A/N: A short chapter before the storm.

Ser Valeriy seethed as he fell behind the indifferent Dracul. His eyes threatened to cut the Dragon down as he walked. Fortunately, the crusader's combat cross, embellished with an artistic gilt, remained in its holster. For now.

Augustus guessed what was going on in the knight-commander's head. He stopped to let Valeriy catch up with them, then continued by his side.

Crossing the walkway arching over a river of lava, the three vampires made their way to the City's main block of cells. It was a rectangular pit with dozens of smaller cubbyholes carved into its walls, designed to house prisoners until further use – many of which were freshly filled. Augustus knew many were captured or abducted during the raid on Vaseria two days ago, but unlike common bandits who'd hold them for ransom, the ultimate fate of these people was less than savory. The soldier had his qualms – was he any better that an average drunk who couldn't live without a fill, blood instead of alcohol? He had proclaimed he had a code of conduct, but was this true? He envied Valeriy's self-control and willpower.

What would happen if the crusader found these prisoners?

As they descended into the pit, a strange beast sauntered toward them: a young girl with coal-black hair, a dress of fine-spun cottons, and a live viper draped around her neck and shoulders like some scarf. Medusa, he thought she was called. He'd seen her from afar, but never had the guts to come near. Evidently, it was her turn to play jailor while duties called her sisters elsewhere. She was by far the most humane of the Gorgons, in his opinion, and unlike her siblings she walked upright... most of the time.

He was grateful for that.

The Gorgon caressed her pet. The snake eyeballed them, tongue flicking out. "My Lord, what brings you here? Can I be of assistance?"

"Yes, we need to see Pierre," Dracul said. "How's he doing, by the way?"

"The Frenchman? Bearing in mind the state in which you brought him in, stable."

"Did you bandage his face?"

"We did, but—"

"Gabriel, why are there people here?" came Ser Valeriy's curt voice, cutting Medusa off. "I can hear them whispering, crying."

Oh boy, the fuse has been lit. Augustus stepped aside, but stayed within earshot out of morbid curiosity.

To his credit, Dracul did not bat an eye. "I thought the answer was obvious."

"Is it now?" The knight-commander furrowed his eyebrows. "Enlighten this crotchety old man."

The elder vampire primmed his mouth at him. "You hate me without relent, father, that I know, but you have to come to terms with what you are. Denial will drive you mad."

"Give me the keys, Gabriel. I'm setting them free," Valeriy spat. "I won't let these innocents be slaughtered like livestock."

"Even if I had them on me, I wouldn't give them to you." Dracul's lips pulled back, baring fangs. "Get a grip on yourself. Just because you can exist on animal blood doesn't mean I, August, and that girl can. Or want."

"You never gave me animal, so I wouldn't know," Augustus interjected in a half-solemn half-jokey tone – he had to before things between these two got ugly. Otherwise, the unfriendly knight could very well be reduced to a wet smear on the ground. "Anyway, Drac? Ser? This ain't what we're here for. Monsieur Moitessier, remember?"

Valeriy gave his foster-son the evil eye and cocked his head to the side. "Right. Another time, maybe. Lead on, creature," he addressed Medusa.

The Gorgon didn't move an inch. Instead, she gazed at her benefactor and cleared her throat.

"Do as he says." Dracul waved his hand, expression surly. "Best we get this over quickly."

She nodded, hands clutched behind her back. "Please follow, my Prince. But I must warn you. The Frenchman is suffering from hysteria, and the acute panic attacks have made it difficult for us to properly feed him. Watch out. He may try to pick a fight."

The Dragon scoffed and set after Medusa. "Another thing for me to worry about."

"Well, perhaps you should've left your Brotherhood associates alone," Valeriy said. "Then you wouldn't have to deal with these problems."

Dracul shrugged. "You'll have to mind the exit, August," he threw the soldier's way as they neared the cell hatch. "In case our womanizing friend chooses unwisely."

"While I don't approve of Pierre's frivolousness either, you needn't coat your words in acid every time you mention him." The knight-commander sighed and looked away. "We all makes mistakes. Pierre's revolved around the pleasures of the flesh."

"I care not for his raunchy adventures. His woman conceived a daughter, and he neglected both of them. He didn't care for them, or children in general. I've hurt Trevor, I know, and I regret it every day, but at least he is given due attention." He nodded to Medusa. "We'll take it from here. You're dismissed, but don't venture off."

"That much attention ain't always healthy, too," Augustus observed. "Trevor's a loner. Frequently, he'd roam long and far, claiming it put his mind at ease. Does this remind you of someone?"

"Oh? And where would he roam?"

The fledgling cackled. "Funny, that, ser I-love-the-mountains-so-much-I'm-gonna-name-myself-after-them. Or did you forget the hilltop that's twenty minutes away from the Radiant Heart?"

A sincere grin quirked Dracul's lips. "The way you speak has always made me smile, my friend."

"Hey, I know what grief feels like, Gabe. Remember when I frankly thought my life was over? It was your word of advice – 'there is no weakness in our sorrows' – that had pulled me out of it." He gave the other vampire a quick, darting glance. "And now, I can't help but wonder. Did I miss some chance at preventing it all? Was it possible for me to talk you out of seeing your quest through? I suppose the Brotherhood would've coerced you into doing their bidding regardless, but I like to think that, had I been there, you'd have listened to me rather than the Elders."

"I— I don't know. I don't think anything could have deterred me." Dracul ducked his head, hiding his face. "Marie was everything to me. The Brotherhood... made use of that. And I won't see her ever again."

Augustus scratched his ear and looked away – he couldn't sympathize with his friend. Josephine had to be kept apart from her husband, unaware, because of Dracul. Sure, the vampire lord treated this as a temporary setback, but after the girl, Augustus had no wish to pour the blood down anyone's throat. Of course, he had yet to inform his sire of this.

"All this seems a tad contrived." Valeriy's mouth tightened. "Exarch Volpe's negligence had turned you into this, despite him keeping track of your whereabouts. Why? For what reason? A question I'll have to answer some other time." He gestured to the iron hatch. "After you."

For the first time since their descent into the underground city, their sire hesitated. Expression pinched, he grabbed onto the crank and turned. There was an audible clank and the hatch swung open. A pungent odor of carrion assaulted Augustus's nostrils, making him sniff. Dracul must've smelled it, too. He hummed.

"Pierre's been fed, but the Gorgons didn't remove the body. It rots even in this heat." He swiveled to stare at his foster father. "I'll stay with August, if you don't mind. Perhaps—"

"I do mind. That's why you're coming with me." Valeriy leaned back, arms crossed. "I want you to regard your handiwork."

He paused. "Fine."

The three entered Pierre's cell: a cavern with a low ceiling, crowded interior, no furnishings, and other than a single, desiccated corpse, there was nothing of note. Augustus stopped at the threshold like he was told, while Valeriy and Dracul crept up on a vaguely-human lump, dressed in a too-big prisoner robe, laying on its left side, tucked away in the one of the nooks.

The Frenchman's head and upper torso were swaddled in bands of cloth, with gaps for mouth and left eye. Said bandages concealed little – Augustus could see the scabs, the pale, welted skin of a punished vampire. An overall questionable improvement, but at least his sides were heaving up and down steadily.

"Pierre?" The knight-commander hunkered down beside the prisoner – the Dragon remained standing. "Pierre, can you hear me? It's me, Valeriy. Can you speak?"

No response.

"He's thinking we're the jailors, bothering him," Dracul spoke, impartial. "Turn him on his back."

"Now— Nowadays, I'm h-hard-of-hearing, but I'm n-not d-deaf," Pierre suddenly rasped and slammed his fists against the sides of his head. The eye cracked open, showing a blood-red iris. "Je me demandais quand tu re-deboulerais."

"Pierre, come on. I'm getting you out of this hellhole." Valeriy's gloved hands cupped the Maven's shoulders. "I know what happened and I won't let him hurt you."

"S-Ser Valeriy..." Pierre sighed and sat up. "Oh, I h-had prayed you would pass away w-without be-becoming undead. But here you are. Both of us a-are."

"I appreciate your words, though I am undeserving. I have taken a life in my bloodlust. This weighs on my mind." He tugged on the loose end of the wrappings.

The mage startled. "D-Do you—"

"I want to see what he did to you." The crusader's voice was soft. He undid the bandages, and Augustus leaned in, curious.

And averted his gaze moments later.

Pierre's face could pass for a mutilated mess – the right half was gone, apart from the cheek, chin, and lips. Bone poked through the flesh, surrounded by patches of hairless skin. The right ear and eye were straight up missing, and ribbons of flesh, melted and charred, covered the socket. Speaking of, the wound resembled something. Aye, right there, when Pierre turned his head to the side. A handprint.

Augustus began to fidget. He'd seen Dracul's strange fire gauntlets during the attack on Vaseria, but he didn't know he'd use them outside of combat.

Blood welled up in the Frenchman's only eye, and he burst into tears. Only one side of his misshapen face moved unrestricted. "H-He used t-tools! Then he did s-something to m-me. He made m-me do things! H-He made me hurt myself! Mon Dieu! The knives, th-the r-ropes, the—" He drew his knees up under his chin, rivulets of blood trickling down his cheek.

"You got off relatively easy," Dracul commented, a frightening look of boredom on his face. "You should thank August. Without his intervention, you'd be six feet under for what you did to Trevor."

"Shhh... Don't listen to him. It's going to be all right." Valeriy stroked the Maven's back. "Rest. I'll take care of this." He got up.

"Well?" The elder vampire tapped his foot.

The knight-commander placed his hands on his hips. "I'm not going to make a scene, boy. I can see that you're ill and need help. Thus I must leave your company, return to the Radiant Heart, and request an audience with Exarch Volpe. He has to explain himself. He'll know what to do."

Dracul shook his head. "The Brotherhood isn't going to welcome you back with open arms." His façade cracked – Augustus sensed concern in his voice. "You talk about leaving, but there is no mention of coming back."

"Being here makes me an accomplice to your crimes. I have to go."

"You'd go? What about the promise you made to my son?" the Dragon accused, pointing a finger at his foster father. "Look, if everything was as simple as you paint it."

Red streaked the fusty cell air – Pierre heaved a wail – and the bloodied whip yanked Valeriy's combat cross out of its holster. Dracul caught the Vindicator in mid-air and offered it back to its owner. The blessed weapon lay on his palm, yet nothing happened.

Valeriy breathed out. "What is the meaning of this? It... it doesn't hurt you? How can this be? Every single one of Gandolfi's weapons was soaked in holy water."

"I shattered the Vampire Killer in a fit of rage eleven years ago, but I was able to use the chain in self-defense," Dracul clarified. "I have the pieces on me, and they have never caused me discomfort. Holy water poses no threat. In other words, the Brotherhood's magics hold no power over me. Because, regardless of how I might feel about the matter, I am still Heaven's chosen. I found favor in His eyes."

The crusader bounced a knuckle against his forearm, brows furled but gaze blank. "I see."

"You aren't really leaving, are you?"

"These are ill tidings, ill tidings indeed. I'll have to think on it." He collected the Vindicator. "In the meantime, command your jailors to move Pierre out of this pit. Lay a finger on him and you will suffer my wrath." To Augustus's ears, the threat sounded empty, as if Valeriy couldn't keep up a conversation anymore.

"Noted, father." The former knight nodded, serious.

"Excuse me." Valeriy clutched his head, paused to hoist the shriveled, decomposing body over his shoulder and walked out. The fledgling hurriedly got out of his way.

Dracul's eyes rove over the curled up Maven. "Conscience is telling me to put you out of your misery, Pierre," he said. "But I won't. Because you may yet prove to be of use to me. We'll see."

The maimed Frenchman stood up, stumbled, and retorted with a quiver in his voice, "J-Je ne servirai pas quelqu'un d'aussi v-vil que toi, bâtard! Regarde-moi. Mon v-visage, il ne reste rien! Tu m'as torturé et défiguré! Trouver u-un autre larbin!"

Augustus couldn't understand a word of what Pierre just bellowed – and neither could Dracul, he was sure of it – but the loud, shrieking tone left nothing to the imagination. A swift punch to Pierre's jaw knocked him to the ground. This time, the soldier stayed back: Pierre should've known better than to taunt someone who could transform into a damn dragon. The mage grabbed at his face, squealing, tears running freely.

"Slaves belong on their knees, remember that well," Dracul hissed, fists clenched. "I'm offering you food and shelter. Refuse and I will throw you to the feral remainders of Carmilla's hordes. They make demands of me – my blood in your veins may tide them over." He inhaled. "However, if you run into the children you were supposed to rescue, you're going to tell them a priest doused you in holy water. Speak the truth at your own peril." He swiveled on his heels and approached Augustus.

"Finished?" Augustus rubbed at his hands. "You know I dislike being below ground, so I don't wanna spend more time here than absolutely necessary."

"Aye." The other vampire looked back at the sobbing Frenchman. "I'll let him integrate himself into our society like father wants, but I will make sure he never forgets his place. He is a lesser being and he shall be treated as such." A smirk twisted his lips. "I think we deserve something for our efforts, wouldn't you agree?"

"Something for the parched throat?" the soldier presumed.

"Exactly."

Dracul was testing him, Augustus could tell from the quizzical tilt of his head. "Sure, I see no harm," he shot back, arms crossed.

A slight scowl wrinkled Gabriel's brow. "Really?" He leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well then, follow me. Supply is low, demand is high, so we'll share. Where is Medusa?" He clapped his hands. "Bring us a captive and be quick about it!"

"A couple of swigs, no more," he said, tagging after his sire. "But aren't you worried about ser Valeriy?"

The Prince shrugged. "Valeriy will conform. He just needs time."

Later that night. Bernhard's Castle, Augustus's Room

After concluding their business within the City's walls and parting ways with August, the vampire lord checked in on his wards. The hour was late, the children would've gone to bed by now, yet he was dumbfounded to find Hector and Isaac in the common room. Cloaked in shadow, the two would-be knights argued in hushed tones, oblivious to his presence. Dracul did not eavesdrop: some problems the children had to learn to sort out on their own. Likewise, their privacy had to be respected. He shifted into mist – one last thing before retiring.

Some minutes later, Dracul, with a tankard in his hand, knocked on the door to Augustus's room. A waft of a sweet-smelling aroma hit him, and he smiled, despite having dined. Clara should appreciate this mug of fresh human blood. All things considered, she earned this.

He had two options: rousing the kitchen staff that was comprised of hunchbacks or getting it himself. He went with the latter not because he pitied that race of roguish bottom feeders, but because getting human blood spared him the worry.

"Hello," he murmured, not wanting to spook the woman. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," came her tremulous voice.

Shutting the door behind him, Dracul took a look around. Clara sat by the window, wrapped tightly in a blanket. Her skin appeared ever-alabaster in the moonlight, her red hair was brushed back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, and a cherry-red glimmer brightened her eyes. The vampire lord approached and set the drink down on the windowsill. She gave him a thin smile and huddled up.

"As a child, when I couldn't sleep, I'd stare at the scenery. I guess I made a habit of this," she spoke and cast a longing glance outside. "It's beautiful here. Gloomy and macabre, but not without its charm. I suppose."

"You don't have to pretend to like it here." Dracul took a seat in the closest available chair and crossed his legs. "You can leave anytime you wish. I will not stop you."

Clara took the mug and sniffed. "Can I stay?"

He slouched. "Look, I'm sorry this happened to you. I should not have goaded Augustus on. I accused him of being weak, unable to muster the resolve required to turn our peer, a Brotherhood Maven. But I didn't think he'd go out and share his blood with an outsider – you. Or that you'd wake up at all."

The woman's lips twisted into a slight grimace. Her grasp around the tankard stiffened, showing white knuckles. "I thought you fought numerous battles over the years against the forces of darkness. Why are you doing this?"

He wanted to snap, to tell this girl to mind her own bloody business, he really did, but the instant he opened his mouth, his anger evaporated. He ran a hand through his hair and pondered. "That I did, but at the time, I didn't know that ridding the world of evil would mean severe repercussions for humankind. In truth, evil cannot be rooted out. It's all an illusion conjured by the self-righteous Elders of the Brotherhood of Light. There will always be pain, temptation, deception, and sin. Some men just show stronger convictions than others."

Clara's chest hitched. "But what about our Lord? He didn't give up on us, right?"

Dracul squinted and wrinkled his nose. "No, He didn't, but neither does He care about what's happening here. Creatures of unfathomable power threatened to exterminate our existence, yet He did not lift a finger over it. So, no. Don't expect a divine intervention to whisk you away." He drew in a slow, steady breath to compose himself. "Let us change the subject. You said you're having trouble sleeping?"

"Yes." Clara gazed off into the far horizon, hidden from view by the castle's rising spires. "I've been having nightmares. I think they have something to do with me being a vampire, but I'm not sure." She looked him in the eye. "Did you use to dream too?"

"I did. I will not speak of them, but I might have something..." He rummaged through his coat and took out an opaque, faceted gem. It was constantly shifting colors from purplish to bright blue and teal. "Here."

The woman accepted it and yelped, nearly dropping it. "Ow! It's so cold! What is it?"

"An enchanted stone that will help you sleep. It manifested itself alongside my sword; I think it once belonged in its pommel. You need this more than I. Just have it with you or on your nightstand, and nothing should disturb your slumber."

"Oh." She examined the gem like a child would a new toy. "Thank you, Dracul." She brought the tankard to her lips and downed the contents in several gulps. "Will I be able to leave this room soon? I'd love to meet your wards, if that's okay."

He gave her a sidelong glance, frowning. "Is there a particular reason for it?"

"N-No, not really." Her hands cupped the gem in her lap. "I want to be of assistance, that's all..."

"I won't let a stranger near them. One of these charges is my son, Trevor Belmont. The other seven are his – expendable – friends," Dracul stated dryly. "I neither know you, nor trust you, and I have many enemies. You may very well be a spy sent by the Brotherhood or Zobek."

"But I'm not?" she said, voice somewhat reedy. "I'm an herbalist. I mix healing potions and prepare ointments to make ends meet. I've never held a weapon in my whole life! Even during vampire raids on Wygol!" She bit her lip as her chin quivered.

"An herbalist, you say? Hm." He watched her, impassive. No, that maudlin charlatan Zobek wouldn't employ a young, inexperienced woman to run errands for him. And a witch to boot. "Then perhaps a compromise? You will be assigned as an apprentice to our diviner, Drahoslav. Assist him, and if everything goes smoothly, I will introduce you to the kids. Lessons in herbalism may prove useful and in return, we, the former Brotherhood recruits, will teach you how to protect yourself."

Clara fidgeted. "Protect myself? But I'm no warrior."

"Basic self-defense is needed if you wish to survive," Dracul pointed out. "Evil is drawn to this place. You have to show the beasts you are not prey."

"What? I thought – with you being a vampire – vampires would be at the top of the food chain here. Is that not the case?"

"Aye, I'm the one in command, but it is not because I'm a vampire." He guffawed softly. "I am the Dragon. I keep the fearful lesser races in line, but the threat of an opposition rising remains. I do persecute those creatures to make this castle a safe haven for children." A fleeting smile crinkled his lips and he got up. "But I've taken enough of your time. I'll send Drahoslav to take a look at you tomorrow."

"Thank you." She beamed. "I won't let you down."

Year of Our Lord, 1st of November 1058. Unknown Location

Zobek the Necromancer ground his teeth together.

He was the great and fearsome Lord of the Dead, the Grim Reaper, the sovereign ruler of the Abyss to the east of the Aghartian civilization! He was the last Lord of Shadow left standing! And here he was raiding godforsaken graveyards to draft troops.

He kicked a tombstone in frustration.

Under normal circumstances, watching undead rise from their resting places would fill him with glee, but not this time. The body had lingered in the ground for so long, the worms had turned it into a mass of coagulated black ooze. It stumbled toward the lesser necromancer that had reanimated it, melting, filling the air with the stink of rotted flesh. Zobek eyed the brainless, grotesque zombie and scowled.

"Scavenge what you can and stitch it with someone else," he ordered his thrall – a boyish apprentice whose name he frankly couldn't be bothered to remember.

"At once, lord Zobek." His follower bowed, its magic whisking the useless carcass away. "Shall I proceed?"

"You have your orders." He waved his hand, desperate for some peace and quiet. The boy was eager to serve and learn, but sometimes, that liveliness rubbed the wrong way.

Examining the weeds entangling the headstones, the former Lord of Shadow mused, adding issues to his agenda. Another Gravedigger might come in useful; perhaps a second detour to the Shadow Plane was in order. Following that, he needed to revisit his devastated homeland and cultivate the soil for the creeping roots... The spell fizzled as he attempted to gather the tainted energies into his palm. But that could wait. First, he had to reclaim his power, find those who'd join him, and rally an army.

Of course, accomplishing such a task in this day and age... Zobek couldn't say he missed the company of his murdered brother and sister, but at least their kind were tiresome and predictable. Cornell was hell-bent on conquering other races and Carmilla kept to herself, diligently guarding the demon they had caged. Gabriel, however, was an enigma. He had heard his old ally-slash-puppet had reemerged by massacring a village – so much for heroism, but then again, anyone would buckle under the absolute evil that was the Forgotten One's power – but the rumor lacked details. A part of him regretted not being able to indoctrinate Gabriel into a compliant mage-slave, but what's done was done. Carmilla, though dead, had gotten the last laugh, and he had to sort this mess out on his own.

Zobek's body tensed. Satan was well and alive, out there in the pits of Hell, scheming. Fortunately, the few spies he had dispatched to investigate the Devil's activities on this plane returned with nothing to report. Maybe, with this news, he could concentrate his resources on one foe at a time. A foe that was an immediate threat to him.

The Dark Lord glanced at the warrior sitting close by with his legs folded: the outcome of him calling in a few favors. He wore an intricate suit of pitch-black armor with the right pauldron painted red and a helmet that obscured his face. His enchanted katana – the Masamune – unsheathed, gleamed of ebony and scarred metal.

"Lieutenant," he called.

"Yes, sir," his bodyguard intoned. "Do you wish to gather intelligence on Gabriel Belmont?"

"He is not operating under that name anymore, as far as I'm aware, but yes, precisely. He will come for me sooner or later. We must be prepared."

The Lieutenant gave a mocking snort and stood up. "You are nervous, lord Zobek. I can see the fear in your eyes. You needn't worry. You've transcended death at the hands of Lucifer. Surely, you are mighty enough to deal with that gnat."

A muscle jumped in Zobek's cheek. "Need I remind you that Gabriel holds the combined power of my former accomplices and the Forgotten One? Underestimating him will be the last thing we'll do, understood?"

"Understood. Though does he really realize his own potential? That demon was an abyssal brute, simple-minded and shortsighted. A human cannot control all of its terrible power."

He thought about it for a second. "I require concrete information, and there's only one way of getting it. Through magic. Gabriel knows I live, but as long as I keep an ear to the wind and don't stir up a hornet's nest, I should be safe."

"I?" Surprise colored the Lieutenant's voice. "You do not want me to go with you, sir?"

Zobek tapped a finger against his bearded chin. "The Brotherhood of Light patrols in the southwest portion of area around Carmilla's fortress. It always has. I can blend in if I am seen. You, on the other hand, aren't stealthy. Stay here, make sure my... apprentice doesn't conjure something he can't control."

"I'll keep an eye on the brat," the warrior sighed.

"Good. I'll be back soon."