Blood Runs Thin (Original Series)

Michael woke early. To his right was the window to his second story bedroom, to his left was Balthezar, in a deep slumber and naked. He ran his hand through his hair, surprised to find it almost shoulder length, but it had been a busy few months. The guerilla war they'd been fighting had taken its toll on all of them, even Master Raecien was slumbering in the next room, dreaming of something that made him mutter in his sleep.

Michael wondered why he woke up, searching his thoughts as the rain drummed away at the dimly lit window, dusk or dawn was irrelevant, the pane was painted a placid orange. Waking without purpose was something that had always annoyed Michael, even when he was human, so the search for a reason intensified as he swung his bare legs off the side of the bed, taking a deep breath while stretching. He had received his shipment of weapons from Phil just a few days ago, the last internal email from The Community had been intercepted and hacked, the last kill count caused by the three was in the triple digits. He couldn't figure it out. The only one awake in the house got up and decided to take a shower, no point in wasting energy.

The vampire couldn't believe that the giant man standing next to his bed had gone unnoticed this entire time. Michaels purple eyes met with the man's perfect emerald ones. The intruder was near as big as Raecien, in height and muscle, tattoos ran across his flesh like twisted vines, interrupted only by scars. The vampire wasn't fast enough to stop the kick that knocked him across his large room and through a concrete pillar, turning it to dust and pain. He cried out from the broken ribs and heavy landing, it was enough to wake his slumbering lover. Balthezar leapt from the bed and rammed his shoulder into the massive man, but the effect was minimal. As soon as his bare feet touched the floor the curly haired vampire opened up a flurry of punches and kicks, putting everything he had into it. Again the man was unimpressed, using his massive arms as a shield against the volley of attacks. Balthezar brought out his claws as Raecien joined the crowded room, looking for the trouble. He saw it, and the attempts Balthezar was making, and knew what the assassin was, "Balthezar don't touch him! He's an alchemist!" But his warnig came too late.

With deft speed the alchemist shot his hand out and grabbed the older vampire by the throat, whose skin began to smoke and burn, his usually deep and majestic voice turned into a scream. Michael called out, trying to move and join the fight, but the massive wolf had already scooped him up like a handbag. Raecien made for the nearest exit, which was a window, looking out on the river. Michael was able to look into Balthezars eyes just before the Alchemist plunged his free hand into the vampires chest, silencing the lingering scream.

The massive assassin tossed aside Balthezars already smoldering body and turned his attention to the two fleeing, but it was too late, Raecien and Michael were through the window and into the dusk. Michaels heart was torn apart, wanting to transform and rip the assassin to shreds, crushing agony, bleak sorrow. He hadn't noticed that the setting had changed from his cold warehouse to the woods behind it, nor did he notice his bruised ribs, or his lack of clothing.

The wolfs deep voice broke Michael out of his stupor, "Can you walk?" The vampire nodded and was put down, finding his own feet touching the ground felt alien. Raecien bowed his massive head, "I'm sorry we lost him. He was a good man." Cold fury was coiled inside Michael, begging to be unleashed, but it wasn't his companion that deserved the lashing, "Thank you, Master Raecien. He was a good man. And we'll carve his name into every single person from The Community, I swear it."

"You're a formidable foe, Michael, but this is something different. That was an Alchemist. They're the worlds oldest assassins. Their touch is lethal to you and I, our heightened senses don't work with them, and their strength is more than even mine." Every word was like a droplet of water falling upon a white hot rod of iron, doing nothing to quell the fury of the temperature. "How do we beat them, Master Raecien?" The wolf sighed deeply, "We don't. We buy them." Michael nodded, "We hit the humans, take their gold, and build ourselves a silent army. Except for the one that killed Balthezar. I want his heart."

Blood Runs Thin (Original Series)

Michael sat still, watching the rain pour out over the night, making everything shine. The moon was particularly beautiful, its shape reflected in the pools of water on the empty street. Crouched like a gargoyle overlooking its domain, the vampire let the smells of the world wash through him, bringing back beautiful memories, and memories that filled him with rage. 

Atop the pointed roof of his warehouse, soaked to the bone, he waited. The place was empty now, as Phil's workshop relocated to a nearby suburb. He wasn't happy about it, but it had to be done. Michael stayed behind, sending his new partner in crime to retrieve his sire, after letting him experience the pleasantries that were doled out by The Community. They'd all be hunted, no doubt, but Michael wanted to make sure that their world burned before he gave his final breath. 

The plan, as long as it would take, would be executed the way he wanted it to be, no other way. As the details of it began to sprint through his mind, a scent caught his nose: fresh human blood. He knew his sire was near. He stretched and stood, waiting for the arrival of his old friend, and his new wolf one, the night still washed with  rain. Lightning flashed across the sky, turning the night to day just for an instant. He didn't need the assistance, but Michael easily spotted his compatriots coming in from the edge of the forest line.

Balthezar was naked as the day he was born, his muscular body and thick curly hair soaked, parts of him swinging back and forth with his gait. Raecien was just as drenched, but seemed nowhere near as jovial as the nude vampire, a grimace firmly affixed to his bearded face. Their pace slowed as they approached the warehouse and the waiting vampire, who smiled and growled their greeting, "Welcome home, friends. Let us plot the end of the world." 

Inside, out of the rain, Michael led his little company to the office, where clothes awaited Balthezar, and a reward for Raecien. Talks and planing were held off until the old vampire was dressed, and the wolf had consumed his leg of beef. Michael watched his sire dress, remembering nights they'd spent together, vivid and gentle. But it wasn't time for that, now. "I can always tell when you stare at me, Chell." Balthezar's voice brought the young vampire out of his thoughts. 

Michael could feel his face heat, "Don't call me Chell, you know I never liked it." Raecien paused his noisy eating and rolled his eyes at the whole exchange, choosing to turn his back to the other species and continue his delicious meal. "So what is this grand plan, Chell? Do we burn down the capital? Assassinate all the officials? Expose a corrupt system? Or simply take them all to war?" the sire asked, pulling on his shirt and freeing his wet hair from the collar. 

His purple eyes faded to the gold of the Fire of the Night, conveying the deep conviction and hatred Michael felt, "No. We start a civil war, watch them kill each other off, and then burn what's left of them. We light a conflagration so immense that only ashes and blackened bones will be left for us to crush underfoot." Balthezar's demeanor darkened with the words, his jovial nature nearly completely defeated. "And the innocent, Chell, what of them?" Michael's eyes still burned as he answered, "There are none." 

The old vampire was afraid to ask, but he didn't need to. "After they came for me, they went for Aviel. She didn't go down easily, so they took their time with her." Images of her body flashed through Michael's mind, her naked form in the throes of both pleasure and unbearable pain. "After Aviel, it was Maris, then Julia, David, Eleanor, Rebecca....Shae." The last name made all the difference. Balthezar hadn't talked to his sister for a few years, since they'd both left the house of Tor, hoping to start over. 

"Did...did she..." Balthezar couldn't finish, but Michael answered, "No. She suffered the worst. I'm sorry." The old vampire put his fists on the metal desk that held his clothes, trying to choke back the fury gathering inside, aching to be loosed on anything, and violently. He didn't hear the desk creak and groan as it bent under his strength. Testing his voice wasn't an option, not for a few more moments. Even Raecien's noisy meal had halted, though his back was still turned.

Michael waited, knowing how much it hurt, feeling the pain emanating from his sire in waves. Balthezar's silence broke. He spoke only two words, "What's first?" The young vampire placed a sympathetic hand on his sire's shoulder, "Markov." Raecien stood slowly and turned to face the vampires, his face contorted with confusion, "The human second in command?" 

Michael's brow lowered into a stern look, "Is there an issue, Master Raecien?" The wolf growled, anger in his voice, "Not an issue, but a request." Both the vampires waited, "I get to eat his heart."

The vampire with the purple eyes couldn't help but smile. He went to his wolf friend and wiped away some blood from the wolf's lips, left over from the meal. 

"Of course you may." 

Blood Runs Thin (Original Series)

Balthezar stared at the wall across from the one he was chained to, wishing the sun would set, already. The thirst during the day was far worse than at night, he discovered. Though none of the sunlight that came in from the giant windows above him touched his skin, it was reflected harshly by the slathered on white paint, making it harmless, but still very painful. Cuffs made of a mix of steel and iron were clasped very tightly around his wrists, sapping his strength and causing him constant pain, suspending his arms above his head with nowhere to rest his body, he'd dangle in agony while he tried to let his legs rest.

The thirst was only part of his pain. He hungered intensely, his stomach at war with itself constantly, growling and moaning. They'd denied him blood thus far, but he wouldn't mind other food, either. He tried not to imagine all the good food he'd eaten in his long life, it only made his pangs worse. Being a prisoner of The Community was not the way he'd envisioned his days ending, that was for sure. He knew, now, why Michael had done what he did, and as much as the ancient vampire wanted to be angry, he couldn't. It had taken weeks of torture, starvation, beatings, and ceaseless questions to open Balthezar's eyes. He swore he'd never close them again.

Pain was nothing to the vampire, but the thirst was all but unbearable, cracked lips split open every time he moved. His mouth was coated with sand, his throat felt like paper, even the memory of a drink was something he could barely recall. The iron restraints sapped his abilities, the reflected sun weakened his already waning will, and the news he'd learned made the dark nights an enemy, instead of his home. Balthezar swore vengeance upon the ones who did this, silently, over and over. It became a mantra of hatred and pain, etched in his mind forever. He counted, in his mind, the ones he needed to kill, then counted the ones that he'd kill for sheer pleasure.

Quietly the sun set, the white paint reflecting orange for just a few moments, then darkness fell. Balthezar sighed with relief as his naked body no longer felt like it was on fire. He didn't care if the cuffs bit to the bone, again, he sagged against the solid concrete wall, letting the coolness of it drop his body temperature. It was a painful, but easy, decision to stay there, hanging like that, for a while. Suffering was but a distant memory for a while, and sleep came. Dreams were a luxury, comfort a tax, peace of mind a wish, the vampire in chains could afford none of them, even tears were too much to ask for.

Blood, or at least the scent of it, brought him awake, slowly he came around, his nose working to find the source. 'Another cruel trick, another form of torture.' he thought to himself. But the smell was strong, and fresh. Curiosity and hunger finished waking up Balthezar, his senses on high alert, on his aching feet, he tried desperately to find the source, but the iron wouldn't let him. Another splash came, this time so strong he nearly lost control, the blood seemed to be right outside his cell door. He fought back every instinct inside himself, no matter how loudly it screamed, and waited.

The world seemed so still, but his thoughts raged, 'Who was outside? Why did they spill fresh blood? Was it his executioners? Did they finally come to collect? Were they baiting him? Were they wishing for him to give into the beast within?' If they were, they were near their goal, his control was slipping quickly. His vision was blurring, the edges of the world were beginning to tint red, even the iron restraints were just a buzz at the edge of his perception. Tired, ached muscles began to awaken, straightening and straining themselves against the crippling cuffs. Somewhere, in the misty fog of his mind, Balthezar bade farewell to his sanity.

The entire room shook so hard dust was knocked out of the creases in the stone walls, the vampire lost his footing, the chains bit deep and pulled him away from the edge. Balthezar stared at the thick iron door in confusion as another shock rocked the small cell, causing more debris, and even a heavy stone to crack with an earsplitting report. It seemed like gravity was distorting the door, twisting and pulling it here and there, misshaping it. The metal screamed and collapsed upon itself, the door vanishing in a plume of dust and concrete. The vampire prisoner stared with wide eyes, not knowing what would come through the hole.

A man stepped through, ducking his head beneath the top, thick with muscle, a beard, piercing eyes, and hair down his back. In one hand he carried the keys to the restraints, in the other was a human guard, barely conscious. This was no man, but a Lycan, Balthezar noticed. With a flick the man was tossed into the center of the cell, then the wolf focused his attention on the captive, “Good evening. I am Raecien, Guardian of the Word, and my master asks you to join him for dinner.” He gestured at the moaning heap in uniform on the floor, “Consider this an appetizer.” With a single step the distance from door to restraints was closed.

As gentle as a man his size could be, Raecien undid the cuffs, then stepped back as Balthezar fell to the ground in a slump. Abilities began to come back, like opening shutters for the sun to come in, slow at first, but then all at once. The vampire stared at the giant man, his emerald green eyes fixated, but the rumbling in his stomach and the burning in his veins made the human too appetizing to ignore any longer. It was the most savage bite Balthezar had delivered in a very long time, but it made draining the man quick. Reinvigorated he stood and faced the Lycan, wiping his chin of the excess, “And who is your master, Raecien, Guardian of the Word?”

A low growl came from the wolf and he hesitated, but answered as if someone were twisting his arm to do it, “Master Michael of the House of Tor.” Belthazar's eyes went wide as saucers with the realization of what this meant. “And how do you propose to get us out of here, Master Raecien?” All the wolf answered was “Hold still.” as he wrapped his giant arm around the vampire's waist and leaped through a giant window above where the cuffs were chained to the wall. The back up arrived at the cell just as the remnants of the glass window danced across the concrete floor and their drained comrade, their arrival too late.

As they ran through the woods, in the rain, under the bright moon, Belthazar smiled at the feeling of dirt under his feet, leaves and all of nature against his naked body. He vowed he'd never complain about the rain again.  

Blood Runs Thin (Original Series)

The house creaked and moaned around Raecien and Michael, sharing a look, for the moment. The giant wolf's muscles were still tense as they could physically be, straining against the commands that the skinny vampire had given him. No matter how much he pushed and wished, thought, and searched his memory for a loophole or a way out, it was all futile. He was a prisoner. Michael patted his chest with reassurance, trying, he guessed, to comfort him, then walked away, admiring the decaying house.

"Do you know why I chose this place, Master Raecien?" Michael knew the wolf couldn't answer, but he wanted to be somewhat polite before he delved into the history of the rickety structure that was on it's last legs. "It's where a nest of ferals lived, not too long ago. Well. About a hundred years ago. Despicable lot, those things were." The vampire with the purple eyes walked slowly, studying his surroundings like he was back in the past, witnessing the alabaster paint splattered with red sprays, again.

Raecien listened closely, the members of the House of Tor never told a story without a point, he watched the vampire study and walk slowly, each step measured. "It was one of the few times, in our long history, that our kind agreed on something. The feral vampires that lived here were feasting on little girls, not stopping at draining them, but consuming their flesh, as well. Most of the victims were from the elementary school down the street, just trying to make their way home. If you smell carefully you can actually pick up the traces of blood that are still stained deep in the wood."

The frozen Lycan did just that, inhaling and finding the smell atrocious, and he couldn't wait to forget it. Michael continued, making his way back to his audience, "There were more than we had anticipated, you know. Lost two wolves and five vampires. The battle was quick and nasty, and they suffered. The ferals, that is, not our kind. After all was said and done; we worked together to eliminate a threat to the innocent." Raecien hadn't noticed that he was eye to eye with the vampire, peering deeply into those endless purple eyes.

A bead of cold sweat ran down the wolf's neck, he felt the chill touch his very bones, staring into those violently beautiful eyes. The vampire smiled, "Now we do the same, Master Raecien. We will wage war against the monsters snatching away the lives of the innocent, feasting on their flesh for their own selfish gains. We will destroy them. Rend their flesh from bone. Spill their blood upon the mantles of the privileged. We will walk our path under the burning flag of revenge."

Each word made images flash through the mind of the Lycan, each one more graphically violent than the last, bodies, puddles and pools of blood, gaping mouths, eyes so open they tore at the creases, skin ripped open, exposed muscle. As a Werewolf he was supposed to be numb to these images, but they made something in him cringe, stir, and want to look away. It was the vampire's voice that came through the fog, commanding him, again. "You may move freely. You may not attack me. You must not let harm come to me, either through action or inaction. You may speak your mind to me, but to others you are silent. And you will kill whomever I say."

Raecien felt his whole body relax, his wounds had healed, his mind was much clearer, "You will fail, Michael. This is my own free thought on whatever it is you're planning." The vampire was looking away, watching the sun cast it's last golden rays through the clouds hanging on the horizon, smiling. "I only serve you because you've enslaved me, but I will try my best to find a way to escape this power, you can bet your throat on it." A deep, rumbling growl, made the very air vibrate with it's volume. The wolf was getting very tired of being ignored. Though he could not attack, he could spin his words into venom. As he thought of an insult that might make the blood sucker's temper rise he was interrupted by quiet words.

"Oh, Master Raecien. You weren't enslaved. They sent you to me. To see if the rumors were true. To see if I really was of the House of Tor. You were merely a guinea pig, sir. See for yourself." The Lycan's long stride took him to the door quickly, just in time to watch men, dressed in black gear emblazoned with the patch of the Lycans, holding binoculars, walk away, smiling. Raecien was struck speechless, his bearded jaw hung loose, his brow brunched in confusion. He was so confused he didn't notice the flash of the barrel from a few roofs down, nor did he feel the impact of the bullet.

He looked down, expecting to see a gaping, bleeding wound. Instead, he saw Michael's hand, bleeding, the silver bullet pierced through it, the tip of the slug showing out the back. The two met eyes and Michael spoke again, "And it seems they didn't want you to live through the ordeal, Master Raecien, Keeper of the Word." The Lycan went to a knee, feeling his world crumble around him. After a few minutes it was his turn to speak, "I will help you, Michael of the House of Tor.....Master."

Blood Runs Thin (Original Series)

Michael sat stone still, watching the door that he knew would be turned to splinters at any moment, thinking of how he was going to deliver the news. It was an odd turn of events, to everyone else, but to the vampire with the purple eyes, it was just right. The community was in turmoil, the wolves were dancing to the tune that he aptly played, the vampires were suspecting of all, and the humans were racked with paranoia. Each race, ready to cut the other's throat, if it meant their domination.

Hair tickled at his pale cheek as he waited, a draft coming through the decrepit house that he was in. Fitting he'd deliver the news here, in the den of a house that so many lives had been lost in. For a moment he let his eyes wander, taking in the staircase of rotting and rotted wood, the laminate floor that had long since curled and split, the ceiling barely hanging on to the structure, the moss and fungus ridden walls doing their best to hide the skeleton of this place. In it's own way it was quite beautiful.

Scents from all the years this house has been standing still clung to the structure, telling a violent history. A pang of sorrow hit Michael as he thought about the violence he was about to add to the long and bloody list of deeds done within this place. It wouldn't be long. While still looking at the festered beauty around him he checked himself, his weapons, his clothing, all ready for the fight about to begin. Finally, the smell of wolf came through the house, carried on the breeze dancing through the holes in the walls.

As the vampire predicted, the door was torn asunder, reducing it to splinters and dust, by the gigantic hands of an Alpha wolf. He was a huge specimen of the species. Standing over seven feet tall, thick with muscle, long hair flowing to the middle of his back, a closely cropped beard decorating a strong and noble jaw. This wolf was no assassin, he was a member of the Houses. Michael smiled through the chaos still flitting through the air at his new house guest.

"Welcome. My name is Michael. Before we begin would you be so kind as to introduce yourself?" The wolf walked in the doorway, ducking the frame and bowed slightly, "I am Raecien, Guardian of the Word." The wolf stood back up to full height, "Whenever you are ready, Michael." It brought a smile to the vampire's mouth as he stood, bowed at the waist, and answered, "Thank you, Master Raecian. En Garde." With a deep breath it began.

This wolf was strong, willing, and ready for the fight. Michael's strength counted for almost nothing as he delivered punch after punch, each action lightning fast and all punctuated with kicks that went after vital points. The wolf blocked, evaded, and countered, his punches much heavier than the vampires, knocking Michael's thin frame through a wall, the chair he sat in, and part of the railing of the stairs. And all without exuding any effort.

Dust and pulverized plaster and drywall floated through the morning rays that penetrated the kitchen, missing Michael by inches as he lay on the floor, catching his breath and spitting the blood from his mouth. More crunched under the Lycan's foot as he approached the downed vampire, "Michael, I want you to know that I take no pleasure in this, but it must be done." Another stream of red spouted from already stained lips as the vampire answered, "I know, Master Raecien, I know. However, it's all happening as it must."

The vampire's claws left four red, angry cuts across the chest of the wolf, another strike aimed for the throat. The surprise angered the Lycan, and with a growl he began to change, fur growing, claws elongating, fangs and ears presenting. Michael knew the fight was about to get infinitely more difficult, but he, too, had been holding back. With speed to rival his own the Lycan grabbed Michael's waist and flung him through a wall and back to the entrance of the house.

The wolf stood confused as it watched Michael land on his feet, stand, and take a deep breath. Purple eyes turned to a burning yellow, claws appeared at the end of each digit, and fangs grew to intimidating size. A confident Raecien took a step forward, already aware of the transformations of the vampires, but stopped short of his second step as he watched Michael continue to change. Black and blue veins began to line the vampire's skin, lips turned a deep purple, and the white of the eyes became red as blood, standing out against the bluish skin surrounding them.

Power ran through Michael's veins like fire, igniting want and chaos in him. His vision turned red, every throbbing and pulsing vein in the wolf was visible to him, the smells of the world were suddenly vivid and more poignant than ever. 'This is what was necessary', a thought that was above the animalistic drive that coursed through every fiber of being of the vampire, now fully unleashed. The fight began again.

The wolf was thrown through a wall, a second wall, and through the ceiling and into the second floor of the house. Raecien lay on his side, trying to catch his breath, holding closed wounds, hoping they would heal quickly. He struggled to stand, leaving a large, bloody print on the floor. Blood soaked his fur and ran over his hand holding the ragged pieces of flesh together. He tried to listen through the pain and ascertain where the vampire was, but his head spun with the blows he'd received. He'd never fought a vampire, or anything else, for that matter, that moved that fast and hit that hard.

The Lycan's heightened hearing couldn't find the vampire. He considered his last resort, knowing that any moment that thing would burst into the small room and finish him. The creaking of the first step alerted him. The second one did the same. It was a slow and methodical pace, menacing and terrifying, even to the giant wolf. Another step. Raecien decided he had no choice and let go of his restraint, transforming himself into a full fledged Lycan. The last step sounded it's cry just as the process was complete.

A roar announced his readiness for battle, his wounds healed, his fangs bared, the Lycan waited for his opponent. And he didn't have to wait long. The door between the wolf and the stairs didn't move, no other steps creaked. The vampire flew up through the hole in the floor with an unworldly hiss. The wolf was not prepared and Michael took full advantage, digging his clawed fingers into the wolf, wrapping his legs against the thick torso, and lastly, sinking his fangs into that muscular neck.

Michael drank deep, draining huge amounts of blood from the wolf as it thrashed at him, fighting the cold and fatigue that was currently seeping into it's core. The panic subsided for a moment and the Lycan's huge hand found the vampire's leg and ripped the blood sucker away. Not to waste the opportunity Raecien slammed the undead creature through the floor, hoping it was enough to give him some time to recuperate. Slowly the feral form he was in began to slip, and soon he was back to his human form again, holding his still bleeding neck.

Michael collected himself and forced back the creature he'd become, retracting his fangs and his claws as he walked up the stairs again, dusting himself off. The red faded away and his normal vision returned, his muscles relaxed again, and rational thought returned. At the top of the stairs the vampire opened the door to find the wolf behind it on it's knees and clasping at the wounds in it's neck. Such a giant creature in such a supine position was nearly art to the vampire's eyes. Raecien's honey colored eyes met his own purple ones with hate and determination. The wolf roared and threw itself into an attack of desperation.

"Stop." An almost whisper quiet command came from the thin lips of Michael. Inches from his throat and chest were the Lycan's claws, ready to rip him asunder. The wolf's muscles were rigid with exertion, but they were frozen in place. "Stand." Another command came from the vampire. Shaking with the effort of fighting against what was happening the wolf stood tall, like a soldier ready for orders. Raecien's eyes were wide with terror and confusion as another command came, "Kneel." Grunts came with the action, railing against his own body as it did what the vampire commanded.

With one fist and one knee on the floor the wolf before Michael quivered. The vampire figured the poor thing deserved an explanation, squatting down and placing his finger under Raecien's chin. "Look at me." Panic was still heavy in those beautiful eyes as Michael spoke, "We're of the old blood, the old ways, you and I. And back then the wolves weren't free. They served the House of Tor. As you, now, will. The blood pact is complete." Rage replaced panic in Raecien's eyes as he realized what had happened, the trap he'd stepped in to, the slavery he'd brought upon himself.

"Rise." Unwillingly the Lycan stood straight, again, his eyes burning with hate. Michael's hands went gently up to the giant's face and moved away wisps of hair, wiped blood away from lips and brow, and then rested gently on his new companion's hairy cheek, "Don't worry, Raecien, I wish you no harm. And I truly regret having to do this, and you have my undying word that you will be free again. But. For the time being, my good man, we will create chaos. We'll bring about blood, death, and disorder." Michael's other hand came to rest upon Raecien's chest, feeling the heart beat so rapidly beneath it as their eyes met. "We're going to wage war. Merciless, vengeful, world rending, beautiful, beautiful war."

Blood Runs Thin (Original Series)

In a dark room, deep in the center of The Community headquarters, sat three men and one woman. All dressed to impress, all with faces as stern and strong as rock. Within The Community the three men were easily identifiable, the female too. At the round table made of the tree that hung Judas Escariot sat the most powerful men in all the free world: Viktor Taelrith of the House of Lee, the vampire lord, Marcus Johansen of the House of Roue, the final say in the human side, and lastly Eiren Fenris of the House of Lucian, lord of the Lycanthropes. Last was Monica, new Mediator, elected after Lola's tragedy.

It was a tense silence, each lord measuring the other, gauging the other royal members of their race. This was the first meeting between all the races in over 500 years. The last time they'd all come together was to decide the fate of individuals that would do anything to usurp the rule of The Community. It seemed they met again under similar circumstances, though quite different, where the last time it was a group, this was a single man. None of the trio wanted to be the one to speak first, it was seen as an act of impatience and rudeness to the others.

"These are not the acts of a Lycanthrope." Eiren offered to the silence, breaking it, finally. "They are made to look like they are, but the evidence is far from the truth." The other men took a moment before answering, Viktor speaking first, "Clearly they are. We've found sigils of your clan at every attack. If not done directly by a wolf, then they certainly are an accomplice." Marcus followed, "There is no way it can be just one individual as we've been lead to believe. This vampire..." He picked up the notes before him and read for a second before going on, "Michael. Does not have the capabilities to do the things he's done all by himself. It's just not physically possible."

Silence had once again reclaimed the room. But only for a short time whilst Eiren stroked his strawberry red beard in thought with his huge hand. "He could. If he were of the House of Tor." The statement sat ill with the two men across from him. Displeasure at mention of the name sat heavy onViktor's thin face, deepening the shadows on his pale skin. Marcus shared the look, frowning in anger, his perfect skin stretched over his features, betraying his age. "The House of Tor is fallen. There is no one left with those...gifts." The vampire lord sat back in his chair, as if to dismiss the entire thing. Marcus agreed with a nod and turned his attention to the papers in front of him, trying to further the inquiry, when Monica's voice chimed in, "That is incorrect, Lord Taelrith."

Monica sat in her chair, the one designated for the Mediator, in her grey suit, young face and short, black hair. "One of the House of Tor is still alive. And he also sired Michael. You know him as Belthazar. His real name is Amon. He is not the age he says he is, but he did join the House of Lee near 800 years ago." As she spoke the trio of men were fixated on her, hanging on every word. "He now sits on the council in the House of Lee. It is unclear if he has the dark gifts of the Tor, but it is suspected that he does." Marcus and Eiren both turned their angry gazes on Viktor, who stammered his words out, "I wouldn't have known! I've only lead the house for 500 years. This was beyond my time!"

Marcus sighed with disgust, "It seems your house has again let The Community down, Viktor. Remind me, again, of the shining victory over the Tor. How the mighty prevailed and the wicked were vanquished. What was their crime, again?" The vampire shot a look of pure fury at him, the Fire of the Night burning bright, "They were murderers, thought themselves the law keepers of our kind. They were one of the elder clans, but could not conform to The Masquerade, before The Community was founded. Once The Community came along they wanted even less to do with it. This also proves the point that he has an accomplice in the wolves. One of their dark gifts was to control your kind." A scowl was shot the way of the Lycanthrope lord, who growled deeply in response, before answering.

"I am the oldest of the free wolves, last living descendant of Lucian! If he were to be able to control anyone it'd be me." He rose from his seat to tower over the table and the others sitting at it, "Would you care to be more specific with your accusation, bat?" Before the other could answer Monica's calm voice chimed like a bell "Gentlemen. This is an inquiry. Not a battle royale. Sit down, Lord Fenris. Lord Taelrith, be careful with what you choose to say." With reluctance the leader of the Lycanthropes sat back down, Viktor's fire also fading, extinguished by the Mediator, "I accuse no one, Eiren." Both conceded to each other with a nod.

Marcus had grown impatient with the show, "Look. All we know is that there is a murderer, going after all but the wolf kind. I don't know about controlling other species or the such, but I do know that this man comes from a long line of assassins and political powerhouses and is gunning for no one in particular. His random pattern of murder and chaos, accomplice or not, is costing us all. We need to stop him." Eiren pointed a thick finger at the head of the House of Roue, "Wasn't it YOUR hunters that let him go in the first place? Why has no one questioned the men that went after him in the first place?"

The human leader shook his head and dug a handful of photos from his leather bag, sliding them over to the Lycanthrope, "We did. In fact we went this morning to try. This is how we found them. All of eight of them. No matter how creative we humans are we can't recreate that kind of violence." Eiren slid through the pictures, flayed open bodies in almost each one, their faces frozen in terror, or in mid scream, throats torn out, limbs severed, and in the last one another sigil of the House of Lucian on parchment, thrown upon an opened rib cage. The brown paper was soaked red, the sigil barely recognizable. The giant wolf pushed the pictures to the vampire, who refused to look at them. Marcus took them back and asked, "Are you sure you're the only living descendant? Is there another?"

An answer was a long time coming, "I am. During the last great war all my brothers and sisters were killed." Even after answering, he still thought for a time. Silence came back to the room, heavy and lasting. Monica's perfect voice chimed again, "If there is no more lines of questioning then I shall declare this inquiry closed. Any final thoughts or questions?" She looked at Marcus, he shook his head, Viktor did the same, Eiren spoke, "They said they found a piece of paper at the first murder scene with a single word on it. What did it say?" The other two lords didn't know, but Monica did, "It said 'Praelior.'"

The three most powerful men sat in confusion at the word for a while, until Marcus asked, "What does it mean?" Monica once more had three sets of eyes keenly tuned directly at her. With that same congenial smile she'd worn this entire procedure she answered, her body language betraying nothing, her perfectly blue eyes sparkling with life, "It's ancient Latin. Almost as old as Aramaic. It means 'War.'"