The relic was tucked away in a nondescript box; something any ordinary person wouldn’t look at twice, though the inside was lush with velvet, cushioned, with those little beads tucked into a corner to suck out all the moisture and keep the relic somewhat temperature controlled. The lush insides would seem more opulent than the relic itself – it was stone, grey and dull, its edges jagged where it had been broken apart. Script had been etched into the surface, and the imbeciles at the National Museum assumed it was Norse, like everything else they kept. As soon as Valdimar Svensson’s educated eyes had taken it in, however, he’d known that it wasn’t simple Norse. It was something else, something he’d read about. Further research ascertained that the other half of the tablet was located in Harper Rock.
Valdimar would kill two birds with one stone. A copious donation had been given to the museum and they turned a blind eye when the artefact was taken away. The trip to Harper Rock was written off as a business expense; he’d timed the meeting for the same week a conference was to take place. The hotel industry in Iceland was booming, and he wasn’t the only one trying to get a piece of the pie. Conferences were, though tedious, an excellent way to meet others in the game. Some were poor players, others high rollers. Valdimar was still young. He’d got his foot in the door, mostly due to Daddy dearest. Now he needed to shove that door open, slip through, and slam it in Dad’s face.
The Icelander had a day and a night in Harper Rock before he was set to meet the man known as Azraeth. There were things he had to organise; he had pictures of his artefact in a folder, and would not be taking the relic with him. Valdimar had seen enough movies to know not to be so stupid, and not to trust so openly – especially in a city with a reputation such as Harper Rock.
And yet, there was someone, somewhere, that Valdimar had trusted whom he shouldn’t have. Pilots, drivers, bankers…someone had told someone else what Valdimar was really here for. They were not savages; the meeting was set for one of the finer hotels of Harper Rock, in the lobby where there was a quiet bar and a small booth. Five star. He’d got there early, only to be told by the bartender that the man he’d been set to meet had decided on a room instead of the lobby; Valdimar was given a key and, though he hesitated, he decided that it was only an old piece of stone and surely, there’d be no danger. Surely, this other man was just another curious and knowledge-thirsty collector.
The room, however, was an ambush; it was the third floor from the top of the building, and it was small with only one window, which was covered. There were two men and one woman inside, all clad in black; they looked otherworldly, though whether that was due to their features or to the knowledge they harboured Valdimar couldn’t decide. The butt of a gun was slammed into his temple and he was knocked out cold.
When next he woke, he didn’t know how many minutes had passed, or whether they’d been hours. A migraine split his skull in two, and his skin was tight where he’d been struck, blood dried against sun-kissed skin. He was tied to a chair, solid oak.
The stone, they asked. Where is it?
Valdimar only smirked. He’d not known it was so valuable. Now he did. And now? There was no way he would give it up.
“You know, I don’t think this was a total waste of time.” The Mystic commented. There were a pair of men standing, waiting really, at the bar in a fancy hotel. There was an excellent selection of imported wines, and local brews on the menu, but Az’s appetite was such that only a certain and distinct drink ever really sated it. The night air was chill and it crept into the building a little too far, which left Azraeth’s hands tucked against the middle of Flynn’s chest, dipping under the edges of his jacket to seek warmth. They were intimately close, so near that really they could only hear each other speak, but that was certainly something they were used to. “While we’re here, we might as well rent a room.” His palms ventured deeper, until they came to rest, hidden under winter-wear against his partner’s ribs. “Maybe you can pretend to be an international spy and I’m your hot, fire tempered contact.” His voice was only getting softer with each passing word, and then it eventually went totally quiet as the men kissed.
Which lasted for only a moment before the man tending the bar cleared his throat. “Mr. Carpenter?”
Really?
NOW?
UGH.
He slipped a hand from under Flynn’s jacket, and held up one finger as if to say ‘chill a second, bub’. Because he had priorities and...it took a while for him to pull away. Even when he did, he couldn’t stop himself from lingering close, not quite lip locked, but still near and demanding. He never did fully slip back, his shoulders rolling away from his chest to give the impression that they were separating.
Like so many people who had to juggle personal and business lives, Az had a few different phones. He had the one he used exclusively for work with Auberouge, as well as his dealings with the Cyrptozoological Society, and the Dragomir Temple, then there was his personal line, which only people he considered friends and family had access to - though most of them could just use telepathy to reach him if need be. Finally, he had a third line, which he used for business ventures that were a little bit less than legal. The underground sales of magical or supposedly magical objects and manuscripts had boomed since the revelation that vampires existed. No longer were items merely a tiny collector’s niche. No. In a world where magic was potentially very real, people wanted to get their hands on as much of it as possible. Azraeth provided specialized services in the translation of most dead language, verification of artefacts, and brokering between interested parties. He occasionally also added to his own private store, which he was saving for a ‘rainy day’.
He deliberately made it difficult for people to get their hands on his underground number, to weed out a lot of idiocy. So when he’d gotten a call pertaining to the other half of a tablet in his personal stock? Well. He had been more than excited and had hurriedly set things up. Flynn had been dragged along, not as extra muscle (though the casual observer might have believed that), but because Az was very slowly introducing his partner to every aspect of his life. The Mystic had a fair few surprises tucked into his sleeves, but the Paladin had always been good at taking those in stride. It was uncanny even, how well Flynn handled the vampire’s antics.
“Mr. Carpenter.” The name was repeated, and Az finally dragged his gaze from one mortal to another, his serpentine pupils slowly narrowing into slits.
“Mmmm?” He half asked.
“I think there’s been a mix up. You were supposed to meet...the guy in a room weren’t you? You called about it.” The bartend was clearly young, possibly too young to hold the job. Maybe he was related to the manager or something. A son perhaps? The job was likely not given based on merit, and with those words, Az suspected that something fishy was going on. International spy indeed! Very double oh seven. He mused to himself.
“Oh yeah! Ha! Sorry about that. I guess there were just a few mixed lines of communication. That’s what I get sending a message through a third party. No offense. What room?” He asked. And minutes later, he was slipping towards an elevator with his human partner.
It didn’t take much work to get into the room. Most locks were not built to withstand vampiric force and all he had to do was very firmly press in the right place to send it slamming inwards. He began to investigate immediately, but aside from the room itself being opulent and luxurious, there was little to note. In fact, he might have completely overlooked the ring if not for a keen eye. “The energy in here is claustrophobic.” He said, as he caught movement from the corner of his gaze. There appeared to be a small chain of spiders making a hasty exit through a cracked window. A dark brow lifted at the sight, and that was when he found the little silver-y band. It was still warm enough to have retained some body heat, and he plucked it up, palm coiled around it. There was just enough there. A hint of a scent in the oils that naturally came off of skin. A tiny bit of energy leftover, which said that perhaps the item was of some value to the one who wore it. That was all the vampire needed to cast a location spell.
“Hold onto your balls, babe. I don’t know what we’re about to find, but intuition tells me it’s gonna be crazy!” And with that, he teleported them, searching for the lair of some sirens. It seemed Az was going to have to wait to use his 007 inspired 'partner' name for a later game. Mr. Mike Awk maybe...
I'LL USE YOU AS A WARNING SIGN THAT IF YOU TALK ENOUGH SENSE THEN YOU'LL LOSE YOUR MIND
It was approaching on five months since their relationship began, and he was still learning things about Azraeth, little by little. Like the fact that he was pretty useless on a full moon, rendered as helpless as a newborn kitten. Okay, so not quite that helpless, but he was brought down a step or two, standing on the same pedestal as the mere mortals of the city. This outing was just another example of those parts of the vampire's life he had managed to keep hidden the previous months. Some might have been annoyed at the prospect of their partner, particularly in a relationship as serious as theirs, keeping such a...side business a secret. But, Flynn wasn't even remotely upset about it. Rather, he was impressed. Azreath managing to keep just about anything from him at this point was a feat all on its own when one considered how much time they actually spent apart. And that wasn't much.
That time was lessened even further when he was dragged along to this latest venture. Pretentious as he was, he was immediately comfortable in the luxurious atmosphere of the five star hotel, even if the people milling about displayed some of the worst kind of snobbery. The higher ups of the world that believed no one could bring them down. The Paladin watched them, living their carefree lives with that usual smirk in place, considering all the ways he could ruin them with the truth. Apparently, he was in that kind of mood today. Azraeth's voice redirected his attention, meeting the gaze of his vampire with a questioning raise of his eyebrow. When it came to magical relics and the like, there was always a chance that what they had sought out to see was little more than junk.An attempt to pass off an average antique as more than it was, and perhaps that counted as a 'waste of time.' If that turned out to be the case, well, at least Az had alternatives already swirling around his head. That smirk, previously laced with devious intent, softened into a genuine grin. It was quickly obscured by a kiss,, which was really all the better.
Until it was interrupted by the voice of the bartender. If it weren't for fact that his partner seemed more than content to leave the other man waiting, he would have pulled away. He would much rather have the alternative, and that's exactly what he got for a moment more. Only when they separated did Flynn turn his head a fraction so that he could appraise the bartender during the brief exchange with Mr. Carpenter.. Young, unsure, even a little hesitant. His dark eyebrows furrowed in the kid's direction, but he was silent. This wasn't his deal, and if he had the impression something was off, then so did Az. He didn't need the human to say so. In fact, he was silent the entire way to the room, hands buried deep within the pockets of his jacket.
Azraeth forced the door open wide on their arrival and Flynn stared after him, practically boring holes into his back as he moved about. "They send you up to a room and your first instinct is to force your way inside when you have no idea what's on the other side? Seriously?" The question was posed with both eyebrows reaching for his hairline, but his eyes never stayed on the vampire for long, his steps carrying him around the room in one big circle. "Maybe it's a strong sense of self-preservation as the lowly mortal that I am, but that seems pretty careless. Even for a vampire..." His sentence trailed off at the end, finally taking note of the ring in his partner's hand. There was, no doubt, attempts being made to use that nifty magic of his, and so he fell quiet, again, his eyes roaming the room for anything else that stood out.
Which was...nothing.
Then, there was mention of potentially crazy situations to follow and Flynn's nose wrinkled as soon as Az reached out to him for the sake of teleportation to some unknown location. With some unknown, sketchy *** people. For some unverified artefact that may or may not be worth the time. "What the hell did you get me into this time?" he asked, gesturing with his head for Az to lead the way. Never a dull moment...
RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, TALK SOME SENSE TO ME.
| #6d8296 |
How long had Valdimar been unconscious? He didn’t know. Nor did he know that while he was unconscious, his kidnappers had moved him to a different location. How they had managed to do so without being seen was beyond him, but obviously that wasn’t one of the questions he was currently asking himself.
To be fair, it was smart. They knew that Valdimar had been meeting someone. That someone could quite easily figure out which room the Icelander had been sent to. Though Valdimar wasn’t thinking about that, either. Honestly? He thought that it was this Azraeth Carpenter who was behind the kidnapping. Valdimar tasted blood in his mouth and he spat it at the feet of his interrogator.
“Why the **** are you doing this?” he asked, his accent clipped. “Which one of you is Azraeth? We organised to meet, civilly, like gentlemen, and this is how you treat me? What gives you the right?!” he spat, the words hitting the air much like the globule of saliva and blood had thwacked the floor. Low laugher emanated from beneath the interrogator’s hood.
”We are not with Azraeth. We want the relic. His relic we will get also, but you are the easiest target. We will get you out of the way first. Where is it?” he asked – as if the veiled threat might somehow coerce Valdimar to give up the location. Right now, he knew that his secret was the only thing keeping him alive. Valdimar laughed.
“You are stupid. What if we had made a deal, and both relics ended up in the possession of one of us? Wouldn’t it have been easier to wait? Then you’d have only had one target…” he said, snidely. There was silence for a few seconds, before a knife was unsheathed from a holster. The sharp silver of the blade gleamed, and the pace of Valdimar’s heart kicked up a notch. He’d not thought to assess his mortality before now, but with the introduction of a weapon he’d suddenly realised that his hours might be numbered.
It only took a second, and the blade was lodged in Valdimar’s thigh. At first he didn’t feel the pain; he stared in shock as blood stained his pants, wet and thick. The low groan of agony had begun before Valdimar was even aware, and he pulled at his bindings, struggling in the chair as his instinct for survival kicked in. But he refused to give up the location of the relic. To be treated thus! Why the **** would he reward anyone with anything after such behaviour?! The muscles in his jaw jumped as he grit his teeth, air pushed through flared nostrils. Clearly, his interrogator did not like his cleverness insulted.
”That isn’t even the worst of it. Tell me where the relic is, and you won’t have to bleed any more…” he said, softly. He was standing so close that Valdimar could feel the hot breath against his cheek. Valdimar looked up. He opened his mouth. It looked like he might have been about to give in; but then he smiled.
“**** you,” he said through gritted teeth.
This time, when the blade sliced through skin, Valdimar screamed. Steele stabbed through the sinew and muscle of his shoulder, cutting through nerves and lodging beneath the bone. The interrogator twisted the blade, bent in such a way that it felt like he was trying to pop the shoulder from its socket; he only succeeded in snapping the blade clean from the hilt, the jagged edge now protruding from Valdimar’s shoulder. The arm went slack. Again, the question was asked, and again, Valdimar refused to answer.
This would continue; a new blade was procured, and blood dripped to the floor. By this time Valdimar was aware they were no longer at the hotel. The scent of salt and brine wafted on a breeze that was crisp with Canadian cold. It drifted through cracks in the wooden façade of the old building they resided within; an abandoned dock somewhere. He wandered, idly, if they’d cut a hole in the ice out there, on the river. A hole only big enough for his body to slip through.
There was this commonly held belief that to come from the Worthington bloodline was to come from chaos. Indeed, it was an easy enough assumption to make given Chad’s own history - how he was essentially turned and then immediately banished to the Shadow Realm for a span of lifetimes. Vampires were frankly all a little mad - at least in Az’s very humble opinion. But so too was humanity. There was a very thin line between confident decisiveness and reckless insanity. Azraeth’s track record, though occasionally spotty, proved that though he might have come across with a devil may care attitude, there were always thoughts ticking away beneath the surface. A constant evaluation and re-evaluation of events, circumstances, and surroundings. The fact of the matter was that Flynn continued to follow him despite the obvious level-headed observation of potential dangers. And that certainly spoke volumes didn’t it? “My love! You wound me. There’s only one time when I take on more than I can handle, and you’re all too aware of when that is.” He said with a grin that was way too big for comfort.
That was when the world changed around them. The first thing that hit him was the scent of blood, which told him the direction they were going to need to head. There was also the smell of the river - though he had already anticipated that. In fact, just before he’d focused to teleport them across Harper Rock; it had occurred to him that it was fairly common practice for criminal groups to toss their dead into the water. This worked especially well during the winter because it took ages to thaw, which meant that bodies were generally horribly weathered by the time they were eventually discovered. It always came like clockwork too. The moment they got far enough in to Spring for the ice to melt away, dozens of corpses usually washed onto the shores, immediately solving tons of missing persons cases. It had always been like this, even before vampires. In fact. It happened most places with a nice stretch of flowing water and a decent crime rate. [i}Grim Facts for 200 Alex![/i] The thought had surfaced only for a few seconds.
“****. Seems like the party has started without us. I’m picking up a pretty good amount of blood loss, handsome.” He whispered to Flynn as he began towards the dock house. There were any number of places on the river front where someone could park a boat, or gain access to the river itself. Of course, any number of those had been abandoned over the years - in fact, it had first started around the time part of Harper Rock had been quarantined off. People didn’t trust the local government’s motives, and a sizable number of wealthy business owners had picked up their toys to wander off. Which left parts of the city feeling a little bit like a ghost town. The snow underfoot had melted and then refrozen, so it was nearly a solid block which Az was able to traipse across, only sinking in by a fraction of an inch. Under normal circumstances, he probably would have hidden in shadows so that he could scope the place out before inviting Flynn in. Unfortunately, Azraeth honestly wasn’t sure if there was enough time for that.
“Real talk, babe. I don’t know how dangerous this is going to be. If you want to sit it out, I understand. But someone is getting tortured and/or killed right now. If it’s who I think it is, this may be my only chance to track down the lead on this artifact before it gets stolen and put in some asshole’s private collection.” Mind you, that’s exactly what Az intended to do with it if he got his hands on it, but that was entirely beside the point. So he pressed a kiss right against the corner of Flynn’s mouth when they were at the entrance, and then he broke away from him, reaching to pull his gun free.
Recon would have been a brilliant idea, and it was in times like this, he honestly wished that his mental faculties, his telepathic abilities specifically, were stronger. That in mind, he slammed through the front door. The building itself was little more than a shell. Walls and a foundation with little else in the way of evidence that it could ever have been usable. Derelict. There were a group of them there. Az was not normally the kind of person to shoot and ask questions later, but sometimes, different strategies worked better for different situations. His gun fired, recoiling in his hand as a bullet traveled at high speed to collide with the side of the interrogator’s head. The man had been turning around, and his brains exploded inside of his hood, some of his blood splattering onto Valdimar’s face.
“So based on what I’m hearing, I’m guessing this is some sort of back alley relic auction. I’d like to make my bids in the form of lead.“ A pause and grin. “Counter offers?”
I'LL USE YOU AS A WARNING SIGN THAT IF YOU TALK ENOUGH SENSE THEN YOU'LL LOSE YOUR MIND
A good-natured roll of his eyes was the only indication Flynn gave that he had even heard the vampire’s clever reply to his own assessment of the situation, as it wasn’t the time or place to get into those particular aspects of their lives. His expression shifted into one far more serious as the world seemingly melted away until they were standing at the river’s edge, the familiar crashing of the water against the banks bringing out a sigh. He should have expected as much, really. All the illicit activity in Harper Rock could trace roots back the water’s edge somehow. Source of transport, easily concealable in the warehouses by the docks, or just an option for disposal. It would have been rather brilliant, if not for the fact that anyone with common sense could have come to the same idea. In truth, he almost wished it wasn’t quite so predictable. This was Harper Rock, after all, and crazy came with the territory. Of course, he had no idea what they were actually about to walk into, so maybe the situation would surprise him, yet.
Azraeth set off for the docks and the Paladin kept up at his heels, a wrinkle forming at the bridge of his nose. Naturally, when did the two of them ever walk into a situation and not have blood spilled somewhere? Violence followed them around like a bad nightmare, and as much as their lifestyles played a part in that, there were some days where it just got old. What could have been a relatively laid back night Double Oh-Seven style, had to end in this. Careful with his steps, Flynn did a slow circle as he continued forward, taking in the overall area, as if he expected someone to jump at them (not that he actually did). The place was, overall, deserted. All the more reason for someone to come here for whatever it was they were doing, and if the heavy blood loss Az was picking up was any indication...if someone wasn’t dead, already, they sure were about to be.
As if his partner could read his mind, the vampire was suddenly saying exactly his thoughts, but with his own twist to them. The calculating look on his face dropped into one of utter expressionlessness, his gaze zeroing in on the man beside him. ”Do you just say things to say them? We have walked into far worse than this, I’m sure. You brought me along for this, so...let’s get it done.” He nodded once at the end of his statement, as if to drive the point home. ”But, maybe in the future, I just sit on your less than legal business ventures?” he continued, shooting the man a small grin after receiving the quick kiss. A moment that was so them, in the sense that even as tense as the situation was and the danger it posed, somehow...they would joke about it. A means of coping with it all, and really, Flynn relied on that.
Pulling his gun loose from behind his back, he took a deep breath to mentally prepare himself for the shitshow that was, no doubt, about to go down. As soon he released it, Azreath was slamming through the door. There was barely a moment to take in the extent of the room and the reactions of the assembled group before the vampire’s gun was firing, blood splattering against the poor soul who was clearly the subject of torture. The body dropped and the room went silent just long enough for his partner to speak, in all Azraeth fashion. Flynn desperately wanted to smirk at the show of confidence, but it didn’t seem quite the time. So, he stepped to the side and out from behind the other man, scanning the room with a tip of his head, and only lingering on the human for longer than moment.
From this evaluation of the room, he managed to catch the attempt at subtly made by one of the men situated in the corner, a hand reaching for what was, no doubt, a concealed weapon of some kind. An ill-advised attempt at one of those ‘counter offers.’ Without missing a beat, Flynn lifted his own, the barrel pointed directly at the man’s forehead as his expression twisted into a sneer. ”Go ahead and try. I will **** you up, I promise.” He never shifted his eyes from his target, though he then spoke to the rest of the room. ”You are all very out-matched, right now, and it’s in your best interest not to do anything hasty.” Which was to say, from where he was standing, they all read very human. And sure, he was, too, but he wouldn’t be the one on the other side of a vampire’s wrath.
RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, TALK SOME SENSE TO ME.
| #6d8296 |
Blood pooled beneath Valdimar’s constricted body. The blade beneath the shoulder blade was only the start. They weren’t trained torturers – none of the usual methods were utilized. No fingernails were peeled from nail beds, for example. It was just a knife, its blade sharp. It sliced through Valdimar’s flesh like it was butter and the steel was hot. They made sure to stay away from the main organs, but he supposed none of them realised that death could occur due to loss of blood. Either that or they were having too much fun and hadn’t realised they’d gone too far.
Deep gashes parted the skin of Valdimar’s thighs, his gut, his chest, his back. On the floor, beside his foot, rested his pinkie finger. The blade rested against his forefinger, and the questions were asked of him for the hundredth time. By now, Valdimar had no energy to summon insults. He could barely scream. As it was his chest merely heaved at the prospect of another lost finger; he could no longer thing about the things he’d no longer be able to do if he lost all his fingers, because at this point he knew he was going to die. What did it matter? Panic was reserved for questions like is there a heaven? and what happens to me after I die?
The blade sunk into skin and Valdimar moaned, eyes rolling back into his head. If his body shuddered, it was involuntary. It was a natural reaction to the pain. And he was cold, too—one of the gashes in his thigh had nicked the femoral artery and, unbeknownst to his captors, that’s where the main blood loss originated. Only a nick, mind, but with each knew stressor upon the body it widened, until blood surged from the gash, soaked into his jeans and ran down the length of his leg, pooling beneath his foot, in the shadows of his own body. It dripped through floorboards so it didn’t seem like he’d lost too much.
Valdimar was only vaguely aware of the disruption, of two men entering the fray. His ruined body jerked at the sound of gunshot, and whatever blood splattered over him wasn’t noticed. It only added to what was already there, his own blood indiscernible from the stranger’s.
With one down, there were only four left. They were all frozen like Deer in headlights. The one who’d reached for his weapon now held his hands up, palms out, surrendering – for now. But there was another in the back corner—let’s call him Roger—taking advantage of the fact that one intruder had his eyes fixed on Roger’s comrade. Roger didn’t reach for a weapon, however. He instead interlocked his fingers and activated power within himself.
For these were not ordinary humans. These were sorcerers, with a few abilities under their belts. And, if able to complete his task, a searing blast of heat would soon be headed in the vampire’s direction.
“I’ll give you something to sit on alright.” His response was brief, but delivered with a grin that was filled with possibilities.
Of course, that was before all hell broke loose.
Not long after slipping into the rickety building on the dock, Az caught sight of the man who was being tortured. He was big. One of those guys who looked like they were both blessed with good genetics, and a healthy gym membership. The term ‘mountain’ came to mind almost immediately. Though the poor guy was doing his damnedest to prove that a stone could totally bleed in the right circumstances. If the vampire was reading the situation right, that was the contact he had been meant to make back at the fancy hotel. And that weighed heavy on him, like his own anchor of rocks around his neck. Dealing in ancient artefacts was normally a dusty, boring thing. It was, despite it’s illegal nature, meant to be relatively safe. It hadn’t even occurred to Azraeth that someone would intercept the other half of the deal he was trying to make. There hadn’t been a thought that he should maybe cast a spell over the location to ensure everyone there remained safe. Protected. And this guy was paying the price for the Mystic’s failure. Great. Lovely!
He didn’t have much time to process these thoughts though, because Flynn was delivering some pretty sexy lines (that were totally going to get him tackled at some point in the night). Also, there was an asshole hurling magic at him like it was nothing. Specifically, the vampire was blindsided by a blast of pure hot air that scorched the air. It wasn’t like a heatwave though. It actually sizzled in the air as the little moisture there suddenly burned away. In fact, it was just short of having a fireball hurled at him. Only instead of flames as a source of energy, it was pure and intense heat. Needless to say, he wasn’t expecting it, and it hit him with the force of a train. His clothing caught fire on the right side (where he was hit). His skin melted. The worst of the damage was done to his ear, which essentially glooped right into the side of his head. Some of his hair fell away. The pain was immediate. He felt like a burger being seared on a grill. The howl of his agony was unavoidable, but cut short by the clenching of his jaw.
It seemed that things were not going to go over smoothly at all.
Priorities: Save the human. Valdimar. This meant incapacitating the aggressors in the most direct way possible. Also. Az was on fire, which posed its own set of problems.
For most people, a firearm was the quick and dirty way to do something, but for Azraeth, magic was just faster. He ripped his (gorgeous) blue jacket off, and with it went most of the fire, thrown in the face of the nearest sorcerer. “Here, take this for me, would you.” He then holstered his gun and reached for his ritual dagger. The blade was sharpened obsessively and could cut through paper as it moved through the air; it flashed across his palm and blood welled up. He reached out in front of him, fingers tightening so that the darkness could pour out of him onto the floor in droplets. The vampire went rigid. He knew that Flynn could handle himself in situations like this. The knight and the spellcaster. They were a D&D campaign waiting to happen.
Suddenly there was a sound like the screaming of a dozen voices, and the walls of the building itself seemed to shake when the wind picked up and battered the shack. So violent was the assault that it seemed as if the entire place might collapse. But it didn’t. And those voices only grew louder and louder until the appearance of a figure formed seemingly from air. Its appearance was humanoid, and it carried with it little snowflakes. The being and the snow were all carried by the same tempest and it floated as if it were lighter than a feather. It looked enraged. Furious. It had been summoned for a task, its will bent by the power of an unnatural thing. There was silence as voices and screams were stilled. There wasn’t even the normal thumping of beating hearts which was so common that the vampire habituated it unless he was particularly hungry. It was well and truly silent as the Sidhe collided with one of the sorcerers, slamming them into the ground to rain down a hammer of fists on their face and chest.
It dissipated though quickly after the human it was attacking was rendered (probably) unconscious. Everything was back, but with a new sound added to the mix. The spark and electric crackle of energy. Az turned towards it right as one of the sorcerers dumped enough energy onto him, in the form of a lightning bolt, to keep a third world country illuminated for a year. Except Azraeth didn’t feel the impulse of the charge hit him. His bloody hand was stretched out, and the magic canceled as soon as it hit him. Resisted.
He could see fear in the eyes of the caster. There was not much time left. He and Flynn needed to end the fight if they were going to save Az’s relic contact.
I'LL USE YOU AS A WARNING SIGN THAT IF YOU TALK ENOUGH SENSE THEN YOU'LL LOSE YOUR MIND
Things could never just...work out for them. It was always, always something.
Maybe that was just the way things went when you dated a vampire with a penchant for trouble and violence, but damn. One time, it wouldn’t hurt to just have things go off without a hitch. Of course, he couldn’t exactly blame Azraeth for all the violence they found themselves in the middle of, especially when it came to his own ventures in the sewers or chemical plant, but that was neither here nor there. It just so happened that this was Az’s business venture gone wrong, and so he got to take some (not all, because...well, they started this) of the heat for it. And that was exactly what he got as the searing blast of power was sent in their direction. Due to his proximity to his partner and yet just out of reach, the heat just licked at his skin, leaving it to feel red and raw. Like a bad sunburn that bordered on blisters. Little of that actually registered as his head snapped in Azraeth’s direction from the pained sound, only to find the vampire literally on fire. Unsettling as the image was, his attention no sooner diverted back to the man with the misfortune of standing before the barrel of his gun. Flynn had seen Az in worse states, and it wouldn’t do either of them any good if he got distracted.
The Paladin was quiet in his continued assessment of the situation, surprisingly still given the sudden shift in the atmosphere and the pressured realization that they needed to deal with the situation quickly if they wanted to haul Azraeth’s contact out of their with his heart still beating. The only indication that he was even taking note of the actions of the other man was the smirk that formed in response to a flaming jacket no sooner covering one of the sorcerer’s faces. ”You couldn’t just be a comic book collector, could you?” he voiced, directed at Az without being loud enough for anyone than the him to hear. Without missing a beat, the barrel of his gun lowered and a shot fired. The bullet buried itself within his own target’s thigh, an agonized scream leaving the man as he dropped to the ground, a deep red stain forming across the fabric of his pants. The blood loss would be significant but it probably wasn’t fatal and it would keep him out of the fray for the time being. One less body to deal with.
The air of the room seemed to thicken moments later, and Flynn looked to his side to see a pretty familiar sight. When it came to violence, Azraeth utilized magic the way others relied on physical weaponry. But it wasn’t the charged space or growing figure that captured his focus, but the blood that pooled across his partner’s palm. The wailing noise faded into the background until the only sound in his ears was the pounding of his own heart. In that single moment, one that couldn't have lasted more than a second, it hit him that it had been days. He couldn’t have said how many, but it had been enough that he no longer could tap into the power that came from the vampire’s blood. Except that it wasn’t the desire for power that drew him closer, but the sudden intensity of the craving for the liquid vitality coloring pale skin and dripping to the ground at his feet. Thoughts of their surroundings faded only to be replaced by a physically demanding need to have it; the blood. To taste it. And his eyes never shifted to the blood of the human dying in the center or the sorcerer still hissing in pain from the gunshot wound in his leg, but instead fixated on that of his vampire.
”Azraeth..?” he asked, his voice soft and strained from the surprising amount of effort it took to keep it level. It honestly wasn’t the time or place to be caught up in what was, for damn sure, not a normal reaction to the man’s blood, nor did he have the option to try and process it. And despite the demands of his body to sate that desire, one cognitive and rational thought managed to break through the haze. Feeding from his partner meant a return of that power, and if the sorcerer’s wanted to fight with magic...then his own was useless without a vampire on their side. But with Azraeth’s blood coursing through his veins… they could fight fire with fire, so to speak. ”It’s not the best time, and I know that, but…” he trailed off, reaching out until fingers closed around an arm, pulling the bloodied hand to his mouth in the midst of the temporary chaos created by the Sidhe. As his tongue moved over the wound created by the blade, the rush was almost immediate, like the high from a potent dose of a drug. The canines in his mouth lengthened, sharpening into points that mimicked those of their undead counterparts and no sooner pierced the skin of the wrist until blood flowed freely into his mouth. It was only just enough, and by the time the Sidhe had faded from view, he was already done and stepping back. Just in time for a lightning bolt to come Azraeth’s way, Lovely.
An entirely inappropriate grin took over the Paladin’s expression. ”You know the disadvantage of playing games with a vampire?” he asked of no one in particular, simply moving further into the darkened space as he faded from view, utilizing the shadows as he had seen Azreath do so many times. There was a pause as he moved through the room until he was stationed behind the nearest of the sorcerers that stood at the perimeter of the group. He stepped up closer so that his voice was directly against the man’s ear, voice soft ”They cheat.” As the words left his mouth, the shadows that had previously concealed him from view morphed, no sooner lashing out at the sorcerer’s body. Of course, it didn’t prevent the swing of an arm as the sorcerer turned, a flash of blinding pain accompanying the blade slashing across his shoulder before he could step back. Flynn hissed as he backpedaled out of reach without so much as a glance at the wound itself. His opponent was worse for wear after the shadow assault, but still standing, and they honestly did not have the time for it. Blood was streaming into the sorcerer’s eyes, greatly impacting his vision. Taking advantage of the situation, Flynn lunged out, bringing the butt of his pistol down against a skull with enough force that the sorcerer dropped, knocked out cold.
And dammit, he had to get to this guy. Priorities.
With who (he assumed) had been the leader dead near the contact, his recent conquest unconscious at his feet as well as the poor one pummeled by the Sidhe, Flynn trusted Az to deal with the remaining sorcerer as he made his way to the badly beaten and bloody human slumped in the chair. Placing a hand under the man’s chin, he sought out signs of life. Breathing was shallow. Too shallow. The man’s pulse was thready, at best. And the blood...there was just too much of it. There was no way…
His gaze lifted for the sole purpose of finding Azraeth’s, and only when he held that serpentine blue did he subtly shake his head. ”Even between the two of us...he’s not leaving here…”
RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, TALK SOME SENSE TO ME.
| #6d8296 |
Valdimar could barely keep his eyes open, and yet he did.
How could he not, when all hell broke loose? It was as if FOMO had taken hold of his life and was anchoring it in place; that will to survive was strong in most humans, but in some more than others. And sitting on that chair slowly bleeding out, all Valdimar wanted to do was watch the scene unfolding in front of him, to be awed by the things he witnessed. As a boy he’d loved listening to and reading the sagas of his homeland even if many of his contemporaries found them dull and boring. History, they’d spit – though all in all Iceland was a land of knowledge, of those inclined more toward literary pursuits than sporting ones. But the magic and sorcery, the beliefs in gods and mystics, it was all a story. To have been told that Harper Rock was home to creatures of myth and witnessing said creatures first hand, well – they were two completely different things.
Valdimar should have been terrified of the power his captors were capable of, but instead he hiccupped as heat seared the air. He could feel it from where he said, wanting to cling to the warmth as his body slowly grew colder. Death’s ice-cold fingers were trailing down his spine.
As the heat hit one of the newcomers, Valdimar concurred that he was done for. They were all done for. Who could possibly withstand such power? Who could survive having half their face melted off, their limbs burnt with flesh melting like wax? Who wouldn’t be writing on the ground hoping for a quick and merciful end?!
But no. The burning man, though he screamed, barely registered the pain after that. What was a blast of heat compared to what he did next? A creature was summoned from a few drops of blood, pummelling against one of the assailants and taking him out. Valdimar’s hope, though small, was reignited; his heart beat a staccato rhythm in his chest, adrenaline surging through his limbs. It wasn’t helping, of course. The quickened heartbeat only caused the blood to pump from his burst vein that much faster.
It made no sense to Valdimar when the other of the two newcomers appeared to … was he drinking the blood of the first?! Was he… a traitor? Was he a vampire?! It was all going wrong. It looked like it was all going wrong. If there was a vampire present, surely that meant Valdimar was next. Bleeding as he was… but what did it matter if the rest of his blood ended up in the gut of a vampire as compared to pooling on the floor? Perhaps it would not be wasted, that way. He hardly had the wits to realise how stupid a thought that was.
Valdimar’s vision dimmed, the sound around him muffled. He hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes until he felt the fingers at his jaw. His body stiffened, waiting for more pain – but even that didn’t last long. He no longer had the energy left to even try to defend himself against agony. He doubted he’d even be able to feel it at this point.
There was no point even in begging. There was no point telling whom he assumed was the vampire crouching in front of him that he’d rather not die. Valdimar’s body slumped, his arms strained and his wrists pulled at awkward angles; it was only the chair keeping him upright, strung up like a puppet on strings. His lips were slack, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull. The darkness was creeping in, and he didn’t even have any last words.
