[SS] Hazy Silhouette

Perhaps bracing herself was a mistake. After her gaze picked up on the odd action of the man flaying himself, the world around her shifted up. It was first her back, then her legs, but within only a few steps, her entire body buckled down as if she were Atlas buckling under the weight of the sky.

Flaying?

As that weight continued to bear down onto her, her feet began to slow down, her momentum ultimately grinding itself to zero as a great friction broke any further forward movement down.

I thought it was simply cutting, but it goes beyond that to a full-fledged skinning?

But, she refused to fall. The moment she did, she would ultimately be pinned down. And so, her mind raced.

Determining the mechanism behind his spell.

How to move freely once again.

How to crush the enemy before her.

Her mind sifted through all the possible answers, running in tandem like current through parallel resistors.

Yet, Francesca could only grit her teeth as she her muscles continued their futile struggle against the weight attempting to crush her.

She could only grit her teeth as the man approached a nearby vehicle and picked it up. And with each step, closer he made, her mind cranked further and further into overdrive.

Right until the moment he had closed the distance once again and began raising that vehicle further and further into the firmament. Right until the moment when those parallel thoughts all burned up to leave behind a single word.


Without another moment of hesitation, she eked out as much strength as she physically could to push herself forward and let gravity do its work, pulling her down towards his legs.

That was the answer she had come to. He had already carried something as unwieldy as a car. He had already gotten himself into a compromising position he couldn’t just quickly back up from. He had already declared his victory. If she could close off the legs, she could ultimately prevent further movement.

It was ultimately a gamble.

It may have been an action far from graceful, but she had hardly been a stranger to such lack of grace this day.

A formula is a mighty concept. While many only remember it from their maths or physics class the very term can stand for much more beyond the simple idea of multiplying two numbers. No, a formula could be any set of process leading to a distinct outcome. Some of those outcomes could change the very world itself, while others can simply help solve an equation. However, figuring out those variables was the key factor to the formula’s completion.

In some cases finding those would take extreme measures.

In other it would just happen accidentally…


Millinda Blackwater stood alone. She had no allies. No friends. Nothing at all. And yet the whole world was before her.

She could read them. She could understand them very well as all of them faced her with countless iterations of the very same instinct. An instinct so natural to all living creatures, yet at the same time so very false.

Eerie silence.

None of them would act, none of them would move. They had found what they had been looking for. They had been chasing it for the longest time. And now, meeting it face to face they would be frozen. Frozen by the horror they felt at the unimaginable. That one thing defying all expectations, imaginations, thoughts and dreams. The very idea of a vampire.

She was enveloped by it. It dug into her body, diving into her veins. Yes, it was perfect. The reality she had been chasing for so very long. It was coming over her. Right here and right now it would reach fruition.

But something….

...something…

...somethingggggggggggggggg

...was lacking.

Yes, she needed more. More. More. More of it!

Making up her mind once more the woman of white in black would disappear once more, fully shrouded by the night, ready for the hunt. And right the next instance one of those countless Magicians of the vast world standing frozen would find his neck to be torn into by invisible fangs from nowhere.

That action alone would once more serve to stir up the people breaking them free from the evil spell of instincts. Or much rather, shattering its chains as the next stage would be invoked.

Instinctual fear would transcend into fear for life.

Why? Just why? The entire situation was like the beginning of a horribly twisted joke that never seemed to end. Not only had Sasha been chased across town by a bloodthirsty vampire that wasn't even the real deal but she had done so while being princess carried the whole time. To make matters worse whatever spell the false vampire was using continued to fill her with a sickening unnatural fear that was interfering with her ability to think clearly. Yet even with all that in mind the situation seemed to fall into an even greater abyss of chaos as Sasha looked around at the pairs new surroundings.

The mad cardinal lifting a car, an intense fight between two english knights, and a number of other magicians in a battle frenzy. Part of Sasha hoped that the vampire had chosen to end its pursuit when it noticed the pair had run into a highly populated area. After all if they could've just grabbed just a few moments without running for their dear lives they could've attempted to calmly figure out the nature of their enemies power. Unfortunately for Sasha and everyone else in the general vicinity Millinda had no intention of stopping. In fact, she arrived only a moment later and instantly grabbed the intention of everyone on the battlefield.

It was possible Sasha and Sara could've tried using all the different factions here as a meat shield as they attempted to get away again but truly what would be the point? If the group here couldn't find a way to beat the vampire then what chance did a pair of nuns from two different churches have? If they fled and this group lost than Whitby's vampire be on them again in an instant. As a result despite the fear infecting Sasha entire being she slipped out of Sara's arms once again though with how things were going so far she was probably going to end up in them again.

"Second Exclamation: We take a stand here!"

Yet despite the nun's attempt motivational words the next moment was filled with nothing but horror as the vampire vanished only to reappear again at what could've been one their potential allies throats. It had all ended before it had even began as a pair of fangs latched into one of the nearby magicians' throats bringing his life to a swift end. This whole situation really must have been some kind of cruel joke. A group of magicians, a cardinal, some knights, and a vampire walked into a port town..... and decided to dye the ocean red.

An unexpected twist ran across the usually stoic and stone like priest, as suddenly his features malformed to express displeasure. After all, no matter how strong and cold your act would be, no human was entirely devoid of emotion. But that should serve as a sign that that woman was truly onto something, as she mustered every last ounce of her strength to make it there. And grasping his legs with the entire weight of his course she would cling onto that last straw offered towards her.

«You…dare to…?!»

His countenance had shattered as a shock ran through his entire body.

The situation had become rather troublesome. Certain victory had shifted to panic. As after all the weight of her physical form was immense. Immense enough to immediately trigger surging pain from his feet and toes, followed by an immediate loss of balance and a fall onto his back.

Unable to process the circumstances he immediately proceeded to the next step by hurriedly running his knife across the arm still bearing the car. And as he did he would declare in all hectic.

«Be blessed, ye iron tool of transport!!!»

And as he announced it he would drop the car in his hand, knowing fully well that opposite to before the car’s weight would increase manifold, creating the ultimate hammer of execution. And yet, as it would, the weight at his feet would be lost entirely in return…

The curtain would in fact fall.

As those lance like tools would weave more and more into those wings of storm that nursery rhyme humming nun’s wrath would chase Mark Space to the end of his wit. No matter what he had thrown at her, those tools would made it naught in just an instance, turning it against him at the very end. His cards were ineffective. His defence no longer consistent.

He was breathing heavily, the white shirt of his formal suit stained by blood. Truly, as he lay there on the ground he was the image of a battered fighter about to give in to defeat.

«May the curtain fall.»

Those wings of disaster would come down upon him, destined to unleash the full fury of the countless woven violences.

With his last bit of strength he would unleash a final card, tossing it towards the very centre of it all. A final leap of faith.

One that would immediately be eaten up as it would be woven into his demise.

And yet, almost as if to disturb that image of ruin a swift smile had formed on his lips.  

«Do you know about the ten of swords?»

He was still alive. In fact, as he spoke those woven wings of ruin would lose their very foundation, as though the cords connecting it all had been pulled out entirely.

And with their stability gone they would disintegrate entirely.

«If there is anything to know about it then it is that its name is that of ‹ruin›. Such ruin can be interpreted as complete disruption. While many would prefer to apply it on the condition of people, I find it quite amusing for it to be woven into a more complicated structure. Wouldn’t you agree?»

No matter how great and complex the machinery, putting even the tiniest wrench into it would disturb its flow entirely, possibly causing a critical error. The rule of the general world, yet also one with great weight in magic.

Reading the shock from the nun’s expression Mark Space would not waste another moment unleashing yet another card upon her.

The Knight of Swords.

An almost too primitive symbol, yet entirely pure in the sense of its purpose: Attack.

The weight of that instinctive fear had lifted.

It was the change that his adaptive mind needed to break out of the vicious cycle known as doubt. Though there would be no salvation, there was no salvation. The fear may have been created by an outside source, but the feelings were real.

The damage had been done.

Even though the light returned in his eyes, his vacant hand still trembled as he looked up towards Sir Henry Moore. He seemed out cold, from a strike that wouldn’t have landed had it not been for outside interference. Yes, the young knight knew it. The duel with him was a clash of motivations and feelings that defined who they were as knights. He was under no illusion that he could win, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

That was it.

A spark within his mind, a flicker of thoughts that broke through the barrier known as doubt.

He was always weak; there was no hiding from it. He has managed to survive this long, not because he had strength, but because of who he was this entire time.

He was a person who always tried, no matter the challenge he had to overcome and no matter how likely it would seem he would fail. So why did he do this? Why did he go so far to the point of duelling Henry Moore? Because he had to try and fight for the path he believed that would save Whitby.

He was still frightened, that fear hadn't changed but there comes a point when fear can turn against the one who caused it. The fear for his life? It reminded him that he was alive and as he tightened the strap to his shield he knew he would use it to motivate him. He would keep a low profile, not act out so obviously that he would catch anyone's main focus.

His mind knowing his life could end suddenly searched for a solution and he can only remember the moment that Moore had thrown away his weapon to fight with his fists.

"The Claíomh Solais" Alexander spoke quietly; the question was could he get to it without dying? He couldn't use his sword anymore since it was overloaded and laid broken along with Henry Moore. So he had to play this smartly and find it without getting teeth into his neck.

It had lifted. Whatever had weighed Francesca down to the ground mere moments ago had dissipated without leaving even a trace behind. She had brought her enemy down to the ground and that was enough.

He had grown desperate. His exasperated cries were nothing short of representative of that.

She had created an opening. With her now lightened body, she began to push upwards, grabbing one of her nails and driving it towards the leg of the man below her to create a surface to push off of.

“GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

With the roar and push, she thrust another nail towards the wrist of the hand lifting his makeshift weapon.

With her last motion as she stood, she, in one smooth motion, pushed what she had hit towards the side. She didn’t need to do anything fancy like have the car fly away. She merely needed a single unbalanced force—a motion her enemy couldn’t react to.

Crush him with the very weapon he aimed at her. Let that ton of metal multiplied by lord knew how much be his undoing. Let the weight of his own sin crush him.

Using that push, she propelled herself off of the man a few meters away, aiming to land on her feet a safe distance away from the man’s desperate strike.

---

“That’s easier said than done!” Sara lashed out towards Sasha. Though she was hardly the type to give up on things easily, everything that had happened since she encountered the vampire had been an exercise in futility, to put it lightly.

Through it all, one thing was certain. Despite the initial attacks, she had not done much beyond running away. There was very little she could determine about the assailant who had been trailing after her and Sasha.

There was no guarantee that she could tell where any attacks would come from. The enemy was absurdly strong. The enemy could take large amounts of damage and recover quickly. Beyond the last words and actions of the blonde girl who had been skewered, there was not much for her to go on.

“I need to try something though.”

It was a quick and almost silly idea, but she quickly unclasped the choker that had wrapped around her neck. The protections, that it blessed her with, allowing her usual hawk-like movement speeds without damage had immediately vanished.

With the choker unclasped, she quickly re-placed the clasp, once again affixing it to her neck.

It was a long-shot and a silly idea, but she needed to start experimenting. Even if the fear suppressed her desire to strike, she needed to play the game of trial and error to start narrowing down the specs of whatever Blackwater was using.

The Ganesha Aspect allowed her to void the effects of any two obstacles on herself throughout the active course of the spell. So, what would she set the first obstacle as?

What element seemed to be associated with the vampire the most? What part of the battlefield did the enemy constantly feel like she was fading into?

Obstacle 1 Set: The fog.

There was one defining problem to this scenario: The haze. Across the course of events it had spread all over Whitby, covering the entire port town evenly day and night. It appearance and behavior was quite similar to ideas found in old crime novels centered on the United Kingdom. As such it was entirely gloomy, thick and mystifying. But wasn’t that a tiny bit too poetic?

Something was odd. Maybe it had been just their perception in face of the unnatural fear being hammered into their hearts. Maybe it was just the lack of a proper source of light in this deep night. But could it have possibly happened that the haze had grown even thicker than before? It was as though its very structure was to mimic the horror felt by everyone present. Their thoughts were racing even now, after all. With their hearts nearly bursting from their chests.

It was strange and yet so ever present.

«Mankind’s fear of the unknown, huh? Such childish nonsense.»

«And yet, here you stand shivering like the little kid you are.»

Somewhere in the distant of the port town night two figures had a conversation of their own.

Man feared many things. It could be those with greater power, those who were less predictable or those who they trusted most and thus had shared all their neck-breaking secrets with. But some concepts appear to be oddly complex. Take for example the monster in the closet. Why does one fear it? Simply put: It originates from our imagination and not that which lies clearly in front of us. We fear this thing because we do not know what it is, nor what it is capable of. Hell, we do not even know if it truly exists. But once the possibility is set before us, it simply cannot leave our mind, making us believe that it could be entirely real.

So what was it those people truly felt? Was it because they knew what the monster in front of them was truly capable of, or was it because they didn’t even know anything. Or maybe, just maybe, all of it was just a lie to begin with?

Millinda Blackwater was on a rampage. Having taken out one of countless she would not halt. She would keep charging and there would be no one to stop her. After all, there wasn’t even anyone to track her. She was invisible, impossible to sense and left no trace of anything. She had become the opposite of light, entirely fused with darkness. She had become something that lived on the side of mystery from head to toe. No one knew who she was. No one knew what she was. No one knew anything at all.

And she struck again, from another impossible and unpredicted angle coming from nowhere.

Another victim would find itself pierced by those blade like fangs, having their blood sucked from them like juice from a pack. Of course it wouldn’t stop there either.


Saravati Nair would feel the effects of her spell right away. Within just single time of blinking the surroundings to her and only her had changed decisively. All of a sudden the scenery of Whitby had become clearly visible for the first time in her entire visit. She could see it all. Streetlights, houses’ facades, the rubble, the holes, the people, their corpses and even the leaves fluttering through the night as they had been caught by a gust of wind.

While everyone would slowly but surely find themselves lost in the ever thicker growing haze, only she had become able to achieve a clear perspective.

By nature she would seek out the true core of everything. Her enemy. That beast who had gained the lethal advantage by claiming rulership over the mist.

However, what she spotted was not entirely what she had expected. In fact, it was an oddity of itself.

There was indeed a figure moving within the haze, currently latched onto just another of the defenseless prey. But it was odd, did it have no clear outlines whatsoever. It was black and white, possibly a woman, but hard to recognize in its current state. A strong distortion had dug into the figure’s body, as though it was a ghost fading into the background. No, it wasn’t like fading at all. More like it had been one with the surroundings itself. One with that which no longer posed an obstacle to Saravati’s eyes.

He had since removed what remained of his broken sword out of Henry Moore and started to heal the wound caused by the final strike. Covered by the haze, the faint glow of healing magic had started to work on the old knight and to make right of what truly was a foul interference.

Though all this could mean for nought if the monster within the Haze takes them all.

The fear was doing its job and making it hard for the young knight to focus, for Alexander to come to a decision and to act on said action. He could hear them, though he couldn't see them all. His mind was returning slowly to its true form, the Haze truly made it difficult to see things but Alexander had a strong grasp of his surroundings, like a map drawn within his mind he wouldn't lose his way and those around him were located by the sounds they created.

Though there was still mystery within the mist, despite the sounds the others created it wasn't clear cut as who they were and what they were doing. It was still dangerous to move without being careful, it was very dangerous though maybe that was the fear talking. His eyes though focused on something in the distance, like a recorder it visualised the duel he had with Henry Moore. The direction he came from, the movements he made when he made those dodges and most important of all where he was standing when he threw his weapon away.

He remembered where he and Moore were standing in that moment on the map, the young knight also recalled the direction and his eyes moved statically in a direction within the haze.

"I'll.. be back for you.." Alexander had said seemingly lacking confidence in that statement towards Moore. He even hesitated in even moving as his gaze fell back on his broken sword. Being overloaded the unbreakable quality had faded, and still, he picked up the pieces to return it to his scabbard.

There was still value in this broken weapon, maybe not now but something in the future.

His hand though remained on its hilt, it was a subconscious attempt to reactive the power of the sword but nothing happened. The strength it once provided was gone, and despite knowing where to go, Alexander struggled to move under the burden of fear.

Yet despite it, though it took some self-encouragement he would begin to move. He would head towards where he calculated the location of the weapon belonging to Henry Moore. There was no guarantee he would be correct or he would get there safely, but the young knight figured it would have value to add in the situation they were in and give them all a fighting chance against a monster.

“Huh?” Sara had fully intended to toss random ideas under the weight of her magic to see what stuck but she had not expected to elucidate the situation as much as she did on the first try. Though it was a fairly prevalent aspect, she held her doubts when she first activated her spell. That was all it took to leave her with a feeling halfway between surprise and confusion.

But beyond the fact that she could see the world around her with a clarity she felt had been foreign to the situation for a while, there was one matter that stayed beyond her full comprehension.

Within the clarity of Whitby’s night scene and the chaos and bloodshed around her there was a being. No matter how much she thought into it, she couldn’t bring herself to attribute the word ‘person’ to what she was viewing.

Melding between black and white, the figure held presence within a notable distortion, existing as if it were one with the world around it.

This entity, whatever it was, was likely the source of it all. That was the first conclusion Sara drew.

Though, come to think of it, that blonde girl from before—didn’t she...

She had finally come to a base from which she could demystify things. She had come to the same precipice that blonde girl had come to. All that was left was to take the final steps to fall over the edge.

“I can see her. Or what likely is her.” Subtly lifting her finger, she pointed towards the area of the distorted entity. “She’s a completely distorted black and white. It’s like she’s become part of the surroundings.”

She didn’t know how to describe it. The sight itself was completely surreal. But she knew one thing.

“The vampire’s reality is hidden underneath the haze.”

Sasha watched the chaos unfold around her as Sara moved to switch out her choker. It was obviously the activation of some sort of spell though what its purpose was the nun of Annihilatus had no idea. She had to hope though it would do something to subdue their rampage opponent or at the very least shed some light on their situation. With that in mind Sasha took out a number of nails and moved to cover Sara's back. After all if whatever spell she was preparing now was going to help them defeat the so called vampire then Sasha would have to make sure no harm came to her new companion until then.

However, since they were dealing with a seemingly unstoppable vampiric monster it was highly unlikely that Sasha would even be able to slow the creature down if it truly wanted to go after Sara. As a result it was a relief when only a moment later the nun from Necessarius got the answer she was looking for. Distorted black and white? Becoming a part of her surroundings? Sasha didn't know what spell her companion was using but part of her wished it had given a more definitive answer for the spell their enemy was using. After all with the information she had just been given the vampire of Whitby was starting to sound more like some strange chameleon. Regardless it seemed they had finally proven that the haze was involved with the monster's power in someway.

With that in mind Sasha was determined to find her own way of looking through the fog. Something to allow her to see the strange entity for herself. After all it would be much easier to form a plan if she could see what they were dealing with herself instead of having to rely on her companion all the time. She had spent the whole beginning of the fight being carried around like a princess she was going to let herself simple carried by Sara's efforts through the rest of it. So she needed something to disperse the haze around her. As she racked her brain for answer an idea finally emerged though she had no guarantee it would work.

Taking out her saw she began to her as much force as she needed to crack the pavement beneath her in order to carve a large symbol into it. By the time she was down it simple looked like she had drawn a simple line or a lowercase l into the ground. Yet despite it simple appearance it was the rune Isa. A rune that represent ice, stillness, and stasis. With the symbol carved into the ground pulled a hammer from her belt and swung it down with as much force as possible on top of the symbol. A shockwave passed through the pavement as it was shattered and broken by the impact of the hammer sending small chucks of the ground below along with a good amount of dust into the air. At the same time the hammer that had been in the nun's hand had snapped in half at its handle from the impact.

An act representing the breaking of Ded Moroz's hammer, which was said to be responsible for binding water together through the use of iron frosts. With the symbolic breaking of this legendary figures hammer Sasha hoped the haze around her would disperse since without the hammer there was nothing binding the water composing it together. At the same time she hoped that breaking the Isa rune would also destroy the stillness of the fog thus enhancing its dispersion.

…and yet the haze remained entirely unchanged.

By all means of logic the effect of the spell should have dispersed it, revealing only the clear vision of the night. But what it should have done was not what had had happened in reality. It was still the same thick presence, lingering everywhere. Nothing was truly visible and each step you dared could potentially lead you nowhere.

But why hadn’t something happened?

Or had it?

The air was dry. It hadn’t been like this before, but now it was. The humidity had escaped elsewhere.

And yet the haze remained.


There was a cold sensation crawling underneath his skin. He could feel it rush through his fingers like a sudden outbreak of a storm. An unforeseen catastrophe.

«No! Impossible!»

His expression was twisted to one not befitting any of his pulpous glory. Mere moments ago he had been the shining idol of this battlefield. A warrior shaped by the will of god. But right now he was just a mortal. The power had left him. It had simply faded.

He would stuff another piece of bread into his mouth, take another sip from the bottle. He would perform the simple minuscule movements making up the ritual. He would pray. Still nothing. Nothing at all.

For seemingly no reason at all, the Lord’s blessing had left Enrico Coppolla. The great crimson cardinal, the slayer of all heretics and pagans, had been dropped out of the heavens onto the dirty earth. He had been robbed of everything. Of all hope first and foremost. And that at the worst time imaginable.

«Who’s mischief is this…?!»

As his foundation collapsed, it would come upon him like a storm. Despair.


«…even now…I do not…understand…»

What had been the figure of a stern priest moments ago laid there on the ground of a desolate parking lot, shattered and crushed by a piece of machinery heavier than the weight of all the sins he had ever committed in the name of ‹the Lord›. But even then, there was some monotone cool to his voice.

«…why…did you choose this path…of betrayal…?»

There was nothing left of his lower body. His lungs may have been spared, but with that ever growing puddle of blood surrounding his form, the man even breathing was a miracle in and of itself. Truthfully, he was as though made of stone until the very end.

«…answer me…Frances––»

However, even that would only last until then.


«The vampire’s reality is hidden underneath the haze.»

As she had just torn into another’s veins, she had caught onto the sudden expression in the closer distance. It could have come from anyone and meant anything. The majority of the people here likely did not understand it, let alone notice it in the first place. But that would only apply to those not in the know of certain matters. It was just like someone slandering about others on the open street. No one would overhear, as no one cared. Except for when the victim of the slander was close-by, just by accident.

What would you do when you caught someone spreading word about yourself?

Yes, Millinda Blackwater had noticed.

Yes, she had become aware.

Yes, she understood it right away.

And thus she’d set off into another beast like charge, straight for the source of the careless defaming.

Bracing her empty hand, ready to tear away that blasphemous jaw.

Was there anything left to say?

As Francesca gazed over the crushed form of the man before her, she couldn’t help but wonder if  there was something left for her to say to the man who had been crushed thanks to her own efforts.

Why had she chosen the path of betrayal? Was something like that so simple that she could answer that quickly?

After all, it still pained her. The man before her, though he had been led astray, was still one of God’s flock. That was undeniable.

Her feet tracked ever forward until she could gaze down at the form of the man in front of her. The light had long since escaped his eyes, so no answer she could provide would ever matter. Nothing she could say would reach his ears.

Even so…

She took her hand, closed her eyes, and motioned the sign of the cross over her face and chest and muttered a few words. Though she was no priest, she was one of the many sisters wavering in the grace of the Lord.

That was what she could do right here and now.

He had asked why she chose the path of betrayal. But, perhaps she could not say it because it was simple—something so simple, it was carved into her very soul.

Francesca Purezza, too, was a magician.

---

There was no more time. Whatever Sasha had attempted had truly failed. So, whatever grace period she had afforded had come apart in a bang. They hadn’t come up with a single way to expose the vampire more widely.

All that was left was the carnivorous maw of the thing before her eyes taking aim towards her. “I’ll keep it distracted!”

That was all she could do as she ducked away to dodge.

As she did, she noticed something strange off the corner of her eye. A single man of crimson who had earlier been embodying the pure chaos of this nightmarish hellscape seemed to have lost that very fervor, as if he had suddenly been thrown out of sync with the rest of the world around him. She could see it so very clearly.

He had been impossible to pass through before. It was like staring down an iron wall. However, for once, it finally felt like she could push him towards a conclusion of order, if even slightly.

But, how could it be done? What action would suffice?

She had no time, so she took one quick action. She simply shouted.

“Get a grip you idiot! I know you should have heard what I said about the vampire’s reality so figure this shit out already and help us bring an end to it.”

It may have lacked social graces, but it was hardly the time for any of that. For now, she needed to keep that thing in the area. It was trying to kill her. And though that was a scary thought, it also meant one thing. It would predictably focus on her. It could be manipulated. Even if slightly. At the very least, that’s what she had hoped.

His breath grew heavy as the young knight fell onto one knee beneath the haze; having escaped the focus of events currently ongoing the young knight who went on a search for a powerful weapon had struggled to move at his usual pace. His left hand fell to his chest plate as he felt the major dents and damage done to his armour by Henry Moore.

There was no need to think more on it, knowing the cause he provided the solution by taking the chest piece off without second thought. The condition it was in after all the battle damage had no longer qualified as an adequate defence. The enemy they were facing, the vampire within the mists or the truth beneath the haze was far too powerful than any mere armour could stop from it killing him.

Having found relief from removing the burden of a broken armour piece, now only a rip black undershirt covering his chest the young knight hesitated for a moment before moving on.

Alex who had moved away from the core events had listened to the findings. What they saw as the vampire, the presence which we presumed to be the source of the fear was not the true reality. There was something behind the haze, hidden within the mystery of the unknown that the mists inspired. This was truly like some detective novel, you may know everything about the situation but within the mists that added a sense of mystery to the story, anything could happen.

A great tragedy or a miracle.

Alexander found tragedy, that was a broken body torn apart by a monster. The look upon that same body had set something off within Alex's mind as doubt crept back into his subconscious.

He was reminded of his constant failures, the uncountable dead as the result of his inability and indecision. His naivety and sense of idealism which only pushed away friends and allies. His reckless betrayal as he stood against two individuals with the strength to make the difference and duelled Moore to the death. Because he had thought he could only be right, that in his arrogance he held all the answers because he was wise enough to pick up a book more than he did a sword.

These tortured thoughts built upon each other, over and over, filling his mind with doubt and regret. Filling his mind with excuses and false promises, it was torture, painful and it threatened to break him. His body was shaking all over like his nerves were on fire and holding onto the scabbard that held the remains of the Sword in the stone for that subconscious comfort did nothing.


Then it happened as his mind suddenly snapped, and in response, he ripped the scabbard from his belt and threw it away in a knee jerk action. Then he felt like the pressure was suddenly lifted from his mind as he saw within the haze the golden light from the corner of his eyes.


He turned towards the light as those words brought clarity in his mind, the doubt had lost its grip within the glow of that golden light. And so he moved towards it that was fighting back against the haze and what he found was a miracle.

On the ground laid the scabbard and a piece of the sword in the stone that had fallen out, the golden glow he had seen was no longer there. Maybe a figment of his imagination, but it brought him here to where he needed to be as his eyes fell upon The Claíomh Solais.

He picked it up and at that moment the look in his eyes changed. Though feeling accomplished he had found what he was looking for didn't distract him from the change in the air.

Had she ever faced a powerful opponent before? Had she ever felt driven into a corner in the presence of absolute power? She hadn’t, had she?

What was crippling Enrico Coppolla that very moment was the full knowledge of that experience. Given his position and accomplishments it was only natural for him to have gone to countless battlefields. Magicians weren’t just one brand, after all. Here in Whitby he had been mowing them down in dozens tonight, but that had only been because the real trouble makers had yet to show their faces. Had he fought that jester before maybe even he would have shed a sweat wielding his unending power. That power of pure belief.

However, now he didn’t even have that to rely on.

He was but a mere mortal caught up in the web of a beast of legends.

Even if it was the work of witchcraft, as long as it remained an unknown value nothing would truly change.

He knew, because he had been the very same.

Power would prevail. There was no objection. No alternatives.

He knew all too well.

He could even feel it.


The girl dodged and sought out the distance with impressive agility. She had done so before, demonstrating that one physical advantage she had found herself able to claim. That impression had not escaped Millinda Blackwater. She was no wild animal, but a human being, after all. Her mind had not been numbed. Neither did she solely rely on something as childish as instinct. No, with those she would not have come anywhere this close to her objectives.

And armed with her conviction to defend these objectives she was moving.

Still tightly holding onto that mystery box in her right arm, she would charge forwards, accepting the girl’s invitation to a hectic dance. However, she would not allow for her to decide the rhythm anymore. This would become her solo.

Within an eye’s blink she would close the distance yet again, ready to strike the girl’s chest and neck another time. There was no denying anymore that any of that women’s attacks would be lethal upon hitting their mark. Her strength had simply been that horrific.

However, what happened next would move beyond the all dulling fear spell or that super human prowess. With the noise of cracks and blood erupting the scales would change. While the jumpy girl would weigh herself in safety due to another of those last minute dodges, it would come chasing her down that very instance. That human’s claw was coming straight for her. Faster. Fiercer.

That woman of black and white would not give in. If she could not do it within her limits, then she simply had to exceed these. Thus, she would push that body wastefully using the infinite life-force she seemingly held. Her flesh would tear, her bones crack, but her attack not stop. She would no longer chase that girl. She would end her.

Thus, both exceeding that little bird’s speed by breaking the limits of her own physique and predicting her every move with the power of her mind, the vampire of Whitby would make its comeback.

Complete and total failure. Her spell had accomplished nothing to stop the vampire. Instead all it manages to do was strip the power away from the man who could’ve been their most powerful ally. The Cardinal who had been one of the people at the center of attention and power since the beginning of battle had seemingly become completely helpless. At the same time Whitby’s vampire hadn’t been weakened at all. The spell didn’t even give Sasha any insight into the source of the vampire’s powers. The only thing it had confirmed was that the haze currently covering Whitby was definitely the product of some kind of magic. After all the air had noticeably dried out after the spell activated and yet the fog remained.

Yet she’d have to worry about all of that later. For now she had to find a way to protect Sara after the vampire had set it sights on her. Whatever Sara had seen with her spell had definitely brought them closer to the truth and it was clear Whitby’s vampire wanted to silence her for it. The nun from Necessarius was currently the only one who knew anything about the mechanics of their enemies spell letting her get killed was definitely not something Sasha could allow, especially not after Sara had saved her from the vampire all those times before.

Picking up the shattered handle of the hammer, that would now serve a new purpose as a wooden stake, and drawing a number of nails from her pouch Sasha began her fight with the unstoppable beast again. She knew that currently anything she tried now wouldn’t do any real harm to the vampire but she hoped she could at least prevent the monster from murdering their only source of information until they were able to find a way to win. Sasha ran towards where the vampire was pursuing Sara and threw two nails into the fray. One at the ground between the two combatants, which if it hit in time would form a wall between them, and attempted to throw the other in the ground just in front of their opponent.

She knew Whitby’s vampire could tear through both of the walls like they were paper but at this point she was only hoping to delay the assault. She hoped the nail thrown closer to the vampire would create a wall underneath the monster’s feet and catch her off guard. The beast could tear through the walls like paper but she didn’t have any power to control her motion in the air, right? If she got tossed into the air they’d at least get a few extra seconds of time. If not Sasha had to hope the wall between the two would at the very least prevent the vampire’s next assault from hitting its target.

It was a prevailing but hopeless struggle. Even when surrounded by hundreds of enemies the beast had become the overwhelming power within the fog that was shrouding everything. Within that darkness she was the absolute ruler. None could oppose her. After all she was both invisible and unstoppable. No one could perceive her presence. No one could resist her when she struck. And even if someone would manage to put a scratch on her, it would heal just like that.

The worst of all, however, was the fact that she had never gotten on a high horse. In fact, the arrogance of the easy winner hadn’t gotten to her at all.

She had put everything on the line.

She would fight with everything she had.

She would bare her full conviction in the face of the world.

That was the true horror of the Vampire of Whitby.

Even as she was launched into the air, it would only serve to slow her down temporarily.

Floating high in the sky, she wouldn’t let anyone escape her grasp, punishing the world below with the fierceness of her piercing gaze. Enough to once more dig into the hearts of the foolish humans entrapped by that false fear she had created, further strengthening the effect, further weakening the resistance by freezing them as they stood and further nourishing her power.

Yes, it was vicious cycle drowning the world deeper and deeper into despair.

Floating above that marvellous temple of hers in eerie silence, she would set her sights on her very next prey.

The annoying red nun of Russia? The free flying bird of Necessarius? The broken cardinal of Rome? Or that young heroic knight? Who would it hit?

Nobody could tell. But whoever it was…she would come for them in 3…2…1…!


«Hey.»

There was something.

«Hey.»

Something echoing in the darkness.

«Hey, you!»

A voice.

«Can hear me? Of course you can, can’t you?»

A familiar voice.

«Man the boy got you bad, Moore.»

Was he dead or still alive? It was unknown, but the darkness prevailed. However, amidst all that void someone was speaking to him. It was that truly familiar voice. A voice that certainly wouldn’t bring him pleasure, but it was still there, calling out to him. The voice of a dead man.

«But it’s not over yet. Things are as bad as they could get. You’re not done yet either, are you? So, why won’t you try another go then?»

Darkness would prevail. Stillness would prevail. This in-between world now was in an unchanging state.

«I guess it can’t be helped, eh? Let me give you a push.»

Suddenly as the darkness around him was chased away by a bright light, Henry Moore would feel an odd but calming warmth enveloping his very existence. It was as though it consumed him whole…

«It’s time to get your ass up and bring things to an end!»

…only to then spit him out right after. As the light would disappear again, the black darkness would fade alongside it, opening the curtain to what was a cold February night.

The silence had faded. The void had faded. Noise was all around as battle was raging. The dry air smelled like salt and blood. Somewhere in the distance lay the moon, watching over what was the thickest haze one could imagine.

There, he would find himself resting. However, to his surprise neither battered nor broken.

His pain had been erased. The damage had shrunken to a minimum or disappeared entirely. He wasn’t just alive. He had recovered.

However, upon sighting his surroundings he wouldn’t find a presence belonging to that voice. That dead man wasn’t here, after all. In fact, no one around had come to be with him, was everyone preoccupied elsewhere. He was alone. Yet, for some reason there were colourful feathers spread all around him, forming something akin to a circle.

Things were not looking good. Even if she had tried her best to rally the down-trodden cardinal, she had ultimately failed. The man seemed completely overwhelmed, his will to proceed completely shattered by the law of the jungle.

Beyond that, Sara really didn’t know what to do in this situation. Within this entropic madness, the girl had stood the closest to the truth amongst those who still remained active. But even close was not enough.

But, she had to do something. The chaos would continue to expand and intensify until the core of this incident was finally exposed to the sun.

“Fine then. I thought the men of the Catholic clergy were made of sterner stuff than this, but if this is all it takes to make you bend from your goddamn duty, then run away like the coward you are. For all your hatred of heresy, you’re proving to be nothing more than all talk.”

That was it. She didn’t need to waste her time with the extra help. If that wasn’t enough to invigorate him, then it wasn’t worth the effort of bringing him back.

In the meantime, she needed to deal with the vampire. The one who had been thrown into the air. Even if she could see it clearly, it was hardly likely that the others could.

She needed to do something.

Not buy time. Not stave off defeat. Even if she didn’t know the secret, she needed to begin the turnabout.

Suppress her movements.

Cage her in.

But, that was hardly something she could do on her own.

Quickly, she attached a fragment of gold to one of her knives and tossed it upwards—towards the distorted entity the world saw as a vampire.

“Follow the knife. The vampire is there!”

But, if it wasn’t something she could do on her own, then she had to believe in something. Out of all the people who she had encountered mired in the chaos, there had to be someone who could do something.

If she couldn’t cage that beast on her own, then she could act as the supporting pillar for someone, anyone, any people who could.

"Not the highest mountain that can be climbed, but the pillar which can never be reached. Futilitas665."

The voice would come from behind the pair of cardinal and huntress. Henry Moore's figure stood there, covered in blood from his wounds but standing resolute. And then he would pass them, the lack of hesitation reflected in his eyes made visible to them for an instant as he made his way to the single sparkle of gold shining in the night sky.

He had an inkling of what he was doing here, why he was alive. At who the culprit was, and what implications that entailed. But now was hardly the time for that. If he survived, he could deal with that later. And if he perished, then his successor would have to pick up the slack. The boy had taken up the audacity to try and strip his position from him, so he would have to take his unfinished business with it as well. It would be up to him whether he continued to trust that man until the end and debase the knights before him.

Now, he cast his mind back to that Japanese mountain village from so many years ago. That heavy sensation of fear as he saw that figure amidst the ashes. That storm of cinders far thicker than the haze he stood in now. And the one standing in the center of it all—something far more terrifying than any mere vampire.

He and his compatriots had fled that day, not once looking back. What he saw that day had lodged itself within him ever since and driven him to the place he now stood. Led him to surpass his own mediocrity, attain strength of body, fortitude of mind, and a position of leadership among the knights.

He would now throw all of that away, everything he had attained, for the sake of facing the opponent in front of him now. This fear, real or fake, was no longer enough to suppress him. He was armed with only the sword he kept at his side merely out of a gesture of respect, his beloved spear's location unknown, body having only just returned from the brink of death. But to those behind him, he would show his back and nothing more.

The Henry Moore who stood before the Vampire of Whitby could no longer be called a knight. He was simply a warrior who stepped forth for the opportunity to try his strength against a worthy opponent. The danger his foe posed to innocents was simply icing, hardly rising to his mind in the heat of the moment. Without his immortal-killing spear, he doubts of his ability to deal any definitive blows to the beast.

But at the very least, he would stand tall with any other worthy warriors who stood at the front line of battle. They would not let that gold light leave the domain of the sky again.

She had successful managed to delay the false vampire's assault but only for a few moments. There was no exactly when there monstrous opponent was going to return Sasha imagined it would be soon and once Millinda was back there was sure to be a bloodbath. With that in mind, the girl had to move fast before the short break she had earned herself would come to a bloody end. Taking the monster on directly certainly wasn't an option, getting to close meant getting ripped to shreds and shooting her from afar did nothing but turn yourself into the next target.

So the Annihilatus nun decided to attempt aiming at something else, the false vampire's magic. The magic that drove fear into everyone's heart and allowed her to accomplish such monstrous feats. Reaching into her pouch Sasha would pull out a number of nails with runes engraved into them but this time her target was no longer Millinda. She'd scanned the chaos of the battle around her and then begin setting up her spell. Two nails would go sailing through the air in front of her firmly engraving themselves into a wall a good distance away. After that she'd sent of two nails flying to her left and another two flying off to her right before turning one hundred and eighty degrees in one fluid motion throwing out two more pairs of nails.

With the main set up done she'd throw out a few more nails to complete her intended design. What had Sasha created? The most well known and recognized symbol of the occult, a pentagram enclosed inside a circle. The pentagram has taken on many different meanings throughout its existence; the wounds of christ, a satanic symbol, a symbol of faith for Wiccans, a symbol of Freemasonry, along with an innumerable other symbolic meanings. Sasha, however, had chosen a very specific meaning for her pentagram. A meaning proposed by the French occultist Eliphas Levi, the pentagram as a symbol of humanity.

This concept was enforced by the rune nails Sasha had chosen to make up the corners of the pentagram. While one of the nails at each corner was used to power the magic circle by calling on the four elements; Hagalaz(air) at the front, Kaunaz(fire) to the right, Jera(earth) to the left, and Laugh(water) in the back to corners. She had also included an extra rune nail at each of the corners and each of these nails was engraved with the Mannaz rune, which represents man. The remaining nails she through out to complete the circle around the pentagram were all engraved with the Algiz rune for protection.

The goal of this magic circle was simple, if their enemy was using a spell to turn themselves into a monster than Sasha hoped to disrupt that spell by forcing the concept of humanity on to her target and blocked off the power of the fear spell through the combined protection of the encirclement and Algiz.

If Sasha managed to complete this circle without any interference than she'd pray that her disruption spell worked as intended, take out her saw, follow the direction of the knife Sara had thrown, and prepare for combat.

«My my my. What an unsightly display. What madness must have lead this foolish woman to the creation of this spell. She must have gotten insane. And yet she pulled it off. Imagine how long it must have taken her to plan this out. Clearly if one of those fools understood its true meaning and purpose, they would run away in terror. Or maybe find a way to be triumphant? Whichever. Whichever. Colour me impressed, though.»


There was no impact, no crash, only a painful cry.

Ultimately at the end of the vampire’s descent it had attempted to strike down upon the red cardinal, only to be intercepted by a devout priest of the inquisition. However, their sturdy body had shattered instantaneously as once more the monster had dug its fangs into another victim’s neck.

A horrendous sight only deepening the power-eating terror that man of Rome had fallen into.

There was nothing he could do. There was nothing his underlings, who had gathered around him to form a human wall, could do. This had become a territory devoid of God’s mercy. This was hell on earth.

He could tell that invisible shadow was moving somewhere amidst the haze.

It was ready to strike again and it struck, dyeing the haze in crimson read as just another devout messenger of the Lord would fall at its overwhelming power.

More and more and more and more would fall.

And yet someone would step up amidst that crisis.

A man of honour through and through.

«Sir Moore…?»


«‹All that has a name exists›, huh? To think these Basque no-goods would be capable to utilise the meaning of that in such a broad sense. Transforming the ideas and thoughts ranging around the infamous ‹Vampire› into a physical phenomenon, which she then again uses as a temple? Now that is a great feat. Sadly, a wasted one.»


Hope had been in his hands. His gut told him that, as he tightened the grip around his ‹predecessors› lance.

He hadn’t overcome the horrors of this night. However, he had embraced it instead of pursuing desperate attempts at rejecting them. This was all he could do. That was the full pinnacle of what he had found here.

Claíomh Solais.

That weapon Henry Moore had entrusted with all of his faith.

It was his now.

There was no doubt in his heart: This could overturn the tides of this battle.

The only question he needed to answer to himself now was: How?

Now that he stood amidst the obstructed, unending scenery of the thick haze, Alexander Beathen was chasing the answer to that question.


«A temple made of people’s thoughts turned physical and a ritual that deeply rooted in events unfolding upon crossing paths with the unknown. Only to then blur the line between the two so that both build a conceptual perpetuum mobile. No wonder there is no stopping it. Or is there? I wonder how long it’ll take them to see: A spell needs three foundations. Even if they cannot break these two feeding onto each other, the third is different.»


It was that very instance where she felt something dig into the very core of her existence. Not just the being she had become, but that which she was at the core. Something attempted to shatter her identity of the beast ruling over the haze. Something attempted to tear right through the spell she had dedicated her everything to craft. Something attempted to invoke her humanity to overturn the beast.

A seed had been planted into her.

This was a threat.

Immediately shifting her attention away from the cardinal, priests and nuns, she’d set her target onto the very source of this witch work.

That red nun of Annihilatus, who so very insolently came charging straight at her.

…

Millinda Blackwater would not waste that opportunity at a counter attack.

However, against all her enemies’ expectations she wouldn’t rely on that brute force she had showcased earlier and instead utilise her natural advantage.

Being shrouded away from the world, yet super humanly fast, the woman of black and white would easily outmanoeuvre the incoming attacker, slipping past their physical figure and the capabilities of the tracking spell, only to then reach out for their leg from behind and grab it with bone shattering force.

Then, with the cruelty of a child a flinging toy hammer, that vampire of Whitby would slam the defenceless girl’s body against a nearby street lantern, easily bending it in the process.


«After all, no machinery will work if you pull the plug.»

This was bad. Not only was Sara unable to to anything, the vampire descended quickly and had already bit into the next prey. She wasn’t even sure if the knife hit or whether anyone else had even taken notice of her declaration of the vampire’s location.

But, within the background, she had heard a certain knight’s words. The words of someone extrapolating something that had been familiar to him to create a working model of the reality around him.

Despite her visuals on the reality of the situation, Saravati Nair had not been able to fully grasp at the answer that had stared her in the face.

This young knight had.

As such, a simple reality dawned on her. She would not be the one to close the book on this case.

That was fine. As long as she could take away the position of hunter from the vampire and rip her apart at the jugular like the hunter she was, that would be the end of it.

She could not dawdle here. She could not interrupt that knight’s conclusion.

Annihilation was slowly drawing nearer. With the first prey mercilessly crushed, the vampire had turned her attention to Sasha, who had made an attempt to disrupt the spell that allowed this situation to occur in the first place.

The vampire had smashed Sasha against a lantern. She could not let Sasha get taken out here.

She rushed towards her, pulling out yet another knife, aiming to slash it straight across her throat.

At the very least, she could play her role as decoy well.

Another was incoming. Convinced that single strike had dealt with the red nun, the vampire’s attention would shift towards the girl moving in close at tremendous speeds.

Their eyes met.

Their killing intents collided.

The conviction to kill for the sake of saving everything and the horror that was the will of a Magician driving each and every last of their actions.

As the monster moved blood would be spilled. The blood of her own.

Instead of having taken the hit, however, she had blatantly blocked it by catching the knife’s blade with her free hand. Not simply by wrapping the hand around it but by actually letting her own flesh be pierced to that it’d stick there.

Like this she was not only aiming to catch the knife in a deadlock. No, she’d try and grab the hand wielding it, catching the attacker herself in her inescapable grasp.

…?!

Something was off, however.

She had felt it before. Something had changed within her. Yet she had only realised after her flesh had been cut.

She could feel it, much like how they could see it.

Not just the girl whose eyes could see through all obstruction, but everyone close enough.

It was like static running throughout her body. Not constantly. But occasionally something appeared, only to disappear afterwards.

A silhouette within the haze.

Millinda Blackwater understood.

Something within her had changed.

Something had been knocked out of order.

It wasn’t overtaking her entire being, but occasionally glimpses of it would surface.

She could feel it in the flesh that had been cut.

She could feel it as her blood was dripping.

It wasn’t returning right away.

!!!!!!!!!!!

Rage was overflowing.

Self control was fading.

Thus, she’d strike with everything she had, using the box she had carefully guarded up until now as a club with enough force to smash that (possibly captured) huntress’s head to pieces.

Blood spilled.

That, in and of itself, was nothing new. The woman being denoted as a vampire had been taking hit after hit and rushing back into the fray as if nothing had happened. Within that flurry of pointed and fatal violence, she would return to the forefront as if nothing had happened before.

A change had come over her.

She hadn’t faded away. She hadn’t come out recovering.

That blood spilled. That flesh had severed.

The vampire was not recovering.

But the hunt hadn’t ended. The prey had her back to the wall and like any cornered rat, she was striking back. Pinning her arm in place and trying to smash her head.

You won’t. So just…

She would not let that strike in. Dodging would cause her to lose her grip. She would not let the position of hunter and prey switch once again.

Pressing her head inwards towards the vampire, she grabbed another knife with her free hand.

Would she cut off the hand threatening to crush her? No. That would be meaningless. The only path left was forward. She would hope for inertia to guide the vampire’s blow to miss as she so subtly changed her position.

She would drive it straight into her skull from behind. Pierce through the foramen magnum of her skull and straight into her brainstem.

She would ultimately kill.

“JUST SIMMER DOWN!”

To think there was hope in a battle with the monster was foolish.

After all, what had made her a monster in the first place had not been the identity of the ‹Vampire of Whitby›, nor had it been the superhuman capabilities that had come alongside it. No. There had been something more to her than that.

Something that made her stand above all else.

When that girl had reached for the second knife, her attempt to counter had already failed.

The crippling pain of flesh and bone being crushed would deliver the message long before her mind could catch up.

Right in the middle of her swing, that box serving as a lethal club had shifted trajectory, hammering into the brave heroine’s arm instead of her skull.

By all means of her imagination, the current state of her arm could no longer be described by colourful words. It hadn’t been torn off, but entirely blown out of proportions.

However, stopping at that would have been an act of mercy.

Something that woman had long since discarded on her path to becoming a monster.

Once more she’d strike.

This time aiming for the head.

The vampire moved in for its prey with inhuman grace and precision. Like it had done this countless times before, like it would do countless times again. The young girl's skull would be crushed, pulverized beyond recognition. Prey crushed, a meal consumed.

But as the club reached the skull, the girl would find herself flung backwards. Veritably launched into the air away from the vampire, her vision of it would be replaced with one of a certain knight who had now taken her place before it. He had with a single hand plucked her from danger and tossed her away. With one crude motion, he had likely saved her life.

In the other hand he held his sword. With demon-like speed and ogre-like strength, he brought the sword into the very same space Saravati had just vacated, in one smooth motion. Instead of a fragile girl's skull, that makeshift mace would meet steel wielded with inhuman strength and consummate skill.

Moore had little idea what the significance of the box was. Of its true purpose or meaning. But the fact that the vampire was holding it here and now meant it was undeniably important, and that its destruction would be a blow to her.

However durable and immortal the vampire might be, the box was not her. His sword would destroy it, and if possible, follow through to mutilate her hand as well. Even if she was immortal, shredding her physical form would still allow them an instant of advantage. Until Moore's Claiomh Solais lodged its tip into her heart, this was the dance they would continue.

After all, if their opponent was a monster, then they were monster slayers.