Many Regrets And Thanks...

If anyone is indeed reading this blog then I must ask that you at least try to post one comment...Rather odd that most of the readers seem to be in Russia but nonetheless I'd love at least one comment to know that I am indeed being heard when I speak these rather odd words that tumble forth to make twisted tales.

My regret is that I am not content with the current state of the story: The Fairy. Also, in addition to writing a new version of The Fairy I will be writing Olympus and See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak Only Evil.

Olympus - Hera and Zeus are getting a divorce. Let the insanity and comedy commence! This story will be my first try at comedy as it were so it will take some research. If anyone has any books to reccomend for something of this genre then please, by all means, leave the name and author.

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, and Speak Only Evil - A three part story about a young woman's decent into madness at the hands of her employer. This is a rather twisted story...Trust me.

Black Dagger, Meet Seymour...(Part V)

~ One Week Later, Castle Ark ~

Lillian paced outside in the mist of twilight, the rain having swept through the area in the passing week. Seymour had returned – a little worse for ware – and was currently inside, reading letters from delegates and handling the mess that had arisen from his sudden departure of Tokyo. The stones that made up the pathway were cracked and breaking, painted a darker shade by the moisture in the air with vines curling all around, leaves of jade spiraling around at her feet as the wind picked up for a moment. The grass was covered in a light sheen and as she skipped from one smooth stone to the other she felt the blades tickle the bottom of her feet, reminding her of something that happened not so long ago but felt so distant that it may as well have been a dream.

Rose bushes lay beneath the trees’ in the shades of red and white; her navy blue dress clinging to her as she stepped almost soundlessly through the garden on the bare soles of her feet. Seymour would be upset if he knew she was out and about with no shoes on, worried that she might catch a cold but she simply shrugged a shoulder. She liked to feel the cool stones beneath her feet as she paced herself through the garden, being here felt like walking in a fairy tale. Many of the trees were built for climbing, with low hanging branched and ones higher up she smiled, thinking of years passed when the laughter of – A twig snapped to her right and she turned abruptly.

“Seymour?” She called, her grey eyes peering around in the gloom that stretched endlessly out. Through the canopy the trees branches made above she could make out the outline of the castle in the distance, shaded in the bleak of twilight fog.

Another sound came right behind her and she turned to see nothing, her brow furrowing as she stood there. Lillian slowly moved away only to feel a strong arm wrap around her waist and bring her in a crushing grasp against a much larger person. By the feel it was a man and she gasped, giving him the chance to press the cloth against her face…The world grew black…

“Where is my wife?” Seymour asked, buttoning his cufflinks as a young maid entered, her wide green eyes turning to look at him, a defiant curl of dark brown hair winding out from under her cap.

“She wen’ fer a walk in the garden sir,” she murmured, her eyes instantly dropping to the floor to escape the malevolence inside his amber gaze.

“I suppose she went without shoes again,” Seymour growled, aware of the shiver the young woman had when he did this, her eyes still on the ground. “Out of my sight,” he snapped and she fled the room, almost running for the door and a strange sense of déjà vu filled Seymour as she did so.

He turned and made his way to the door to his balcony, opening it and proceeding out onto the mist covered platform, barely able to make out the trees in the distance of the garden. Sighing, he leaped; the sound of his clothes ruffling against the breeze sounding in his ears as the wind moved around his form. He landed, the air dancing around his feet so that he made no noise, his eyes scanning the gloom as he searched for his wife.

Catching her scent he moved deeper in, his shoes sliding against the grass as he made his way deeper into the grey. Stopping, he sniffed again – what was that? It was a new scent, one he had never smelt before…No; something was oddly familiar about the tang that it left in his nostrils. Seymour stalked deeper, his feet making no noise, amber eyes growing wider as he raced deeper, his legs carrying him faster than a man his age should be able to travel.

“LILLIAN!!” Seymour roared, crushing roses and sending their petals flying. “Lillian!” He yelled again, his voice strained, panicked, as he crashed through more rose bushes, his pant legs torn and eyes wide as he frantically searched for the Angel of Ark. “No, no, no…no,” he said the word over and over again, praying it was not true as his nails sliced through the bark of a tree he had spun off of. Seymour crashed into a clearing, surrounded by white and as he slowly stood he made his way over to one of the bushes at the edge. He fell to his knees, amber eyes wide and bloodshot he lowered his hand, dipping it in among the thorns and petals to pull out a piece of navy blue silk.

The tie of his hair fell, landing among the white, to land on the face of a red rose, winding around it in the chilling breeze that rustled the vines, causing them to rattle against one another. “Lill…ian,” his voice was horse, unrecognizable in the lower tint it took, sounding like a beast, a monster, the sound echoing over the clearing as black spread out from the piece of cloth he held. His veins bulged against his skin, carrying the coal color over his skin, sending it deeper, into his flesh and making his nails grow, become pointed, and turn white. When the blackness reached his eyes it peeled back his eye lids, burning them and causing blood to poor in around the edges of the amber. Hell was about to be paid…

Brotherhood Compound – London

Wrath stepped through the door, throwing his coat on the hook by the door her sighed, feeling George rub against his leg slightly. There was a clatter from the living room, like a table being knocked over and the distinct sound of Beth yelling…It sounded like: “you bastard! What the fuck were you thinking?!”

Wrath’s brow furrowed and he hurried inside, George stopping him so he wouldn’t trip – which was irritating…He needed to see what was happened – and when he finally stepped into the living room he heard V this time. “At least this way we have the upper hand! There’s no way he’ll attack us now and we can use her to our advantage. Get her to tell us about him!”

He sensed it instantly – although he smelt her before he actually knew about her presence – it was that girl. She was the same one that had come with Seymour when Wrath had come home after their encounter…What was she doing here? “What the fuck is going on?!” Wrath snarled, causing heads to turn to him when he spoke, eyes growing wide as they gazed at the furious look forming on his face.

“V kidnapped Lillian!” Beth screamed, and Wrath could hear her fists clench and his own did so as he turned to where he was sure V was standing. John and Butch watched from across the room, also angry at what Vicious had done, not just because he had been stupid enough to do it, but also because there was a large and nasty bruise on Lillian’s cheek. Apparently she had awakened while V had kidnapped her and during the struggled she had hit her head against something and said blemish had painted her cheek in seconds.

Wrath stepped over the threshold to where he heard Lillian’s breathing, towering over her, kneeling down as not to scare her. She was not their enemy…Her husband was. Some part of him wondered how such a pure and innocent creature ended up with a beast like the one she had married. “Are you hurt?” He growled, eyes focused on where he assumed her face was, although he was quite a bit off he learned because he felt her smooth hand grab his chin and in that moment he saw her.

It was just while his skin touched hers and he found himself face to face…With an angel. Her face was heart shaped; a widow’s peak at the top of her forehead – much like his – and golden, brown streaked waves down to her shoulders cupped her face. A pair of misty grey eyes, like the ocean during a storm met his and pale, ivory skin fit smoothly over the soft edges of her features.

“You…You are the King,” she whispered, her brow furrowed and a sort of mist settled over her irises. “You have suffered so much,” her voice was cracking and Wrath felt his eyes grow wide – the darkness caving in once more – as she watched him. Unlike Seymour, whose eyes peeled away what you were; her eyes seemed to console something in him, to warm one with just a glance. He felt responsible for her tears, for the pain that was in those grey depths and was saddened…The misery of making her cry washing over him.

But with his last few seconds of sight he saw it…And white hot rage boiled beneath the surface of his skin. There, on her right cheek, was a blemish the size of a small walnut, taking up her whole cheek bone. It was purple and reddish around the edges, his eyes blazing on the spot his chest clenched and his lungs hammered against his rib cage. Wrath pulled away from her grasp, standing slowly and turned to where V stood, eyes narrowed and face twisting up into an ugly snarl that he hadn’t wanted Lillian to see.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Lillian said in a small voice behind him, “I hit a tree trying to escape…Please, please don’t hurt him.”

“Beth, take her into the other room, you two,” Wrath said deep in his throat, unwilling to let Vicious go unpunished, “go too.” Once all four of them had left he turned to V – who he could tell was shaking – and growled deep in his chest. He wouldn’t kill him, he hadn’t hit her…But he had kidnapped her and that was something that he would never accept. Wrath cracked his knuckles, stepping over to the shorter brother…George had left his side to stand far away from his master, as if sensing what was about to happen.

V took his hits surprisingly well, his fists twisting into the skin of his stomach, sending him flying against the wall. He kicked him while he was down, in the face, back, gut; anywhere he could, crushing his ribs slowly while doing so. “Why, why in the Hell did you even do it!?” Wrath roared, picking the other up by the collar of his shirt to where he dangled in front of his face. “Why!?” After a moment he became aware that V had obviously passed out and he grunted, throwing the other down onto the ground and leaving the room. He couldn’t even stand to be in there with him…

“Wrath, Wrath!?” Beth’s voice sounded from downstairs in the TV room and as George guided him down the stairs he could hear what was on the television.

“Reports indicate that this may have been a terrorist attack, the explosion destroyed the entire city in one blow; a series of synchronized explosives may have been the cause. Officials are not releasing any details at this time,” it sounded like a reporter’s voice and as he made it to the landing he stepped into the room and listened. “The government of England is on high alert and is warning anyone in the area to evacuate –“

“What is this about?” Wrath asked with wide eyes and Beth promptly turned the television down, the sound of the remote clattering on the table as she moved over to him.

“A city…Birmingham just…Exploded, the whole city is just a crater now,” she hissed in a low whisper, rendering Wrath silent.

“There are a million people in that city,” he said, brow furrowing to the sound of Lillian’s sobs.

“They think it’s a terrorist attack,” Butch stated, eyes glued to the pictures flashing across the screen of the devastation. There was nothing left, just a charred black hole where the city had once stood.

“It’s not,” Lillian said between her tears, causing all eyes to fall on her and Wrath slowly stepped over to her, kneeling down by her once more.

“What do you mean?” His voice was low and the tingling sensation set in below his skin again, a cold hand gripping his spine with its chilling fingers. What was this?

“It’s him,” she hissed in a shaky voice, “he – he’s looking for me. Please, you have to take me back to him. Otherwise he won’t stop!”

Wrath’s eyes grew wide and he shook his head, standing, backing away till he felt George come up behind him, stopping his back from hitting the wall. “You’re telling me…That Seymour did that?” His voice cut off, body shaking as he close his eyes to the sound of her sniffles.

“Yes,” she whispered, “please…You have to take me back to him.”

“I’m not going to sacrifice you to him,” Wrath growled, “There has to be another way.”

“Sacrifice,” Lillian said, as if the very idea were ridiculous, “what do you mean sacrifice!? You think I am with him unwillingly?”

“What?”

“I love him,” she whispered, her voice sounding harsh from her suppressed tears, “and I must be returned to him…Otherwise this mass killing will continue.”

The whole room was silent with shock, the emotion filling all of their eyes as they stared at Lillian. How was it possible? How could a pure beacon of light have anything to do with the monster of a being that they had all encountered? Beth was the first to speak, “get the car.” John jumped up and ran to the door as Wrath turned to his mate.

“You can’t be serious!” Wrath roared with wide eyes.

“Do you want him to blow up London?!” Beth screamed, “There are six million people in this city! I’m not going to let them die and neither are you. We’re going to go find him and return Lillian to him.”

“Wait,” Wrath growled, causing her to stop in the hallway, “John, Butch, and I will go to find him. You stay here, don’t worry, we’ll get her back to him.” There was a long pause but Beth seemingly relented and moved over to Lillian; Wrath heard a shift of cloth as they hugged and a final sniffle from the young girl as he heard the churn of gravel in the drive. “Let’s go,” he said, grabbing his coat once more – George at his side – and out into the fog of the coming night.

Black Dagger, Meet Seymour...(Part IV)

“Go for his throat,” Rhage growled, “knocking him around a bit would be fun but I just want this bastard to die already.” V nodded and Wrath cracked his knuckles from the seat across the aisle from Seymour who simply smirked from his position. When the wheels hit the run way the right engine wing exploded.

Shrapnel flew in every direction, busting windows and scorching the side of the plane a coal black as smoke seared the nostrils of all on board, causing them to splutter and close their eyes to fight the burn that touched the bottom lid of their eyes. Crimson, gold, and black bloomed along the side of the ship, licking the navy sky, trying to touch the darkness as it fed on the fuel, another explosion ringing through the air. Seymour grimaced from his seat, if he’d known it would cause such a racket he wouldn’t have done it…Oh well, too late to think about that now.

The whole plane jolted, the wheels screeching on the runway to the sound of another powerful blast as the whole back part of the plane split, screams ringing through the air as Seymour yawned lazily, unbuckling his seatbelt. His amber eyes cut the black fog with a knifes precision as he jumped from the vessel, landing in the dancing flames as Wrath and the brothers ran forward, jumping out of the wreckage.

All three of them landed a few yards away from the burning plane, eyes wide on the sight of the people inside who were being seared and charred by the unforgiving fire. Wrath heard their screams and closed his eyes, gripping the long black body of the object he had saved from the flames…The cane.

“Thank you,” a raspy echoed voice spoke, the flames parting suddenly, the smog covering the figure in darkness, “for returning that which is mine.” Amber eyes blazed, blinking in the silver moonlight which parted the fire away from the tall frame of Seymour. “You see, I’m so eager…To send you to Hell!” Rhage was the first to be hit, the elder man moving so fast that they barely had time to see him and Wrath moved only when V shoved him out of the way.

Seymour's arm was alit with the flames of the explosion he had obviously caused, searing over Rhage’s face and torso with a wave of his limb he kicked him in the gut, sending him spiraling back as V leapt at him. Seymour's limb exstinguished itself and he turned as V aimed a punch at his jaw, missing only to twist around and aim a knee at his gut. The hit landed but Seymour grabbed his leg, his sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight as V’s eyes grew wide.

Wrath grabbed with a shaky hand for the head of the cane, finding it he jerked but the blade would not come free and something sunk into his hand, drawing blood. He heard V grunt as he was thrown away and the stumbling of Rhage as he stood up, the cackle of flame on his form having gone out. “Do you really think you can open that?” His voice had changed back to the deep reverberating baritone with the bored tint at the end and Wrath panted, jerking his hand free of the wolf’s head which had bitten into his hand.

“It was worth a shot,” Wrath retorted and ran forward, swinging at the elder man who dodged, his foot coming up to catch Wrath’s knee and sending him reeling as his shin was dislocated.

“Bastard!” Rhage roared, his face burned and sizzling under the intensity of Seymour’s first attack. His voice had dropped a few octaves though and Seymour turned his eyes to look at him, raising a brow at the sight of the other’s changing demeanor. Rhage’s face appeared to be changing, the bone structure twisting and the snarl on his face seemed plastered there, nostrils flaring as he clenched his fists.

V and Rhage ran forward, ignoring their injuries to protect Wrath as V jumped into the air, his fist meaning to collide with Seymour’s face and Rhage’s fist going for his gut.

He side-stepped V’s blow, causing him to land and giving Seymour just enough time to grab Rhage’s fist, his feet skidding on the pavement, leaving wide gashes in his wake. Rhage brought up his other fist, causing Seymour to dodge it and release his other hand while V suddenly appeared and did a sweep with his leg to bring him down. Seymour jumped, rolling back and standing quickly to look at the both of them with a wicked grin as they stood at the ready.

“You cannot win this battle,” Seymour stated, cracking his knuckles as he looked up at the sky in contemplation, “I suppose casting such a spell would take up the last bit of my energy but I must say…Perhaps it would be worth it. No?” Wrath had finally stood and was up with the other two, glaring at Seymour, the cane still gripped tightly in his hand.

“If you want this ‘battle’ to end then you better have something that could kill all three of us! Otherwise we will continue to hunt you down…” Wrath growled and Seymour rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Yes, I suppose your right. But I haven’t the power for that at this range so…To compensate I shall simply get rid of the one that is the biggest problem,” he grinned here, something feral and wolf like. V shivered noticeably beside Wrath, at the ready and Rhage tensed too.

“You won’t get near our king you asshole!” Rhage swore; eyes burning with unbridled hatred as the sound of sirens pierced the air, nearing quickly it seemed as the blaring grew closer and closer.

“Who said your ‘king’ was my target,” Seymour said, raising a hand and pointing it at Rhage, amber eyes glued to him, veins rising once more in his face. Wrath’s eyes grew wide with these words, his body moving but…There was no way he could reach Rhage because in those few seconds Seymour spoke one word, one word that none of them knew the meaning to but he did know one thing. The next millisecond later – maybe less – he smelt the tang of blood as it sprayed over his face and body, the thud of Rhage’s form hitting the ground ringing through the air as V roared in anguish.

Wrath fell to his knees, feeling for the other as suddenly he could hear his breathing, the sound fading so fast that he couldn’t really catch it, couldn’t hear it even though for all this time that is the one sense he had perfected. “Rhage, Rhage!” Wrath roared, feeling the sticky hair of the other and pulling him in close, blood slicking the flesh of the other between his fingers. He couldn’t hear V charge Seymour or the sound of the wind whirling as the elder man suddenly disappeared or the siren as the fire trucks and ambulances pulled in all around. He couldn’t make out any of it…

 ~ Castle Ark ~

Seymour stepped into the grand hall, removing his cloak to the sounds of running feet, a young footman jogging around the corner quickly ran over to him. “I’m sorry sir!” The young lad said, taking his coat and bowing his head deeply, as not to gaze into his employers eyes, “I should have met you at the door but we were not expecting you for another two or three days!” Seymour rolled his eyes and simply gave a deep, exasperated sigh as the young man proceeded to fidget there for a moment. “Would you like anything else, sir?”

“One thing, before you get out of my sight,” Seymour growled, fixing his shirt, “where is my wife?”

“The drawing room, sir,” the boy managed standing up straight but keeping his eyes focused on Seymour’s feet, “she retired there to read and drink a cup of late night tea.”

Seymour simply nodded and walked up the stairs of the grand hall, paying little mind to anything else but thoughts of his destination. As he neared the drawing room he heard the distinct sound of feet moving on carpet, the gentle rub of leather against leather as a book was placed back on its shelf, and once more the movement of feet. He smirked – his senses had returned in full – and saw that when he opened the door his wife was just settling back into the sofa where she usually lounged while reading.

The drawing room had floor to ceiling book shelves on every wall except the far left, for when one entered in the center of said wall was a window that went all the way from the roof of the room to about a fourth of the way off the ground to make room for a comfortable red satin love seat with golden pillows.

A fireplace on the far wall also disturbed the impressive amount of book shelves, made of grey marble it had the Ark motto on the front of the mantel: “Mors Principium Est,” or “Death is the Beginning.” The carpet depicted the scene of a night black forest and a maiden wearing a long flowing red dress, her eyes a shade of violet with flawless skin and bloody lips. The sofa Lillian occupied was at the backmost left corner of the room, two wingbacks in front of the fire and a globe placed in the center of the room.

“Your back,” she exclaimed, running over in her flowing white shift to embrace him - the white turning to silver as she made her way in front of the silver moonlight coming through the window - her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. His arms circled her waist, his face nestled into the creamy skin of her shoulder and his dark, silver locks mixing with the golden, brown streaked strands of her scalp.

Lillian’s fingers played with the shoulder length strands of his hair, her nimble digits playing across his shoulder blades as well. “What is wrong,” she whispered, drawing back to look at his face, “you have been ill.” Her voice cracked as she drew back to examine him, her hands falling to lay on his forearms as he stared at her. She ran her cool fingers across his cheek and into his locks, her eyes glistening with tears he grabbed her hand and gripped it in his own.

He kissed the ivory skin of her knuckles, his eyes closing as he held her palm against the side of his gaunt face, “your cold my dear.” She shook her head, moving forward to press her face into his chest, the hand he did not hold gripping the front of his ruffled shirt.

“I’ve…I’ve never seen you like this before,” she withdrew her hand from his to grip his shirt as she looked up into his amber colored irises, “what could harm you like this?!”

Seymour’s eyes became half lidded as he looked down at her, unable to deny her he sighed and wrapped his arms around her. “Do you truly wish me to tell you?” The question hung there like a summer leaf dancing to the ground and her brow furrowed slightly as she gazed up at him.

“There are no secrets between us…Tell me,” she whispered and Seymour took a deep breath and let it out slowly, nodding, he gestured to the couch. Lillian gripped his hand, winding her fingers in with his as she made her way over to the red satin couch, the embroidery of golden thread wound into the armrests and cushions. She sat beside him, touching his face and clearing some of the petulant strands away from his features as to see him when he spoke.

The whole story was long but he told her the truth, leaving out no detail – even the ones he wished to omit – his mouth running as she stroked his face and touched his hands, running her fingers over the veins that were usually always visible, due to the age of his body, not his weakness. She squeezed his hand slightly when he told her about when he was held captive, telling her of what they had done to him, and how he had endured. He told her of what he looked like when under this state, of walking in the rain, and fighting them in the ship. He told her of what happened at the airport – never skipping any detail – and of how he had used some of the last bit of his power.

He always thought that when he told her of such things she would leave, turn around and never come back. Seymour laid his head against the back of the sofa, closing his eyes and gulping as they sat there in silence for many moments. Lillian just held his hand, running her thumbs along the back of his knuckles before she raised a hand and cupped his cheek, turning his head to where he would look at her. He did not open his eyes though, out of fear of seeing the hurt in her eyes but he finally relented when the smooth pad of her thumb rubbed over his eye lid.

“Nothing justifies revenge,” she whispered, her grey eyes looking deep into his amber pair and it shocked him to see a sad smile on her face, “you helped and they attacked you but…You didn’t exactly make the best impression on them the first time. What happened to those people on the plane,” she closed her eyes and frowned slightly and he knew she was holding back tears. He raised his hand from her palm and stroked the side of her face, his thumb rubbing against the corner of her eye and when her irises became visible again they were covered in a light sheen.

“I love you; I knew what I was getting into from the beginning. I know what you are and despite that I still love you, and no matter what I do I can’t stop loving you. I wouldn’t even if I could…I can’t deny you your nature. I never would.” Lillian drew closer and pulled him to her, allowing him to lay his head on her lap as he laid back and lounged on the satin of the sofa.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words themselves a rarity even to her ears and she treasured every time he said those syllables. She could recount every time that he had said them, weather this was because he said them so little or because she treasured his words so much was a mystery but nonetheless she always smiled.

“Sleep, you’ve had a trying journey,” she murmured, running her slim fingers over the hollow features of his face as he laid there, eyes slowly closing.

London Compound – Late that Night

“How…How did this happen?!” Butch yelled, staring at Rhage’s form as he lay there, passed out on the table.

The night had been long with the arrival of the rest of the Brotherhood – Shellans included – to the London Compound. Mary had arrived and had immediately started working on Rhage in a panic as his vitals reached critical and the rest of the brothers filed in to see the damage done to their king and the two brothers that accompanied him.

Rhage was covered his deep gashes and the burn had yet to start receding, Wrath feared that Seymour had placed the same curse on Rhage that he had on him…V had sustained minor bruises that had healed within two hours – much too long – and Wrath’s knee healed after three. It seemed that he could not only inflict permanent damage but he could keep it that way for extended amounts of time…

The rest of the brothers grew progressively angry, irritable, and shocked as Wrath told the story of what had happened, finishing with the wounding of Rhage. “You’re telling us that this guy can inflict damage on us to the point where we’re healing like humans?” Zsadist asked, dark eyes focusing on Wrath who nodded – still covered in Rhage’s blood.

“Let’s go kill this guy!” V roared, “He’s still got traces of Beth’s blood in his veins, we can track him!”

“No, we can’t!” Wrath growled, “in case you hadn’t noticed, he just kicked our asses without breaking a real sweat!”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Butch said, pacing, “in Tokyo you took him down easy…Why couldn’t all three of you take him down here?” Wrath shook his head, arms crossed over his broad chest, his eyes closed and brow furrowed, head turned down to the ground.

“I don’t know…Home field advantage wouldn’t make sense…I mean, we were on the open run way of a plane!” Wrath rubbed the back of his neck, before rubbing his chin, “unless there is something here in London that he uses as his power source.”

“Yeah,” V said, nodding, “maybe if we find his source we can destroy it and then torture him to find out where the Omega is.”

“No,” Wrath growled, causing all eyes to turn on him in shock, “he’s way too powerful to be just a Lesser general…He’s something more. I can’t explain it but when we fought…It was like he wasn’t even trying.”

“Then what’s the point of trying to kill him?” Butch asked; brow furrowing as he turned to look at Wrath whose head rose so that he seemed to be looking at him.

“He nearly killed us…That makes him a threat. Anything that is a direct threat to us has to die – by any means necessary, I don’t even want to think what would happen if he allied himself with the Omega.” The whole room tensed and some of them even shuddered at the thought. “He took out Rhage so that he wouldn’t have to fight him, he knew about the dragon – or at least had some idea of his power – so he put him out of commission. That means it’s up to the rest of us to take him down…”

“Are you sure we can? I mean…Look at Rhage,” Butch said, frowning slightly as Wrath gripped his arms a bit tighter.

“Everyone has a weakness…Including him. I heard him during our fight, ‘I suppose casting such a spell would take up the last bit of my energy,’ meaning that he can only cast it a few times, and if we can find a way to dodge it we should be fine.”

“No way,” V growled, “he said one fucking word and did that to Rhage, we don’t stand a chance against something like that if all he has to do is point and say a word!”

“That was before!” Wrath roared, turning on the shorter brother, “we weren’t ready and you both thought he was going to aim for me! He didn’t, next time we’ll be ready for anything!” V looked taken aback but stopped, eyes narrowing slowly on his king as he stood there, un-tensing and shaking his head.

“Wrath…Even you don’t believe that. Rhage will be fine, don’t make a death wish just because you feel guilty,” everyone stopped breathing when V said this, his voice not betraying the fear he felt as he said the last bit. But it was true. He had to be brutally honest with Wrath in order to get him to see reason, even if doing it in front of everybody else was the only way. Wrath stepped back, taking a deep breath before shaking his head.

“I need to be alone,” he stated, George suddenly appearing from the shadows of the corner to lead his master from the room.

Black Dagger, Meet Seymour...(Part III)

“Hello…Wrath,” the tone in which he spoke seemed to have its own voice, telling him that his enemy was evil in its purest form, seeming to smirk at him through just sound. “Or should I call you…King?” The mocking, sarcastic manner was not lost on Wrath and he opened his eyes to see he was in a room that he had never seen before.

It was a grand room with shelves on either wall from floor to ceiling, stacked with leather bound books, embellished with words on the spine of gold and silver, embroidered with floral designs and waving depictions of the words inside. A large desk of mahogany, covered in tanned paper and random assortments of writing utensils sat in front of the wall length glass doors that led to a stone balcony.

The opposite wall of the great window had two large oak doors to make entrance into this room, carved with mythical designs. A fire place was on the middle of the left wall as one entered, made of dark marble, pillars supporting it with wolves rearing on their hind legs, growling at one another. Two dark wing back chairs sat before the waving red and gold inside the hearth, a single table separating them. Wrath, himself sat in one of these chairs, the owner of the voice standing in front of the fireplace.

His left elbow was on the mantle, his hand holding a silver chalice and his right hand resting inside his pocket; the toe of his left shoe tapping the wooden floor lightly, as if he were contemplating something. From the back he was tall and lean but Wrath knew better than to underestimate his power, he had felt what he was capable of…

He wore a black suit and from the angle he sat, Wrath could see that his coat was undone – as was his vest – exposing an 18^th century disheveled white shirt. His hair was black, streaked with silver, and held loosely in a silver ribbon at the base of his skull, more than a few rebellious strands falling around the face he had yet to see. “Well?” The man asked as he turned his head and Wrath could finally see half of his face, soon the whole thing as he turned away from the fireplace, hand still in his pocket and the other holding the cup.

He was middle aged, his face angular and his skin was pale, gaunt and features sharp. The most striking thing about him and the place where Wrath’s eyes were instantly drawn were his irises; a pair of amber orbs staring deep into his own and instantly he hated them. They were beautiful but they were hardened as well, peeling away his layers and touching the inner most sanctum of his being.

“Seymour,” he hissed, staring at his foe as he turned quickly and threw his glass into the flames of the fire, feeding them and they sped up the walls of the hearth for a moment before settling back once more.

“Yes?” His voice was sarcastic and the ‘e’ was dragged out on his tongue, “that’s my name in this world.” Seymour turned back to face Wrath and the Vampire King’s brow furrowed as he stood slowly, pacing around him, Seymour following him.

“This world,” Wrath whispered as Seymour watched him like a cat toying with a mouse, “you aren’t really human are you?”

“Whatever gave it away?” Seymour asked, a wicked, sharp toothed grin curling across his features, making him resemble a demon.

“What are you?” Wrath hissed; head tilting as he watched the monster, the beast, the Lesser perhaps? Seymour chuckled, moving to sit down and pulling a thin cigarette case from space, plucking it from the air and pulling a rather thick black stick from inside, inserting the end into his mouth, igniting it with a lighter.

The flames of the fire played over the casing, causing it to blink in the light, flicker and tease as he opened it with a click. The tiny fire licked at the end of the cigarette, gold glowing at the end as Seymour inhaled and let the grey smoke flow from his nose, framing around those amber eyes that flickered red in the light.

“If the world wished to put a face on darkness,” Seymour murmured, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and staring at the burning end, “I would laughingly hand them mine.” He looked at Wrath sharply and started to laugh, his fangs exposing themselves over his lip as he pressed the end of the cigarette into his palm, the hiss of the dying spark sounding as he stood up once more.

“What if I told you that I could give this back to you,” Seymour asked, pacing around the chairs, his hand playing over the back of the chairs as he stopped behind the one farthest from the door, “the life that is the hue of this land?”

“I’d say go to Hell,” Wrath growled and Seymour closed his eyes and shrugged.

“Pity…Ah well,” he started walking again and Wrath turned his head to view the back wall and instantly he froze, his body paralyzed as he watched – heard the echo of those boots on the hard wood floor – Seymour move to the mahogany desk that Beth was sitting on. Beth?! But yes, that was her, a white silken dress gracing her figure as she reclined on the desk, lying about and reaching for the elder man who was nearing her.

Wrath wanted to move, wanted to strangle the bastard who was touching her face, turning her so that he could see as she wrapped her arms around him and brought him close. But the elder man buried his face into her neck and that sound; it filled his ears, her sounds, his, and then something pricked under her skin. Beth was against him, with him, and Wrath wanted to tear at his skin, peel away the layers, and tear out his ears.

No…No…He was going to kill that man! Rip him limb from limb, tear out his eyes, drain him dry, and tear out his bones!

“Well, what an interesting thing to say!” Seymour said, his eyes sparking with curiosity as he watched Marissa and smiled at her, his amber orbs betraying the true boredom he felt. Obviously it was lost on them all and Wrath felt his body tremble at the sound of that voice, it took all of the power inside of him not to tear into the elder man. There was a moment when only the flames of the hearth cackled and then the quiet footsteps of someone coming down the hallway filled their ears and the all turned.

Even though Wrath could not see her, he could sense it, a radiance of purity in its rawest form. She floated, glided really, and when she appeared before them, all of their eyes widened on her delicate form and her rather nervous smile as she gazed at them with her stormy grey irises. Her face was pure, heart-shaped rather, she was…Pure.

“I’m sorry for being late, I had planned on coming sooner,” her voice was like a song, but she was not singing and immediately everyone in the room was captivated by her.

“My dear,” Seymour said, standing and making his way over to her, “I told you I was just visiting some friends.” He took her hands and kissed them, holding them to his chest, causing her to smile at him.

“That would be why I wished to meet them love but if you wish me to leave I will,” it was as if they were the only two in the room and Wrath felt as if he were listening to a private moment that he had no right to. A moment ago was forgotten, somehow, this girl negated hatred, where it to thrive somewhere her mere presence would send it sprawling back to the shadows. No, her light shone so powerful that she could be intimately conjoined with the beast that had tortured him night and day with pain and unblock able images and not be tarnished by his darkness, his hatred.

“I apologize again,” she said, “I have not introduced myself, I am Lillian,” she said, smiling at them all in that way that was hers. And that was how the evening commenced, reclining on the wolfish character who Wrath had found in their compound, she talked and smiled and laughed as if the Devil himself were not sitting next to her. The hours wound up all the way to that of ten and it was then that the elder man chose to think it time to depart.

While the women walked into the foyer, crowding around the angel and asking of things, talking and being delicate and joyful, the men were left to finish up in the study. Seymour turned on the vampires, amber eyes half lidded and a smirk itching to make itself known at the corner of his mouth. “I hope we can do this again,” Seymour whispered, “very, very soon,” he pulled a fedora off a nearby chair and placed it atop his head, picking up his trench coat and throwing it over his arm.

“We’re not finished here,” Rhage growled, eyes narrowing and snarl forming but Seymour simply raised a hand, waving it as if to silence him.

“With the ladies right down the hall…Really? Not even you’re that much of a brute, are you Rhage?” He said his name as if he had known him his whole life, peeling away the layers of his being and searing the inner part of his soul, touching and tearing inside him. Rhage looked taken aback, eyes growing wide but shook it off a moment later.

“He’s right,” Wrath hissed; his voice horse and nearly unrecognizable, “this battle…It’s not over…” He turned his head in the direction he knew Seymour was in, “not by a long shot.”

“Don’t flatter yourself boy,” Seymour chuckled, leaving out the door, the latch clicking into place behind him.

“Who was that bastard?” Vicious asked, looking from Rhage to Wrath, “is that the asshole who did that to Wrath?” Rhage nodded and V grit his teeth, “why didn’t we just kill him?”

“Because,” Wrath said, looking more tired, older even, “he’s too strong…”

Two Months Later, Tokyo, Japan

The alley way was dirty and several trashcans were tipped over, food and scraps of paper tumbling over one another, the lights of the city painting the walls of the narrow walkway in florescent red, pink, and green. Long gashes and craters covered the walls and pavement, blood splattered over some areas, colored black by the lack of light.

In the middle of the alley way, Wrath laid, his dark hair mixing into the crimson vat surrounding his battered form. His eyes were closed, clothes shredded and cuts scattering his form and a series of bruises up his arms and over his abdomen. Seymour stood over his form, raising a brow at the fallen king and sighing with subtle boredom.

A simple business trip had brought him here, the delegates of his centuries out company bugging him to come and check on his enterprise for the hundredth time in the last several months. Apparently several of their shipments had gone missing and it was his job to look into the incidents, to actually “put some effort into saving the company” as they had put it. Had he not done that for the last two centuries?

He knelt and looked over Wrath’s form, looking inside his pocket and noting the small, sleek, grey device that humans would note as ‘cell phones’. Flipping open the small device he noticed that it did not light up and that the screen was cracking and falling out. Turning it over he pulled open the back and stared at the chip, tugging it out and letting his nimble fingers feel for the phone in his pocket.

Seymour tugged the cell from his pocket and replaced the piece, pulling the lid up on his own and growling as the florescent blue light bathed his features. It made him want to fling it against the wall rather than use it, but nonetheless he used his thumb to click in several keys. The few seconds he had to listen to that buzzing of the ring infuriated him further.

“Hello?” A female voice asked from the other side of the device.

“Yes, your fool of a mate is dying,” Seymour stated nonchalantly, nudging Wrath’s head with his toe, “hurry up and get here.” He snapped the phone shut without further explanation and walked around the king to lean on the stone wall behind him, sliding down it to sit in the shadows. He ignored the ringing in his pocket – they must have been smart enough to track it – and looked up, staring past the over powering lights of Tokyo and to the navy black sky far above.

Sixteen minutes later – or maybe it was six – Beth appeared. She scrambled into the alley, wearing blue jeans and a black tank top with a jacket over top that, her sneakers squeaking over the puddled floor of the narrow passage as she ran to Wrath. Beth picked up his head; her claws digging into her throat as she held him to her neck, and let him sink his fangs in weakly. Seymour’s brows rose, watching the scene before him play out with mild interest, if even that…No, it was just the subtlest of curiosity.

Blood poured down over the front of her shirt – her own blood – mixing with Wrath’s and flowing out to stain her jacket as well. He was healing but she was growing weaker, her face becoming pale and eyes shaded and dull as his fangs finally withdrew and she collapsed back. Beth’s hair fanned out around her like a halo and her eyes stared at nothing as she laid there, Seymour withdrawing from the darkness and approaching.

Staring down at her he slowly knelt, laying his cane beside him on the ground he turned to her, and picked her up. Beth’s head lolled against his shoulder and she gasped weakly, hands raising enough to grip his forearms as he looked into her eyes. “You,” she whispered, voice raspy and low.

“She would be heartbroken…If anything happened to you,” he said, drawing her in close and letting her lips touch his neck, “feed or die, it’s your decision. I am no mortal you can harm.”

Beth shook her head in protest but Seymour slowly raised his hand to his neck, cutting the flesh and allowing the blood to well up and leak down to his shirt. The tang of that blood hitting the air was enough to make her mouth water and before she could even think to resist or protest she sank her fangs in deep.

The scent did not let down, in fact, the taste was not justified, the smell seeming to hint to something far beneath the taste that was washing over her tongue. She drank in gulps, more than she needed and as her strength returned she gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer, staining the front of his shirt with hers and Wrath’s blood along with his own. Seymour’s eyes were half lidded, arms wrapping around her to steady her as she took down another mouthful. Beth consumed rapidly and it scared her to think it was better than Wrath’s.

No! What the Hell was wrong with her?! She thought to push him away but fighting was futile with the liquid drug in her mouth, it was finer than the chocolate she had eat as a human, sweeter, but with a hint of bitterness.

Beth felt something grip her shoulders and tug her fiercely away, eyes wide as she caught a glimpse of the fury on her mate’s face. He was beyond furious, nostrils flaring and unseeing eyes wide with an all-consuming rage…This was no longer Wrath. He stood over her as she laid there, eyes poised on Seymour who was standing across the way, his white ruffled shirt stained with crimson that was leaking onto his dark coat.

“I was sav-“He had no time to finish as Wrath smashed his fist into the wall next to his head, making him dodge at the very last second. He was aiming for the kill. Seymour ducked, growling and drew his sword from its sheath, watching Wrath as he withdrew his fist from the wall. There were no words spoken as Seymour slashed at Wrath’s shoulder, causing the larger man to move out of the way, his eyes narrowed and fists clenched. Beth watched on in horror as her mate charged Seymour, beginning their duel and tearing apart passageway all around them.

He aimed another blow and this time, this one landed, sending Seymour back into a wall that left behind a crater, a deafening crack sounding through the air as the elder man’s body was smashed into the stone. Sliding down the concrete surface, Seymour was forced to rise slowly, bracing himself slightly on the wall. He spat his blood out onto the ground and chuckled, standing up just in time to dodge a blast that would have him pinned.

Seymour was across the alley then, dropping his coat and his hair coming undone as he slashed at Wrath’s side, painting him again in crimson. Blows were exchanged at a faster rate than the eye could catch; the singing of the sword as it cut the air and cut away flesh and tore into bone. The pounding of flesh as it was twisted around a powerful fist and bones breaking with sudden fits of uncontrolled strength. Wrath aimed another blow, missing this time and turning on the elder man who had dodged and was now across to the other wall.

Seymour chuckled, blade covered in blood that leaked onto the hilt and in between his fingers. “I think you broke all my ribs,” he stated, feeling his sides that were slowly starting to heal, “what would you say if I asked you if we could end this with the next one? Hm?”

“I’d say you were a dead man,” Wrath hissed, turning on him, “where is the Omega you bastard!”

Seymour raised a brow, flicking his blade to rid it of some of the red liquid that was trickling off of it. “I’m afraid my boy that I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Liar,” Wrath growled, “I came to this country looking for the Omega’s general, and I found him.”

“You think I’ve got something to do with your little war?” Seymour scoffed, eyes narrowing on the vampire king.

“Let’s find out,” Wrath growled and Seymour smirked, turning his head just in time to see Rhage’s fist. The blow smashed him into the pavement, blood gushing and bones breaking under the intensity of the blast, his smile never fading, even as he lie unconscious on the ground. Butch and V landed beside him, Zsadist not far behind, watching the elder male for any sign of movement, but finding none they relaxed.

“Got you, you sick bastard,” V growled, raising his foot to smash it into the man’s ribs which shattered once more. Wrath turned to Beth, her eyes wide and trained on Seymour whose face was smashed into the black pavement, his blood mixing with the dirty water. He moved to embrace her but she slapped him…Hard. The blow sent him reeling in shock and he saw that her eyes were wide as she stared at him, fists clenched and arms shaking at her sides.

“He saved me…I know he’s not human but…He saved me!” She screamed at him, causing him to wince because he knew now that… “You attacked him for no reason! I mean – why!? A Lesser wouldn’t help me! He’s – He’s something else.”

“Beth,” Wrath whispered, moving to hold her again but she shoved him away, moving away from his arms and over to Seymour, kneeling down by him. She moved to touch him, picking up his head and surveying the damage that Rhage’s blow had done. Tears streaked down her face and she looked at Wrath, eyes wide like some child pleading with their parent.

“Why did you do this?” She hissed, the other three moving away – still surrounding Seymour – but backing off from the distraught queen. Wrath sighed, his mind in shambles and slowly shook his head, knowing now that he was going to have to tell her the truth.

“I’ll explain on the way back to the compound,” he whispered, “please…Just…Come with me.” Beth looked uncertain, eyes straying to Seymour’s broken form before she slowly took off her jacket and laid it under his head, rising to take Wrath’s hand and be led away. Once she was out of ear shot, Rhage, Butch, and V picked up the elder man, binding him with chains and making their way to the compound while Zsadist picked up the cane, the wolf head seeming to grin at him. His eyes narrowed on it as he followed his brothers, the lifeless silver carved orbs of the beast blinking with a feral sort of glee.

The room was bland, made of a stone floor and roof with iron walls it only had one door at the head of the room. When one walked in, they would see a stainless steel chair and table, the surface covered in all manner of tools and surgical tools, while a florescent light colored everything a lifeless shade of bland white. The corners of the room though, were covered in shadows, fit for the visitors to hide in as they stood around…

“Well…Isn’t this just lovely,” Seymour said; arms bound behind his back at the wrists, and legs tied to the chair with three inch thick chains. Wrath leaned against a wall in the corner of the room, fully healed and dressed – the scars of Seymour’s curse clearly visible through the shirt he wore. Rhage and V stood side by side on the opposite wall, watching the elder man as he sat there…Smiling. Butch sat in a chair near the door, elbows on his knees and eyes wide on the figure before him, his black and silver hair blanketing and hiding his face, the only thing visible were those glimmering amber eyes.

Zsadist was standing by a table of tools, hand skimming over a few of them – many already bloody from use – and stopping a particular one. Picking it up he made his way over to the elder man, a thick layer of blood coating the chains, chair, his body, Zsadist’s, and the floor around him. He inserted it in between the man’s ribs and looked into the fathomless depths of his eyes as he watched him, those amber irises arresting him for a moment, informing him that his technique was clearly not working.

Blood splattered across his face and slowly he removed the tool, withdrawing to the other side of the room and shaking his head at Wrath. None of this was working, the man was not laughing any more as he had at the beginning – it seemed that the torture was slowly growing boring to him – his body just healing after the ‘treatment’ was over, albeit a little slowly.

“This isn’t working,” V growled, “this motherfucker doesn’t feel any of it. I’m beginning to wonder if he even is a fuckin’ Lesser Wrath.” He stood up and moved for the door, “I’m out of here.” There was a slam as he left, his boots echoing off the walls of the corridor as he left. Rhage stood, doing the same, clearly they were getting nowhere with all of this. Wrath sighed and stood, walking over to Zsadist.

“Guard the room, make sure he doesn’t leave, do whatever you want to him. Just get him talking.” Wrath nodded to Butch, exiting the room and rubbing his face with his hand.

“I don’t think we’re going to get anything,” Butch said, “he obviously isn’t human but…I don’t know.”

“Than what the Hell is he? He’s not a vampire or a Lesser,” Wrath growled, his head starting to throb. “Every time we tried to kill him in there it didn’t work, we beat him, bled him, we’ve done everything, and yet that bastard won’t die!”

“Won’t?” Butch said, “More like can’t.”

Wrath turned on him, “everything that can bleed can die, so can he!”

“I think he’s punched holes in that theory for the last half an hour,” Butch said, staring up at Wrath, “I trust your judgment better than anyone else but damnit Wrath…He’s just not breaking. What the Hell are we going to do with something we can’t kill or break?”

Wrath stood there, brow furrowing as he inhaled deeply through his nose, finally turning to trudge down the hallway. For once…He had no answer…

Seymour watched Zsadist as he sat down in the chair that Butch had once occupied, his eyes watching the older man for many moments. “Tired of torturing something that doesn’t give you the satisfaction you want?” Seymour questioned, eye brows rising slightly as he tilted his head at him, boredom glowing in the malevolent brilliance that were his eyes. Sighing, Seymour looked at the table of tools and noted that his cane sat atop the table, the wolf head grinning at him.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out as he heard the chair creak across the room. Zsadist stood, opening the door and exiting, his boots fading away as he made his way down the corridor and to his brothers. Seymour listened rather intently before looking at his cane once again; the chains that bound him were embedded into the floor, looping over his shoulders and down his form.

“I’m getting weaker,” he whispered, the veins of his face suddenly rising to stick out as long rivulets over his face, arms, all over his body, “not sure how much longer I can keep this up.” His black and silver hair framed his amber eyes which were flickering every now and again as he sat there, pulling at his bindings. “But…I suppose there is just enough…For this one last time,” he growled, pulling, trying to stand against the chains that held him.

Seymour roared, his fangs exposing themselves as he ground his teeth, fists clenched into white as he jerked, the links crying out against the stress under which they were put under. Then, with a deafening scream the links were broken, shattering and splaying across the floor as they were chipped into tiny pieces. The lifeless white light above blinked in and out, going in and out as the currents sprang with electricity, and a few of the bulbs shattered and broke in a display of amber streaks.

The winding metal fell from his form as he panted, falling to his knees and gulping for air, his face hidden behind the veil of his hair. The veins of his form seemed to be trying to break out from under his skin, throbbing and crying out against the pain.

Seymour slowly regained himself, standing and stumbling towards the table where his cane lie, picking up the black, sleek body he turned and fumbled with the door. Tugging it open finally he was assaulted by light and hissed when the blazing power of florescent bulbs hummed and buzzed to life above him.

Shuddering, he staggered to the stairs leading up at the end of the hallway, breaths labored and deep, eyes wide and bloodshot. His mind spun but still he walked, gripping the railing to the steps as if he were on auto pilot and raising himself up the long flights till he reached two doors. One had the printed red sign ‘EXIT’ above it and the other had no indication at all, causing Seymour to lurch to the other.

Seymour pressed against the cool body of the door he panted, using his cane to steady himself as he pushed hard against the latch and stepped out into the new night. Trees shimmered all around, smashing limbs and lashing leaves against one another as the rain assaulted Seymour’s battered form. The rain dripped into his eyes, making him blink them, finding relief in the moistening of his irises as he felt around in the black.

His eyes had adjusted but his body had not, the duress in the chamber had weakened him so critically that he could barely move. The dried blood of the night before was wet again as the rain pelted him, soaking him to the bone as he gasped and clawed for register into trees, using them as support as he wound through the black, the darkness…

“Where the hell is he?!” Wrath roared; eyes wide as he stared at the broken chains and shattered links that were strode across the room.

“I left only for a few moments,” Zsadist hissed, eyes narrowing on the shattered metal that covered the walls, the flickering lights, and broken glass that scattered around the floor from the force of power used.

“He can’t have gotten far,” Rhage growled, “not to mention…He still has Beth’s blood on him…” Wrath sniffed the air at this, unseeing eyes moving from side to side, and finally he growled.

“Rhage, V, and I will go track this motherfucker down,” Wrath hissed, “the rest of you will return to the compound and watch the women. Don’t let them out of your sight, let’s move!” And with that, the brotherhood scattered and ran down the hall, the Vampire King and his two brothers running out the exit door in seconds flat.

“One ticket please,” a deep raspy baritone whispered, “that will be all.” The young brunette girl behind the counter nodded, her doe brown eyes scanning the screen of the computer before her as she typed in a few last details.

The row of long desks cut one off from the ticket terminal, the surfaces of the whole place grey and spotless. The roof was not that far above their heads, glass windows allowing the light of the silver moon to flourish over the tops of the steel. A few yards to the left were the glass doors overlooking the dock, opening straight up to the wooden pier where a large white ship took birth. Colored lanterns on the end of hooks lit the way, coming in the shade of green, a royal purple, and yellow…These choices made the gentleman ill.

“Thank you for your time sir!” She said, withdrawing a ticket from a nearby printer and handing it to him. A black glove hand snatched it from her finger tips and the tall gentleman exited the line, moving to the docking station. A long black coat covered his battered body, a wide-brimmed black hat shading his face and the blue veins that bulged there, and black gloves were pulled over his bony knuckles. His right hand held the neck of a black cane that had a wolf head, the light playing tricks across its snarling face. His dark, silver streaked hair was down around his shoulders and if one looked closely they may catch a glance of amber…

Seymour stepped out into the darkness, the sea and sky one as they reflected each other, spinning the fabric of night and weaving darkness. Seymour moved to the railing of the pier, looking left and right he opened his cane slightly, and whispered something. Low and not recognizable, his speech whisked off his tongue and spun into the frigid night air.

A moment later, he was gasping on the ship deck, falling against the railing of the ship he grabbed at his face with his hand, the veins bulging against the skin more so than before. Seymour felt ill, eyes rolling around in his skull as he clutched, grasped for something that would keep him here. The cold metal of the railing seemed to suffice, the leather on the glove of his left hand screeching in protest to the ill treatment as it was cracked. He fell to his knees and coughed, spluttering on blood that threatened to rise but it did not, instead receding and he slowly stood, legs shaking.

Seymour stumbled, the world spinning, dancing on its axis as he pushed several doors open to find the one to his room. The door number was on the key in his pocket…He clutched inside for the object, pulling it out he glared at the digits imprinted there in order to tell where the Hell he was supposed to be going. Number 40…Ah…He walked slowly, using his cane and the wall till he finally made it and pushed the key into the lock. A click sounded and he pushed the wooden frame away, entering as he closed the door behind him, hearing it click back into place and lock automatically.

The room was done in a grey, white color scheme, two tables on the left and right with scarlet geraniums inside crystal vases, a wall behind the tables, shielding the rest of the suit. The bottom half of said wall was wood and the top was glass, the design of a dragon there, roaring with wild eyes at some unforeseen foe no doubt. The carpet was a dull shade of grey, making him feel more melancholy than he already was, his jacket sliding off his shoulders. Seymour stepped deeper inside, throwing his hat on the right table, his cane still in his hand as he walked.

The next room had a bar on the left wall, made of mahogany wood and with a black marble top where various bottles awaited, shaded in gold, deep brown, and a shining crimson that caught his eye. His shirt was still bloody and torn but he was too tired to change, his amber eyes looking to the right where various chairs of fine silk sat, a screen door hidden by scarlet drapes behind them. Seymour ignored the sudden need to drink and walked to his right where a door stood, probably the bedroom.

As he expected, a bed sat in the middle of the room with a black comforter, scarlet embroidery depicting a samurai fighting in a forest of bamboo. The bed side tables were mahogany, carved with swirling patterns, lamp shades sitting on top of them casting a glow of crimson gold across the room. There was another door beside the right bedside table and another one on the far right wall…Closet and bathroom most likely.

Seymour closed his bedroom door and walked over to the bed, all but collapsing on top of it, his dark and silver hair fanning about his head as he lie there. His cane was finally released from his strong grip, free to lie next to him on the comforter as he placed his arm over his eyes. How could he allow himself to be caught like that? No, he must concern himself with more important things.

His white dress shirt was ruffled, cut, and caked with dried blood from where he’d been slashed, beat, and sliced. His pants had a few cuts and where dirty with mud at the bottom, his boots having endured the same treatment but were holding up rather well. Seymour removed his arm from his face, slowly, and looked at the back of his hand, where veins bulged and tensed beneath his skin, ready to leap out and spray his blood. No doubt the rest of me looks the same, he thought, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as the ship began to sail for China.

“This way,” Wrath growled, his boots thudding down the hallway as he sniffed the air, “he isn’t much farther.” Rhage and Vicious walked behind him, they were so large they almost couldn’t walk down the hallway, eyes moving from side to side as they made their way deeper into the ship.

“Excuse me!” A voice rang out behind them and they all turned to see a short Asian man glaring at them, “the ship is underway and I’m afraid that everyone is supposed to be in their cabins at this time, due to some technical issues. We don’t want strangers wandering around.” He was wearing a blue hat and suit that had gold buttons and a symbol at the top – obviously one of the ship staff. He nodded, “surely you heard the announcement?” Rhage and V looked at each other…Little guy had guts, standing up to three guys who could squish him into the ground…

“No, we didn’t,” Wrath hissed, eyes narrowed as he turned his head to move forward again but the man’s voice rang out again.

“You must return to your cabin!” The man glared, his brow seeming to fuse with his eyes and Rhage and V sighed together, shaking their heads. This was not going to end well.

“I haven’t got time for this!” Wrath growled, turning quickly, about to push past the other two and get the pip squeak when-

“Really now,” a voice drawled from behind the vampires, “there is no need for this.” They all turned – except Wrath – to see a tall, lean man with eyes appearing to be a shade of…Red. His features were sharp and gaunt, eyes rather sunken in and dark bags under his eyes, his cheek bones seeming to poke out from under his skin. His hair looked as if it was wet, but no, it was just very wavy and colored the same shade of newly fallen snow. He wore a long black cotton trench coat that reached his knees, black boots hiding the rest from sight as he watched them with something like…Amusement.

“Who are you?” Rhage asked, brow furrowing on the strange individual who smiled at him, his lips an eerie shade of red and his teeth too white to be true.

“No one of true importance,” he said, his smile fading, “but a lot of people on this floor have already retired for the night. You see there was a party in the city and it lasted till this wee hour of the night and many of the ambassadors and such are currently resting on this rather dreary evening on this floor. It best you return to your rooms and get some shut eye yourselves.” He grinned at them here, his crimson lips showing again and Rhage’s eyes narrowed…This man was also not human…

“Yes, please, return to your rooms!” The officer – whom they had almost forgotten – grumbled, eyes narrowing on them and with this new stranger in play they were forced to relent. Wrath led the way back up the stairs and growled as V and Rhage got a little too close to him.

“That man wasn’t human…I could smell the blood on him.” Wrath growled, footsteps sounding heavy against the floor.

“Yeah…Looks like we’ll have to try later to get even close to his door,” V mumbled from behind Rhage who was in between he and Wrath. There was no way they were getting into that room with so many guards patrolling; they’d encountered four just getting up the stairs!  And even if they did get around they would only end up making a lot of noise when they busted the guys door down and now, on top of all that they were out at sea. So there was no way they were going to be able to high tail it off the boat when they caught him, no, they’d have to wait until morning.

“What have you gotten yourself into this time?” The white haired man asked, sitting at the bar of his apartment – identical to Seymour’s – while swishing the contents of his glass around against its confines. The color scheme of his apartment was different, black and crimson red as it were, and it seemed to match his strange smile and clothes.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Seymour growled from a black leather wing back across the room. He had changed his shirt into a clean one, his veins still visible, and eyes dimmer than they were a few hours ago.

“Really…You’re too far away from home to handle all three of them,” the man said factually, sipping from his glass the crimson colored liquid that smelled of iron, leaving a tang of its scent on his tongue. “I know you’ll never accept my help but that female’s blood is in your veins now and until it’s out they will be able to track you,” he turned around on his chair to face Seymour.

“What are you talking about?” Seymour asked, narrowing his eyes on his companion who rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh.

“When you were fighting her mate you had her blood on you; that same blood must have slipped into your blood stream as you fought him,” he went on and Seymour eyes widened in understanding.

“How long will it take to leave me?”

His companion shrugged his shoulder, “could be days or weeks. Maybe until you get closer to home ‘ol boy. Right now your body is under too much stress and won’t risk losing the small amount of energy her blood can supply you with. In other words: you’re royally fucked until you reach home again.”

Seymour stood, growling, “Shit!” He paced the rooms under the watchful crimson eyes of his companion who simply sipped more of his drank and smacked his lips.

“The ferry will land on the shore of China two days from now at Beijing, when your there you can take an eleven hour flight all the way back to England.” He stated, refilling his glass from a stainless steel canister before turning his eyes back to Seymour who had stopped to look at him.

“This may be tougher than I thought…” Seymour growled.

Two Days Later, Beijing, Tokyo Airport

Seymour boarded the plane, eyes scanning the faded red carpet narrow walkway as he made his way to the back, and ignoring the whining children and gossiping young girls as he sat down. The seat themselves were of a faded blue, little specs of color all over them as if trying to add some sense of cheerfulness.

Riding first class seemed risky so here he sat, not that it mattered much, and business men had a tendency to yell surprisingly louder than the shrieking girls in front of him. The seat next to him was empty, making him relax a little more…He hated it when people tried to talk to him in these annoyingly cramped quarters, it was like being in a match box. Glancing out the window to see the afternoon sun he shut the small window screen and sighed, rubbing his temples.

To put it simply, the ship ride had turned into utter chaos in the two days that he had been there, trapping one of them in the hull was simple enough once he was ‘under the influence’ and goading the other to attack him and fall off the ship was easier still. The last one was much more difficult though, especially considering the one he had thrown over board had returned, more pissed off than before.

The king was by far not the most simple minded and yet he’d bought to bumbling fools with him. Seymour had tricked the smallest one into fighting him alone, using mirrors that were to be shipped into China to confuse him and hallucinate. Chaining him down and gagging him he had set off back to the surface, only to be confronted by the angry one. He had charged him and thanks to a sudden burst of speed, Seymour had not gone with him and he’d plunged straight into the icy depths. Wrath on the other hand…

Seymour hissed at the memory, gripping his right arm, he’d taken his cane…The Vampire King and he had fought on the last day, the angry one having somehow managed to keep up with and re-board the ship once it had set down anchor for several hours. Still critically weakened by the adventures of the night before, he had been at a disadvantage from the start, barely able to keep up with attacks that jarred his senses even from a distance.

Seymour had speared his cane through his shoulder and sliced away a chunk of his flesh in the process, causing him to roar in pain and send him flying. For a few seconds he blacked out but when he had regained himself he noticed that the king had fled, taking his blade with him. Rubbing his eyes, Seymour laid his head back against the chair and sighed as the engines began to rumble and the plane sped down the runway.

Several hours must have passed because when he reopened his eyes he could see the rays of the silvery moon splitting through the bottom of the window the shutter didn’t cover. Raising the shutter he could see the shining grey of the tops of clouds, spanning on forever to make a roiling ocean of luminescent white. Raising his hand to look at the back he smirked when he saw that the veins had returned to normal, the power flowing through him once more he cracked his jaw and closed his eyes. The feeling that was always so natural to him was returning upon a flowing current on the tops of the silver ocean outside his window.

Then he heard it…A distinct growl. Turning to look at his right he was looking into the furious black eyes of the vampire king, dark hair framing his pale face. Seymour’s mouth twisted up into a cruel smile as he watched Wrath grip the arm rests of his chair enough to break the plastic. “Awake at last?” There was a long pause and Seymour wondered if he should even waste his breath by answering him…

“Well, yes actually I am, very awake, and very alive.” He smirked, eyes becoming half lidded as he watched Wrath’s arms bulge and tense from the strain of controlling himself. “Tell me something though,” Seymour murmured, “when your parents died…Did you enjoy watching them screw her up against a wall?” He said it as if it were an everyday topic, amber eyes holding the only emotion he was seemingly capable of…Boredom. The very air tensed, pausing for a breath and then shivering as Wrath’s fingers moved to his seat belt, lips curling back to reveal his clenched fangs.

“All passengers please keep your seat belts on as we will be landing in ten minutes!” An attendant’s voice cut the air with sword, making Wrath pause and withdraw his fingers from his side as he kept his eyes glued to the spot he knew Seymour was occupying.

“Use your last minutes wisely,” V hissed from diagonal the set of chair Seymour occupied, causing the elder man to smirk.

“I’d say the same to you, thank you for saving me the trouble,” Seymour chuckled, leaning back in his chair and resting his elbow on the arm rest, fist against the hollow of his cheek, watching that silver ocean fade away as they descended from the clouds. The next few moments were tense for the Brotherhood, their eyes looking around while their target simply rubbed his chin in thought and then began whistling a low tune...