October 31, 2006

10:51 pm

A soft breeze blew leaves through the street under the light of a harvest moon. For Gaelstrom, the night of Samhain was a time to mischievously jump out and frighten people both young and old. Especially young. Being a child at heart meant taking part in all the fun, and being forty-two years of age did little to hinder him.

It was all Hallow's Eve and people were having a good time. All but Bauer, who was up late pacing around in his kitchen. Occasionally, he'd dab sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. His voice quaked as he tried to calm his nerves. The effect was null to his heightened fear, for, there were visitors making their way to his cafe. Not locals, nor tourists. It was the master - as well as his lieutenant - of Ouroboros.

Army boots clomped up the street, getting closer to his establishment.

CLOMP, CLOMP, CLOMP

Hurry up, he thought. The arrow on the oven's timer slowly moved counter-clockwise to zero. Just a little more and the cake would be ready.

CLOMP, CLOMP, CLOMP

Sweat stung his eyes. He wished it would just be done, but then he'd risk offending Mordred with a half-ass baked dessert. Offending him was the biggest crime an Ouroboros cultist could make. The penalty? If he was lucky, it'd be a swift death. But knowing Mordred, he doubted it.

As the bell above the door dinged, the oven's loud buzzer sounded and Bauer hastened to retrieve the cake inside. He prepared it quickly, making sure that every tiny detail fell nothing short of perfection.

"Knock, knock..." came a deep, intimidating voice. The speaker's English was broken, bearing a heavy Russian accent.

Bauer flinched. "C-c-coming!" he called.

His wrists trembled, making the embellishments of the frosting look sloppily placed. Dammit. The frosting was melting. If only he'd thought to bake it sooner, he wouldn't have had to rush. Mordred was going to summon Primal Fear to punish him, he just knew it. His life was over.

Bauer left the kitchen and walked into the dining area with a wedge of cake. Standing approximately 198 cm tall was a man with a long, gunmetal-gray braid. The large, diagonal scar crossed over the bridge of his nose and above his right brow. There were many more, though they were hidden under his ankle-length coat.

"Kotipelto!" Bauer didn't regard how high pitched his voice was until after he spoke.

"Evening zjelob."

Bauer gulped. It was bad enough standing in front of Stratovarius's user, let alone the man that entered the cafe with him. A hooded figure stood behind Kotipelto, his eyes hidden under the hood of his cloak. The only thing discernable of his facial features was his nose and mouth - and even that was enough to foment the fear strangling Bauer. Clattering on the table top, the plate slid out of Bauer's hand and he dropped down to his knees. His nose touched the floor.

"Ser Mordred...!" his airy voice wafted foul breath back into his nostrils.

Gauntlet-covered arms and sharp, armored fingertips reached up and pulled back the hood. An ornamented headpiece left the color of his hair to the imagination. The metal rim was gold with jewels lining around his forehead, one in the shape of a teardrop hanging above the bridge of his nose. The top of his headpiece was a royal blue, nearly black, velvetty material.

His cold, sharp gaze followed Bauer as he bowed to him, but he never acknowledged him. Mordred took a seat and slid the cake wedge close to him. That was it? No returned greeting? Bauer lifted his head, praying that Kotipelto wasn't about to press his face into the floor with the sole of his boot like last time.

Much to his relief, Kotipelto was seated in a chair at the same table as Mordred, not even worried about him. Thank god. Bauer stood from the floor and thought to break the ice forming an awkward wall between them.

He swallowed and gripped his pointer finger tightly. "Is there any word from Testament's user?"

Kotipelto's sudden laugh made Bauer jump. "That predictable nutcase? All I've received from him was a text message from a few days ago. I was in the motherland about to slit a man's throat when he texted me. Heh heh. Want to know what he said, little fuckhead?"

Bauer shrugged, uncertain if he should answer him honestly for fear of his reaction.

Swiftly, Kotipelto pulled his large knife out of his sheathe on his side and made a curt shout. He smirked at the way Bauer let out a short cry. That cruel man. Toying with his emotions just as he always did. Kotipelto stroked his chin with the dull edge of the blade as he pulled out his cell phone.

"He said: Found Merlin. Tal Hoffnung, Austria."

Bauer's mouth parted. Jumbled words scrambled back down his throat and into the pit of his stomach. Intrigue made him want to ask more. Questions on the tip of his tongue fermented until they, too, were dissolved by crippling anxiety. Kotipelto, thankfully, continued to alleviate the ambiguity.

"You know, we're actually passing through on our way to have a little...chat...with Merlin."

"Hold on," Mordred said, placing his fork down, "something's missing."

Bauer's blood iced over. "M-missing, sire?"

"There's no blood. This cake is nobody."

Kotipelto snickered, running the back of his blade across his jawline. "Holding out on us, Bauer?"

Every word that dared to escape retreated into the depths of his mind as if they were never a thought. Excuses couldn't save him now. Trapped. With those excuses banishing themselves, the truth barred the gate and spilled forth. Broken. He dropped to his knees and sobbed.

"Oh, forgive me, dear lord! Please, I beg of you, have mercy! I know I messed up. Yes, it's all my fault. Oh, please don't kill me. I had your cake, but that silver-haired man...he...! Yeah, that silver-haired man! He chased me all over the city and took it from me."

"Excuses again..." Kotipelto said.

"No, no, it's the truth! Really. I did everything I could, everything. You believe me...don't you?"

Mordred's empty eyes never left his cake and its melted frosting moistening the bread. Bauer hoped he would say anything in response, forgive him, something. Kotipelto just watched him, eager to see what Mordred would do next, and they both knew that was as unpredictable as it could get.

"I'm feeling parched," Mordred said, breaking the silence, "would you mind bringing me a glass of water?"

Bauer's heart leapt into his throat, sending a numbing sensation throughout his body. "A g-glass of water?"

"Isn't that what he said?" Kotipelto instigated.

"Ah. Y-yes. At once, m'lord."

Taking a wobbly step back, Bauer bumped his hip into the table behind him and gasped. Kotipelto made a slicing motion across his neck with his thumb. The spiteful grin felt like he'd sealed Bauer's death then and there. And he would be right.

Mordred drank the glass of water to the halfway point. Drops trickled down into the pristine pool that ultimately would decide Bauer's fate. If he drank it, would he live or die? His mind was like a gauge with a red arrow between life and death. Gradually, it gravitated towards death. His thoughts lifting it away so that there would at least be some shred of hope that he'd survive felt impossible, and anyone that faced Primal Fear should know: hope was futile.

"Please, dear god..." Bauer's pleas were suffocated by the tightness of his throat, "...don't make me choose. Don't make me choose."

Kotipelto mimed his hand around an invisible cup and went bottoms up with it mockingly. Bauer couldn't take it anymore. Maybe if he explained more about his little encounter with Polnareff earlier, Mordred would reconsider?

"Please, m'lord, let me explain. There really was a silver-haired man, and there was an Irishman with him. They had a tiny, old man in their turtle. He had a top hat and cane, really!"

Kotipelto burst into laughter. "Oh, come on, zjelob. Are you really that desperate you'll lie to Ser Mordred?"

"No, it's true! I swear!"

"You have guts, little fuckhead. Guts I'd like to wrap around my cold, bare hands."

"Kotipelto, be silent." Mordred said. "Let him speak."

His bemused gaze shifted over to him. "But sire...!" Sharp, metal fingers rose up from the table and cut him off.

"Now. About this...tiny, old man. What did he look like?"

Bauer swallowed. "Well, he was old."

Kotipelto leaned back in his seat and rolled his eyes to the ceiling as Bauer droned on with useless information about Merlin's appearance. But his eyes shot open when Bauer then described Polnareff's features.

"...the silver-haired man was taller than me...that look in his eyes...it was like an archangel raining judgment on my soul. There were spikes on his shoulder pads-"

"You mean Jean-Luc?!" Kotipelto exclaimed, his body leaning away from the back of his seat as if he were about to leap out of it. "We killed him years ago. I strung up his guts all over the place like Christmas lights in the park! There's no way-"

"Tell me more about this silver-haired man." Mordred interrupted.

Bauer wrung his fingers. "Well, he had this cane...he...had a slight French accent. But that's all I know, I swear. He really did have a little, old man in a turtle. Please, sire, you must believe me. I'd never lie to you."

Mordred entwined his fingers. "And do you know where he is?"

Reluctantly, Bauer shook his head.

"So, they take my cake and you don't dig any deeper?" With a swift motion, he grabbed Bauer around the nape of his neck and slammed his cheekbone against the table. A tall, half-filled glass of water was the first and only thing his eyes focused on, emphasizing dread that squeezed his stomach.

"Fool. That old man was Merlin."

"Sire, how can you be so sure?" Kotipelto asked.

Mordred's cold eyes glared right through Kotipelto. "Dense morons, Merlin only ever had ties to Arthur's descendants. Who else would be protecting him? Jean-Luc: the Paladin de France did it, Léon de Archambault did it, and now someone else is taking on the family tradition."

Kotipelto's brows furrowed. "But as far as we know, Jean-Luc Polnareff didn't have any children."

"Clearly you weren't paying attention, lieutenant. He wore a ring on his left hand. Don't you think there would be even the slightest possibility he had any? Besides...I know his family all too well. Every descendant there ever was of Arthur's has always tried to escape the influence of Stigmata's curse. They would gain something only to lose it. Again, and again. And Merlin thinks he can train them to use some magic to destroy the eye. You'd think after 1500 years, he'd have given up all hope by now."

Kotipelto moved the knife's sharp side along his face in a shaving motion. "So, this man with the turtle is Jean-Luc's son?"

"Obviously." Mordred said. He released his grasp around Bauer's neck and let him lift his head from the table. "And Merlin is training him to use his useless hamon. Just like his predecessors. You've done well, Bauer. You deserve a rest."

As Bauer took a breath of relief, Mordred's voice stirred his worry once more. "But first, I need you to do something for me..."

"Yes, m'lord?"

"Tell me: is this glass half-empty, or half-full?"

Bauer's eyes shot open. He couldn't command his body to move, his voice to speak, nor his mind to think. This was it. End of the line. No matter the answer, he was certain Primal Fear would alter the water's true nature and end his life. Imagining what could hurt him from the inside out spurred his instincts to control him. A gut feeling, however, told him the outcome before it even happened. No, anything but that!

Mephistopheles abruptly appeared, unleashing its slippery tongue. It lunged through the air and towards Mordred, who was sitting patiently. Unfazed by the act. Kotipelto summoned Stratovarius, a stand made up of an arsenal of weaponry.

Stratovarius reached out its blood-red, armored hand and firmly grasped Mephistopheles by the tongue. In an instant, an enormous tactical knife swooped down and chopped it away from Bauer's stand. The tongue writhed around like an injured worm on the table. Blood sprayed from Bauer's mouth, sprinkling red drops all over Mordred's vacant face. Kotipelto grinned, taking in the pleasure of inflicting pain on the little man he enjoyed tormenting time and again.

Beads of Bauer's blood trickled down Kotipelto's face. Like all of Bauer's victim's, Kotipelto could feel Mephistopheles's power begin to take effect on his arm. Numb and cold. The power died indefinitely when Bauer lied there on the floor, drowning in his own blood. Mephistopheles began to reflect the helplessness of its user, unable to control its own abilities. This meant that whoever was a victim of Bauer's was no longer.

People piled out of the display, addled by their sudden change. Seeing Bauer lying on the ground dyed red by his blood sparked them to take flight out the front doors, screaming in terror. Their screams passing by never fazed Mordred in the slightest. Primal Fear barred the doors closed with a twig. To any sane person, it made absolutely zero sense. For Primal Fear's user, it didn't have to. Brimstone lines on its gigantic, ram horns glistened in the absence of light outside the cafe. No one was escaping. Sobs of grief and hopelessness filled the establishment and Kotipelto was loving every second of it.

🔸️ 🔸️

Primal Fear placed its shadow hands on both Mordred and Kotipelto's shoulders, allowing them to ghost through the cafe's walls and step out into the moonlight. The poor souls trapped inside screamed until hoarse, banging their fists on the doors demanding that they be let out. Yelling that there's a dead body in the cafe. Hoping someone - anyone - would happen along just in time to save them.

Much to their grim fates, Kotipelto doused the outside in gasoline and struck a match. Gentle firelight burned between his two fingers. Silent and beautiful.

"Do svidaniya, little fuckhead."

A faint flicker of light fell onto the gasoline, igniting doom. A massive conflagration swallowed the walls of the cafe. Screams of agony at their burning flesh - music to Kotipelto's ears.

He breathed in deeply. "Ahhh, just listen to it, sire. Now that's a symphony. Better than Beethoven. Better than Mozart."

Mordred stood by him, watching before they made their departure up Balanstrasse. "Traitor," he said, "and to think. I thought I'd spare him."

"You weren't really going to let that idiot live, were you? He was extremely stupid. Hell, he barely did anything useful for Ouroboros."

"I said I thought about it. If he would have drank the water, you and I could've had quite the show."

"In what way was Primal Fear going to change the water this time?" Kotipelto asked, eagerness in his eyes.

"Scolding lava would have burned him from the inside out," Mordred explained, " how sad. I suppose I'll have to try it on someone else now."

Mordred and Kotipelto traveled a fair distance, the flames in the Haidhausen district still visible from afar. Distant sirens blared. All Hallow's Eve. The night the reign of Mephistopheles came to an end, and Polnareff's troubles began.

Kotipelto sat against a streetlight, sharpening his blade as a noisy firetruck passed them by. To keep a dull knife in one's possession was a sin to him. All knives must be sharp, ready to use. Stratovarius reflected this truth as well with its wide selection of blades for him to choose from. All guns must be loaded. Again, another reflection of himself. There could be no excuse for ill preparation.

"So, what do we do now?" he asked as he sharpened his knife. "Do we seek out Jean-Luc's boy?"

"That's the idea." Mordred answered. "Merlin is the only one that knows where Stigmata truly is. Even if it takes another millennia, I will get my hands on that relic and take my rightful place in Avalon."

The knife made a shing sound against the wetstone. "Yeah, we'll forge Ouroboros an empire from the ground up. Every country in the world will come to fear and respect you."

"Wrong," Mordred said, "every era in time will fear and respect me."

Kotipelto lowered his blade, despite him not finished sharpening it. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I don't get it. Where is this coming from all of a sudden? Are you suggesting you'll rule over the past?"

"Not just the past...the present and future as well."

His master had truly lost it. Kotipelto laughed, easing his blade back along the wetstone like Mordred's outburst was a false alarm. "Sire, with all due respect...so long as I've known you, I've witnessed Primal Fear do a multitude of terrifying things. But to alter time? Wouldn't that make you god?"

"I don't need Primal Fear to become god." he said.

A feeling sank into Kotipelto's gut, bringing his gaze to Mordred. He'd heard him go off on tangents before about wicked schemes and unmentionably terrible things that sane humans simply didn't talk about. But this? What was he insinuating exactly?

"Stigmata can grant anyone whatever they desire, good or evil. Mundane or extraordinary. Simple or complicated. And thanks to Morgan Le Fay, the eye cursed every generation in Arthur's family tree. Time is a linear construct, Kotipelto. By compressing the past, present, and future together you get...a singular present moment. And me at the center to manifest my truest intentions."

"The cogs of your mind greatly concern me, lord. Once they start turning, nothing makes sense."

A quiet laugh sent shivers up Kotipelto's spine. "Life is more interesting that way. Think of it like this: the world is a chess board. All the people in it are the pieces. Each and every action bears a consequence. Every outcome in my eyes holds value. It amuses me so. Seeing how one small, tiny detail can affect something in such a grandiose manner. How the fate we choose can create the most daunting realities."

"Let me guess," Kotipelto said, finally sheathing his knife under his coat, "it's fate that brought you to the knowledge of the relic."

Mordred looked over his shoulder, smirking at him. "Precisely. You seem to understand me just fine. Perhaps my mind isn't as twisted as you claim?"

"On the contrary, sire: we're both fucked in the head."

"If I am as bad as you say, then why follow me?"

Kotipelto took out another knife and turned it, a gleam moving along the blade under the streetlight. "Because if there's one thing I love more than anything in this world, it's power. I am the right hand of Ouroboros. As your lieutenant, wherever you go, I go. Whatever you tell me to kill, I kill. If anything stands in your way, I stand taller."

Mordred listened for a moment to the fire sirens in the distance. A cold breeze blew through his cloak, carrying it on the wind. "Hmmm. Interesting. Kotipelto, I want you to message every member of Ouroboros and give them all the details we have on this son of Jean-Luc's. Make it very clear that they are to kill him, and anyone that stands with him."

"What about Merlin?"

"They are aware of the consequences if he is harmed. For what I'm willing to do to them, I won't need a glass of water."

Mordred starts to saunter past Kotipelto, starting towards the north. "Oh," he said with his back turned to him, "and one more thing: you'll be accompanying the French girl to Amsterdam."

Outrage struck Kotipelto. Anything but her. "What?! I implore you, sire. Let me go alone. That girl's stand is more trouble than it's worth!"

Mordred smirked and walked away, still speaking to him. "She is as valuable an asset to Ouroboros as you are. Better get used to it, lieutenant."

Kotipelto seethed, his teeth grit and fist clenched. The thought of traveling with some curly-haired prude was downright infuriating. There was once a time he could keep count on all hands and feet how many times he'd come close to slapping the shit out of her for popping off at him. Too many. By now, the amount of fingers and toes far surpassed all the people in Germany. Maybe even his homeland, Russia.

Mordred filled him in on their rendezvous at Maximilian bridge in town. Instead of her accompanying them to Austria, she'd be on yet another dreaded mission. Standing in the moonlight, the French girl's face was well-hidden under a hood. Her petite figure once stirred Kotipelto's lustful heart, much to her disgust. Over time, her stand's stealthy antics of creating clone disguises of other people got the better of him. She'd sneak away unrecognized to discard the unsettling feeling that always emanated from Kotipelto's spirit.

It was insulting how she never wanted to go anywhere - or be seen - with him. Vile, she'd call him. An inhumane, bloodthirsty monster. This both amused him and churned his disdain for her from the darkest pit of his twisted mind. And even so, though he'd never admit it, he still wanted her. Not for love, but to assert his power.