that the undead was toying with him when he produced a pathetically withering grey feather from the fold of his inky black cloak.

"Would you like to see, dear Holy Saint? The imperfectness of your people?"

The Holy Saint had just opened his mouth to respond when a palm was slammed to his chest. Hard. It barely registered to his shocked mind that the undead had slammed the crumbling grey feather onto his chest when the whole hand sank into his chest.

However, he hadn't even had the time to panic when the images slammed into his mind like tidal waves. They burned his eyes and seared his mind with unforgiving force.

The blood. The screams. The burning flesh, like acid poured onto open wounds.

The atrocities committed by his own people; those who had pledged to live by the teaching of their Heavenly Father.

"In the name of the Lord, we shall deliver your judgement!"

"We are the vanguard of Heavens!"

The hypocrisy of men.

"More! More!"

"You deserve this, monster!"

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

The delight they felt as they tore at the poor undead man-child.

It was all too much for the old man. The despair, the disappointment, the shame. The Holy Saint collapsed to his knees, ignoring how his old bones complained by the sudden abuse. In front of an undead, the Holy Saint wept.

The Countess's winter sea grey eyes swept across the many pale faces of her 'army'; a combination of her brethren and the Count's. They were all bright-eyed and eager to get into action. It was never a good idea to restrain any good strigoi warriors from their well-anticipated actions, so Countess Elizabeth Báthory decided to start the debriefing. She herself was itching to unleash their unholy wrath onto the Order.

"Brethren! We all know why we are here! These humans of the Order have committed a great crime against our youngest."

There were substantial hissing, growling, and snarling in the crowds, all tinted with various degrees of rage and promise of vengeance. It pleased her greatly that her brethren shared her strong sentiment.

"My dear cousin will take care of the head of the Order, the Holy Saint himself. It is his prerogative as the Sire." There were murmurs of agreements, and she continued: "Now, do NOT touch the civilians."

She had emphasised the last sentence with voice and eyes promising brutal punishment to those who dared to disobey, but it was a stern reminder than warning. Her clan and the Count's clan were not in the habit of attacking innocent civilians as they had learned to co-exist since quite some centuries back, although sadly the same could not be said about the other clans around the world. Pity.

In any case, Lucian had been the one who had cemented the good relationship between humans and the strigoi. Her clan, the Count's clan, and the humans living in their territories had taken massive offensewhen the news of Lucian's capture and subsequent torture had reached them. Even the humans had wanted to join the 'army', and the sentiment was endearing for both the Count and the Countess although they had persuaded the humans to 'guard the home base'. Lucian was their precious, both for the strigoi and the humans.

"Of course, our main priority is the Crusaders." She spat the last word like it was the vilest word ever. "Eliminate them until the last one of them. Leave no survivors. The rest of the Order is free game." She purred with a manic grin.

There were some beastly cheer among the crowds, and the Countess basked in the bloodthirstiness of the cries.

"Now, let's have some fun, shall we?" She purred in sadistic delight.

It didn't take long for her brethren to raise seven hells in Hiera Sedes. Most of the strigoi preferred to take down the Holy Knights as well, just to err on the side of caution. There weren't that many Crusaders left because Kuroro Lucifer had annihilated most of them in his righteous fit of rage; one that the Countess approved with mad delight.

The Countess strolled down the main street of Hiera Sedes, her trusty whip in her gloved hand. She delicately avoided any pools of blood around her; she wouldn't want to soil her perfectly good dress. Her whip was doing a wonderful job dispatching her enemies from long distance, the leather crackling delightfully amidst the screams and the crackling fire. Many of the Order members seemed to realise that she was the leader of this invasion, and many had the good sense to avoid her. However, some weren't exactly in possession of a good head on their shoulders.

One of such people would be the foolish girl charging at her with her broadsword brandished. The Countess was mildly impressed by the girl's raw strength, for her to be able to swing that monstrosity without looking like a demented cow on broken roller skates. But still, the girl had to be chronically dumb to be charging headlong at the Countess like that. All it took the Countess to take care of the girl was a flick of her whip to disarm her, and another flick to strangle the girl by her neck with her leathery whip.

"Little girl, you are a century too early to be engaging me in battle, let alone hope to overwhelm me." The Countess said with glee as she watched the girl squirming and trying futilely to untangle the leather from her neck. Stupid girl didn't even realise that the more she clawed at the whip, the more the whip tightened around her flimsy little neck.

When the leather of the whip had drawn blood from her neck—from the friction of leather on bare skin—the Countess's nostril twitched ever so delicately as she caught a whiff of the girl's blood. With finesse the Countess pulled the girl toward her and untangled the whip from around her bleeding neck before she caught said neck in a firm clawed grip. She brought the girl's face closer to hers with a glint of curiosity and mischief in her bright eyes as she took a discreet sniff on the girl's neck.

"Oh, oh, oh~~ What is this?" The Countess withdrew with a wicked grin on her lips. "Another blood inside you. My, oh my. Naughty little girl, aren't you."

The girl looked at her with plain confusion that she looked almost stupid. Stupid on top of naive. The world was cruel upon this pitiful little lamb.

"So…" The Countess purred, "Who is the father?"

It was so very curious to see the girl's already white face paling even more.

"Is it a fellow Order member? A lowly clergymen? Or perhaps one of those strapping Holy Knights?"

The girl's imitation of a goldfish on dry land was an amusing sight, but it was the look of shame in the girl's eyes that made the Countess grin like a feral cat.

"Oh, poor child. Conceived in sin. By your law, this child should not exist, yes?" She whispered to the girl as she trailed her claws along the girl's chest, down to her abdomen, until they reached the lower part of the stomach where the wombwas. "Perhaps, I shall help you with that? I wouldn't mind."

"No! Don't!" The girl cried out in horror.

"Oh? Why is that? You would kill this poor child, anyway, right?" The Countess cocked her head sideway in mocking bemusement.

"I wouldn't!"

"Liar!" The Countess hissed at her face, this time with vengeance as her eyes shone crimson. "You will kill this child conceived in lustful sin to protect your reputation as the oh-so-pure member of the Order. Even if you do give birth to this child, you will always see it as the stain of your life. The proof of your sin. The abomination. It will eventually end up with the child's untimely death, whether indirectly or directly by your hands is irrelevant—"

The Countess couldn't help the sudden stop in her ranting when the girl started bawling her eyes out.

"I—He—I didn't—" The girl blathered in wild staccato, amidst her messy sobbing.

Under normal circumstances, the Countess would have been highly offended by the tears and snots running down the girl's face and making a mess on her lovely gloves. But at the moment, the Countess wasn't really paying much attention to her gloves. It was the implication behind the girl's words and actions that had given her a bigger picture.

"It wasn't consensual." The Countess hissed in rage, which soared further when the girl gave a shaky and shame-filled nod. "That's why you attacked me. You wanted me to kill you." Another nod. "You don't want the child, but you don't have the heart to kill it yourself." Another small nod.

The Countess released the girl, who crumbled to the hard ground and continued weeping. The Countess stared at the girl with unreadable eyes, particularly at her still flat stomach. Even when her Head Maid Dorothea stepped forward to change her soiled glove, she was rather unresponsive, so deep in thought she was. It went on for what seemed like hours, while it had actually been only a scant few seconds.

"Give me the child." The Countess suddenly declared, ignoring the look of surprise from the girl and the squeak of protest from her Head Maid.

"W, what?" The girl managed to squeeze out a shaky whisper.

"You don't want the child, but I do. Carry the child in your womb to term, and give the child to me if you still do not want it by then."

"B, but—"

"I will provide for you, food and shelter. You won't be wanting for anything during those nine months." When the girl failed to reply, the Countess offered: "But if you refuse to even carry the child, I could still fulfill your wish and kill you and the child right here right now."

"…why?" The girl asked in wonderment. "You…You are an… an undead. Why would you…?"

"Why would an undead like me wish to raise a human child? Oh simple really. My cousin raised a human child, an orphan. Still do, actually. He told me that it is one of the best things to happen in his long, long life." The Countess said with gentle voice. She still remembered the Count's face when he said that. She had never seen his face so soft before.

"Was the child…happy?"

"Oh, pipsqueak never stopped laughing. The castle had never felt livelier before." The Countess said with a smirk. "So, do you accept my proposal?"

The girl put a hand on her abdomen, before she gave a small nod. Still unsure, but at least she seemed willing to give the child growing in her belly a chance to life. It was enough for the Countess.

"Splendid!" The Countess chirped and clapped her hands, before she whirled around to her Head Maid and said in sing-song voice: "Dorothea, lovely. Would you be a dear and escort our little lady here to safety?"

"Milady! For the love of—My duty is to keep your pretty little arse safe, not playing chaperon to poor unfortunate souls!" The Head Maid protested with her arms crossed and her feet spread apart, looking like an angry nanny reminding her errant charge to eat her veggie.

"Oh, come on, Dorothea. I can keep myself out of trouble." The Countess waved her Head Maid off, seemingly not noticing that her Head Maid had just referred to her person as 'pretty little arse'.

"You? Out of trouble?!" The Head Maid screeched in indignation as she went on a tirade on all the troubles the Countess had ceaselessly created and how poor Dorothea had to do all the clean-up.

The Countess listened to her Head Maid's rambling with an amused grin, unaffected by the blatant disrespect directed to her person. Dorothea was the sister that she never had. She could do and say anything she wanted and would never be punished for it, unless it was an outright betrayal but Dorothea would never do that. They had sworn. They were tovarăş.

"Just this once? Please? I promise I will be a good girl." The Countess batted her eyelashes at her Head Maid, to which the Head Maid responded with an eye roll.

"This is the 1869th time that you said 'just this once', Milady—"

"Do stop counting, Dorothea. It's getting creepy."

"—but yes, I will do it." The Head Maid finished with a long-suffering sigh as she turned to address the girl sitting wide-eyed on the cold hard ground. "Girl, follow me."

The Countess stared at the retreating figures of her Head Maid and the girl until they were out of her line of sight. She then averted her gaze to the towering citadel of the Order, located in the heart of Hiera Sedes. She wondered what her Cousin was doing now.

She just hoped that he hadn't gone soft on the Holy Saint.

The Count of Wallachia watched with dispassionate eyes as the frail old man who was titled the Holy Saint collapsed to the floor and cried like a baby.

Vindictively, he thought that it would have been more satisfying if the old human could feel Lucian's pain during the torture, but the logical part of his mind told him that the old human would not withstand such insane level of agony. The old human would have died from the shock.

And to think that the old human had dared to try to apologise for the fate that had befallen Lucian! For The Count, the Holy Saint's apology was offensive because it had implied that Lucian was a victim helpless against the Order. Lucian was no victim. He let himself fall into the miserable circumstance while fully knowing the consequences. No. He would not accept any apology, for it would diminish the value of the retribution he was about to extract to this wretched place.

The Count was fully prepared to brace himself against the tirade of angry denials and accusations that he had expected to come from the shaken human. After all, in his personal experience of hundreds of years, humans in power were so tiresome to deal with; so self-righteous and judgmental. It was then understandable that the Count was rather taken aback by the emotional outburst of tears and shame that poured from the Holy Saint like a tsunami.

"I am ashamed!" The old human wailed in anguish as he tore apart his own religious robe. "I am ashamed to be part of these people who have displayed such blasphemous words and actions! Oh Lord! Such shame! Such sins! Lord help my soul, this humble servant of yours who have failed in his duty!"

The Count watched in morbid fascination as the Holy Saint continued proclaiming his failure and shame, his intrigue growing as he observed the old human begged for forgiveness to his God not just for himself but also for those who have unknowingly and knowingly committed such heinous sins in their misguided faith. About how they had used their faith as the crux and excuse for their perverse sense of superiority and self-entitlement.

The more he watched this spectacle, the more the Count wondered if God had intended everything to play out like this or not. If He had intended for the Count to witness this fervent display of humility by this frail old man, if He had intended for the Count to have a change of heart and mind.

But the Count of Wallachia had learned his lessons from long time ago. He had learned not to question the Higher Being and to just—in Lucian's words—go with the flow. So he waited until the frail old human had calmed down enough to be able to engage in a coherent conversation with him. When the old human was sufficiently calmed and had prostrated himself into a kowtowing position on the floor, though still muttering soft words of pleas for forgiveness, the Count extended a clawed hand to him.

"Come, Holy Saint." He intoned, a hint of amusement colouring his voice. "Escape from this doomed place and start anew. The world needs more people like you."

And indeed he meant it. So many people used religions as their shield to carry out their ambitions. Land expansion. Political propaganda. Colonialism. Ideology domination. Power play. It was ridiculous. Perhaps this old man could change that for the better?

To his irritation, the old human refused his offer.

"No, I shall stay with this place as it comes to its end. I am part of this place, thus I shall go along with it to its ruin." The old human declared despairingly, and the crumbling walls and ceiling in the room seemed to emphasise his last word.

The Count barked out a dry laugh.

"I ask you, then. How does one atone in death?" The Count asked with a sneer. "Or would God grant you miraculous power to change the human's minds and soften their hearts from your place by His side up there in the Heaven? If that is so, why hasn't He done that with the previous martyrs of the old era, then? Why hasn't He done that Himself, then?"

It gave the Count a wicked satisfaction to see the old human's stunned expression. When the old human's expression turned contemplative, the Count had lost interest. With a swish of his inky black cape, the window to the balcony was thrown open. A gush of sweltering hot wind blew into the room, carrying the stench of death with it. The Count stepped into the balcony and spread his black cape, ready to take his leave.

If the old fool decided to waste his life here, the Count had no business to convince him otherwise.

"Would this be a sin?"

The Count stopped short of launching himself off the balcony, and tilted his head slightly to peer at the old human from the corner of his eyes. The old human had picked himself off the floor and was gazing down at his wrinkled hands.

"Would it be a sin to accept help from a being such as you?" The old human asked with quiet voice.

The Count turned around slightly to regard the old human with sharp eyes, before making his opinion known.

"I do not know. You are the Holy Saint, closer to the Heaven than anyone else on this mundane Earth. You tell me." At the old human's short dry laugh and the breathless muttering that sounded suspiciously and hilariously like "Holy Saint my ass", the Count added: "But this I can tell you. Do not squander the gift bequeathed on you, Holy Saint. The Heaven has blessed you. Sickness will not touch you, and Old Age will not deliver Death unto you."

"How do you know?"

The old humans actually looked and sounded genuinely curious in his enquiry. The Count's couldn't help the thin smile on his pale thin lips.

"A condemned being would know a blessed being when he sees one." He responded accordingly, voice devoid of bitterness.

The old human made a contemplative hum, and the Count detected the slightest hint of determination in those old eyes. The Count then turned around to fully face the old human and extended his clawed hand again.

"Come, Holy Saint. Time is of essence."

Author's Note: Now, people, I am not up for religious debate. Although this part of the story is based on the real issues with the Roman Catholic in the Vatican City (all those scandals with the child molestation, rape, kidnapping, blah blah blah), I am not condemning them for it. Consider this a commentary, and no flaming on dear ol' me. I deeply apologise if by any chance I happen to offend any of you guys out there.

Surprise, surprise! Thought the vampire army would indiscriminately kill everyone in Hiera Sedes, dont'cha? Well, they ain't doing that. I firmly believe Lucian comes from a sensible vampire clan who can co-exist with humans. And a little bit background story of Lucian's past here. He was an orphan child, and adopted by the Count until at one point he was turned into a vampire.

And Lucian's father the Count made his appearance! What do you think of him? Like him? Hate him?