by Kindred Ult
Demenn felt her determination to survive, and so was not above questioning her now. "So you believe that he created this?"
"Yes," she spoke without moving any other part of her body.
"What would that say about his magical powers?" Demenn did not want to know the answer to this question, but knew he must ask it.
Her eyes still down, she took in a deep breath before letting it out. "He's very powerful."
"Wonderful," Demenn let his mind wander to other matters. "how possible would it be to warp in and out of this 'pocket dimension'?"
This question almost seemed to perk her up, as her shoulders came back and her head coked to her side. She truly had to think about this one, and for a moment the anguish left her face. "Pocket dimensions are tricky. Warping in is impossible, that's why they're made. It's so that, even if someone were able to track the warp to here, that certain someone would not be able to follow. We were brought as part of the spell and as witnesses that obviously needed to be dealt with. As to getting out, I could get myself and maybe one other person back to the battlefield, but no more than one, and even that is pushing it."
"What happens if the creator of the dimension is killed?" Demenn was beginning to formulate these facts into a plan.
"The creator is unimportant, but if the person who initiated the warp either decides to undo the dimension or is killed, the warp is undone and all inside it will be sent back to the place of origin." With each word, Sophella was more immersed in her words, and forgot just for a bit about her pain.
It was refreshing, so much so that Demenn hated reminding her of what was out there. "You will be needed out there, Sophella. The necromancers need their leader in a time like this. Does anyone else want to go with her back out?"
Before any could answer, Brand spoke. His voice cut through the conversation like an ax to a sapling, and Demenn even twitched with surprise. "I have no desire to go through. Although, you said that this is a pocket dimension, Sophella, but that it was still technically a part of our world, correct? Just very far underground?"
"Yes." Sophella was slumping again. "We're probably right under where we fought. Lueke didn't have a lot of time, so he did it as close as possible."
"Perfect," was Brand's cryptic reply.
"Why? Does that help you?" Sophella seemed genuinely confused, and Demenn felt the same way.
"It was just to see if I would be a significant contributor to this battle or not. Since I will be able to, I will not have to go back with you."
"I'm not leaving now. This is the fun part." Varus spoke before any more conversation could be had on the topic of Brand's contributions, and his eyes glowed with glee. "I want to get that bastard's heart for what he's done."
"I feel the same, more or less." The first squad captain replied. "This is not the time to be abandoning the fight, when we are most needed."
Without seeming to do so, all eyes turned as one to Niethel. He became aware of their attention and looked down at Sophella. Her eyes stared back up at him, and in there he saw everything he had ever wanted. He saw her acceptance. He could tell that she knew he was brave, even if he went with her now. He looked around and received a nod of approval from Demenn. The fighting out there would be just as bad as in here, of course, and as Demenn had said before, Sophella would need a guard. He looked back into her eyes and saw fragility he had never noticed before. She had lost one dear to her twice in as many nights, and she was in pain. Something was missing. She needed someone to fill that void, and it could very well be him. He saw in those eyes everything he could ever have wanted.
Almost.
"No." He shook his head. "I won't make any excuses for myself any more. I can't go back with you, Sophella, even though I can't tell you how much I want to. I will not run away this time. I'm standing with you, Demenn."
He winced as she pulled herself away from him, not slowly like the first time, but quickly. Her face was filled with hurt and anger when it met his again, but when their eyes locked, the anger faded, and it was replaced by something he could not really comprehend. He would never again have the chance to be what he could have been to her, but what he saw in her face then was that he could be more than a protector, an uplifter, someone to fill the emptiness. It was almost as if, for the first time, she saw him as an equal. It filled him with more gladness than he could ever have imagined. He realized that he could never have given her what she desperately wanted, but that he might just be able to give her what she needed.
"Niethel," It was Demenn who spoke now, "are you sure about this?"
Niethel answered without taking his eyes off of Sophella's. "Absolutely. I'd rather die by your side than live hiding behind your back."
"So then, am I going back alone?" Sophella did not seem as upset as Demenn would have guessed, but he assumed that he had missed something.
"Yes, unless anyone wants to change his—" He was interrupted by the first captain, who had just recently stood, coughing. It started out just as if he were clearing his throat, but it did not stop, and continued to increase in intensity until he was hacking on his hands and knees. When it finally stopped, he looked up from the puddle of blood he had spit onto the many-colored tiles on the ground and smiled weakly. Demenn then saw the many openings all over the captain's clothing, and the bloody cuts underneath them. It was a wonder the captain had been able to stand at all. It was then he understood.
"Death was powerful." It was not a question.
The captain's face smiled again, but this one seemed more genuine. It was a tribute to a fallen foe. "He was definitely the greatest warrior I have fought in my long career. He might even have been able to best me, but his devotion to his leader was his undoing. He tried to stop that arrow even when he knew the consequences. Had he focused solely upon myself, he might be here instead of I. He was a fool, but a brave one."
Demenn could not help but smile at the captain, who could insult an enemy while paying him the greatest compliment possible. "I hope that you can see you are in no condition to fight on this battlefield, especially when we have no means of healing your wounds. It would be better for you to return with Sophella." He could only hope that the first unit captain was not like every other one and would listen to reason.
The captain gave a long sigh before slowly nodding.
"Yes, I suppose that you are right, as much as I hate to admit it."
Sophella walked up to him and placed a hand on his back, which was right at her side since he was still kneeling. She sniffed, wiped an eye, and looked at Niethel. Their eyes met and held for one final moment.
"Don't die, Niethel." She half-whispered.
"Of course." He replied with more bravado than he felt. "You can't die either, Sophella."
She smiled, and not one of her fake smiles. It was one of her rare, truly real smiles, and it sent shivers along Niethel's spine even after the captain and her were gone.
His reverie was broken by Demenn, who seemed remarkably less emotional. "Hmmm, I never did get that captain's name."
A voice boomed out behind them, and all four remaining fighters spun around with their hands on their weapons. "His name is Marcus. He is a first class vampire who has the Other form ability. He is slightly older than nine hundred years, and has been one of the captains for four hundred years. He was in the battle between Galstryx and the first incarnation of Lucifer, and has been the captain of the first unit since the first Werepyre Wars. Out of all of you, he was undoubtedly the strongest."
Demenn, who was the only one facing away from the origin of the voice, spun around quickly with his sword out in front of him. Luke was sitting on the raised dais, with his feet on the tiled floor. His elbows rested on his knees and he was facing them with a contented smile on his face. Interestingly, he looked far different as a human than Demenn had unconsciously assumed he would. His face was very normal-looking; slightly neanderthal in structure, and seemed like any others'. His hair was long, straight, and raven black. It fell past
his bare shoulders and down to his chest, and even though he was sitting and hunched over, he still looked rather tall to Demenn.
He wore no clothing save for a barbarian-looking loincloth, with plate mail on the front, and huge steel-toed boots on his feet. His lack of clothing only accentuated his extremely muscular frame. Upon seeing him, Demenn could not help but compare him to Triplecorpse Hammerblow. They were both the biggest men Demenn had ever seen. However, where Triplecorpse looked huge, but still seemed proportional, as if every muscle on his body served its own purpose to perfection and everything was exactly where it should be; Lueke looked bizarrely puffed up, as if all of his muscles were simply blown full of meat rather than formed on their own. The end result was something strangely wrong. It was not something that looked ridiculous, or otherworldly, but rather just a tinge on the strange side that would make an onlooker tilt his head in curiosity. There was simply a subtle sense of wrongness to him.
"Hello Lueke." Demenn spoke conversationally.
Lueke smiled back sarcastically. When he spoke, it was with a measured tone, but even though he was hundreds of feet away, his voice carried as if he were only a few steps from Demenn. "Hello Demenn. It is so nice of you to join me in my realm. You know, you're a funny man. You lived most of your life with only revenge as your reason for living, but the most important things that have ever happened to you have come about after that revenge. Looking back, it must seem so small and pointless—your quest to kill Wulf. I wonder if you ever shake your head in disbelief at the short-sightedness of your younger days. How completely self-absorbed you were, secure in your complete sense of right."
Demenn raised an eyebrow at the man sitting before him. That Lueke knew so much about his past little surprised him, but he had to wonder why he would bring it up now. Still, Lueke was not done, and turned next to Varus.
"And you Varus, you lived most of your life in the desperate attempt to keep yourself and your sister alive. You lied, robbed, and killed just to keep yourselves fed. To keep your own lives, you took others. But then again your life never really started until after both of you died, did it? You've really taken to your role, too. A regular vampire, you. Korinna must be so proud."
Varus had been looking rather bemused at Lueke's talk, but once his sister was mentioned, he snarled and bared his fangs at Lueke. It was Lueke's turn to look amused as he continued his strange monologue with Brand.
"It wouldn't be right to leave Brand the 'vampire slayer' out of this, would it. You've lived your very, very long life trying to protect life, which is just so precious to you. And yet you joined the werewolves, who see life as completely worthless. A true 'vampire slayer'" Lueke spit the word out. "would have given himself up to be killed once he became self-aware, but you threw your hat in with the werewolves just like that. Like it was in your blood. And haven't you done so well for yourself. It's funny, in the short time you've been a werewolf, you've done more for them than many werewolves do in their entire lives. You did more for them than you ever could have done against them as a vampire slayer. You even slaughtered your best friend and brought that young girl into the heart of the beasts' den. Hell, with what you've done, and with how powerful you've become, you could probably become then next King after the old one dies. You could change that young girl after that and make her your Queen. Wouldn't that be ironic."
Brand, for his credit, showed little reaction to Lueke's taunts. In fact, he barely seemed like he had heard it. He was once again staring off into the distance, as if trying to look at the surface of the other side of the earth. Lueke was given a slight pause at the complete lack of attention Brand was giving him, and when he spoke again, it was almost as if the wind was out of his sails.
"Well then, anyway, I guess you're wondering why we're not fighting right now, well let me tell you—"
"Hey, wait!" Niethel interrupted him. "what about me, don't you have some kind of thing for me to make me feel bad?"
Lueke seemed to look at Niethel for the first time, and he appeared rather surprised. "Um, I didn't see you there. Weren't you supposed to leave with that dominate chick once you were given the chance? Who are you, anyway?"
It was the complete sincerity and innocence of his question that pissed Niethel off more than anything. He honestly had not prepared to see him, or had even registered his presence until just now. "Oh, what the hell? I'm Niethel, first class vampire, and I'm the freaking dominate one, thank you very much!"
"Like hell." Lueke smiled, he was getting his good humor back.
"Hey, screw you!" Niethel looked like he was ready to charge Lueke at any moment.
Lueke held up his hands in mock-surrender. "Well, regardless, you are not a candidate to be Lucifer's Champion, and as such you pose no threat to me, and as such I have nothing else to say to you."
"Bastard."
Lueke acted like he had never heard Niethel and addressed Demenn and the other two. "Like I was saying. I'm sure you are all wondering why we're not fighting to the death right now, and the answer to that is simple. As it is, I could not beat all three of you—"
"Four!" Niethel practically screamed.
"—At once, so I am communing with Lucifer so that he will grant me the powers I own for being his champion. With those I should be able to destroy you all." Once he finished speaking, he stood up, turned around, and stepped onto the platform. When he did this Demenn noticed two things, one was the he was about seven feet tall, and the other was that a large gauntlet covered his left hand. Its edges were covered in jagged points, and five large spikes protruded from the fingers like deadly claws. It was heavily armored, but looked surprisingly flexible and fit Lueke's hand like a glove. Demenn remembered Skull's last words and assumed that this was the "spell breaker" he had spoken of. For some reason, it also seemed like it served another purpose besides that of stopping spells, but no possibilities came to mind for Demenn at the moment.
Lueke walked up to the altar, which came up to his waist, and took one talon of his gauntlet and drew a line along his right arm. He held his arm over the altar, and a steady stream of blood flowed down from him to splash upon the metal structure. Once an apparently-predetermined amount of blood had been spilled, he bent over and placed his chest on the altar, his back bare to the ceiling. For a moment, nothing happened, but then, without warning, the four snake heads opened their mouths wider, let out chillings hisses, and plunged their fangs into his back from all sides. Once the teeth sung into his flesh, the drug themselves back toward their corners, cutting deep lines in his flesh before rearing back and biting in again. It was like being scourged by living beings with malicious intent, and the blood ran out of Lueke like it was being ejected by his body in disgust.
After seven or eight bites and drags from each head, They finally went back to their original positions, and Lueke was able to straighten his back. It took a long time, and it was clear to Demenn what excruciating pain he was in. Once his back was straight, though, the wounds were suddenly gone, as if they had never existed. He was covered in sweat, and the splotches of blood on the altar made claim to his torture, but even Demenn was forced to wonder if it had ever really happened. Lueke panted for a bit, then looked up and spoke in a reasonably come manner.
"It has been done. Lucifer has been called." He was silent for a moment, then he spoke again in an almost embarrassed tone. "He usually takes awhile to answer, so... Do you guys want to talk or something?"
"What the hell?" Niethel's jaw might as well have been on the floor for how surprised he looked.
"What? I haven't really spoken to anyone in over a century, for fear that I would let something slip and reveal something that would get me killed. I've been living a lie for a very long time, and I've only talked about what must be done, and how it must be done. You can't fault me now for wanting to actually have a clear, honest conversation. It may be the last one I'm allowed to have. And, since you'll all hopefully be dead very soon, it shouldn't matter what you know. Well, either that or
I'll be dead, which would also make it not matter. So, please, for my sanity, ask me something, anything." His tone seemed strangely friendly, almost pleading.
"Why are you doing all of this?" Demenn had no intention of letting an opportunity to more fully understand the situation slip him by.
"What? Trying do kill all of the vampires and werewolves? Well, now there's a question actually worth answering." Lueke's face brightened up like a child in a toy store, and Demenn, for the first time, understood just how long Lueke must have wanted to tell someone about his plan, how it worked, and why he was doing it. "Let's see, about one hundred years ago, my sister, Christine, was stolen from my family by the vampires. We all loved my sister, she was like a ray of sunshine in this black forest. My two brothers immediately concocted schemes to get her back, with Edward becoming E and Galstryx beginning his study of vampires in complete detail. As I'm sure you know, Galstryx's scheme went horribly wrong, and he single-handedly killed not only our entire family, but also our entire town, or city, whatever it was. He killed all of us, well, almost all of us.
