(6) Death Awaits You!

Mycroft slowly opened his eyes to find himself staring at a stream of moonlight coming in through the broken wall. His mouth was full of several tiny hard things. He rolled over & coughed them out. Five teeth clattered to the floor along with a mouthful of blood. Mycroft pushed himself onto his knees, feeling sore all over. Drained. Thirsty. He knew it wasn't water he needed right now.

Putting a finger in his mouth, he felt all his lost teeth had replaced themselves. Mycroft also had the distinct feeling there were other teeth in there. Unnatural ones that he could control. He didn't even want to deduce what kind of teeth they were. He gently touched his face, but the split flesh had mended itself by now.

His back also felt weird. He could sense something there but as he tried to focus on it, he felt something start to cut through his body from inside, as if trying to get out. Mycroft stopped & slowly tried to stand. He stood on wobbly legs like a newborn foal, still feeling aches & pains all over his body. He stumbled outside & dropped to his knees in the snow. He used the ice crystals to wash the blood from his face. Halfway through, Mycroft paused & looked at the stained snow. He reached for some clean snow with a bare hand & touched it. He could not feel the cold of it.

There was something else he could not feel. His body used to have a rhythm in it. Sometimes, it would speed up if he was excited or sexual but even at rest, the soft thumping inside him was always constantly there. But no longer.

Other things were also different. Mycroft could see better than ever before. He could hear things from far away, like two horses running up the path. There was a rider with those horses & Mycroft could smell something coming from that rider. Something that made him want to attack & kill to get at it. He needed blood to replenish what was taken.

Mycroft stood up & moved away into the trees where he would not be seen. He silently watched as the rider brought both horses onto the property. Sherrinford! Mycroft grabbed the branch of the pine tree he was under. His brother had returned, bloodied up from being dragged & Mycroft desperately needed a drink of that red river. But this was his brother. He had to hold off for his brother's sake. On the other hand, someone somewhere would have to suffer. How long could Mycroft hold off not drinking? Worry about that later. For now, it took all his concentration to not latch onto Sherrinford's many wounds. He slipped away, not sure where he was going but so long as it was away from Sherrinford, any direction will do.

As he wandered aimlessly down the trail, Mycroft still couldn't believe what had just happened to him. He was now one of the dreaded vrykólakas, but though he needed a drink of something other than water, he realized that he was still in control of his faculties. Until now, he had thought the vrykólakas to be nothing more than mindless animals set to get as much blood as they could; yet here he was, trying to protect his own brother by getting away from him & considering a plan on how to get the drink he needed without hurting someone else. He supposed that would be impossible however, seeing as how he would have to bite into someone for a drink. Or maybe he could find a way around that.

As he slowly headed down the trail in the dark & away from Sherrinford calling his name back at the stone hut, Mycroft thought again about what Micah had told him of how wing ridges worked. Wing ridges? All those bony things spreading out a bat's wings, was that what Micah meant? Mycroft stopped in his tracks as he suddenly realized something: wooden stakes don't work! It was the wings! But not their own? If that was the case, then no wonder it was hard bringing them down. It was by sheer dumb luck that Mycroft had found that sword & it had served him well ... until he met the owner. So that's what Micah meant by protection. Give them wings & they could kill any undead fiend with them except their own selves.

Give them wings ... give them ... protection ...

Mycroft looked back in the direction towards the house. Sherrinford had stopped calling for him by now. Pathetic. Weak. He can't do it. His sister's very honour was threatened & after what Micah had just done to him while killing him, Mycroft didn't even want to think about what Eurus would feel. Not to mention the more pressing threat of others coming after them to kill them in a most brutal way, all because people now believed that Mycroft & what was left of his family were the very fiends everyone wanted to destroy. There was little hope of any of them surviving now. It was not only Micah coming to kill them now, but the villages were also now a threat. But if they all had their wings ... wait a minute! Was he really considering this? If he didn't, Micah would get them all tortured to death, probably this very night & do worse to Eurus first. If he did though, they would all be safe but probably hate him forever. Their true deaths or their hatred. That was the only choice Mycroft had now. He thought hard, wondering if he should do this & if so ... how?

An ordinary man freshly turned would have thought the bite was enough & therefore would have ended up completely killing their victim. But Mycroft had felt something come into his body after he had been drained. He was still alive at the time. It wasn't about the drainage. Mycroft turned away to sit on a mound of hard snow & began working on his teeth, feeling something moving from just above & just below, as if being grown out at a fast pace to slide over his normal teeth. They cut through & Mycroft clapped both hands over his mouth, holding back a pained scream. He panted through it, getting used to the cutting pain.

It took a moment to control it & then Mycroft looked at his palm before biting into it. That hurt too, though not nearly as much as cutting fresh teeth. He pulled in a little blood that was left in him. For a split second, he wondered if drinking his own blood would work but the taste was like the taste of ash. He spat it out, thinking that sooner or later, he would have to get used to this taste. Make that much later. He tried biting again, noticing the wound he had given himself was already closing over. Mycroft watched himself rapidly heal. He bit into himself again, but this time, instead of sucking in, he tried pushing something through the fangs. He felt a liquid flow through & enter his hand. He waited once more, expecting pain from this venom but the wound closed over & apart from the dull lingering ache of being put through a stone wall, beaten to a pulp & then turned, he seemed to be fine.

Mycroft stood up, watching his hand heal before closing it into a fist for a moment. But there was no more pain from the bite he had given himself. The aches of being turned was still around but this wound had healed completely within moments. He moved to the side of the trail & after a short hesitation, he decided to just do it & get it over with. Leaning forward a little, he focused all his energy on whatever was in his back & felt everything rip right through. With a loud cry, Mycroft went to his knees as his wings shot out & formed almost instantly around him. Gasping for breath between throbs of pain, he flexed them forward. Next moment, he closed them & rolled hard & fast to his right as a great pine tree came crashing down, narrowly missing him. His sharp wings had cut right through the trunk! He got to his feet & looked down at the broken tree. His wings had done that. He had done that, using those sharp things he now had. He suddenly understood just how dangerous he could be. Dangerous & instant healing. Something his brothers & sister needed right now. He stepped over the fallen tree & resolutely walked back to the stone hut where Sherrinford still was.

Sherrinford dropped off his horse & let both animals move away to dig at the snow for frozen grass. "Mikró?" He began calling out for Mycroft as he moved over the property. He slowly moved towards the house. "Mikró, where are you?" He looked in through the hole in the wall. "Are you in there?" After glancing around, he carefully stepped over the broken wall & made his way inside.

It was either great fortune or the worst of luck that it was dark & Sherrinford could not see the bloodbath that had taken place here. Perhaps he would have fled the scene & avoided what was to come. But if fate was real, then it could not be dodged. Sherrinford moved towards the lighted area where some moonlight was streaking in. He slipped a little but as it was cold since the house was broken & there was no fire, he suspected it was merely ice. He began pushing things aside as he started looking around.

As he got closer to the moonbeam, Sherrinford noticed something red on the nearby wall. Touching it, he found it to be sticky but partly dried. His eyes widened as he realized what it was. "Mikró?!" He called once more, feeling a sinking dread. The only question now was whose river this belong to & he had a feeling it was Mycroft's which meant ... he didn't want to think about it.

Looking around in the dimness, Sherrinford could only think about that special sword Mycroft had & wondered if it was here somewhere. If he could find it, then it would afford some protection against ... against what, his own brother? Was it really going to come down to that? He began hurriedly pushing things around & feeling for the sword. He would only stay a short time before leaving since it might be better to do this in the day time. Suddenly, a thunderous crash out in the wild caused him to dive under the table. He crouched there silently & unmoving as he looked towards the feeble light of the moon. While under the table, he could feel a lot more was wet & slippery on the floor. There was no doubt about it. Mycroft had obviously been killed here, or worse. Sherrinford blinked a few times, wanting to cry but he had to stay focused. What had made that crashing sound out there?

"Theós?"

Mycroft's voice caused Sherrinford to jump a little & look around. Mycroft was standing just outside the hole, a ray of moonlight bouncing off his dark hair. Sherrinford remained perfectly still. Was it possible that Mycroft was still alive? He wasn't attacking. Sherrinford was still under the impression that the night stalkers attacked without holding back.

"I know you're here," Mycroft went on. "The horses are nearby." He glanced in their direction for a moment before his eyes drifted to the large pile of ash where he had destroyed both women & he watched it for a moment, as if expecting it to repair itself since such creatures had healing powers. But the ash remained still. It really was the only way for those things—for him—to die.

Sherrinford sighed heavily. Stupid horses! He slowly came out from under the table. "Mikró, is that really you?"

"Yes, I'm right here," Mycroft looked back through the hole to see a shadowy figure moving around.

Sherrinford stood up. "I thought you were killed."

"I'm fine."

"We should get out of here then," Sherrinford said. "I don't know what it was, but something big just crashed through the forest."

"I know," Mycroft said. "That was a tree that fell over."

"A tree?"

"It nearly took me out!" Mycroft complained. "I had to climb over it to get back here."

"Where did you go?"

"I went after that vrykólakas," Mycroft lied.

"Did you get it? What happened?" Sherrinford asked as he finally came closer. He stepped over the broken edges of the house where the hole was to get back outside. He was now dangerously close to Mycroft.

The iron. The salt. Among other things. All combined into such a sweet scent. Mycroft closed his eyes & tried to move up the steps to the porch, away from his brother. Part of him didn't want to do this, but what choice did he have? He stumbled a little & spun around to grab the railing. He opened his eyes to see where he was going but his vision clouded with a crimson red.

"What's ... wrong with you?" Sherrinford asked, slightly unsure.

Mycroft raised a hand in the direction of the busted stone. "He ... threw me ... into the wall." He put his hands up & rubbed his face as he went to his knees. "Everything aches."

"That's solid stone!" Sherrinford gasped, looking at the large hole the moon shone down on. "How did you manage to survive that?"

"I don't even know," Mycroft answered. "I just hurt. Everywhere."

"Well, that's a good thing, then."

"Excuse me?"

"Pain means you're alive," Sherrinford pointed out. "The dead don't feel anything." Mycroft could only laugh under breath. How wrong they had been. Sherrinford asked, "Where's that sword?"

"Somewhere in there, I think," Mycroft muttered, knowing it was gone. Micah had taken it with him, but Mycroft needed time to think & so sending Sherrinford on a wild goose chase seemed like a good idea to get rid of him for the moment.

Sherrinford went back inside & began looking for it in earnest. "We really need that sword, Mikró."

"I know," Mycroft said as he went to the large hole & stepped inside. "Find anything yet?" He asked, knowing the answer. He was still trying to think things through as he watched Sherrinford dig around in the dimness looking for the sword.

"No," Sherrinford tossed a chair aside. "We're not going anywhere without that sword!" He kicked things aside across the floor while looking over every bit.

"I could ... " Mycroft stopped, his voice dying in his throat. "Theós ... I could ... give you something better."

Sherrinford glanced at him. "Better than a sword that destroys those things?"

"It can't destroy all of them," Mycroft said. "But I found something that can destroy ... all the others." Except yourself, he said in his head.

"All the ... others?" Sherrinford was suddenly uneasy as he stepped back, feeling several small things roll under his feet like pebbles. He bent over to find the broken teeth. Besides those, he could see more red streaks on the walls & floor as the moonlight moved closer inside. It was as if a battle had raged here. His heart starting to race as his worst fear seemed to be confirmed.

Mycroft could hear that pounding & wanted to have it all for himself. There was no going back now. "I hope some day ... "

Sherrinford stood up & looked his brother over before slowly backing away. "It got you, didn't it?"

"Theós," Mycroft moved towards Sherrinford.

"By all the Gods!" Sherrinford looked wildly around for that damn sword.

"It isn't here," Mycroft said quickly. "It's his sword. He took it with him. I couldn't destroy him with his own sword."

"You're not my brother, any more!" Sherrinford moved around the table so that it was between them. "Stay away!"

Mycroft shook his head, feeling tears sting his eyes. He needed that blood & he wanted them all safe & now that Sherrinford knew what had happened, the only way to stop him from warning Sherlock & Eurus was to turn him. "I hope you can forgive me ... some day." He lunged forward so fast, it even surprised himself. The table was knocked over & next thing either of them knew, Mycroft had his fangs sunk into Sherrinford's jugular. He began drinking in the blood & this time, it tasted sweet. His aches started to fade.

Sherrinford struggled, trying to rip away from the bite but the strength Mycroft now had was too much to handle. He felt the wall slam into his back & he slid down. Mycroft went with him, hanging on by his teeth as he sucked in more blood. Sherrinford gasped for air but even that was hard since Mycroft's fangs were crushing his windpipe. His vision split & blurred. A coldness swept over him & then he felt as if he had fallen into a bees' nest as the venom came in, blazing through his whole body.

Mycroft released him at last. He stood over Sherrinford's writhing body. "I am so sorry, brother mine. Micah will kill us all. He's already telling the village it was us who destroyed Wycoller & you know what they are going to do to the ones that brought Wycoller down. I hope what I did to you gives you strength to resist him. All of them!" Sherrinford blinked hard as Mycroft turned & went outside. He saw wings come out & heard Mycroft scream in pain as the things cut through before taking off.

For the second time that night, Mycroft found himself above the trees, but this time, it was of his own accord. But now that he was up here, he had to figure out how to manage this newfound ability. He crashed through the tops of the taller trees & eventually tumbled down to the ground, landing in a pile. Alright. This was ... different. Mycroft stood up in the glade he had landed in. The moon was almost full as it shown down. He curled his wings forward to see them. A deep shining black, like onyx. Micah had cornsilk yellow. There was another one out there with wings as red as the river inside man & beast. His were black. What was with all these different colours? He stretched the wings out again & tried heading straight up into the air towards the stars.

Once he was was high beyond what any tree could ever reach, Mycroft hovered in midair & looked down over the land. The view of sparkling silver snow bathed in moonlight was indescribable. Mycroft looked over the land, seeing dots of light far below, fires from different villages. He soon located his own village not far from where he was hovering & then his eyes found the tell-tale snakes of bluish silver fading into black where all the rivers were. He turned around & saw the ocean, sparkling far away. His eagle vision pulled it closer & he could even see the whitecaps.

"Oh, I could get used to this," Mycroft murmured to himself, looking over the whole landscape. His eyes followed the familiar contours of the land he had ridden over countless times. He could see the breaks where the earth shake had struck harder. He finally picked the way towards the hunting house & had he known what the hell he was doing, he could have flown over within moments.

But now it was time to move again. The plan was to glide down at an angle to land next to the hunting house of his family in the hopes that Eurus & Sherlock would be there. What actually happened was a whole lot of spinning & mentioning various Gods & Goddesses by name in an unsavoury fashion as he bounced over more trees, slammed into a high rock jutting out, crashed over the roof of the hunting house & landed hard on his arse on a pile of chopped wood buried under snow.

Then that all rolled down over him, crumpling up one wing & rolling over his legs. Mycroft slowly sat up & in a tantrum fit for a two year old, he pounded the ground on either side as he sat there, moaning in pain about the mess. His whole body was back to aching again but this time, it slowly dissipated. Mycroft stood up. "Maybe I should stick to horses from now on!" The views weren't worth the fuss! He took two steps forward & then three steps backwards until his body connected with one of the trees. He stretched one side & then the other, feeling several satisfactory pops in the ribs & spine. He froze suddenly, feeling something large come up to him.

Looking around, Mycroft saw a strange red horse looking dumbly at him, wondering what was wrong with him. "You're not Nýchta," Mycroft put a hand on the velveteen nose as the horse sniffed him over. He pushed the horse aside & entered the barn, looking for the black stallion. The red one followed him in. Mycroft found one of his father's coats hanging from a part of a log sticking out from the rafters. He noticed that everything he was wearing was torn due to the wings, so he tossed his own coat aside & grabbed Siger's dark gray-black seal skin coat.

Mycroft leaned on the stall's door, holding in a breath. It helped to hold back a sudden wave of tears as he realized they had all gone their first day without their parents. They could go for weeks on end without seeing each other but knowing that everyone was constantly somewhere made everything fine. But now, Siger & Violéta were gone forever & no amount of crying or pleading to any God or Goddess or any form of magic could ever bring them back. No one & nothing cared how badly their four children would want to see them again. It was never going to happen ever again & that caused a desperate helplessness to crash down.

Something landing on his arm made Mycroft jump a little & look around. An owl had dropped onto his shoulder & tucked its head next to Mycroft's cheek. "Oh!" Mycroft yelped. "You're a wild bird! Why are you here?" He stood perfectly still, wondering what the owl wanted. It was nice to feel the soft fluffy head & somehow, it brought him some comfort. As if sensing that Mycroft had calmed down a little, the owl looked up at him before flitting up into the rafters. Mycroft let out a slow breath as he backed away. He found the large bear spear leaning in a corner for the winter & took it. Whoever had come in on that red horse would get a rather nasty surprise. Mycroft knew he had wings & fangs now, but he did not want to tear his father's coat & he didn't want Eurus to know what he had become until he had a chance to save her. He moved out across the snow towards the house. The red horse followed like a puppy.

Mycroft shot a dark look at the thing before turning to the door. He knew it would be bolted shut & he would have to pry it open. The windows were also covered with shutters for the entire winter that would only be removed for summer as there was no glass yet. He put the sharp tip of the spear to the door & began prying away at it like a lever. He felt something pulsate from his being & suddenly, the door cracked in half & fell over, making Mycroft wince as he guiltily looked around. He had wanted to be QUIET! The horse nickered at him, as if laughing. Mycroft's brow twitched in annoyance as he pulled the door pieces aside.

He past through the house & down the hall to the sleeping quarters, seemingly unnoticed. All doors were dark until he came to where Eurus was sleeping. An orange glow flickered around the edges of the door. He opened that & stepped inside to find her lying on a soft pile of furs, sleeping soundly. Looking down at her, he noticed what a beautiful woman she had grown up to be. Her long black hair lay spread out over her full breasts. Her red lips parted slightly as she slept. She would be a fine prize for any man. But prizes were to be won, not stolen & Mycroft couldn't bare to think about what someone like Micah would do to her. He began petting her hair to wake her up.

As she slowly woke up, Eurus saw a man sitting next to her, hand on her hair. Her eyes went wide & she screamed as she pulled away. Mycroft moved with her, putting one hand over her mouth. "Eurus! Calm down! It's me!"

Eurus leaned back against the corner, panting. "M-Mikró?" She gasped. Next moment, she was glaring. "YOU STUPID IDIOT!" She punched him hard.

"Ow-w-w!" Mycroft dropped back into the far corner, clutching his nose.

"I could KILL you!" Eurus was still ranting & raving. "What is WRONG with you?" She demanded as she stood up & grabbed a hide to whip him over the head with it.

"Will you stop?" Mycroft complained as he rolled away & stood up in the door to keep away from her. "Eurus, I—oof!"

She had jumped on him & was now sobbing hard into his chest. He held her close, waiting for her to calm down. After several moments, Eurus said in a cracked voice, "Y-You're alright. I-I thought they killed you!"

They did, but not in the way she meant. Mycroft tried to hold her off. "Everything will be fine," he said.

Eurus looked over his shoulder. "Theós, where's Theós?"

"He'll be fine," Mycroft said. "You'll see him, later. Where's Xanthá?"

Eurus shook her head & leaned on Mycroft's chest again. "He fell off Nýchta & down a cliff. I had to bring him to the witch doctor & leave him there. I ran Nýchta for so long, it almost killed him, so I had to leave him there as well. Someone lent me their own horse, for now."

That explained the red horse outside. Mycroft was also relieved that they were alone. No one would interrupt what he was about to do to her. "It's alright," He held her tightly as she sobbed. "Everything's going to be fine. I'll take care of Xanthá. It'll be fine." He continued to hold her as she started to relax.

Eurus slowly went limp in his arms. She sighed & looked down the dark hall. It was the middle of the night. Why was Mycroft here in the middle of the night? She moved away from him. "How did you get here?"

Mycroft scoffed. "Believe me, you don't want to know."

"Yes, I do!"

"Fine," Mycroft grumbled. "I had a huge fight with the wood pile." A moment of silence. "It won. I'm not putting it back together!" He added like a stubborn child. "I'm still angry at it."

Eurus choked back a laugh. "The wood pile?"

"Yes, it's spread out all over the place," Mycroft complained. "It's everywhere. It went ... everywhere. Watch your step when you go outside."

"Alright," Eurus gave up. "Seriously Mikró. Why are you here? It is very late."

"I had to come," Mycroft said. "To protect you."

"Protect me?"

"I hope some day, you'll understand," Mycroft put his hands on her shoulders, holding her against the wall. He brushed aside some of her hair from hair face. "You are ... so beautiful. So fair."

"Thanks ... Mikró," Eurus tried to pull away but his grip tightened on her.

"If the wrong sort of man takes an interest in you ..." Mycroft's voice was down to a murmur. "I am sorry."

Eurus felt him move in towards her. Wait, was she going to be raped by her own brother?! "Mikró, sto—oh!" She felt something bite into her neck. He was biting right through her flesh. She felt a pulling sensation at the wound. He was sucking the red river out. By the time she understood what was going on, it was too late. Not rape. Worse! He had crossed over & was now dragging her with him. "No! NO! STOP!" She punched at him but he didn't care. They fell to the floor with him on top; though at least, he had the decency to stay away from her more personal areas. Eurus tried to fight but she could barely lift her hands now. It was getting cold. She gave up & lay unresponsive under him. Then the pain came in & she was screaming once more.

Mycroft let her go & stood up. He watched her twist about on the floor as if that would help avoid the venom he had already injected into her. "I truly am sorry!" He stepped away & suddenly, he was running for the broken door, not wanting to hear her in pain any more. He laid the seal skin coat over the railing of the front porch & then glanced up at the sky. The witch doctor was very far & riding would take too long. He could be there faster if he took flight but that worked splendidly the last time.

Eurus could still be heard crying from inside. Mycroft looked through the door into the darkened home once more before spreading his wings & taking off. He was fine for heading straight up. Moving around & gliding was another story. He managed a sort of swoop down, flap up in a loop-de-loop kind of pattern, very similar to a bat. Alright. This was working. This was ohh ka—gust of wind.

Mycroft landed head first on a tree, then his left shoulder connected to a branch, his back hit another tree, his right wing slammed into a rock & tore & then hard on his arse onto the ground once more. He sat there, wings all crumpled up, for a while, recovering from the blow. Without even thinking, he brought one hand up to his lips & wiped off his sister's blood, then licked his fingers clean. He repeated the process again with the other hand, like a cat changing paws before attempting to stand up. He stumbled about. Wondering why he couldn't even walk all of a sudden, he spun around which made things worse. Stop moving, just stop moving! He was tripping over his own bloody wings.

For the first time in his life, Mycroft hissed like a wild cat, as if it would make the situation better. He didn't know why he felt like hissing but it was pure instinct to do so. Just like how washing up seemed to be instinctive. Alright, enough time wasted feeling sorry for himself. He walked forward into a clearing & flew straight up again. That was easy. Hovering was easy. Mycroft took time to look over the landscape towards the direction of the witch doctor's village. Several old landmarks had survived the earth shake, from a large round shaped hill to a U-bend of one of the rivers. When he got his bearings, he eased himself forward & finally managed to glide.

Mycroft dropped down as he got closer & aimed for a hill just before the village, knowing he was going to crash again. It wasn't as bad as the first time, probably because there was no wood pile to roll on him while he was down, but he still ended up hitting the hard path instead of the soft snow on the side. He pushed himself up, closed the wings & walked forwards into the silent sleeping village.

Now, to find Sherlock. Mycroft felt an urgency to find & turn the last of his siblings before he was caught. He knew both Micah & Sherrinford would not be far behind him & both probably wanted to destroy him for different reasons. He had to find Sherlock now! He was injured which meant he would have to be near the witch doctor's residence. He was being kept through the night which meant that Sherlock would not be in the tiny hut where the witch doctor lived. So it had to be close by that hut. Mycroft moved through the shadows, checking the area as he past. He found Nýchta penned in by a fence. The horse whinnied, recognizing him. Mycroft moved away out of sight before someone came to check on the horse.

Rounding the corner of another hut, Mycroft could see the witch doctor's home near the stream. The building before that which was set back in the hills out of the way, seemed to be similar to a celebration hall. There was also a line of pink in the sky. He was running out of time. Mycroft moved to the door of the hall & looked in. He saw Sherlock lying in the center on a pile of furs with a few more draped over him. A small fire was stoked nearby to help keep him warm. Mycroft stayed outside & eased the door closed.

The whole process of turning was extremely painful. Sherlock was too injured to be moved. He had to cover it up somehow. Mycroft headed back into the center of the village & looked around. Why weren't there any watch fires burning? He had found one large pit right in front of the medicine hall Sherlock was in but it wasn't lit. There was one other central fireplace near the main road, but it was also left in the dark. The whole place was dark except for small flickers appearing under doors here & there from the fires set in the sleeping quarters at night to keep warm. Mycroft checked the sky. The pink was growing. He knew he could survive in the dimness of the morning & evening for he had seen Micah & others do it, but for how long was anyone's guess.

Mycroft went back to the building Sherlock was sleeping in. He needed a pit on either side of the hall as well, besides the one in front. Something like that took a long time to build & several people helping. But he could move much faster now & he felt stronger than he used to be when he was alive. With his human teeth, he bit into his arm to keep from calling out as he pushed the wings open. He panted for a moment & then with the great black wings, he slashed through the snow & the earth underneath on one side, cutting a deep groove in it. He did the same to the other side. All he needed now was some wood. He didn't have time to move little pieces of chopped wood from everyone's piles but he knew his wings were sharp enough to cut through wood. He moved towards a sapling & slashed it down with one wing. After dragging the entire thing to one of the pits he had made, he found another sapling to fill the other one. Finally, he slipped inside the hall & took a torch down from the wall. He lighted it from the fire by Sherlock's bed & headed outside again.

Sherlock rolled his eyes open, seeing a peculiar flickering orange from outside the hall. The fire seemed to be all around. He tried to move but was painfully reminded of his busted arm. The crackling inferno filled his ears. Was the place on fire or had an undead monster shown up & now everyone was lighting watch fires to drive it away? Sherlock's eyes flicked to the door, seeing it start to open. Being more careful of his injury, he rolled to his better side & got up. His left arm remained firmly straight along his side, held by the splint. Sherlock watched as someone slipped in & closed the door before turning to look at him.

"Mikró?" Sherlock stared at his brother, surprised to see that he was alright. "You're alive? Where's Theós?"

"He's fine," Mycroft came up to him, looking at the strange contraption Sherlock's arm was in. "Are you alright, Xanthá?"

"Mm," Sherlock looked down at his arm. "I've been better. I'm told I will lose most of my control over it."

"What happened?"

"I fell off Nýchta," Sherlock said, moving his eyes to the orange shapes dancing around through the cracks under the door. "What is going on out there?"

"Just watch fires," Mycroft replied.

Sherlock looked him over. "Is it done, then? Is Wycoller destroyed?"

Mycroft nodded. "We killed everyone & burned it down." It was sort of true. There was plenty of help from the undead, but Mycroft left that out for now.

"Eurus is gone to our hunting house," Sherlock said.

"I know," Mycroft began. "I sent Theós there." That was a bit of a lie but if he had admitted to making it to that house & then here & all that after coming up from Wycoller, it would be a little too much travelling in such a short time & seem suspicious. He put a hand on Sherlock's better shoulder. "I came to see you."

"To see me?"

"Our entire family has come under threat," Mycroft said. "There is only one thing I can do to give each of you the power to protect yourselves." He stepped forward, pulling his youngest brother into a tight embrace, resting his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder.

"What ails you?"

"I hope ... " Mycroft sighed, trying to hold back tears. "I hope you can forgive me. Someday. For ..."

"What did you do?"

Mycroft held Sherlock back a pace, to search his brother's eyes. "It is what I am about to do. May you find some way to forgive your wicked brother this moment." After another long look, Mycroft growled & ripped Sherlock's collar away.

"My brother, what are you do—oh God!" Sherlock felt the bite seize his whole body. Mycroft lowered him to the floor to let him transition.

He didn't drink much from Sherlock's blood. He had already drained Sherrinford & Eurus & didn't feel like taking more. Besides, Sherlock had lost enough due to his injury. Mycroft stumbled back as Sherlock screamed against the pain. He felt around behind himself until his hand caught the latch for the door. Opening it part way, Mycroft slipped outside. The flames of the raging fires lashed out at him as he closed the door. It had worked. He could hear Sherlock but distantly. He had better hearing now, but anyone else most likely could not hear him at all. They would be more concerned with the watch fires & thinking the undead had come to attack & most likely not even think of Sherlock fighting death's sting this very moment. Mycroft ran behind the hall & disappeared into the forest. The sky was getting brighter & he needed to hide. He watched the medicine hall from the trees for a long time as the fires burned around it to make sure no one would wake up & try to get at Sherlock before he was nearly finished his transition. He had to back away more into the trees as the morning came closer. Satisfied that no one had yet woken up, he eventually was forced to leave due to the oncoming light.

Mycroft sped through the trees & deep into the forest. He took flight across deep dark gullies as he made his way from one darkened area to another; but even on the ground, he found that he moved much faster than before. He went to the old cave he had used with the whole family for hunting & went inside, pulling the barricade behind him to seal himself in the darkness. He was now stuck here for the day. He knew that by the time anyone did wake up & figured out what happened, Sherlock would have wings & fangs to protect himself. Wooden stakes won't work. The villagers wouldn't know what to do with him.

He leaned back against the rock & banged the back of his head against it in frustration. It was done now. He had beaten Micah at his own game. Mycroft wondered if he would ever be accepted by his brothers & sister again. He had just betrayed all of them but better that than the alternative, or so he constantly told himself. What was he supposed to do now? Mycroft pushed both hands through his hair. "What have I done?" He asked himself. He thought over the recent turn of events that had taken over his whole life. His parents. Wycoller. Micah. Attacking what was left of his family & now suddenly, he thought of Elizabet & the children. "Ohh! No! What have I DONE?" He lamented, finally feeling tears come so fast it made him shake. But there was no use now. The sun was up & Mycroft assumed he would be trapped here for a while. He hoped Sherlock would have gotten out by now or at least be ready to take down any villagers that would come to destroy him. Out of all three of his siblings, turning Sherlock was the most dangerous risk.

Johaiñe slowly sat up, being roused from sleep by an unusual orange glow outside. He got up & made his way to the door. Looking out, he could see three large fires near the place where Sherlock was resting. By now, the flames were raging & there was a lot of smoke that was blotting out the start of a new day, turning the light a dull grey. "Oh Merlin. What are you doing now?" He started to close his door again, planning to return to sleep, when his delicate hearing picked up the sound of someone screaming. It was coming from the medicine hall. "Xanthá?" He hurried down the steps & towards the fires.

By the time he got there, several others had gathered around. A few went to work on putting out the three fires while Johaiñe & the Lady managed to cross through the flames & went inside to find Sherlock lying on the floor beyond the soft pile of furs he was supposed to be on, back arched off the ground & screaming. Blood was leaking from four puncture wounds in the top of his shoulder.

"Oh no!" The Lady gasped. "Who did this?" She demanded as she ran outside. "Xanthá is becoming one of us! He is becoming a vrykólakas! Which one of you did this?!"

"It wasn't us, my Lady!" Several answered, shaking their heads. "It had to be one of them."

"How could Drákoulas or Míka get through here?" The Lady shot back, tears of rage in her eyes. "I will find out who poisoned him! He wasn't supposed to be turned!"

The witch doctor could not see the bright flames, but he heard the commotion just fine as others had started to wake up for the day, only to find fires burning wildly. He got up & hurried outside to find the Lady glaring defiantly at everyone. He put a hand on her shoulder. "We must ask him who has done this, Agápi," he said before entering through the door. He went straight to Sherlock & knelt beside him.

Sherlock was dead by now, the venom of his brother taking over. The witch doctor past his hands over Sherlock's body before returning outside to stand next to the Lady. "It is done. Xanthá is dead, his body filled with our poison." He turned to the Lady. "Agápi, he will need some of the red river to drink. But whoever did this did not drain him."

"They didn't drink?"

"Not at all apart from whatever they got from the first bite," the witch doctor replied. "This was a calculated attack deliberately done to turn him over. But he will need some drink to soothe him when he wakes." The Lady nodded slightly, shot another dark look at everyone & ran to her hut. The witch doctor turned to the group. "The rest of you, get this smoke under control & if I find out who used green saplings, I will teach them a well-deserved lesson!" He coughed on it before putting a hand on Johaiñe's shoulder. "There is nothing we can do for him now. Leave him be until he returns to this world. He will need some help when he wakes."

Sherlock opened his eyes & stared at the ceiling. He was lying on the floor close to a pile of furs. Had he been dreaming? Or did his brother, Mycroft, really attack him? He slowly sat up & then looked down at his busted arm. He wiggled the fingers on it without any pain other than a dull ache over his whole body. But the arm ... it seemed ... whole. He attempted to stand & felt dizzy. He dropped onto the pile of furs for a moment as his body burned inside. Sherlock put his head between his knees, letting out a whimper of pain. He held up both hands as he sat back once more & looked at them. They were shaking with the aches. But he could control both of them. He stared at the wood pieces around his arm & suddenly pulled them all off.

Standing up, Sherlock focused on his renewed arm, flexing it, feeling no sharp pains from broken bones any more. It was as if the injury never happened. He turned to see the door open but fell to his knees in the process. Why was he so sore? He put a hand on his shoulder where he had been bitten, but felt only the smooth flesh. Looking up at the pair coming in, Sherlock pushed himself back. "Stay away!" He ordered. "Something ... happened to me."

"We know," the witch doctor replied as he came nearer. "Who did this?"

"I don't know," Sherlock lied, wondering why he was protecting his brother who had just betrayed & killed him.

"Do not lie."

"I swear I don't know!"

"I SAID DO NOT LIE!" The witch doctor ordered.

Sherlock curled up on the floor, back against the wall. "My brother."

"Which one?"

Sherlock looked up & glared, seeing red. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. The witch doctor demanded to know who once more & Sherlock finally answered, "Mikró."

The Lady entered, carrying a large stone vessel. Johaiñe repeated to her what Sherlock had said. "His brother?" The Lady gasped. "But why?"

"I don't know," Sherlock murmured, putting his face into his knees drawn up to his chest as he sat against the far wall. If only the aches would stop. He had to stop shaking. He heard the three of them moving & looked up warily to watch them. The witch doctor had taken the vase & was now moving towards him. "I swear to all the Gods, you had better stay away from me!" Sherlock warned.

"I have something for you," the witch doctor put the vase in front of Sherlock. "Drink."

"No," Sherlock shook his head. He could smell something coming from that vase & he could see some red stains along the rim. He desperately wanted it but he knew what it was.

"You must!"

"No!" Sherlock refused.

"You can not leave until you get yourself under control," the witch doctor said, pushing the vase a little closer.

Sherlock glared red at him once more. "You are turning me into a monster!" He shoved the vase away, knocking it over. The witch doctor picked it up & put it in front of Sherlock again. It had dumped most of its contents out into the ground but there was still some left.

"You have to drink it!" The witch doctor insisted.

Sherlock stood up quickly as he hissed, feeling sharp pains as his fangs came out. "YOU ARE TRYING TO DESTROY ME!"

The witch doctor suddenly transformed in front of Sherlock. His white eyes turned a pale pinkish red. A white aura appeared around him as he bellowed, "XANTHÁ MALLIÁ! I AM NOT TRYING TO HARM YOU!" Sherlock lay back against the wall, rather subdued. The witch doctor returned to himself, his eyes back to the dull white of blindness. The glowing light was gone. "I'm trying to help you," he added in a softer tone. He felt around in the air as he crouched down to pick up the vase & offered it to Sherlock. "You need it."

Sherlock took the vase. There seemed to be no way out of this. He tried a sip & suddenly found himself gulping down what was left of the red drink. He handed the vase back & quickly used his fingertips to wipe the blood from his lips & licked them clean. "I know what that was," he said in a low voice.

The witch doctor handed the empty vase to the Lady. She took it as she said, "I'll have to get you some more since you spilled most of it." She turned to leave.

"It will help with the pain," Johaiñe said.

Sherlock closed his eyes as he slipped down the wall to sit on the floor again. Perhaps it would help with the pain, but nothing could explain to him why his own brother had attacked him. He was soon offered another vase of blood, a full one. Though he didn't want to, knowing it was human blood & someone was probably murdered for it, the scent drove him to drink & he downed the contents in one shot.

The Lady crouched down in front of him. She reached out to put her fingertips under his chin to make him look at her. He hissed softly under breath. "Don't hiss," she ordered. "Are you sure it was Choráfi?"

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. "He came in a while ago," he started.

"The large fires masked your screams," Johaiñe said. "It took us some time to wake up. The windows are all shuttered for the winter, so we didn't see much of the fire until we got to the doors."

"He bit me," Sherlock said. "Left me alone. It hurt. So much!" He put his hands into his hair & leaned forward.

"Why would he do this?" The Lady asked.

"He said the family is under threat," Sherlock muttered. "I don't know what that means. He didn't say. He just said what he was going to do to me would protect me." He sighed heavily before pulling his hands down & staring at his palms. He hissed a little at them before pressing his fingertips to his lips. He could sense the large incisors awaiting his command to spring up. He also felt strange muscles in his back. He looked at the three of them standing over him. "Why are you not afraid of me or trying to destroy me? Do you not understand what I am now?"

"You are Tha Krános Xanthá Malliá," said the witch doctor. "You have been killed & turned by one of your own brothers for the sake of some protection he thought he was giving you. But that is not how things work. I am so sorry for what happened to you."

"Not how things work," Sherlock repeated to himself. He looked up at the blind man. "You can not see yet when Ishtar ..." Sherlock's eyes went wide as he suddenly remembered Elizabet & the children. He buried his face into his knees, hiding tears.

"We must find Choráfi," the Lady said. "It seems that he is attacking his whole family. But he should not touch those children! Adults are suitable to be turned, but not the children!"

"What do you mean by that?" Sherlock demanded, glaring red at her.

"You are dead, Xanthá," the Lady explained. "Adults have finished growing but children will be stuck in their tiny bodies for all of eternity. It is not wise to turn children. Choráfi doesn't understand what he is doing. He must be stopped!"

"Elizabet would rather truly die than be like this!" Sherlock exclaimed. "She hates the vrykólakas & if she ever finds out about what was done to me, I do not even want to think of what would happen. I will never be able to go to her again. She has many charms to ward daimōns such as I away."

"There are only two things that can hurt us," the witch doctor said. "I gave you one. The small white lance. It was to be used only in protection of the children. If your brother finds Elizabet & she uses that, he will be destroyed."

"It is no less than what he deserves!" Sherlock snapped as he slowly stood up at last. His eyes flicked between the Lady & the witch doctor. "You seem to know a lot about the vrykólakas," he began. "When Ishtar cut herself on the stone, you turned to her & knew she was hurt even though you can not see." He blinked a few times. "It was her red river, wasn't it? You could smell it. Oh!" He stepped back until his back leaned against the wall. "You're one of the vrykólakas, aren't you?"

The witch doctor tossed his cloak aside & spread his pure white wings. "Guilty as charged," Merlin said.

Sherlock suddenly understood Ishtar's hand sign for the witch doctor. He stared at the white wings. "I brought my daughter to you! Eurus was with me. My sons & Elizabet! If she knew what you are!" His voice shook in a rage. He took a deep breath to steady it before going on, "You have murdered many people in the land. My family. My friend. Whole villages destroyed! You killed them all!"

"I have not," Merlin said. "I do no harm to the innocent. No one in this village does."

Sherlock's eyes moved to the door. "Is everyone here the same?"

"No," Merlin replied. "Some of them are of the Waldheri pack & some are of other packs."

"Packs?"

"Yes, packs," Merlin said, slightly amused.

Sherlock shook his head. He was in no mood to figure things out now. One thing he agreed on was that Mycroft had to be stopped before reaching Elizabet & the children. Hopefully perhaps before he could get at Sherrinford & Eurus as well. Sherlock didn't know who Mycroft had gone to first. He moved around the white wings that were slowly streaking with red & came close to Johaiñe. His back prickled as he past the old man with the weird rope. Not thinking about the time of day, Sherlock cast one last glare over the three of them before flinging open the door & stepping outside. He yelped & put his hands up for a moment.

Standing in direct sun of the slightly smoked but bright morning, Sherlock froze in the doorway. He slowly lowered his hands & looked out over the village. Johaiñe came close to him, making sure the ever-present weird rope was closer to Sherlock, who once more felt strange sensations in his back. "Are your wings prickling yet?" He smiled softly.

Sherlock stared at him. "W ... wings?"

Johaiñe nodded. "All the vrykólakas have wings."

Sherlock continued to stare at him for a long time. Did he really have wings now? But the bigger question at the moment was, "Why am I not destroyed?"

"Destroyed?"

"I am standing in the light!"

"So am I," Johaiñe said. "You have also seen Merlin during the day several times."

"It is supposed to destroy us!"

"Who says?"

"Literally everyone!"

"Ah!" Johaiñe sighed with a slight purr. "The absurdities of humans. They get everything wrong."

Sherlock turned his back to the door frame & began rubbing himself on it in an attempt to stop the prickling sensations. Johaiñe kept annoyingly close to him, his hand on his rose gold rope. Sherlock glared at him. "How do you know my wings are prickling?" He finally snapped. "Is it because I have not yet used them?"

"Not at all," Johaiñe replied. "It is because of this," he tapped the coiled rope on his hip. "You are newly formed & therefore unpredictable. Should you cause any trouble, I can incapacitate you with this. It prevents the wings from forming."

"I do not wish to cause trouble," Sherlock said. "I wish to prevent my brother from causing more damage. I need to get to Elizabet & Eurus, too. I do not even know where to begin to look for Theós, but Eurus would be at the hunting house. I should go there first." He locked eyes with Johaiñe. "Unless you wish to stop me?"

Merlin & the Lady had come out by now. "We have no wish to keep you separate from your family," Merlin began. "But be warned, you now require a drink from the red river. Should you fail, you could lose your sense & attack your own children. We have ways of getting the red river without the slaughter that Drákoulas or Míka does. You would do well to return here often to receive more."

"You would allow me to continue to live? To leave this place & carry on with Elizabet? What if I spawn some mixed monster with her?"

"Not all of us are monsters," Merlin said. "But you will never produce another child. You are dead, now & so is Mikró. Neither of you will ever have any more children. You are fortunate to have three but your brother ... his life is over for him. As it is for you."

Sherlock stood in silent shock. If he was never more to be able to do what females needed his body for, Elizabet would soon notice she was not getting pregnant again. He would have to tell her. Or leave her. Neither thought was comforting.

"Come with me, Xanthá," the Lady held out her hand, her voice bringing Sherlock back to his new reality. "I will prepare a few drinks for you to take with you. Do not wait until you run out. If you feel the slightest urge for a drink, you come straight here. Do you understand?"

"Of course, I understand," Sherlock snapped. "I'm not a child!"

"Could have fooled me," Merlin muttered under breath, remembering how Sherlock sometimes acted with Ishtar. His mouth twitched into a smirk as the Lady shot a glare at him.

Sherlock took the Lady's hand, ignoring Merlin. He allowed himself to be pulled over the fire pits that were now filled with snow & along the main road as the Lady led him away. Sherlock glanced around & noticed others had come out to watch him. He even recognized a few of the Waldheri who looked at him in wide-eyed surprise before hanging their heads as he past. Sherlock felt as if he was moving through a dream. He was dead? He had wings? He was still processing the fact that he had just drunk a lot of human blood for the first time today & had enjoyed every last drop of it that he didn't spill. Why did his life go so wrong all of a sudden? His life—his death, in fact. All of it. Just recently, he still had his parents & was still alive. Now, everything was all literally turned around.

But the strangest thing was, not all the vrykólakas seemed to be bloodthirsty monsters. They appeared as human as the next person & they walked in the light. They had their own community & just like humans, some of the vrykólakas seemed to fear their own kind. Drákoulas & Míka. The very names seemed to cause a bit of a stir in this place. Who were they, exactly?

Sherlock dropped the Lady's hand as they past a small field in which the black stallion was standing under a tree. He went to the fence & Nýchta came over to see him. The Lady stood beside them. "You should take him back to your sister," she began. "He is well enough to travel again. I will meet you at the end of the road to give you your drinks." She moved away towards her own house as Sherlock glanced to the tree. All of Nýchta's harnessing was neatly piled there just outside the fence. He began getting the horse ready to ride.

Nýchta trotted easily down the lane, grateful to be ridden again. Sherlock pulled him to a stop at the edge of the village where the Lady was waiting. She handed over two large sealed vases that were full. "I have given you enough for four days," she began. "But if Eurus is already turned, she will need some. Both of you should return here within two days if that is the case."

"What about Mikró?" Sherlock asked. "We know he has been turned as well."

"We will find him," the Lady said.

"What will you do with him if you do?" Sherlock asked.

"If we can bring him here, we can help him adjust," the Lady replied. "We will not destroy him unless we have to. I hope it does not come to that."

"If it does, I will not care."

"Oh Xanthá! Do not say such things! He is your brother."

"He ruined my life," Sherlock snarled. "He is a daimōn now & no brother of mine!"

"You are a daimōn too, now," the Lady glared at him. "It is not at all what you think."

"Destroy Mikró, or don't," Sherlock wasn't listening. "Either way, I care not. I need my sister!" He turned Nýchta's head to the trail & rode away.

"Xanthá? Xanthá!" The Lady called after him but he paid no attention. She stood alone in the snow as a few flakes came down into her hair & watched him leave.

(AN: Anyone who ever played Final Fantasy X will understand where the title came from lol

Yeah, that was a total Lord Of The Rings rip off as well, but there is a reason for that particular scene as will be shown later.)