Bloodline

by roxy.svl

Sequel to Endgame. The game is over and everyone lost. So begins the aftermath of the biggest scandal in Vampire Mountain history. The War of the Scars has begun. Kurda's been dishonourably exiled for high treason, and Mika is left to pick up the pieces of his life. [Mika-centric. Basically his life, parallel to canon between books 7-9].

29. PART II: Raise You Like A Phoenix

So… 7 months later, here we are. And as sorry as I am for taking that long, I'm equally not sorry at all because I needed every second of that hiatus to get to this point. There are so many moving parts to this story and it's been an absolute mindfuck trying to bring it all together coherently. Also because I'm just an amateur writer doing this for free while managing a full-time career, planning a wedding, and believe it or not… pursuing offline hobbies and passions. I want this story to be as great in reality as it feels in my head, but let's also manage our expectations. This isn't the last chapter. It's hard to say right now but I'm anticipating 2 more plus an epilogue. But y'all know how well I stick to my word so I'll either drop off the face of the earth or come back with a 70-chapter spinoff series idk anymore it's anyone's guess.

Note there is a segment in this story that was pasted directly from book 11. I can't get specific without spoiling it, but you'll know it when you see it (it's all italicized) so I obviously don't take credit for it. And if you see me playing fast and loose with the prophecy rules and shit, no you didn't This plot has already spiraled far beyond what I signed up for. I am tired.

Also.

Over the winter I found out one of my long-time Shandom friends had passed away. That alone isn't why I took 7 months to update this story, but it did cause me to take a few weeks off writing. I struggled knowing they wouldn't be here for the finale after the literal years they spent rooting for these characters with the most genuine love and enthusiasm I've ever seen. With that said, they were a real human with a real family who mourned them in real life. I'm just a vampire enjoyer who existed inside their screen. But I miss them every single day and I couldn't let this chapter come and go without acknowledging how much I wanted them to be here for this part, and how hollow it feels without them.

Chapter 29: PART II - Raise You Like A Phoenix

Song: The Phoenix by Fall Out Boy

---

Bring home the boys in scraps, scrap metal the tanks

Get hitched make a career out of robbing banks

"May we be triumphant, brother." Gannen whispered.

And with one smooth motion, Gannen raised his arm. His blade reflected the glow from the domed walls as it sliced through the air towards Vancha's unprotected neck.

Vancha drew back, evading the blade by mere inches. But Gannen didn't falter. His body rotated in a smooth 360 degree turn on the spot, with all the lethal, effortless grace of the leopard his ex-assistant wanted so badly to embody. The very universe itself seemed to hold its breath as Gannen's blade arced in a clear path to the Vampaneze Lord's exposed throat.

It happened so fast that Mika's eyes were still on Vancha. For a split second the green-haired Prince's face lit up with euphoria as he watched Gannen hone in on his real target. The mysterious vampaneze's aim was true - his blade would end his Lord's legacy once and for all.

CRACK.

CRACK.

CRACK.

With brutal clarity it became apparent just how thoroughly this hostile takeover was planned. If the guards hadn't known exactly when to expect a gunshot, they would've been just as blindsided as the hostages they were holding. Mika doubled over in pain. Paralyzed by the sensation of his skull being cleaved in two. But he didn't close his eyes. He saw everything.

Gannen's knife never reached Leonard. The vampaneze's body jolted once, twice, three times as each bullet hit its mark. Then he crumbled to the floor.

The room went quiet for a moment. As though passing through the eye of the storm. Then the telltale roar of pandemonium split the air once more. Mika's skin crawled at the sounds Vancha was making; closer to screams than sobs. Gannen's body was twitching as he clung to life, but perhaps that only served to further antagonize his brother who was still captive and powerless mere feet away.

"Looks like you might stay on the payroll after all, Wiles." Said Leonard calmly as he stared down at the dying form of his one-time mentor. He barely glanced at Jakob, who was standing ten feet away with a smoking gun. And for the first time, it looked like the reality of the situation was dawning on Jakob. His face was white as snow and he was shaking.

"Cowards!" Vancha howled. Trembling violently, staring back and forth between Leonard and Wiles with a heart-wrenching mixture of grief and loathing in his dark eyes. When he spit on Leonard, his aim was as true as Gannen's would have been if he had one more second.

"Ugh. Anyone know if he's had his rabies shot?" Leonard grunted in disgust.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" Shane Astor snarled up at him.

"He attacked me!" Leonard protested, eyes wide as he clutched his heart in a farce of shocked innocence. "I was minding my own business and he tried to slice my throat open! My own mentor! At least now I know where his loyalties truly lie. Ah well! Moving down the to-do list…" He gestured to Vandar and Soren as they dragged Darren and Darius up the stairs to the throne platform - beyond which lay the Stone of Blood. Darren fought him every step of the way but he was no match for the burly guards. Darius was stunned into quiet compliance and crying no longer.

"I'm not doing it, Steve. You can kill me if you want. But I'm not changing his blood. It's too risky." Darren growled. Leonard rolled his eyes impatiently in the face of Darren's defiance.

For a moment, something about Leonard faltered. Something almost imperceptible. Then it was gone.

"What part of this isn't clicking?" Leonard growled back. In the space of a second, the icy delight vanished from his face and was replaced by tantric anger. "Darius will walk away with all the power of a Vampire Prince. He'll replace all of you. It's his destiny."

"And what happens once you've killed your son and all of us?" Vancha snarled. "Who opens those doors for you? Nobody. You'll starve and rot in here."

Leonard grinned again, as though all it took to re-suppress that rage was the flip of a switch. In any other situation, Mika might've been impressed by how well he masked his emotions. But the smile spreading across Leonard's face sent a chill down his spine.

"Oh, come on. You of all people should know every great leader always has a backup plan. I'll let you in on a secret a Tiny little bird told me about your precious stone and magic hall." Leonard murmured. "You see, Darius can most definitely take control of those doors if he survives your royal blooding ritual. Mr. March is living proof the Stone of Blood doesn't discriminate against your garden-variety vampaneze"

"You think Desmond Tiny told you that because he wants you to win? What he wants is to watch both clans tear each other apart!" Darren shouted. "You're a pawn, Steve! We're all pawns! The only difference between you and I, is that I'm not delusional enough to pretend otherwise!"

Leonard's face went from gloating to vicious in the blink of an eye, and he rounded on Darren, snarling -

"I AM NOBODY'S PAWN! I'm the fucking Vampaneze Lord. And if I was to walk over there and let my blood flow into that stone…" Leonard paused very deliberately, relishing in the dramatic effect he was manufacturing. "…those magic doors would crack open and stay that way, leaving this place exposed like a nerve. And there wouldn't be a damn thing any of you could do to lock it down again. Now tell me… could a pawn do that?"

Shouting again. Another warning gunshot. Silence. And with it, the realization that the only reason Leonard had kept them alive this long was for psychological torture.

"Oh, don't look at me like that! I told you, that's just Plan B! You don't think having a functioning set of impenetrable doors would be more useful to me? I have complete faith that Darius will not only survive the reblooding, but thrive as a Vampire Prince." Leonard proclaimed loftily. His ice-cold gaze drifted deliberately from Arrow, to Vancha, to Mika, and finally settled on Darren. "I mean, if Hotshot Shan can do it… how hard can it be?"

"The clan will never bow to either of you, with or without the Hall of Princes under your control!" Arrow growled.

"They haven't exactly been bowing to you either, Baldy!" Leonard crowed with a nasty wink at Arrow. "Don't look now, but that's your employee holding a gun to your head. We didn't even have to outsource your execution! Your own people practically lined up for their chance to take a swing at their noble Princes!"

"You took advantage of their fear and panic during the most divisive moment in clan history. That's not the same thing, Stephen." Mika challenged him, holding the young man's cruel stare with equally vicious hatred of his own.

"Okay, Grumpy. We get it! You're a little smarter than Stinky and Baldy over there." Leonard smirked at Mika, gesturing at Vancha and Arrow. "And look how far that got you! I have good news for you, though. I'm going to need a volunteer from the audience, and I have a feeling we can work something out."

Mika saw this coming from a mile away but his stomach still clenched. This was the logical next move for Leonard. And as much as Mika wanted to see the man's blood spill over the floor, Leonard was as much a strategic genius as Mika was. They shared a sense of vicious determination. But unlike any Vampire Prince, Leonard knew no honour. No dignity. Only an insatiable thirst for power and blood. Leonard dropped his voice to a chilly murmur as he knelt to eye-level with Mika. "So here's my proposal to you. You already know we need the blood of two Princes to create another. Shan's on standby, so that leaves one more. And unlike Stinky and Baldy, I know you won't go for my throat the second those guards let you go. Because you still have something to lose."

Leonard was within striking distance, one well-placed blow and Mika could've killed him. And if it had only been Mika's life on the line he wouldn't have hesitated. But Ammon had Gracie in his line of vision, and that was no accident. It was an unspoken reminder that any act of violence Mika committed against Leonard would be mirrored by the guard restraining his daughter.

Time itself seemed to grind to a halt as Mika walked to the front of the room, up the stairs to the throne platform. He moved under his own power, albeit with armed guards on either side and Leonard's gaze still fixed on him. One of the guards was unfamiliar to him, but the other was Tarquin Stadler. Mika had known Tarquin over half his life. They'd started out in the same basic training group, the first step towards Generalship. Tarquin dropped out in his first year, deciding he preferred a slower pace. But he was a good vampire with an excellent work ethic. In fact, he'd been on Seba's shortlist for an upcoming promotion.

"Really, Stadler? He got you in on this? How embarrassing for you." Mika snorted derisively, casting a disparaging gaze over his shoulder. Tarquin barely seemed able to look at Mika. But funnily enough, keeping a gun pointed at him didn't seem to be an issue.

"You sold us out!" Tarquin retorted. "This clan would've followed you to the end of the earth and fought for you til the last drop of blood! I refuse to bow to a Prince who gets in bed with the enemy and paints it as victory."

"See, I could almost understand where you're coming from. Except that your solution was to get in bed with the Vampaneze Lord. That's where you lost me." Mika replied drily.

"Don't listen to him, Tarq! He's just bitter because his team lost." Leonard smirked, then raised his voice and shouted to the hall at large: "For all your power and security, you still fucking lost!"

Even after all the bloodshed Mika had witnessed unflinchingly in his almost two hundred and eighty years, he closed his eyes when Darren finally pressed his shaking, bloodied fingertips against Darius's. Not because it was a violent act - because it was born out of such raw desperation, and everything about it was wrong. Mika could hear Vancha, Larten, and Arrow shouting at both him and Darren, telling them not to go through with it.

Mika really didn't think Darren would do it. The kid had always punched well above his weight class where stubbornness and honour were concerned. It wasn't the first time Darren willingly risked his life for the good of the clan. But it wasn't just Darren's life now. There wasn't a single person in the room who believed Leonard was bluffing, and Darren knew that better than anyone.

Mika didn't fear death. But he didn't want to die. Not like this. He slowly pressed his nails into the fingertips of each hand, hating himself for it. But something was off. Mika could only smell two separate streams of blood in the immediate vicinity - his own and Darren's. That didn't make sense. Darren was already pressing his bleeding fingertips against those of his nephew as he prepared to link him to the Stone of Blood and begin the process that would most likely kill all three of them. Or at least it would if their blood actually made it into Darius's body, which would be difficult considering Darren hadn't -

"I already cut both his hands. We can get started now." Darren murmured. Mika glanced at him. And the look of unspeakable desperation in Darren's eyes drove the point home with such force Mika had to fight to keep his face neutral as he realized what Darren had done, or hadn't done. He hadn't forgotten to cut Darius's fingers. He was buying time. He'd gone through the motion, but it was no oversight that he hadn't broken the boy's skin. And now Darren was silently begging Mika to take the hint and not call attention to it. Darius's hand was stained with Darren's blood, so there was no way for an onlooker to know the vampire blood had no access point to the frightened half-vampaneze's body.

No sooner had Mika realized that than the sudden sound of panicked sobbing pulled his attention. As if on cue. He looked helplessly at Gracie, but couldn't get a clear view of her face by the way she was hunched over, on her knees at Ammon's feet. But the moment Mika glanced over at her it was as if she knew he was looking, because she raised her head just high enough for him to see that her eyes were completely dry. And Mika had no idea why he hadn't figured it out sooner. Gracie masked fear with anger, just like Mika. She didn't fall apart when things went wrong. Right now she was faking it. Giving the performance of a lifetime, and Ammon was playing right into her hands. She was still restrained but her captor's sole focus was on the carnage at the front of the room. So he was oblivious to the moment his prisoner gained the upper hand.

Gracie looked Mika dead in the eye, then her eyes moved down to the right, where Mika could see the hilt of the dagger strapped to her belt, mostly obscured by the sweater she was wearing. And after they'd spent hours locked in the dungeon together, Mika was willing to bet Darren already knew about it.

Gracie wouldn't be capable of telepathy until she was a fully blooded vampire. Still Mika instinctively reached through a mental link that didn't exist yet and told her wait. But her subtle nod told him she understood him perfectly.

Mika felt another set of eyes on him, and glanced to his left to see Kurda watching both of them. And he knew Kurda could see it too. In the scariest, desperate chapter of their lives, the three of them were on the exact same page.

MVL: I'm going to get the doors open. When hell breaks loose, get to her.

KS: You know I will.

Mika couldn't glance at Arrow, Vancha, and Larten without calling attention to it but he copied them on the same mental transmission.

MVL: Darren didn't cut the kid. He's stalling. Be ready.

Almost immediately, Arrow answered.

A: Hale's in position outside the doors with backup.

Mika took a deep, steadying breath and faced his youngest colleague once more. "Got it." He told Darren in an undertone. Then he added, "No matter what happens, it's been an honour to serve the clan with you, Sire Shan."

Darren managed a weak smile, and Mika caught a glimpse of the boy who put it all on the line to save a clan who would've let him die. Even in the face of true evil, Darren was still that tenacious, impulsive kid with too much heart for his own good.

"This might hurt. But everything's going to be okay. We've got this. You're going to see your mom again." Said Darren firmly as he held his nephew's terrified gaze. Mika stood at the other side and laid his right hand on the Stone of Blood. He flinched as he felt the energy flow through his body, a cocktail of electricity and adrenaline. Even in the most dire of circumstances he couldn't help but feel humbled at the life force housed within the unassuming red orb.

Mika offered his left hand to Darius. The boy looked up at him apprehensively for a moment before extending his hand and connecting their fingertips.

"You've got a really good uncle, Darius." Said Mika quietly. "I trust him. You should too."

Darius nodded, but Mika doubted the boy had processed a single word he said. No matter. This wasn't his fight anyway. Mika flexed his hand subtly to increase his blood flow. The more of his blood trickled down Darius's hand, the longer it would take for Leonard to notice the vampires had skipped a step.

"How does it feel, Darren?" Leonard murmured as he stood behind Darren and Darius, a hand on each of their shoulders. "Come on. Surely you're a little proud that your very own nephew is going to take over the family business after you're gone."

"I am proud of him. He's stronger now than you ever were." Darren snapped back. But his voice was strained. The discomfort of maintaining contact with the Stone of Blood was proving difficult for him. It hurt for Mika too, but Darren didn't yet have the same pain tolerance as a fully-blooded vampire. Darren was putting up a tough enough front to rival Mika's. And Mika sincerely hoped he'd live long enough to see what kind of Prince Darren would grow into. If this worked, maybe they stood a chance.

"Is this thing on? Isn't it supposed to glow or something?" Leonard snapped. "What's taking so long?"

Mika kept Leonard in his line of sight while feeling Tarquin's eyes on his back. Mika paid him no mind, focused only on how Leonard's malicious gaze drifted from Darren, to Darius, and finally settled on the space between them. His ice-blue eyes narrowed with shrewd intrigue as they honed in on their linked fingertips…

Time was up. Leonard's body went stiff. Pupils dilated. Teeth bared. In that split second, Mika knew he knew. Darren caught it too, his wild green eyes found Mika's.

"You think you can play me after all this time, Shan? Did you really think that would fucking work?!" Leonard roared, face darkening as he seethed.

A chorus of jumbled shouts and cheers rose up from the onlookers as they realized Darren Shan once again had the sheer gall to pull one more card from his sleeve. With an incoherent cry of rage, Leonard body-slammed Darren with all the finesse of a playground bully. Darren not only braced himself for it, but gave it right back to him. The youngest Prince's counterattack set the Lord of the Vampaneze slamming so heavily into the wooden floor, the ancient boards shook beneath Mika's feet.

But he didn't have time to run to Darren's aid. Leonard's guards closed in again. Mika heard a telltale click and felt the cold pressure of a gun barrel against the back of his head. And with that, he looked to Gracie. How hated the thought of her taking an active role in this fight. But that ship had sailed. Gracie would fight for the clan whether Mika wanted her to or not. All he could do now was make sure she timed it right. As he caught her eye, he inclined his head. It wasn't a full nod but it didn't have to be. Just like that night in the city, she'd been waiting for it. Ammon never saw it coming.

Gracie pulled the dagger from her belt and plunged it into Ammon's thigh with such wicked precision, the spirit of Arra Sails herself had surely been guiding her old blade. As Ammon howled and flailed in pain, Gracie sent him crumbling to the floor with a solid knee to his groin. Mika had taught her about a hundred different approaches to self-defence before she went to college, but he always included the same disclaimer: "It doesn't have to be fancy - you can always just kick him in the balls".

In the same split second, Kurda capitalized on the distraction and broke loose from his own restraints. As always, he moved like lightning.

"SHOOT HIM!" Leonard bellowed. But as Mika predicted, the gun-wielding vampires were amateur marksmen at best and had been completely unprepared for the abrupt chaos that had broken out. Because the second those guards obeyed their orders and opened fire on Kurda, they left their own defences wide open. Vancha, Arrow, and the rest broke free within seconds.

Tarquin was slower to follow suit. But the moment Kurda made it to Gracie unscathed, Mika heard the same chilling click behind him as Tarquin turned his gun on Kurda instead. It'd be the last thing the traitor would remember.

Mika reached up blindly, clamped his hand down around Tarquin's hand - around the gun. He launched his body upwards, thrusting his shoulder into Tarquin's lower jaw and shattering it on impact. He forced Tarquin's arm up, pointing the gun into the ceiling. There was nothing Tarquin could do now that Mika had full control. He felt Tarquin's fingers break beneath his own as he tightened his grip, exacting just enough pressure on that cold metal trigger. Four squeezes. Four ear-splitting reverberations. He figured the vampire gods would have to forgive him for opening fire in the Hall of Princes if it meant four less bullets that would end up in a vampire or a vampaneze. As Tarquin thrashed, Mika wrenched the standard-issue sword from the dying guard's belt and drove it through his throat. Mika didn't look back and he sure as hell didn't send Tarquin off with the customary Death's Touch sign. When he turned around, he was face-to-face with Jakob Wiles, staring down the barrel of another gun.

Jakob's entire arm was trembling. Mika could feel the barrel of the gun vibrating against his forehead. The mask was off now. Jakob's face was a sickly grey and his eyes were wide with panic. Mika held Jakob's gaze in an invisible vice grip.

"Pull the trigger. Go ahead. Put a bullet in my head. Right here and now, in front of everyone I've ever loved. Do it, you fucking coward." Mika growled. Maybe he didn't know Jakob as well as he thought he did - but he knew him well enough to know he wouldn't follow through.

Jakob stood frozen like a deer in headlights. As if no time had passed since that night in the abandoned house when he shut down in the heat of battle.

"What are you waiting for?" Mika pressed with increasing conviction. "Fuck, Jakob. If you're going to sell your soul for something, at least have the balls to follow through. This is pathetic. What are you waiting for? Kill me like that vampet killed Arlo!"

Mika could see Jakob's hands sweating, one finger curled cautiously around the trigger as though terrified of it. Mika remained perfectly still, until he didn't. One deft upper-cut to the jaw sent Jakob reeling. He didn't drop the weapon as Mika advanced on him again, ready to finish him off. But cowardice won, and at the last moment Jakob leapt off the throne platform and out of range. Mika yearned to follow him, finish what he started. But vengeance would have to wait another minute or two.

Mika bolted to the nearest throne to slam his palm into the control panel and re-open the doors. He acknowledged a scorching pain in his left shoulder where one solitary bullet hit its mark, fired by another one of the guards, but he didn't stop to assess the wound. It was a reasonable price to turn the tides in their favour. But it seemed a little unfair how it had to be that shoulder. It had never been the same since the first time he'd been shot there. The same night Arlo died and took Jakob's soul with him.

So began what would pass into legend as the Battle for the Hall of Princes. Blood and chaos reigned. When the doors opened, Kaden Hale was the first vampire to rush into the Hall of Princes. She was closely followed by Seba, Vanez, and Harkat. All were carrying armloads of weaponry to help settle the score. Mika's gamble paid off, triggering an immediate free-for-all. In the heat of the chaos, the captured vampires had all broken free and were fighting tooth and nail against the guards that outnumbered them. But the firepower quickly became obsolete; discarded onto the floor once the chambers were empty of ammunition.

Kurda got to Gracie first. She sank into his embrace, guise of invulnerability finally slipping at the moment she was safe in his arms. For that split second, it was as if no time had passed. Kurda was holding her like he used to when she'd fall and scrape her knees after sprinting too quickly around a corner. And Gracie was clinging to him like he'd never stopped being a hero in her universe. This empire of bloodshed was never supposed to be her world. But because of Mika it had become so. And because of Kurda, maybe there was still a chance the two clans weren't too far gone.

Mika got to Gracie seconds after Kurda did, after picking up the sword Hale brought him. Even with so much adrenaline coursing through his body, his mind still went quiet as he reunited with them. The nucleus of all that mattered. But it was crumbling around them; he only had a second to spare and the clock was ticking.

"I'm sorry." Gracie choked out shakily as soon as Mika was within earshot. "I should've stayed away from the dungeons. You were right, I just wanted to -"

Mika put both arms around her and held her tightly against his chest, bringing her apology to a muffled halt. He could feel her tears soak through his shirt as he held her. Behind her back, Kurda's fingers laced their way between Mika's.

"It doesn't matter. You saved us, and you're going to be okay. Nothing else matters." Mika murmured. He clung to Gracie but his eyes were on Kurda's. He inhaled, steeling himself to tell Kurda how sorry he was for doubting him, even if only a split second. How scared he'd been, powerless against the guns to their heads. And how much he still loved him, because this wasn't over yet and he couldn't wait for the timing to be right -

But there wasn't even enough time for that.

A flicker of orange caught the side of Mika's vision and he instinctively yanked Gracie backwards mere milliseconds before a torch sailed through the air where she'd just been standing. It landed on the ancient wooden pew, and the flames that followed ignited a primal, vicious rage burning deep in the darkest place of Mika's soul. In the distance he heard both Vancha and Arrow bellow in the same outrage. No greater act of blasphemy had ever been committed in the Hall of Princes than the sins of tonight. One thing was for certain - this ugly civil war began here in this room, and here it would die. Mika could see Kurda was safe, but they were separated by a wall of fire now. The words left unsaid would remain so a little longer.

For someone who detested senseless violence, Kurda never failed to keep a cool head. Not even as fireballs soared through the air around them. Mika didn't have time to keep eyes on him - last thing he saw before turning away was Kurda stumbling to Vanez's side, to be his eyes as the pews burst into flames around them. Mika searched the crowd for Seba. Always easy to spot in his unmistakable red cloak. As soon as the battle broke out Seba had raced to the throne platform to protect Darius. He was shepherding the boy out of the chaos, escorted by Harkat and his battle axe. Mika caught Seba's eye as he approached. He didn't ask, but Seba nodded.

Mika shed his jacket and draped it around Gracie's shoulders. The thick black leather wouldn't serve the same purpose as true armour, but it offered more protection than her cotton sweater did. Gracie spotted Seba approaching and immediately picked up on Mika's intention. She shook her head furiously at him, lightning flashing in her eyes.

"Don't. Don't you dare lump me in with Darren's nephew! I'm not a child! What was the point of letting me be a vampire if I don't even get to fight?" She choked out, tripping over the words. Even in the face of abject terror, stubbornness wins. It's hardwired into the Ver Leth DNA code. Or whatever the fuck Evanna did.

As a vampire of good standing, Mika understood her frustration. He wouldn't have wanted to turn his back on this fight either. But as her dad, he didn't really care. The cold hard truth was that she didn't have enough formal combat training to survive a battle like this, and Mika couldn't afford to divide his attention with stakes this high. He gripped her shoulder one last time and her stormy eyes met his. Even though she was the spitting image of Kurda, Mika felt like he was looking into a mirror.

"The point was so you could live for a really long time." Said Mika. His voice cracked, but he forced a smile. "Be polite to Seba and obey his instructions - he's just obeying mine. You can be mad at me when it's over. I'll see you soon. I love you."

"Love you." Gracie echoed automatically. Her scalding glare faltered for a moment, but the determination in her eyes didn't.

"Come now, dear." Seba urged. "We must move quickly." With one hand firmly clasping Darius's and the other on Gracie's shoulder, he steered them both towards the door.

Someone touched Mika's shoulder from the other direction. Familiar, but his hand reflexively snapped to the hilt of his sword as he whipped around.

"Save your bad attitude for the traitors, it's just me!" Arrow boomed. He forced a smile, but his eyes looked haunted. This wasn't a fight they'd toast over mugs of ale for years to come.

"You should know better than to sneak up on me while the world is ending." Mika spat back, with what he assumed was a similarly desolate grimace.

"As long as you defend this Hall, brother, the world will keep spinning. I know you. Nothing's over til you say it is." Said Arrow. There was a strange hitch in his voice as he regarded Mika. "Vancha's sending me down to the tunnels to call our Generals off the attack. I'm taking Azerion and Astor with me. I don't want to leave, but -"

"Go." Mika cut him off. "There's too many Princes in this room anyway. Could've sworn we had a rule about that."

For a moment, Arrow's eyes twinkled fondly. He squeezed Mika's shoulder hard, and Mika reciprocated the gesture.

"I'll see you on the other side, yeah?" Arrow half-croaked, managing a smile,

Mika looked him dead in the eye, nodding with iron-clad conviction. "You know where to find me, A. I'm not going anywhere."

Because the world is just a teller and we are wearing black masks

"You broke our spirit," says the note we pass

"Is that all you got, Steve?" Darren panted as he ducked Steve's swinging blade and dove to the right, trying to lead his deadly opponent further away from the Stone of Blood.

"I'm just getting warmed up, Hotshot! Let's fucking play." Steve sneered as Darren almost succeeded in disarming him. He was still grinning like this was just another recess scuffle gone too far. It took every fibre of Darren's focus to keep up with Steve. Steve was stronger. Darren was faster. But the margin between their speed was considerably narrower than that between their physical strength.

Opening the Hall doors had been a double-edged sword; it allowed the entry of the backups they so desperately needed. Darren had a weapon now. Kaden Hale was fearless, and she'd managed to relay Darren's sword to him before being swarmed by guards and pushed back away from the throne platform where Darren and Steve were duelling. She was holding her own magnificently. But for every rogue that fell, there seemed to be another to take their place.

One thing was certain: Steve was a seamlessly effective puppet master. He'd manipulated Jakob Wiles into sparking a full-scale wildfire of mistrust that wouldn't be easily contained, even if honour prevailed today. How surreal it all was. Vampire versus vampire as far as the eye could see, with the lone exception of Gannen Harst, too injured to accompany Shane Astor to the tunnels. Gannen was doing his best to fight, but he wouldn't have stood a chance if not for Vanez and Kurda shielding him as a tandem unit. Kurda served as Vanez's eyes, and Vanez put his twin broadswords to good use.

Darren felt a thrill of relief when he saw Darius was safe and a twinge of emotion that it was Harkat and Seba sheltering him, guiding him away from the chaos alongside Gracie. Unlike Darius who was shrinking against the wall in fear, Gracie was holding Arra's dagger at the ready. She kept glancing back over her shoulder, eyes blazing in a way that suggested evacuating hadn't been her idea.

Darren hadn't seen Mika fight since the battle of the tunnels, and he'd never seen him fight alongside Vancha. Different as they were, their fighting styles complimented each other magnificently. Mika's every move was measured and precise, calibrated for maximum efficiency. Vancha on the other hand was a one-man wrecking ball, obliterating everything in his path. Hale backed them up. Her ability to mesh with them so seamlessly was a true indicator of her skill as a warrior.

In the epicentre of the fray was a flurry of crimson, calling attention to one of the most familiar faces of all. Darren could see Mr. Crepsley glancing frantically at him as he battled three at once. Mr. Crepsley was trying to get to Darren, but his opponents picked up on his intentions and fought tooth and nail to keep him at bay. Darren always forgot how tough a warrior his stuffy old mentor truly was. He moved like lightning, and struck like it too. I'll be fine, keep your focus! Darren wanted to yell at him. I've got this. I'm meant to do this alone. Darren hoped to the gods Mr. Crepsley was able to absorb all that from one quick glance, because it was all Darren had time for.

Darren lost sight of Darius as the smoke grew thicker. It was all he could do to stay ahead of Steve. He knew in his heart Steve wasn't bluffing about the Stone of Blood. If he linked himself to it, the Hall of Princes would cease to be. The doors would break open, and the ancient sanctuary would become nothing more than a room.

Many of the wooden pews were on fire now. It was getting harder to see. Darren was duelling Steve upon the throne platform, playing defence for an unattended goal net in the highest-stakes game of his life. No wonder Wiles' legion of disgraced vampire guards were fighting with such vicious desperation. If Steve didn't come out on top, they didn't have a chance. They'd signed their own death warrant the moment they betrayed the Princes.

"You're going to lose. You were always going to lose." Steve panted as he swung his sword like an explorer would hack a machete through the jungle. No doubt Steve had trained within an inch of his life to harden himself for battle, but Darren had more formal combat education on his side, courtesy of Vanez. Darren had never been able to spend as much time in the sporting halls as he'd wanted to while bearing the responsibility of a Prince during wartime. But the limited amount he had was enough to even the odds. Steve tried to pull a fast one and slam the hilt of his weapon into Darren's temple, but Darren blocked him with a quick uppercut to the jaw. Steve narrowed his eyes and spit out a mouthful of blood as he recovered his balance.

"You could kill me here and now and you'd still be the one to lose!" Darren snapped back. "No vampire or vampaneze will ever respect you, now that they all know who you really are!"

Steve landed a vicious blow to Darren's solar plexus, and for a moment the world turned off.

"I don't need them to respect me. I need them to know who's in control." Steve hissed, voice sounding distorted and far away as Darren's vision flickered back into focus. He rallied his strength for the counterattack, but there was a hazy disconnect between his head and his limbs. His fist swung wide and Steve evaded the strike almost lazily. Darren didn't have time to regain his balance before Steve advanced on him again, this time sending him to the floor with a savage punch to the temple.

The battle raged around them still, as the room filled with smoke from the burning pews. Darren could no longer see his friends and colleagues, and worse - they hadn't seen him fall either. Steve was laughing again as Darren lay there struggling to stand. His skull was imploding from the force of the hit and he almost vomited from the pain. But he steeled himself. Closed his eyes. Inhaled a ragged breath, tuned out everything except the life force flowing into his lungs, bringing clarity back to his spinning head. The oxygen was tainted by smoke but he was close enough to the floor to avoid the worst of it.

He opened his eyes again. Steve was advancing slowly. Toying with him like a cat with a mouse. Or a leopard with a wounded gazelle. Like he had all the time in the world. Smiling with smug, sadistic pleasure.

But Steve was overlooking one crucial detail. Darren knew him. Knew Steve had never felt more in control than he did right now. Darren could see it all from Steve's eyes. Steve truly believed bloodlust was enough to bring the world to its knees around him. And he believed wearing his hatred like armour was enough to protect him. But Steve was incapable of looking at the world through Darren's eyes the way Darren looked through his. Darren understood that now. What Steve didn't understand was that belief, no matter how ironclad, didn't make it true.

"I wish it didn't have to end like this, you know." Steve purred, voice soft as velvet. "I almost could've forgiven you for stealing my life all those years ago. We could've run this place together, just you and me. But you just had to go and turn my son against me. There's no coming back from that."

"I told him the truth." Darren rasped, coughing as he staggered to his feet. "And if the truth was all it took for him to turn, then that's on you. You did this-"

The world exploded around him all over again and he doubled over in agony as Steve landed a ruthless groin shot, followed up immediately with a kick to the chest. Darren flew backwards, crashing into the flaming pew. His self-preservation instinct kicked in and he automatically rolled away from the fire. It wasn't enough. His clothes were burning. His skin was burning. His lungs were burning as he inhaled the smoke. His body was screaming and Steve was laughing somewhere to his right. Darren had no idea where Larten or Harkat were, or if they were still alive.

He opened his watering eyes just in time to see a blade flying towards his throat, a flash of vicious triumph in Steve's ice-blue eyes. This was it. Darren couldn't even breathe, let alone defend himself. He raised his singed arms, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

So we can take the world back from the heart-attacked

One maniac at a time we will take it back

Mika fought with his head on a swivel, constantly looking back over his shoulder to make sure Gracie was still safe behind Seba and Harkat. They were almost to the door - Darius too. Soon they'd be in the clear. Seba would get them to safety. But Mika felt a grim sense of satisfaction as he realized none of the traitors seemed interested in attempting to harm Gracie, or those guarding her. Of course they wouldn't. Their puppet-master, the Vampaneze Lord, was preoccupied duelling his nemesis. And Mika no longer had a gun to his head, which meant there was nothing to stop him from destroying anyone who threatened his daughter.

Kurda was safe too, backing up Vanez as they fought. It was plain as day how much it devastated Kurda to have a hand in this level of violence - the evidence was all over his face. But he didn't have a choice right now, and he was holding his own.

So with as clear a head as he could manage in the circumstances, Mika hunted for Jakob Wiles. And even with the smoke obstructing his vision there was still no mistaking the moment he laid eyes on his target. No sooner had he pulled his sword from the corpse of the traitor he'd just slayed did he spot Jakob on the other side of the room, duelling Kaden Hale.

"That one's mine, Hale!" Mika roared as he closed in with a vengeance. And gods, did he ever have a fucking vengeance against the traitor who'd looked him in the eye and said "I promise you, Mika. I've got this".

Hale shot Mika a wicked grin and smirked as she stepped aside. "Got him warmed up for you, Sire. Do your worst."

Mika nodded appreciatively to Hale before she faded into the background along with the rest of the world. Mika didn't plan on drawing this out. Maybe Darren was intending on finishing Leonard off with a dramatic, glorious showdown, but Mika didn't want his personal nemesis to breathe this precious air for one second longer than necessary. Jakob didn't need to suffer for his crimes. He just needed to die. When they finally locked blades, all that remained was dark resignation on Jakob's face, cold conviction on Mika's, and steel clashing between them.

"The Vampaneze Lord himself is fighting to take control of the Hall of Princes and you still found time for me. I'm flattered." Jakob panted as he blocked Mika's strike.

"I made this mess when I gave you a career, Wiles. Least I can do is clean it up." Mika forced the words out through gritted teeth as he aimed his weapon at Jakob's throat. This time he drew blood, but before he could cause any real damage he had to twist his body to dodge the blade soaring towards his stomach.

If it was any other vampire, Mika would've killed him in minutes. But Mika trained with Jakob every single night over five years. And Mika was a perfectionist. The grief that tore Jakob's mind apart was beyond Mika's control but his combat skills were as solid as ever. And worse, he still knew Mika's fighting style inside and out. Jakob attacked relentlessly from the left, taking full advantage of the damage to Mika's shoulder. But Mika was a gritty fighter and he didn't give an inch. The increasing pain only stroked the fires of his fury as he redirected every bit of it back to Jakob.

A roar of agony from the front of the room pulled Mika's attention - the wooden throne platform was engulfed in flames, but still the battle raged between the Lord of the Vampaneze and the lone Vampire Prince duelling him. There was no way to know which of them had gotten too close to the flames, and the voice wasn't easily identifiable over the rest of the chaos. Mika hoped to the gods it wasn't Darren.

Jakob capitalized on Mika's brief distraction and drew blood. Mika gasped in pain as Jakob's blade bit into the sensitive area between his hip and rib cage. Jakob didn't have time to gloat - Mika retaliated with such vicious precision it should've cleaved Jakob in two and ended the fight. But Jakob anticipated it as if he was right there in Mika's head, and evaded the attack with millimetres to spare. Mika took a steadying breath and refocused. He kept his gaze pointedly focused on Jakob's face as they circled each other. Jakob seemed unable to reciprocate. It cemented what Mika already knew: Jakob would fight to the death, but he already knew it wasn't worth it. He'd betrayed his clan for nothing. He'd die for nothing.

Mika swung again, blade trained on Jakob's throat. Jakob got his own blade up in time to block Mika's shot, but barely. Mika grinned in satisfaction as Jakob's arm buckled from the force of the blow. Jakob never had been quite as disciplined as Mika. He could match Mika's speed and agility. It had gotten him this far. But he lacked the strength Mika channelled through his blade. He lacked raw power. The power that stems from intrinsic confidence, not authority. Mika learned the difference long ago.

Mika didn't give an inch. He could've disengaged and struck a second time, but instead he doubled down and increased the pressure, steadily edging his blade closer to Jakob's throat. Jakob pushed back with his own blade, but his arms were shaking with effort. Mika could feel it through the steel of his weapon as they remained locked together. In another second or two, Jakob's grip would falter. His blood would cover Mika's blade. And this would be over.

Mika's focus was dialled in with such intensity he almost didn't hear the sudden cry cut through the rest of the noise:

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!"

You know time crawls on when you're waiting for the song to start

So dance alone to the beat of your heart

Darren felt pounding footsteps rattle the floor approaching him, and heard another voice. Smaller, softer, and higher-pitched than anyone else in this entire mountain. There was no mistaking Darius's identity as he cried out, "DON'T TOUCH HIM!"

The moment that followed felt like a slow-motion fever dream. A hallucination. Darius darted through the fire and he threw himself between his vengeance-bent father and the battered form of his uncle lying on the floor.

"Get away from him!" Darius screamed louder yet, raising both his small hands to shove his father with as much force as he could muster. Steve actually stumbled back a few steps, out of surprise more than anything else. For a moment, the hatred faded from Steve's eyes and he almost looked impressed. But they quickly narrowed again as he squared off with his son. The moment of distraction was just enough for Darren to struggle to his feet while every nerve of his body screamed enough.

"Stand aside, Darius." Steve murmured. More than ever he seemed to be fighting to keep an even temper while addressing his son, and more than ever it was a thin disguise at best. "I know it's been a scary day. You aren't thinking clearly, and I forgive you. But I need you to get out of my way. Right now."

Darius held his ground, and Steve's eyes went dark. He took a threatening step towards his son. Every muscle and nerve in Darren's body flared to life as instinct took over. He threw his body between Darius and Steve, bracing himself to bear the brunt of whatever Steve had locked and loaded to clear Darius from his path.

But the blow that landed on his shoulder blade wasn't dealt by Steve's hand, nor was it an assault. Darren was pushed backwards with such force his knees almost buckled. Suddenly Darren wasn't the only wall between Steve and Darius. A fourth figure had battled their way through the burning wreckage up to the throne platform, his clothes singed and smoking from the climb. Darren felt his stomach clench, but for the first time that night it wasn't in fear.

"I couldn't save you from yourself, Stephen. The gods know I tried. But I can still save your son." Gannen rasped. His voice was strained in pain and he seemed to be struggling to remain upright. But the stoic vampaneze spoke with chilling resolve and uncompromising conviction. "Whatever punishment awaits my defiance in the afterlife, I accept it gladly. For it cannot be worse than a life serving as an accomplice to dishonour." Even bleeding heavily from his wounds and badly burned from climbing through the flaming wreckage, Gannen moved with the same purpose his brother did.

Steve paused again, but this time he wasn't quite able to fake the same cold indifference as before. His eyes went darker yet. Darren sensed no matter how he pretended otherwise, Gannen's betrayal had gotten under Steve's skin.

"You're still alive? Thought you'd have bled out and died by now." Steve growled back. But even as he chuckled, his voice caught in his throat in a way Darren had never heard before. And for just a moment, Steve's eyes glittered with hurt. He really had trusted Gannen. Then he blinked it away and added, "I'll make you a deal, old friend. If you can save yourself from me, you can just have the kid."

"Haven't you had enough, Steve? Look around!" Darren panted. "The prophecy was broken from the start. Even your sworn protector would rather take his chances with Desmond Tiny than be complicit to this!"

He braced himself once again for Steve to attack. But Steve was the one who seemed to falter. For a moment he just stood there, almost appearing stunned as his eyes darted between the other three but unable to focus on any of them. And that was the moment Darren saw it. Steve wasn't invulnerable. He was unravelling from the inside out.

Then, as if he heard Darren's thoughts, Steve snapped back to reality and lunged at Darren again. This time Darren was ready for it. Gannen shielded Darius, leaving Darren free to fly at Steve with more protective fury than he knew he was capable of. He'd never felt anything like it before. All he knew was that he'd die defending his nephew, if that's what it took. Darren's assault sent Steve flying, almost crashing right into a burning pew. But as quickly as Steve had gone down he bounced back up, laughing as he spat out a mouthful of blood and stalked towards the Stone again.

"Get him out of here!" Darren gasped at Gannen. "Go! Now!"

Gannen hated to leave, Darren could see it in his face. But there was no denying the mysterious vampaneze felt a certain level of responsibility for Darius - just as Darren did. Part of Darren wanted to be the one to scoop Darius up and take him far away from here. But there'd be no honour in that. No matter what the prophecy said, this had always been Darren's fight. He could feel it. He'd see it through to the end even if it killed him - and it might.

"Didn't you hear Creepy Crepsley that night?" Steve snarled as Darren locked blades with him again and pushed back, forcing even more space between Steve and the Stone of Blood. "He said it loud and clear! I'm terminally evil, remember? Born with bad blood! This is all I'm fucking meant for, so I might as well do it right!" He laughed again - a ragged, awful sound drenched in venom and pain.

Darren shook his head, panting as he pinned Steve's dagger hand against his chest "You chose this! Don't act like you were forced to do any of it against your will! You chose to use people! You -" Darren saw stars for a moment as Steve wrenched his hand free and slammed it into Darren's temple, but Darren's own reflexes didn't fail him. His arm snapped out and knocked the dagger from Steve's hand before the blade could make contact with Darren's throat.

"If that's true, you're no better than I am!" Steve's face was so close, Darren felt drops of spittle landing on his cheek. "You're the one acting like a fucking martyr for this clan of bloodsucking savages. They didn't ask you to put it all on the line for them! And I sure as fuck didn't ask you to sell your soul to save my life! So I'll stop fighting for myself when you stop trying to play the fucking hero for everyone else!"

"It all comes back to that, doesn't it? You have no idea how much I gave up, or how much I suffered! All you choose to see is that I got something you wanted." Darren grunted. He kicked Steve in the ankle and for a moment Steve stumbled. But he regained his balance with all the chilling swiftness of the leopard itself, and Darren didn't have time to land a solid blow.

There it was again, just like when Gannen confronted him. That same unhinged depravity flickering deep behind Steve's eyes. Darren wasn't just touching a nerve. He was dancing on it. Steve was destabilizing by the second.

"Spare me the bullshit! I know exactly what you threw away to play the hero. Your family was so happy it made me want to throw up! Your life was picture-fucking-perfect! And you knew damn well what I'd be left with after you betrayed me. I had nothing!" He attempted to drive his violent point home with a wild, undisciplined strike at Darren's throat. But he swung wide and Darren dodged it easily. Then Steve hissed in pain as Darren's blade sliced smoothly past his shoulder, sending rivulets of blood pouring down his arm. It wasn't as direct a hit as Darren had wanted, but it certainly slowed him down.

"You're right, Steve. I knew that when I made my choice. All I cared about was giving you a chance. The rest was up to you." Darren panted, wiping the sweat and ash from his brow but not dropping his guard. Steve regained his balance several feet away, swaying slightly. Now Darren was the one advancing on him with a dangerous purpose. He narrowed his eyes as he squared off with his former best friend, former brother, former everything. Darren took a deep breath to steady himself, and willed his voice not to break as he added - "But you know what? I'm not sorry. If I could go back in time, I'd do it all again. I'd give you that chance, even knowing what you'd do with it. I'd save you every time. So don't you dare look me in the eye and tell me nobody ever loved you. I loved you."

Steve shook his head slowly, spat out another mouthful of blood. And when his eyes locked onto Darren's from across the throne platform, Darren knew in his gut it was almost over. He sensed Steve knew it too.

Hey, young blood, doesn't it feel

Like our time is running out?

Truth be told, Kurda had always felt equal parts proud and bloody terrified at how brave Gracie was. Despite - or because of - growing up among the roughest, toughest creatures on the planet, it just never seemed to occur to her to feel intimidated. By anything. Or anyone. Kurda loved her audacity as much as he loved her heart of gold. But right now he was wishing to the gods she'd chosen to lean into fear rather than courage. Just this one time.

They were almost out of the Hall when Darius slipped free of Seba's grasp and doubled back towards his uncle. Seba's shout of protest pulled Kurda's focus, and he looked up just in time to see his daughter dodge Harkat's earnest attempt to hold her back. To any other bystander it probably looked like she was trying to protect Darius. But even after seven years apart, Kurda knew his daughter. So he could practically hear her thinking, Like fuck the eight-year-old gets to fight for the clan while I twiddle my thumbs in the safe room. Not in my house.

He supposed should have known better than to expect she'd go quietly. This was her home too. This was her family.

As Gracie darted into the thick of the fray with Arra's dagger aloft, Kurda saw Mika take his eyes off Jakob Wiles at the height of their battle. An eerie chill crept over Kurda's skin. He felt like it was coming from within his bones - and surely it had to be, given how uncomfortably hot the air around them was becoming. Suddenly Kurda knew exactly what was going to happen. He couldn't explain it. He couldn't make sense of it. He didn't have time to try.

Like a programmed missile, Gracie sought the guard who'd held her captive. She'd wounded him earlier - but not badly enough that he couldn't still fight. With a sick jolt of panic Kurda realized she was intent on finishing what she'd started. She was fully ready to square up with a man three times her size with ten times her experience. Ammon laughed nastily and advanced on her, arm raised. Mika didn't hesitate to disengage from Jakob, to turn his back on his nemesis and choose to protect his daughter instead. As much as Mika wanted Jakob dead, taking that life meant nothing compared to preserving Gracie's. Mika threw his body between Gracie and Ammon. Mika had sheathed his weapon and was duelling with his bare hands now. They were at such close range his sword would've gotten in the way. Ammon didn't stand a chance either way.

An honourable warrior, whether vampire or vampaneze, would never dream of attacking an opponent when they had their back turned. But Jakob Wiles was no honourable warrior. Kurda didn't feel shock or terror as he watched Jakob approach Mika from behind. There was no time to shout a warning. There was no time to feel anything but purpose.

Kurda ran like he'd never ran before, yet the world around him seemed to slow down. As if the hands of time were grinding to a halt. In one fluid motion, he flew right past Gracie, past Mika, so close their shoulders brushed. Kurda didn't break stride as he grabbed the hilt of Mika's weapon, still strapped to his belt. The steel sword Mika loved so much, the one with onyx adorning the pommel and his initials engraved into the base of the blade. The one Mika carried the night they met Gracie. Kurda vividly remembered the sound of the steely hiss it made that night. The sound was tied to a core memory: the moment Mika slid it back into its sheath when they realized the noise wasn't a threat lurking around the corner. It was a baby. They just didn't know she was their baby. That would come with time.

Kurda couldn't help but think about that as he drew Mika's weapon with the same ominous hiss. Mika didn't have time to react but Kurda moved so quickly it was entirely possible he didn't notice for a second or two. It didn't matter. Mika had turned away from everything else to protect Gracie, just as he had faithfully over the past seven years. And just as Kurda once filled that one bottle with a different poison than the other two, just penned that final, desperate letter, Kurda protected both Mika and Gracie even now. And Jakob Wiles didn't see it coming until he was on his back, on the floor, with Mika's blade embedded in his stomach.

Jakob stared up at Kurda for what felt like an eternity. More than anything else he seemed stunned it wasn't Mika at the other end of the weapon. Kurda held Jakob's gaze, unable to tear his eyes away. The same icy sense of purpose that drove him here had turned colder yet, numbing his limbs from the inside out. Jakob coughed, or tried to. It was more of a gurgle. Kurda tried to stand up, tried to pull the blade out and finish him. But there was a gaping chasm of disconnect between his mind and body and he was frozen. Unable to do anything but watch as blood began to trickle from Jakob's mouth. The trickle turned into a stream. A vivid, undeniable reminder to Kurda: I did this.

In his head Kurda could differentiate between killing in cold blood and killing to protect those he loved. He'd fight for Mika and Gracie, he'd die for them, and he'd kill for them. He'd never been in denial of that - but his heart only knew this felt wrong. So, so wrong. Jakob gagged again, covering Kurda's shaking hands with flecks of crimson. This time, Kurda wasn't imaging it. The world had stopped. All around him, warriors stood frozen in place. Mid-swing, mid-stride, mid-kill. Of all the moments to stretch into an eternity, why this one?

Vanez had caught up with Gracie and gently but firmly taken hold of her. He'd shepherded her back towards the door, to safety. And she'd been fighting him every step of the way, even though she was no match for his powerful arms. They, too, were suspended in time. Gracie looked partway through cussing him out, while Vanez smiled to himself like he was already picturing the fearsome warrior she'd make.

Mika was finished with Ammon and running to Kurda's side. Or he had been. Only now that time had stopped did Kurda notice the rivulets of blood trickling down Mika's forehead. His jet-black hair made it impossible to see the head wounds, but the deep gouges in his uncovered forearms were in plain view. As was the hole in his shirt, exposing the bullet hole on his left shoulder. Gods, surely he had to be in excruciating pain. He'd never let on, though. The only expression on his frozen face was pure shock at the sight of Kurda leaning over the dying form of Jakob Wiles. The true traitor of Vampire Mountain. Kurda wanted to feel spite towards Jakob. Wanted to feel pride that he'd been the one to kill him. But all he felt was anguish. And vertigo. His vision blurred and for a moment he thought he was going to pass out -

Suddenly, a clear and unmistakable voice split the chilling silence around him. A voice he'd only heard on one other occasion, but recognized instinctually.

"It pains you to kill. Doesn't it, Kurda? More so than even I realized. I see it all, now. I see you so clearly."

He couldn't pinpoint where the voice was coming from. Couldn't see her. It was as if she was speaking from within his own head.

"I didn't have a choice. He did all of this. And he would've killed my family." Kurda forced out, voice shaking. Somehow the entire room had frozen except for Jakob Wiles. He was still gasping and shuddering beneath Kurda.

"Of course you had a choice." Evanna's voice murmured again. "You drove a blade through a living body, knowing it would devastate you. Knowing every kill leaves you waking up screaming from nightmares, even decades later. But you didn't hesitate to pay that price if it meant defending your dear ones."

"Of course I didn't hesitate. This is bigger than me and my beliefs. He needed to be stopped. Doesn't mean I wanted to be the one to stop him."

"Kurda, there are powerful forces at work here tonight. I am not my father - I cannot pause time indefinitely so I do need you to pay close attention to me now."

Kurda laughed bitterly. It hurt. "I have nowhere else to be, my lady."

"Oh, but you do."

"I thought we were short on time. Now you're being cryptic again? Respectfully, tell me what you mean."

"When my father told the clan of his prophecies, he left out the ending. Sure, your unexpected survival threw him a curve ball. But he's still rigged this war to end in absolute destruction. Not just of both clans - of the entire world."

"Hah. Of course he did." As he spoke, Kurda felt his heartbeat in the back of his throat. He wished it would slow down like the rest of the world did.

"Leave the cynicism to Mika. It doesn't suit you."

"I wasn't being cynical. That absolutely sounds like something your father would -"

Snap.

Louder than gunfire. So loud it ripped the air from Kurda's lungs as the Hall of Princes dissolved around him. Just as quickly, a fresh new hellscape materialized in its place. Kurda could see Evanna now - short in stature, covered in hair and dressed in ropes. Her mismatched eyes were laser-focused on Kurda, and it took all his strength to meet her gaze through the blinding heat.

"Where are we?" Kurda barely managed to choke out.

"Witnessing a nightmare that doesn't belong to you, and hasn't happened yet." Evanna murmured. "Watch closely."

It hurt to keep his eyes open, but Kurda did it. He seemed to be positioned on some sort of high cliff overlooking a battle scene so gruesome it made the one in Vampire Mountain look like a light scuffle.

In the distance a wave of blood was building. Red, towering, topped with spitting heads of fire. On a vast plain, a mass of vampires waited. All three thousand or so faced the onrushing wave. At the rear, separated from the crowd, one solitary stood alone. They were trying to push forward, as if they wanted to be with the rest of the clan when the wave hit - but an invisible force held them back.

Kurda could see them struggling, their face twisted into a desperate scream - but no sound was coming out. The wave swept ever nearer. The vampires pulled closer together, terrified but proud, facing their deaths with dignity. Some were, pointing spears or swords at the wave, as though they could fight it back.

Closer now, almost upon them, half a kilometre high, stretching in an unbroken line across the horizon. A wave of crackling flames and boiling blood. The moon disappeared behind the crimson curtain and a blood-red darkness descended.

The foremost vampires were eaten by the wave. They screamed in agony as they were crushed, drowned or burnt to death, their bodies tossed about like pieces of cork within the heart of the scarlet wave. The lone figure reached out to them, looking more desperate than ever to die with their blood brothers and sisters. But still they couldn't break through the invisible boundary.

More vampires vanished beneath the breaking surf of fire and blood, lost to the wave of merciless red. A thousand lives extinguished? fifteen hundred warriors eliminated? two thousand souls sent soaring to Paradise? twenty-five hundred death howls? three thousand corpses, bobbing and burning in the flames.

And then only the lone was left. Their voice returned, and with a desolate cry they collapsed to their knees and glared hatefully up at the crest of the wave as it teetered overhead. They looked up, and Kurda did too.

Something was hovering in the air above the wave, a creature of myth but oh so real. A dragon. Long, glittering, scaled, terrifyingly beautiful. And on its back - a person. A figure of pulsating darkness. It was almost as though his body had been created from shadows.

The shadow man laughed when he saw the lone figure. His laugh was a ghostly cackle, evil and mocking. At his command, the dragon swooped lower, towards the sole surviving warrior.

"All must fall to the Lord of the Shadows," the man growled, low and soft. "This is my world now."

The voice was so familiar and yet Kurda couldn't pinpoint who was behind the mask of darkness. The dragon circled lower - one final scream, and the lone warrior was obliterated in a cloud of fire. Kurda felt something ignite deep in his bones. A sensation he didn't understand, yet felt so familiar at the same time. Suddenly he knew what was coming next. The dragon arced upwards. Kurda rose to his feet to face the shadow man head-on. The ground at his feet was ablaze now, flames dancing and flickering around his feet, rising higher and higher, enveloping him. Yet his skin didn't burn. And he realized he wasn't on fire. He was the fire. The fire was growing and growing, but still the dragon came closer. Kurda wasn't afraid anymore. He could no longer see the flames around him, the light was so bright he couldn't see anything but the monster in front of him, and even that seemed to be shrinking. He took a step closer and he swore he saw the creature flinch -

Snap. Jolt.

And then the heat was gone - so quickly it left him almost too cold. His mouth was so dry, he was convinced the heat of the hellscape hadn't just been a projection. Somehow he already knew the answer. He opened his eyes. He was back in the Hall of Princes. The scene around him was still frozen. Jakob was still shaking and gasping beneath him. The only difference was that Evanna was there now, still standing there in front of Kurda. There was profound anguish in her mismatched eyes. As always, Kurda felt as if she was staring straight into his soul.

"That's what's going to happen, isn't it?" Kurda croaked. "If we lose this battle, we lose everything."

Evanna knelt slowly, eye-level with Kurda. She put her hand on his shoulder. It was eerily warm, and there was a subtle pulse of electricity to her touch. The sensation reminded Kurda of the moment he touched the Stone of Blood and pledged himself to the clan. Made sense, considering Desmond Tiny created both.

"As things stand right now, yes. That is a glimpse of the future. A world where the Lord of the Shadows begins his reign tonight." Said Evanna softly.

"Unfreeze time, then! I'll tell all our men we have to rally to take out Steve Leonard. That we can't risk leaving it to Darren. Between Mika, Vancha, Larten, and the rest, surely we can…" Kurda faltered at the expression on Evanna's face - a curious mix of wistfulness and mourning. "That was Steve, right? Flying around on that dragon? Destroying the world?" He added. His stomach clenched as Evanna shook her head.

"It was and it wasn't." She replied. "The monster you saw was neither Darren nor Steve. Yet both of them at the same time."

"No! That could never be Darren. It was Steve. I know it was! I recognized his voice."

"You recognized the voice, Kurda. You didn't know who it belonged to. Steve and Darren won't both make it off that platform tonight. They know that much. They just don't know what will come after. My father only reveals what he wants to."

"So if Darren wins, the prophecy comes true after all. The Lord of the Vampaneze dies at the hands of one of the Hunters -"

"Oh, Kurda. I wish it was that simple. I wish my father wasn't pulling strings in the dark. I wish with all my strength he'd never set his sights on any of you."

"So… so you're projecting yourself to me as a hallucination, or -or a fever dream, for what? To warn me we're all about to fall and there's nothing that can be done?"

"I'm not a hallucination, my dear. I'm just as here as you are."

"You're talking in circles! You're no different than your father! Gods, if you're trying to use me for something, just say so!"

"That's where you're wrong. I'm nothing like my father, Kurda Smahlt. Would my father risk everything in an attempt to even the playing field? Or would he simply set the field on fire? If Steve kills Darren, that level of twisted triumph will fill him with power so vast it will poison his soul even more than it already is. He won't stop at Darren. He won't even stop at Vampire Mountain."

"Even if he kills Darren… hell, even if he connects to the Stone of Blood to disable the Hall doors, he won't make it out of the mountain alive! Any vampire or vampaneze could step in and kill him now that the prophecy is broken."

"Shh. That wasn't only part of the prophecy derailed by your survival. But my father still seeks to carry out his endgame. Sure, Steve could be killed by another to avenge Darren. Or another vampire could step in and kill Steve before Darren can. But the Lord of the Shadows would live on in whoever kills him. And whoever kills his killer."

"And if Darren does kill Steve?"

"In killing Steve, Darren would unknowingly kill himself. His body would remain, but the part of his soul that makes him Darren… it would be gone. Darkness would consume him. He'd fall, and take the clan he loves down with him."

"So this is it, then. The end of the world. No matter who kills who, the Lord of the Shadows will kill everything."

"That's the future my father has engineered. The path was more twisted than he anticipated, but he's convinced he'll get his way. And he still very well could." Said Evanna. "But there are forces in this world he repeatedly underestimates, because he doesn't understand them. He believes the Lord of the Shadows will be invincible, because he believes there's no soul on earth that could wield that power without it destroying them."

"Are you saying he's wrong about that?"

"The leopard believes he's untouchable because the forest cowers in fear when he walks. The wolf believes the same because he has the strength of the pack behind him. Both formidable hunters in their own right. Both would be obliterated by the Lord of the Shadows. It would take an entirely different sort of power to rise from the ashes and look evil in the eye. It would take a Phoenix."

Kurda felt a burning sensation deep in his stomach that had nothing to do with the flaming pews around him.

"In the nightmare… I saw a light. I didn't understand where it was coming from. But it seemed like the monster was… afraid of it. And I remember being surrounded by fire. But it didn't burn me. As if… as if I was -"

"As if you were the Phoenix. Your soul is golden, Kurda. My father tried to play you like a pawn - but he failed. You're incorruptible. No matter how the world burns you, no matter what your destiny demands of you, you rise. You will always rise."

"So in theory… if I killed either of them, I'd defeat the Lord of the Shadows?"

"No. You would become him."

"But I wouldn't change? I wouldn't become that… that thing?"

"If a force in this universe was strong enough to change you, it would have happened long before now. You'd hold the power in your soul. Hold it - not wield it. It would be safe with you."

"And if I get killed later down the road? Whoever took me out would become the monster and destroy the world?"

"No. When you reach the end of your life, naturally or otherwise, tonight or six hundred years from now, the power will die with you. The chain would be broken."

"This was always the true endgame, wasn't it?" Kurda laughed hoarsely, barely recognizing the strangled rasp as his own. It didn't even occur to him to be afraid. If anything, he felt a twisted sense of relief.

"There's more endgames in this universe than you could possibly understand. But this is the one in front of you. Just because you run with the wolf pack doesn't mean you're one of them. You were made to rise above the others and see the world for what it is. Now rise!"

Kurda closed his eyes, knowing Evanna would be gone when he opened them again. He took a deep breath. Steeled himself. Slowly stood up, wrenching his blade up and out of Jakob's chest. Blood cascaded from the wound like a river and Kurda shivered at the sight of it. There was no need to waste another moment on Jakob - he wasn't long for this world.

Kurda adjusted his grip on the smooth, leather-bound hilt of Mika's sword. He'd only ever handled this particular weapon once before, standing in as Mika's sparring partner while the sporting halls were empty. They were head-over-heels and joined at the hip back then. So comfortable and so in love. Their occasional low-stakes sparring sessions were, oddly enough, some of Kurda's most treasured memories.

Kurda usually used one of the practice weapons in the armoury. But one night Mika insisted Kurda use his sword. He had dozens, but this one was his favourite. He claimed he wanted to see if the length and balance was a good fit for Kurda. Kurda saw right through him. Mika just wanted to drool over the sight of his boyfriend holding his most prized possession. Kurda indulged him for a round, then went back to the other sword because Mika's was heavier than what he wanted. Mika never pressured Kurda into acting like a real vampire. He was just happy Kurda was there. And Kurda enjoyed learning and challenging himself - without the expectation he'd have to put the skill to grisly use somewhere down the line. He never touched a weapon if anyone else was in the room. But when it was just him and Mika, it felt like dancing.

Another deep breath. Kurda braced himself. One final glance over at Mika - still frozen in time. Still aimed directly at Kurda, grey eyes alight with terror and awe alike. Kurda wished he could run towards Mika, meet him halfway. Longed to cup his hands around that face, look into those eyes and tell him, it's almost over. One more minute. I've got this. I love you.

A shiver ran down Kurda's spine as an unmistakable ticking sound filled his eardrums. Like the fire that surrounded him in the hellscape, it seemed to be coming from within him rather than around him.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Kurda didn't question it. He already knew. So when the clock re-started, he was ready.

I'm going to change you like a remix

Then I'll raise you like a phoenix

Darren had never much cared for goaltending as an amateur soccer enthusiast. It was so isolating, standing alone in the net while his teammates engaged in what felt like life-or-death combat against the opposing team. Darren only played the position once, but it was a core memory that was branded into his mind even now.

They'd almost finished the final match of the summer's biggest tournament when the goalie sprained his ankle and the coach threw Darren into the net with minimal instruction. Darren was scared shitless, knowing he was the only thing standing between victory and defeat. Not just for him. For the entire team. With seconds left til the ref started the game, Steve appeared beside him. Both hands on Darren's shoulders, squeezing hard and looking him dead in the eye.

"Wipe that look off your face! You're Hotshot Shan, aren't you? Of course you've fucking got this!"

That brief exchange was all it took. Keep in mind they were about eight years old, still young enough that Darren felt a thrill of adrenaline at the sound of his rebel best friend dropping a forbidden cuss. And somehow he believed Steve with every fibre of his being. Of course he was Hotshot Shan. Of course he'd fucking got this. Why had he ever doubted himself?

Darren blocked every shot. They won the game four to nothing. With victory secured, his mom took the triumphant warriors out for ice cream. And that was it. No blood spilled. No harm done. Darren would've given anything to go back to a time where that game felt like the fight of his life.

Steve had been as ruthless on the soccer field as a kid as he was now - just on a smaller scale with lower stakes. The bloodthirsty determination on his eyes burned as brightly now as it did back then. He circled Darren, preparing himself for what would almost certainly be the last attempt to take the Stone of Blood. Maybe Darren would block him one more time. Maybe Steve would charge right through him and take it all. At this point, either outcome felt equally likely.

Every inch of Darren's body screamed in pain as he rallied himself yet again to stand between Steve and the Stone of Blood, pushing his mind and body to the limit to defend the only goal net that still mattered.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Great, now he was hallucinating Desmond Tiny too. It sounded so real Darren almost stopped to look around. But he couldn't afford it. Steve was struggling too. Darren knew him well enough to know he was in worse shape than he let on. It should've made Darren feel more confident, knowing he was slowly gaining the upper hand. Instead it filled him with icy dread. The inevitable was looming. Steve would kill him, or he'd kill Steve. And suddenly he didn't know which would be worse.

Steve advanced again, his eyes raking up and down Darren's body, as though taking silent inventory of every laceration, bruise, and burn. He moved slowly, to the right, then the left, never in a straight line. Darren held his old friend's gaze.

He knew this one. This was an eerily effective move Steve used to use on the playing field, a feint of sorts. It was far closer to psychological warfare than an eight-year-old should be capable of. He'd lock eyes with his opponent, usually the other team's goalie, looking them up and down as though deciding which of their bones to break. Sending purposely mixed signals so they'd have no idea which direction he'd attack from. And when they thought they knew where he was going he'd switch at the last possible second, taking advantage of whichever side they left vulnerable. Like a cat - Leopard - toying with a defenceless prey animal just trying to survive.

Maybe Steve knew he'd taken this too far. Maybe his twisted mind was still justifying it. Either way, there was no going back now.

They closed in on each other for the final assault, knowing neither had the strength to do it again. Steve darted to the left. Darren stayed right. Steve swapped to the right. Darren didn't move. Steve went left one more time and there was a moment where Darren hesitated -

No.

Yet another crack of gunfire dented Darren's focus but didn't shatter it. Darren stayed right, and Steve met him there. A foot of smoky air separated them now, and Darren knew one thing for certain. Steve had misread him. He'd been sure Darren would go left. He was wrong, and it was about to cost him. He didn't have time to alter his defences now.

For the first time, Steve's eyes widened with shock. Fear, maybe. Darren held his gaze but Steve seemed to be looking past him now, as though seeing a ghost. Darren didn't stray from his course. He heard footsteps, felt the throne platform shake as someone fought through the fire to get to them. Darren blocked it all out.

With one second left on the war clock, they both knew Steve was about to die. Darren braced himself, silently begging please, no, anything but this, I don't want this, knowing he didn't have a choice. He closed his eyes and lunged.

Wearing our vintage misery

No, I think it looked a little better on me

It happened so quickly, Mika couldn't believe it happened. One second he was demolishing a man who would've killed his daughter where she stood. Suddenly a flash of gold, a brief tug, a swift hiss as Kurda plucked Mika's weapon from its sheath with impossible grace, punctuated by a roar of pain as Jakob finally went down. Jakob had been seconds from running his blade through Mika's back while it was turned - a final and literal representation of his betrayal. Now he was on the floor with Mika's blade in his chest, and Kurda holding it there.

Mika ran towards them, but he felt like he was standing still while the world crashed past him. The cacophony of battle faded to white noise, replaced by a sound much more chilling.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Every nerve in Mika's body tingled in the worst way. He'd recognize the sound of that heart shaped watch anywhere. Was Tiny in the room, or just in Mika's head? Didn't matter. Kurda stood up and took Mika's sword with him, wrenching it free from Jakob's bloodied chest cavity. Blood was still issuing from the fallen man's mouth. His limbs were twitching as he died, but there'd be no coming back from that wound. Kurda smiled as his eyes met Mika's.

KS: It's almost over. One more minute. I've got this. I love you.

Mika didn't have time to process any of it. Kurda locked his sights on the burning throne platform at the forefront of the room. Mika drew closer, close enough to see the orange flames reflecting in Kurda's eyes, setting those endless oceans ablaze. Suddenly, Mika knew exactly what Kurda was going to do next, and that he couldn't have stopped him if he tried.

Kurda moved with a sobering level of power and purpose, the likes of which Mika had never witnessed before. Not in almost three centuries of brushing shoulders with the most powerful creatures on the planet - human, vampire, vampaneze. Even the otherworldly Desmond Tiny couldn't touch this. So Jakob Wiles didn't stand a chance in -

Kurda was already halfway to the throne platform when Jakob's arm twitched.

Not dead. Not over.

Mika's body went numb as the fallen, bloodied traitor used his final modicum of strength to pull his concealed gun and turn it on Kurda's back as he charged to face the Vampaneze Lord.

You coward. You fucking coward.

There was no time to warn Kurda. And even if there was, it had never been Kurda's job to take Jakob out. He was built for far better things. Mika pulled his dagger and closed in, knowing the blade wouldn't protect him from a bullet. That didn't matter now.

Desmond Tiny's words echoed off the walls of Mika's mind as he closed in, taking him back to the night the Hall of Princes cracked open around him:

"Would you, who has not seen three centuries, dare to tell me, who measures time in continental drifts, about the mechanisms of fate?"

Mika had lost count of how many times he'd awoken in a cold sweat, shaking and gasping for air after reliving it in his nightmares. But now he wished Tiny would show his face again. Wished he'd stroll into the Hall of Princes. So Mika could walk right up to him, look him in his cold, hateful eyes and tell him with ironclad conviction:

Yeah. I would.

Jakob pulled the trigger. He didn't live long enough to hear the sound of the gunshot. Mika's blade tore through the exposed flesh of his throat and he was gone.

Mika sank to his knees beside the corpse, struggling to keep his head upright so he could see the throne platform. But the room was spinning, the air was full of smoke and fire, and it was impossible. For the first few seconds, the reverberation of the sound hurt worse than the bullet itself. But that didn't last.

Fuck.

Mika took four bullets during his time in the field and two more tonight. They hurt, but no more than a flesh wound. He'd felt much worse training in the sporting halls. This time was different. He knew it as he went down. He knew it before the weapon had even discharged. The fact that he was still alive told him the bullet hadn't gone through his heart. But the shattering pain in his chest and the amount of blood spilling from the bullet hole told him it was close enough.

He heard a voice in the distance, triumphant and loud enough to cut through the ringing in his ears. It was familiar, probably Larten. But Mika's senses were too distorted to know for sure. Didn't matter who was shouting, all that mattered was the words themselves:

"It's over! The Vampaneze Lord has fallen!"

A new era would rise from the ashes of tonight, no matter what happened next. And that brave new world needed Kurda Smahlt a hell of a lot more than it needed Mika Ver Leth. Mika couldn't take back his role in paving a path so broken Kurda was willing to give up everything he loved just to give the clan a chance. But he'd eliminated the last thing standing in Kurda's way. He'd done that much right.

It didn't hurt so much anymore, now that his body was going numb. There was so much blood the fabric of his black shirt was glistening with it. And it wasn't just the shirt. Blood covered the floor and filled his mouth. Strange how jarring it was to taste his own blood, even after almost three centuries as a vampire. His vision flickered. Sitting upright was no longer an option. The warmth of the floor felt strangely soothing against his face as he slowly went down.

He knew he wouldn't be coming back up. Just like knew he'd take that bullet for Kurda every single time. It was the easiest thing he'd ever done.

Mika called upon his most cherished core memory one final time, the memory that carried him through the darkness of the past seven years. Two councils ago. Mika was opening the Festival of the Undead. Due to a comical error in communication, Gracie ended up in Mika's arms while he delivered a formal address to the clan. She dropped a cuss word that rhymed with luck. Everyone laughed. Mika had never felt so content in his life - then he turned around to see Kurda smiling at him. Rolling his eyes, but smiling just the same. It was love, Mika just didn't know it then. All he knew was that it felt like peace.

Even a quarter of a century later, as Mika's world faded to black around him, all he could see was that smile.

You did it, Kurda. I love you.

I'm going to change you like a remix

Then I'll raise you like a phoenix