Author's Note: This is a post AoD fic, unrelated to any of my other post-AoD fics. My attempt to weave a story which connects the plot threads from The Last Revelation, Angel of Darkness, and the Myth of El Hawa (which takes place between TLR & AoD), while also introducing *some* of the ideas which may have been implemented in the hypothetical AoD sequels. If you haven't read/watched the Myth of El Hawa some of the names will be unfamiliar, but you could probably get by on just context clues. But why not just go watch it on youtube?
The Watcher's Stone
Chapter 1: Paris
The music playing in the cafe was several decades out of style. The lyrics in mumbled melancholic French reminded Lara of the smell of cigarettes and coffee, and in that way fit the atmosphere of the place perfectly. The windows looking out onto the illuminated plaza were clean and streak-free, the owner courteous for a Parisian, and the establishment tidy and reasonably priced. Other than the music that drawled quietly over the speakers, it was nothing like Café Metro.
Yet as she sipped her café au lait, her gaze drifting across the light from the street lamps twinkling in the small puddles on the concrete, her thoughts drifted constantly back to the past four weeks. She had just wanted to sort her affairs in England before returning to the desert, and somehow it all led to her running through the dark, cold streets of Paris and Prague. She checked her backpack for the train ticket to London. Still there. An unexplained sense of nervousness made her fidgety, and all through the day she felt compelled to touch her scarab amulet Putai had gifted her and gaze over her shoulder in search of shadows. Every time she felt foolish immediately after. She was no longer on the run from the police. The past three weeks she made sure to retain a lawyer and clear her name, and now she was officially free to leave the country.
Nothing was left for her in England. Before coming to Paris to meet Von Croy, she'd settled her estate and informed her acquaintances and family friends of her survival and subsequent new purpose in life. She'd hung up her guns–or at least, the twin 9mm pistols she usually armed herself with on adventures. The Bantiwa tribe had given her new weapons to play with.
But shortly after going to England she heard word from a Bantiwa contact that the tribe had gone missing. Likely wiped out in a conflict with another tribe, possibly bandits or raiders, they didn't specify. She hadn't time to investigate, having decided to take a detour to Paris and settle whatever the matter was with Von Croy.
Then the Monstrum happened.
Now Lara was finally ready to return to England again. She hadn't a clue what she'd do there. The manor was now Winston's, though her collection of artifacts were still carefully crated, sealed, and hidden beneath its foundation. After years of faithful caretaking, the manor had been more his home than hers anyway. Lara was the closest thing to family the old man had, and he had promised her she would always be welcome on the grounds. She had no doubt that once he died, his will would have her inherit the property once more, and then and only then would Lara worry about what to do with all the artifacts.
For now, she worried about the Bantiwa. She worried about Putai. She needed to investigate their disappearance – she had hopes there were survivors, that they were merely in hiding. She mentally kicked herself, guilt ripping through her conscience every time she clutched the amulet around her neck. If only she'd never left them to settle affairs in England, if only she'd stayed in the desert! She could have protected them, as she had all those times before. She wouldn't accept their death – not until she went back to North Africa and searched for them herself.
But first she had another artifact to store away. With no more Lux Veritatis, Kurtis' flying bladed disc had no rightful owner. She'd tried multiple times to activate it on her own and each time it laid inert in her hand. Then there was his motorbike as well, a beautiful Classic Brough Superior SS 100. She had no real use for it anymore, but it was too gorgeous to leave beneath the snow in Prague. Perhaps Winston could sell it, or maybe she could take it with her to the desert to ride during her search.
And who knew? Maybe Kurtis hadn't died; she never found his body. The past few weeks she's felt eyes on her as though she were under watch, not dissimilar from when she first arrived in the Parisian ghetto and Kurtis had begun stalking her.
The feeling of being watched was intensified ever since she entered the café, to the point she could no longer shake it off. Was it possible Kurtis was alive? No, this had to be something else. The Cabal weren't all dead…
Lara downed the rest of her now cooled coffee, slung her backpack around her shoulders and stretched her limbs as she stood. She had one more night in her Paris hotel before she was set to take the chunnel to England. She had to pay the heavy price and wait for a special train car to transport the motorcycle, otherwise she would leave sooner rather than later.
A frown overtook her face as she exited the café. Outside was dark and cold and the rain, which had been a mere mist when she entered earlier, had now progressed to a drizzle. A cold shower! She could have skipped the coffee altogether and just gone for a stroll through this weather, it was enough to wake anyone up. As she rubbed her hands together, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Someone was definitely watching her. She couldn't return to her hotel room yet.
Her bike – Kurtis' bike – was parked in the alley nearby beneath an awning, but her feet didn't take her there. She started towards the empty plaza, intending to loop around to the bike if the feeling faded, or come back for it later if not. She absolutely hated the feeling of being hunted and preferred to draw whoever it was out, and the plaza seemed a better arena than a dark alleyway.
She forced her shoulders to relax, her gait to be confident and sure. Her senses were attuned to every noise and shadow around her. So when she heard the smallest, quietest splash of a boot in a puddle behind her, she ducked and rolled to the left without thinking.
Lara stood and faced the source of the noise, just as something small and fast banged into the lamp post next to her. Following the trajectory, her eyes landed on a small person in a trenchcoat, their features obscured by shadows. The person – a woman, Lara deduced by the size and movement – brought her hand down to her waist as she strode forward, unclipped something from her belt and raised it.
Lara didn't wait around. She pulled her pistol free from where it had been tucked between her jeans and the small of her back, and opened fire – damn the police and the civilians who might be near.
She jumped to the side just as another projectile whizzed by her ear. What were those things, ninja stars? The woman dived behind the lip of the currently turned-off fountain to avoid the gunfire. Lara circled around the fountain, gun ready. She only had one spare magazine with her, the rest she had left in the hotel room, but if she finished this quickly she wouldn't need it.
In less than a second the woman popped out of cover. Pain erupted from Lara's left shoulder, a projectile slicing through the denim of her jacket. She let off a few rounds from her gun, anger beginning to well up when none of them seemed to land. The woman moved so fast, but – Lara had hit her. She was bleeding from the leg but still standing on it as though it were nothing.
Right. Lara spun on her feet and sprinted off to the nearest side street.
The woman gave chase after a moment. Lara ducked behind trash bins and parked cars as she ran, flinching instinctively at each harsh clink of the projectiles sinking in or bouncing off their metal surfaces, mere inches from her body, but never stopping her sprint down the streets. She turned down another street, launched herself up and over a chain link fence. Glanced behind and to her dismay, saw the woman was not slowed by any of this. She jumped the fence smoother even than Lara, as though gravity was merely a word. They way she leapt back to her feet without a single moment needed to recover from the drop felt familiar. Lara fired more shots at her, ejected the empty magazine and fumbled for the fresh one.
But she couldn't find it. With a rush of panic she realized she hadn't actually taken the spare magazine; the rest of her ammunition was in her duffle.
Police sirens sounded somewhere close. That was fast. They must have already been close by. Might have even heard the gunfire themselves. She didn't know why this woman was chasing her, what she was throwing at her, but Lara knew she couldn't catch the Paris police's attention again. She had to get away from this place.
She turned another corner to an alleyway and spied a fire escape ladder halfway descended. Leaping, she grabbed the bottom rung and pulled herself up, stifling a shriek as one of those projectiles ricocheted off the rung directly above her head.
Taking the ladder in threes, she practically threw herself upwards until she reached the balcony, the rungs slippery from the rain and almost losing her grip several times. Once up she took off in the direction of her bike. At the end of the alley was another street, then turn right and then left, and the motorbike would be waiting there. She only needed to gain a little distance to have enough time to start up the engine.
There laid the issued though, as this little sprite was quick. Just as Lara jumped over the gap to the next set of balconies, she heard the girl clamoring up the same ladder impossibly quick.
A projectile shattered the marble railing just as Lara passed by. She forced her legs to move faster, one hand coming up to grasp at the shape of the amulet swinging from her neck beneath her black top. Help me, Putai. Lend me the swiftness of the desert wind.
She leaped to another balcony but when she came to the end she hesitated. Strung across the buildings from the balconies was a clothesline, empty in the cold, rainy weather. Quickly girl, a familiar voice sounded in her head like a stab to the heart. She hopped down and grabbed the clothesline, the rope thick and strong enough to hold her weight.
Then her end of the line snapped, disconnecting from the opposite balcony.
Lara let out the shriek this time, and she swung to the other building, her side colliding with the brick painfully. She let go and dropped down, softening her landing with a roll, her jacket and trousers now filthy from the dirty puddles of rainwater. She sprinted to the end of the alleyway when suddenly the roar of an engine and a blinding light caused her to skid to a halt.
She shielded her face, confused yet relieved as she took in the arrival of her motorbike pulling up beside her. The rider donned a leather jacket, his blue eyes seeming to shine through the darkness. He held a hand out toward her, beckoning her on.
"Looking for this?" Kurtis asked with a hint of a smirk.
Lara hopped onto the back and wrapped her arms around his torso. She heard him hiss between his teeth. But instead of taking off, he reached her his belt, and unclipped his flying disc.
Wait. How did he get that? And how did he know where she stashed the keys to the motorbike?
Kurtis flung the disc out and it came to life in a blaze of orange, shooting off towards the small woman that had followed Lara up and back down the balconies. It connected with her arm in a squirt of blood before the girl dropped down, clutching at the wound. The blade twirled around and as soon as it was safely back in Kurtis' outstretched hand, he revved the engine and they took off.
The cold air rushed past Lara, whipping her stray hairs about her face. She pressed her chest to his back, his ear close enough to her lips to nibble. What an absurd notion, she thought, and banished it away. There were more pressing matters than the sudden wave of attraction his timely rescue aroused.
"Who was that?" she shouted by his ear.
Tilting his head slightly so his answering voice would be carried to her rather than swallowed by the wind, he answered, "Tell ya later."
"How did you get that?" She meant the bladed disc.
He seemed to know her meaning though he couldn't see where her eyes were looking. "Found it in your stuff," he shouted over the noise of the engine and the fading police sirens. "Nice panties, by the way."
Lara's face burned, and it wasn't from the freezing air rushing past her. She had hidden his strange weapon amongst her intimates, convinced it was harmless with its owner deceased. Why she hadn't placed it atop her jeans, or in the separate compartment with her pistol ammunition, she hadn't a clue. Or rather she hadn't a care to examine her reasoning.
Kurtis continued. "So you were just gonna take off with my bike without a word? Not very nice."
"You're not going to use it if you're dead."
Really though, she took things from dead people all the time, Kurtis was not exempt from that treatment.
"Touche. But as you see, I'm still alive. Somehow."
Lara realized Kurtis was slowing down a little, and that she didn't recognize the way.
"Where are we going?"
"Not your hotel. You'll see."
He pulled into an alley beside an apartment building and led Lara inside to the fourth floor, room 409. Kurtis unlocked the door and strolled in. Once entering she recognized her duffle bag sitting atop the coffee table. The place was undecorated and sparsely furnished, though with how small it was there was hardly room for more. They walked past the kitchen – three steps – to the living room, Kurtis standing on one side of the coffee table, Lara on the other with her back to the front door, neither seemingly wanting to be the first to make use of the threadbare couch.
"You gonna take care of that?" Kurtis asked, nodding toward her arm.
Lara had almost forgot about it. Carefully, she removed her backpack and denim jacket and inspected the damage. Just a graze.
Removing a medical kit from her backpack, she set to disinfecting and bandaging the wound.
"Who was that back there? Cabal?" she asked.
"Not exactly." He took a step around the table closer to her and she instinctively stepped in the opposite direction. "That was Morgau Vasiley, estranged daughter of Mathias Vasiley."
"Vasiley, you mean, in Prague–?"
"One and the same." Kurtis slowly lowered himself on the couch. "I infiltrated the Cabal's mercenary group some time ago when I started tracking Eckhardt. I still have a contact in the Agency, someone I can… trust, at least as far as I can throw him."
Considering his powers, that would be a little farther than a normal person.
"He told me the real identity of our little assassin. She's from a Lux Veritatis family; she has psychic abilities like me."
"I didn't know Mathias Vasiley was Lux Veritatis."
"He wasn't–anymore. Morgau's training clearly wasn't complete but she was given something to make up for it. Eckhardt did something ungodly to her. She's a hellcat on the killing grounds; faster, unbothered by pain, heals right in front of your eyes. Her torso was encased in this–metal thing. I think it's what enhances her." He paused, looking away. Lara finished wrapping her arm and stepped back until her shoulders touched the far wall.
"So why is she after me? I killed Eckhardt. Who is she working for?"
"You destroyed the Sleeper," Kurtis added.
"Yes."
"And you cleared your name with the police. Must be nice to get outside the ghettos."
Lara thought of sleeping in an abandoned dirty train car. Running through rain in the dark, flinching at every siren wail in the distance. "Yes. I see you kept up your hobby of stalking me."
Kurtis shrugged. "Had to find something to occupy my time. But you're leaving out a vital piece of information."
Lara cocked her hip to the side and crossed her arms, taken aback at Kurtis' blunt accusation. She remembered Karel and his transformation into the various people she'd encountered, Kurtis notwithstanding. How did Kurtis know so much?
"I killed Eckhardt, and the Sleeper was destroyed. But you're correct; that's not all. Joachim Karel, he'd been disguised as a human but was actually a Nephilim the entire time. It had been him who killed my friend."
Kurtis hummed, not looking surprised.
"But he's dead now, too," Lara finished.
"Is he now? Did you use the Periapt Shards?"
"I saw him, he was caught in the Sanglyph explosion."
She didn't actually see it, but she couldn't imagine anything surviving that. She remembered the heat on her back, the force pushing her the rest of the way out of the arena. Karel would have been swallowed up in it, torched the same as the Sleeper. After all, if they were both Nephilim, wouldn't the same means destroy them both?
Wouldn't it?
Kurtis hummed again, his brows falling low over his blue eyes. "I owe you thanks. For taking care of Eckhardt. So, thanks."
"My pleasure."
"But Joachim Karel is still alive," Kurtis refuted blithely. "He's taken over the leadership. He's sent Vasiley after us. The blast couldn't have killed him if he's Nephilim as you said. And he's still hell-bent on reviving his kind."
"All we've ever been trying to do was survive," Karel's words rang through her head. Her blood froze in her veins.
"The Sleeper you destroyed was only one of them. There are two more, one buried off the coast of the Mediterranean, another in Cappadocia. Of those two, only the one in Turkey survived retrieval. My contact says they're shipping it to a facility in Egypt." He paused for emphasis.
Egypt. Lara veered her thoughts to the other news. "So now there's two Nephilim? Or has Karel not been able to revive it?"
"That I don't know– my contact doesn't have access to that kind of information. He's just been eavesdropping when he can, assuming he's not playing double agent. The second Sleeper is actually the least troubling news. In the past two weeks the Cabal has been searching for an artifact the Lux Veritatis hid a long, long time ago."
Lara couldn't help herself. "What does this artifact do?"
"If they're setting up shop in Egypt, I can think of only one reason. The Watcher's Stone. It was used thousands of years ago to create new Nephilim in a short time."
"So you think Karel wants to use this stone to build an army?"
"Something like that. I don't know exactly how it works, but if Karel's goal is to revive the Nephilim race, it would be a bad idea to let him have it." He paused before continuing. "I'd like to hire your services. Thanks to my tussle with that bug bitch, I'm not up to traipsing around old booby-trapped ruins. But I have it on good authority you're the kind of woman who loves that sort of thing."
Lara arched a brow. She was curious what happened with Boaz that left so much blood. Kurtis seemed to be protective of his middle, and like a wounded prey animal he was doing his best to hide it.
Did that make Lara the predator?
"So what do you need me to do?" she asked.
Kurtis looked like he expected to have to convince her. "Shouldn't we discuss your rates first?"
She waved the suggestion off. "Later."
"Fine. I need you to retrieve it before Karel gets his filthy hands on it."
Lara pushed off from the wall, eager to start. "Of course, but where to?"
"I've heard of the Watcher's Stone before, but I'd never been privy to any detail. I only know the Lux Veritatis hid it somewhere secret. Our best shot to start the search is Ethiopia. In Lalibela there's a small, obscure Lux Veritatis library where the Elders stored their most classified information."
That gave her pause. "Wait… 'our best shot'? I thought you weren't in any shape to be trotting about?"
Kurtis blinked at her. "Well, obviously I'll leave the fun stuff for you. But there might be–" He made vague motions with his hands, as though searching for the words. "-Things. Look, you won't get very far without my help. The Order has always encoded all their knowledge… references to stuff only one of us would know, locks that can only be opened with psychic manipulation–that kinda thing… It'll just be easier if I tag along." At Lara's blank stare, he added, "I won't get in your way."
Lara had a feeling he was only half telling the truth, but time would tell.
"I suppose it's good all my things are packed already," she said as she motioned at her duffle bag on the coffee table. She'd need to call the manor first, Winston was expecting her tomorrow…
Suddenly she met Kurtis' gaze. "You didn't touch any of my other things, did you?"
A/N: I have this fic plotted out but haven't finished writing it *gasp!* I know, that's pretty normal for most people but not for me. However I've had this sitting on my computer for over a year and figure if I don't up the pressure in some way, I'll never actually finish writing it. What better way than to start posting it before I feel totally ready? If you see grammatical or spelling mistakes, I'm sorry. I don't get enough feedback on my fics for me to really care anymore about it being perfect. Take it or leave it. If you want to motivate me to post chapters faster, reviews help.
