NIGHTWORLD

19: Vampire Eyes

Bloody ice. The best thing about leaving Hungary for France, and eventually Africa, was getting away from the freezing weather. Despite his wolf coat, not to mention the lies he'd told to placate his father, Jaro had never come around to stomaching the freezing cold, let alone actually liking it. To this day, he was convinced that those that claimed to find it refreshing were telling lies. His father had never admitted to any other kind of weakness, why should he start when it came to the countryside?

Calls a lot more into question, doesn't it? That was the problem with Hungarian men, Jaro figured. They spent so much time trying to prove how rough and unflappable they were, you could never quite be sure when they actually liked something. Where does it end? Maybe he loved Rosé, but because his father drank whiskey he put on a grim face for that as well. It was a thought almost funny enough to laugh at.

And me, Papa? Jaro wondered, brushing snow from his shoulder as he hefted himself up onto the frosty ladder rungs. How much of all that was just pretend? 

The ladder in question was crammed away in a narrow alley, and attached to a stubby little apartment block, made of faded bricks and rising no more than three stories tall. Excluding Zakhar's skyscraping windmill, it seemed that most of the buildings in Orobos were on the shorter side. The valley winds. Jaro could hear them now, a faint, distant wail that bounced against the surrounding cliffsides. With so many empty frozen wilds on the city outskirts, it wouldn't be worth the reinforcement costs to build houses any taller. Unless, of course, it was intended for the de facto God-Emperor of the city. Nothing but the best for our vampire overlords. 

Was Zakhar up there now? Looking down on his tiny slaves? From what Jaro could tell of the townspeople, they lived a bit better than any slaves he'd seen. Far better than any of the residents in Barda, at least. But looks can be deceiving. 

“Hurry up!" Above, Kadir had already reached the top, and was peering back down the ladder at him. “No time for dreaming, Tamasi." Jaro scowled, lifting himself up the rungs stiffly, the chills nipping in his joints. Do vampires feel the cold? Maybe it would be worth turning into a monster, if only just for that. 

Jaro's world lacked colour in the dark, but the detail was still there. Crisp, no different to the daytime. He could make the edges of objects with ease, discern the definition of textures no matter how the shadows clung to them. The others had claimed they could hardly see their paws in front of their face – apparently it was so dark Kadir had almost agreed to cancel the mission. That was for them, but not for Jaro. 

Everything was open to him now, and he needed to stop shirking away from what he could do. He could see better, move faster, push harder. He was becoming a monster, yes, but for now at least, it wasn't without advantages. If only he could stop dwelling on it, stop imagining the squirming parasite knotted around his heart, slowly eating away at his morality and mortality. But could you have killed Fyodor without it? The Lady? The thing in De Vaune's barn?

Two days had come and gone since Jaro killed De Vaune's jailer back in the Chateau. They'd burned it all as they left, with Frankie especially refusing to leave the spider's nest standing at her back. What was stranger was that Kadir had let her. Ever since they first arrived in Nightworld, he'd never seen the dingo quite so shaken. What changed? 

It wasn't just her, either. Something about the attack had unsettled the whole group. What exactly it was, Jaro couldn't quite say. Spiders were frightening, and that one particularly so, but surely it was no worse than the horrors they'd seen at Steambreather. Yet the way the others moved, and the way they looked at him… things were different now. 

They're scared of you. Was it true? They knew him, didn't they? He'd saved their lives, several times, and they'd saved his back in Hungary. I killed Fyodor. I broke Romulus's control. I saved all of them. No one else could have done that. Why were they so fucking ungrateful? Jealous? Of what? Pain, madness, and eventual death? Before they learned of Zakhar's cure, Jaro's best outcome was letting Kristian poison him with mercury. Nobody wanted to be infected. Should he not use the small gifts the affliction allowed him, why not? For their comfort? Fuck their comfort. They have their lives, don't they? 

“Forget it," he spat beneath his breath, finally heaving himself up and over the top of the ladder. Padding across the loose tiles, Jaro was thankful at least that people in Orobos built flat roofs, with so much ice and snow underfoot it would have been impossible to traverse even a gentle slope.

Kadir stood on the far side, crouched by the lip with binoculars to his eyes, scanning the small fortifications that surrounded the base of Zakhar's tower. 

“Can't see shit in this weather," he growled as Jaro joined him. “What about you?"

Jaro shrugged, studying the wrought iron fences, the small courtyard surrounding the massive windmill. Next to the squat buildings of central Orobos, it actually seemed more ridiculous than intimidating, and Jaro had to stifle a giggle. 

“Looks like a courtyard to me," he replied, counting off the guards. There were a lot of them, well-equipped too. “Most guards are outside the gates. Good for us." The tower was fucking loud. Even from across the street, Jaro heard the gears turning inside as the wind cranked the colossal vanes above. It must drive the locals insane trying to sleep with that. Metal-on-metal, stone-against-stone, an endless grind of infernal machinery.

Jaro snatched the binoculars from Kadir's dangling paw. “Give." Pressing them to his eyes, he didn't see much worth commenting on. The tower had many front doors, some ordinary, some huge. Small train tracks crisscrossed the cobbled yard, small orderly piles of large crates stacked about haphazardly. “Looks mostly like a freight yard, to be honest. Zakhar does a lot of trading, I guess."

“If he's experimenting with different metals and herbs, makes sense that he needs to outsource a lot of his goods. Someone like Zakhar isn't likely to restrict himself to local supplies." 

Jaro glanced at the caracal, cocking an eyebrow. “Oh?" 

Kadir shrugged. “That's what your lover-boy said, anyway." 

“The guards look bored," Jaro said, moving on as he pressed the binos back to his eyes. Most of them were staring at cards, quietly chatting. One or two slowly strolled the perimeter, but it looked more like the time-wasting wander of a bored man than a properly organised patrol route. “I wonder why he even bothers putting them out here? Who's stupid enough to try and break into a vampire keep?" 

“Probably just for show," Kadir replied. “Let me ask you, with greed and gluttony down so pat, why bother to stop at pride?" Jaro grunted in agreement. “But this is good news, they're distracted, they'll be eager for any kind of excitement we can bring their way."

“Should I radio Noah then?" Jaro asked. 

“Not yet, let them switch over first. I want a well-rested team that came in expecting boredom."

“Have it your way." Jaro passed the binoculars back to the man, resting back on his haunches behind the roof's lip.

Half-city, and half-testing ground, Orobos had a distinctly different feel to either Cujac or Barda. The former had been friendly and the second had been harsh. Orobos, however, had nothing. It had eclipsed the singular identity of a village with personality, and instead grown into a great machine, plodding ever forwards. Team Two had arrived in town as midday turned to afternoon, and while the streets were certainly busy, the people were all faceless. 

From the little Jaro saw, merchants appeared to be the dominant class. Strutting around in lavish furs and leathers, riding in blanketed palanquins attended to by doting servants. 

Labourers were common and hungry-eyed, but far from out of work. That was probably the biggest difference between here and everywhere else. Every other part of Nightworld had felt, at best, stagnant. Like it was frozen in time, slowly but surely withering away. You got the sense that Dracula's castle had remained unchanged and unchallenged for decades upon decades. The dust Jaro breathed was probably the same dust from a century before. Nothing was new. Perhaps that was the true curse of vampire immortality; an immortal mindset stuck in place, without room for vision.

Zakhar had vision. They could see it already – Orobos was always building, always improving. Bridges were being reinforced, cranes were hauling new kinds of brick. In one street Jaro had seen the ground all shredded up, a dozen-strong team of heavyset labourers putting in what could only be a sewer. This was a new Rome, a frontier. Faceless they may be, the people of the city seemed to walk with a confidence Jaro had yet to see in any other Nightworld mortals. It was a certain air of safety, and certainty. 

But like all vampire promises – that safety was just another lie.

A place of budding vision or not, to Jaro Orobos felt juvenile. Like a fake city, a nuketown experiment… a playset that Zakhar tinkered with. Along with the rich merchants and busying labourers, Jaro had seen more experiments, like the refugees back at Barda. Beggars, usually, camped out in the alleyways or huddled around small fires. They had rearranged limbs or extra eyes. Some had wings, or multiple tails. Many sported mechanical pieces of themselves, and all of them looked as if they lived each day in pain. 

“Are they Black Tongues, too?" 

“Hm?" Jaro looked back to Kadir, still surprised to find him chatting. He'd nearly fallen over in surprise when the caracal volunteered himself to go along with Jaro's part of the plan. “Oh, you mean the guards? Yeah, no. I bumped into one earlier and got a look. He seemed normal to me, I haven't seen any others actually."

“So this is just a job for them." 

“Appears so." Jaro twisted his upper lip. “Not so easy now to let ourselves off the hook for killing them, right? I mean, the Black Tongues are drinking vampire blood. They're dependent, and violent. Even if we left them alone, once we kill their patron they're doomed. If these guys are just tryna feed their family… I dunno. Does that change things?" 

“Of course not." Kadir growled low. “Family or not, they're serving a vampire. Orobos might be the most advanced city in this world, but it's still a haven for a blood-sucking abomination." He shifted in place, wincing slightly and clutching his ribs. “I'm not weak or foolish enough to convince myself otherwise. We have something that needs to be done. Zakhar dies, and we take his cure and whatever else might be useful. If they choose to get in our way, I won't sleep any worse after cutting them down."

“Doesn't it get tiring, being so intense all the time?"

“Tell you what – I do what needs to be done, Jaro. Isla did the same thing before me, and when she stopped her husband murdered her. If we want to keep living, then somebody has to make the difficult choices."

“So why'd you let Frankie burn the chateau down?"

Kadir sighed deeply, tilting his head back. “Yes, that was a risk, but… It's not… Because I…" He stopped, inhaling slowly, as if calming himself down. “Because I understood. Frankie was trapped in that web, so was I. It was like when Romulus had us under control. Worse, actually. That thing from the barn, it was almost mindless, frenzied. Cruelty can be understood, it's a simple and basic urge – being cruel is the easiest thing in the world. But once that freak had me, trapped in those webs I…" He grit his teeth, shivering beneath his snow-dotted poncho. “I was food. Nothing else. Didn't feel right leaving the place standing. I couldn't make myself take that risk, but I could let Frankie do it." 

Jaro shrugged. “Guess I can understand that."

“Understand it, or don't, I don't give a shit Jaro. It had to burn." 

An awkward pause passed between them. Jaro's chest was tight. He desperately wanted to talk to the caracal, but he almost didn't know what to say. If you say the wrong thing, he might ignore you again. Why was it so hard for Kadir to just talk. 

Ask about the others. If anyone will tell you the truth, it'll be him. Jaro had tried to ask Kristian if he'd noticed the strangeness, but the marten had lied. Said 'of course' everyone saw him how they did before. The fact he lied was worse than any harsh truth could have been. That meant Kristian thought different too. Are you afraid of what he'll say? Or afraid that he'll lie to you too?

“What?" Kadir asked, narrowing his eyes at Jaro. “Go on. I can tell you wanna say something stupid. Spit it out."

Jaro snorted, looking away, back out across the dark street. Small oil lamps lit the roads, a first for Nightworld, far as he knew. Zakhar cares at least a little for his mortal subjects, even if nobody is brave enough to actually use them. Belisarius left Barda in the dark. 

“Has something changed? In the last few days? I mean in the group."

“So you noticed it too," Kadir mused, nodding.

It is real. He knew it. But it was hard to tell now… Jaro could feel his thoughts closing in. Growing weirder, more paranoid. Where did he start and the parasite end, exactly? It would influence him, but how could he tell which parts were influence and which were instinct? He tried to remember Chevron's new runes, the ones that would help him hold onto himself. 

“Tell me, Jaro… do you think any of us could have cracked that tarantula's armour like you did?" 

Oh. “I… I didn't think about it." 

“Look at it like this." Kadir leaned in closer, ears back beneath his hood. “I couldn't see a fucking thing down in that nest. Nothing. Yet you could. If you could see yourself the way we do… well. I've been part of this team since Isla and Fyodor first put it together. We've killed plenty of vampires caught wandering around Europe. The ones that accidentally stumbled through the Source, into our world… I wish we knew then how weak they'd been. The things here? That tarantula, Belisarius, Romulus… even Fyodor the fuck-fucking newborn… they're stronger. Maybe its this place, maybe we just got lucky in the past."

“It got the drop on you," Jaro protested. “Ambushed you all, you weren't ready." How would one best be ready for a giant tarantula vampire, exactly?  

Kadir laughed, pointing to his chest. “Hey, the thing only pushed me to the ground and it cracked my ribs. One swipe and it felt like half my pec muscles were torn out." He waved his left arm about. “For now, this can't lift anything heavier than my own cock to piss, it does nothing but hurt, and you've got barely a scratch – when you're the one that actually fought the fucking thing. Listen to me, two things happened back there. First, we remembered just how weak we really are." 

Jaro swallowed. “And second?" 

Kadir poked him in the chest. “We realised how much stronger than us you are. You're not one of us anymore. Maybe you aren't one of them yet, okay sure, but you're something different. You can see in the dark, move faster, hit harder. Fyodor cracked your skull and a bit of blood had you upright again. Even tonight," Kadir pointed down at the street, to the tall spiked fence on the opposite side. “No ordinary person could do this. Don't kid me, you know that, it's obvious."

“I'm not one of them. Zakhar has a cure, Kadir." Jaro hated how his voice shook. “I'm gonna rip this fucking thing out of me."

“I hope so," the caracal said. His mouth twisted, half smile, half scowl. “You know how I feel about this. I already knew it was coming. I hate it. And I hate how much it's gonna hurt me when it happens. I saw what you did to Fyodor, and what you did to Kristian." 

Flashes of memory hit Jaro like a truck. His teeth in Kristian's neck. Fyodor's rib cage split open before him. Blood everywhere. The vrykolakas wriggling in his paw.

Kadir was relentless. “We're vulnerable. And soon you'll be an immortal monster. Useful now. But the others are thinking what I've been thinking since Steambreather."

Don't say it. 

“How long until you turn on us, Jaro?"

“I won't." 

“I've seen it before. God knows it." Jaro flinched as Kadir grabbed his elbow, squeezing. “But. For now. You're still with us… with me. And I am… glad. Of that."

“Kadir…"

“I shouldn't have wasted the little time we have. But what's the point of reading a story, when you already know how it ends, right?"

Jaro blinked as tears stung his eyes. They stared at one another for a moment, only a few heartbeats. Then Kadir hastily looked away, practically shoving Jaro back.

“There, I said it. You can stop pining now." The caracal pressed the binoculars back to his eyes, sniffing sharply as he slipped back into his military persona. “The guards are swapping, tell the others to get ready." 

Jaro clicked his radio on, keeping his voice low. “Checking in, you guys all set?" 

There was a brief crackle of static, and then Noah's voice came through. “We're here chief, everything locked and loaded when you two say the word."

“I am also prepared," added Devna, calling in from her position in a nearby tower. “They did not make it easy to find a tall spot in this stupid city." The sniper was out on her own, while the others were all waiting a few blocks away, just waiting for the right words.

“Now. Let them settle in." Kadir shifted on the spot, one paw braced on his gun, a finger tapping along the side. After the battering at the chateau, they were all itching for a fight.

Sniffing back in the cold, Jaro leaned out over the building's ledge, staring down at the street below. They were only a few stories up, but still the drop felt miles high.

“Kadir… are you sure this is gonna work?" 

“Stop looking down," Kadir grunted. “You made that when we measured it before. Besides, too late to back out now, so you better pray that it does."

“Yeah but…" Vertigo played at Jaro's ears, spinning slightly as his eyes traced across to the other side of the street. The cobbled street was wide, and the fence surrounding Zakhar's compound was nearly as tall as the house they were huddled on top of. What bastard had built the spines of it with spear-like tips? Jaro wished he could throttle him. “And if I can't?" 

“Jaro…" Kadir sighed, shaking his head. “Just shut up, and stop thinking about it."

“Easy for you to say man. You aren't the one who's gonna get skewered if it goes sideways." 

Kadir turned to him, brows clenched, irritation written across his tight features, plain as day. A paw snatched out, seizing Jaro by the collar. “Shut it. Now fucking listen to me. You wanted the truth, I told it. It hurts but that's not an excuse to become a coward after everything else we've been through. Too much happened to stop now.  I saw you break Fyodor and rip out his fucking heart out with your own paws. I saw you stab through that spider's armour when bullets bounced off it. You've saved my life three times now, even though I was a fucking prick right back to you." The caracal leaned in, whiskers twitching. “Stop. Doubting. Just. Do."  

“I…" Jaro swallowed, nodding shortly. 

Kadir grunted, snatching the radio from Jaro's paw and shoving him back. “Noah. We're good here, do your thing." 

The walkie crackled into life. “Roger that, boss-man."

“Kadir, it's alright," Jaro said, gently. “You don't have to be sorry." 

“Did I say I'm fucking sorry?" The caracal spat, refusing to meet his eyes. “You better pray that Zakhar really does have a cure in there, Tamasi. If you made me care about you only to go and fucking die, I will never forgive it. Got that?"

“Um…"

Are things ever easy with you, Kadir? 

Any responses Jaro had half-formed were quickly swept away as a loud, fiery explosion erupted several blocks from the tower. The night was suddenly illuminated by the licking flames, and the wagon from Chateau De Vaune (now engulfed in flame) was sent rolling listlessly across the public square before them all. 

The guards at the outer perimeter of Zakhar's compound all panicked, shouting as they came to life, abandoning their posts without a second look as they took off running in unison, chasing down the blazing stagecoach as it rolled further down the street and out of sight.

The panic and cries moved like a wave, beginning at the open compound and sweeping off away, into the next street, the humming fires lighting up the night. Orobos locals in that direction began to wake, adding to the confusion as several other explosions popped in time. 

Jaro stood, taking a few steps back from the roof's edge. “Kadir, I dunno man…" 

“I told, shut up, and just do it. If Ashani can move like that, so can you." 

“And if I fall?!" Jaro cried back. 

“You'll probably heal anyway!" Kadir insisted, already moving towards the ladder, looking to meet up with the others. 

“You bastard," Jaro muttered, sucking in a deep breath and leaning down. Stop thinking. Just do it. 

He sprinted towards the building's edge, boot slipping slightly in the ice as he shoved off the lip, aiming his eyes up and over the spiked iron fence on the opposite side. He pushed down with all the strength he could muster, wind rushing past his flat ears as he was launched across the street, soaring through the air with his tail and poncho flapping, over the bricks, and finally – only just – over the spiked tips of Zakhar's barrier. 

He couldn't stop the scream as he began to fall, feet outstretched, poncho tails flailing madly as he came slamming down into a stack of crates, wood splintering and glittering powder spilling out as he rolled through the debris, crashing to the ground in a tumbled heap. 

It took a moment to get his breath. The icy air came in needlepoints at his lungs, his chest heaving in pain. Blinking, Jaro waited for the world to stop spinning, pain shooting up his legs as he clambered dizzily to his feet, shaking the loose powder off his boots. 

I made it. He could hardly believe it. The building he and Kadir had been waiting on seemed a hundred miles away, impossibly far. But I made it. In Cujac Ashani had launched herself like a cannonball to the top of the church steeple, colliding with it with almost as much force. This wasn't quite the same, but it was still far more than any ordinary person could have hoped to achieve. Are you sure a cure is the right choice? 

Jaro froze in place. The thought was his own. Was it? Like someone else had said it, and he was repeating it. An echo.

You could be so strong.

No. He didn't need that. 

They'd be afraid of you.

He was shaken from his stupor when a crossbow fired, the sharp twang sounding only moments before a bolt came soaring through the darkness, slamming into Jaro's shoulder. 

He cried out as he stumbled back, searing heat shooting through his shoulders. Not invincible yet. Reaching up, teeth gritted, he tore the bolt from his fur, blood bubbling as he ran towards the source of it. 

A shaking guard stood there, a fox, fumbling as he wound the crank of his crossbow to reload. Jaro didn't give him the chance to finish; crashing into him with all his weight, lifting the guard up off his feet before slamming him into a nearby wall with a thick crunch.

“Stop!" The fox screamed in Wallachian, going for the knife at his belt. Jaro beat him to it, drawing the short blade and pushing it up in a crude arc, burying it into the base of the fox's jaw and sliding him up the wall. There was a metallic twang as the blade snapped, the twitching body collapsing in a heap at Jaro's feet.

“Here! HERE! BREACH!" Cried other voices, light spilling out into the compound square as guards burst out from inside the keep's inner gates. They were armed with spears, and many had metal plates and augments sown into their flesh.

Jaro's gun hung on the strap around one shoulder, hidden beneath his poncho and bouncing against his back as he moved. He half-considered reaching for it, but then thought otherwise. He didn't need that. Not for this. 

Dropping the broken knife, Jaro bent down and scooped up the sword at the dead fox's waist, drawing it as the spearmen reached him. Jaro swung the sword with two paws on the handle, the lean blade whooshing as it cut a wide arc through the air. A spear made to jab at him and Jaro hacked off the head, splintering wood as the ram cursed at him in Wallachian, tensing his shoulders and trying to gore Jaro with his horns. Narrowly twisting to the side, Jaro seized a horn with his free paw, twisting hard; hard enough that a short crack sounded deep in the ram's neck as his limbs flopped outwards. The guard dropped like a marionette. Jaro's muscles burned but his mind was clear. So slow. Like toddlers swimming in molasses. Butchering them was almost easy. 

Another spear jack-knifed past him, catching his thigh and slicing muscle, a second point nipping at his arms. Jaro growled as his groping claw found a guard's head, squeezing hard as he cracked it like an egg against the wall. The thrill of it electrified Jaro, energy shooting through his nervous system and tingling at the tips of his fingers. A natural urge. As familiar and easy as breathing. 

Two more tried their luck next, waggling their spear tips and barking at him to surrender, promising he'd soon be begging for the Dreamless's mercy. 

Try asking for mine. The guards moved pathetically slow – brushing past their swipes and stabs was a breeze. Leaning into his instincts, Jaro cleaved through the first guard's elbow and knee in one smooth arc, tipping the poor man over into a newly-formed pool of blood and body parts. He screamed in agony, and Jaro cried out as the second spear punched through his thigh, fire blossoming up his muscles. As Jaro lashed out at the weapon it was yanked free, blood squirting freely as he followed the spearpoint to the guard responsible - a rat in too-big leather armour, shaking so hard his knees were knocking. 

“I'm sorry." The rat saw Jaro's bared teeth and practically threw his spear away, trying to turn and run. His boots slipped in the ice as he reached out for something to grab, fingernails cracking as he clawed at the bricks and crates, anything to help escape the terrible newcomer. He was scrappy and quick, but Jaro was far quicker, lunging forward and catching him by the shoulders, fingers digging like talons as he dragged the rat down into the snow, drowning his pleas in the pink-tinged slush.

“Fucking sycophants," Jaro hissed, following the urge, the instinct. Teeth throbbed, too big for his mouth. His tongue was both dry and swimming in spit. He could hardly think, head pounding, the rat squirming beneath, nothing but prey. Don't think. Just do. He needed it, he'd been stabbed several times, he was losing blood. Need more. Don't think. His body knew what to do.

Jaro's teeth sunk into the guard's neck, his paws and knees pinning rat's wriggling body beneath his own, blood gushing from the artery, filling his mouth and washing over his tongue like a hot, soothing meal. So hot it practically burned. His eyes lost focus as the urge carried him to swallow, drinking deep, the deep presence of blood coursing down his throat and into his chest, the sudden burst of endorphins flooding his brain and warming his chest. It was both soothing and exciting, draining the pain from his muscles even as energy rushed to fill the gaps in his exhausted body. Jaro's head spun, momentarily feeling his ghost step back from his limbs, as if he were hardly present. 

Is this what they feel every time? 

There was pain too though, sharp pain, coming at him with every breath, with each mouthful. Below. Stomach. Radiating up and outwards, sharper and rougher with every heartbeat. 

Tearing himself from the rat, flesh sticking in his teeth, Jaro straightened his back, awkward pangs shooting up through his body. What? 

“Why?" 

He looked down, blinking as he saw the point of a spear jutting out from him, just beneath his lower-left rib. He tried to breathe, gurgling instead, red bubbles foaming at the wound. Shaking, Jaro turned his head. You missed one. Stabbed you in the back while you were gorging yourself. And you wondered why the others thought you were a monster. The guard took a step back, his side-sword drawn, the point aimed at Jaro's head and trembling fiercely. His eyes were so wide. Like saucers. Staring at Jaro's face. Pointedly not looking at the dead rat. At his dead friend. 

“V… V-vhampierre," the guard whispered. He squared his shoulders, bracing. “Monster!" 

Jaro felt confused. “Wait… N-no…" 

“DIE!" The guard raised his sword to swing, stepping forward. “DIE FOR ZAKHAR!" 

There was a slight punch sound, and the guard jerked in place, jaw falling slack as he took a step back. 

Jaro fell to one side, still dazed, watching as the guard dropped his weapon, shaking paws going up to his stomach. Devna's shot had speared him through. 

Second time she's done that, Jaro thought. Watching in muted distance as the second shot blew through the guard's head, dropping him like a fly.  

“Jaro! Jaro, can you hear me?! The gate!"

To his right, the rest of Team Two were banging on the fence gates. Frankie was trying to pry the doors apart, while Noah seemed to be arguing with Kadir. Jaro blinked. He was supposed to unlock the gate. 

“They stabbed me?" He mumbled, woozily climbing to his feet yet again. Wiping an arm across his mouth, it came away red. It felt like that whole event had happened to another person, like he'd only been along for the ride. 

“JARO!" Kristian cried, eyes bulging as he saw the spear jutting from the wolf's chest. 

Stop doubting. Just do. 

Shuddering as his body tried to lock up, Jaro reached down, one paw wrapping around the spear head, the other holding the top of the shaft. With a quick yank he snapped the spearhead off, tossing it to one side as he reached around himself to tug the broken shaft from his back. 

It came out with a shuck sound, blood smeared along its length. Jaro discarded it, holding his wound as he slowly stumbled towards the gate. With each step the pain in his midsection receded, slipping away, slowly going numb. He swallowed the pain, licking the last remnants of the rat's blood from the inside of his cheeks, lapping at the tips of his fingers. Disgusting. Something ike me should not exist. But it did. Not like the guard was using it anymore.

“Open the fucking gate already!" Kadir hissed, slamming a fist against the metal. 

“What happened?! What did they do?" Kristian asked, looking around for some other way in. “Just try to stay with us Jaro!"

Bloody paws slipping on the iron, Jaro finally grabbed hold of the latch, dragging it open. He could feel his heart beating painfully hard in his chest. Be nostalgic for that soon. With every beat, a little bit more feeling and sense returned to him. How had he gotten so lost, so quickly? The rest of the team burst through, weapons up as they spread across the courtyard, checking for more guards. 

Jaro stepped away, bracing himself against a stack of barrels as he sucked down the chill night air. Kristian sidled up to him, a paw squeezing Jaro's shoulder. “Hey, hey, say something, are you alright Jaroslav?" 

Nodding slowly, Jaro exhaled. “Yeah. Actually… yeah. I think so." The pain was gone. A memory.

“What happened?"

“I got… distracted," he replied. “Missed one of them getting behind me, and he nicked me with a spear." 

Kadir was barking orders to the others. “Grab the bodies, drag them inside! Longer we can go before Zakhar realises we're here, the better."

“Nicked you?" Kristian asked, staring at him incredulously. “You're covered in blood, Jaro. You were stabbed through, we saw that much. Thank goodness for Devna." 

The wolf shook his head, feeling an itchy strain as parts of his chest reknit themselves. Can I even die now? How much would it take?

“Most of it isn't mine." He sucked his teeth, inhaling deep through his nose. “Kristian, listen… I lost myself there, I… I dunno. Something changed. Their… their blood, I could smell it. I still can. I mean what the fuck?" 

The marten laid a paw on Jaro's chest, shushing him. “You're sick, not yourself. We knew it would get worse. But. If what we have heard is true, then inside that tower is a cure, a way to get this parasite out of you. You only need to hold on a little bit longer, Jaro. Understand?"

He gave Kristian a thumbs up, pushing off the barrels and righting himself, feeling the strength slowly return. I should be sorer. 

“The scariest part," he began, looking down at his own paws. “Was in the moment it… it felt like me. It just felt natural. But then after I realised…" 

“That it was the vrykolakas, that's what it does, it's well-documented. It has been several weeks since your last dose of Hellsing serum, and if what Romulus said is true, that was what helped inhibit the spread of the infection. Its speeding up now."

I don't have much time left. There just wasn't enough.

Jaro flinched as Devna appeared suddenly, slamming the gate shut behind herself and sealing the latch. She quickly eyed Jaro up and down, one eyebrow cocked. “You are alive then, even after that?" 

“It seems so." 

“You are more of them than us now, I think," she muttered. “And yet I saw you in the sun, just yesterday. Tell me, Jaro, what would it truly take to end your life now? What exactly have you become?" 

“Devna!" Kristian exclaimed.

“Listen, I'm not that yet," he growled. “Don't write me off." 

The snow leopard shrugged, glancing at Kristian. “I know you care for him. He is my friend too. But soon, Doctor, we will be making difficult decisions. You understand?" 

Jaro stepped between them. “Don't talk about me like I'm not even here, Dev. There's a cure. A way to get this thing out, and I'm gonna find it."

A sad smile broke across her face. “I hope so too. For both our sakes." 

Jaro and Kristian watched her go, quickly joining up with the others to help drag the guard bodies inside. 

“She doesn't mean it like that, she's just practical," Kristian said. 

“Sure." Jaro thought about the rest of the guards, out chasing down Noah's distractions. The burning stagecoach would only keep their attention for so long. “C'mon, sooner we go in the sooner we can leave." 

They entered through the door the guards had come out from, and thankfully no more seemed to be lying in wait. Jaro was surprised to find the interior well-lit, clean and spacious.

Unlike Steambreather and the Godhead's Lament, the inside of Zakhar's tower felt strictly utilitarian, almost clinical. This was not a space built to intimidate or oppress, this was a place built fit for purpose. There were racks of bulk storage, neatly organised and labelled in the bizarre Wallachian script. Each aisle and stack had a level of symmetry that gave the place a sense of order and control, sucking free every drop of emotion. Jaro couldn't help but be reminded of a dentist office. Gears clicked within the neat brick walls, while copper pipes sang up in the ceiling. It was tight, and full of equipment, but not cluttered or dusty by anyone's margin.

The other vampire dens had been leering creatures, sick with contempt for their mortal occupants. Zakhar's tower was indifferent. It didn't hate you, it wasn't malicious, it simply did not care at all. 

For some reason, that unsettled Jaro even more. Cruelty is easy. This is something else.

“Is this all just storage?" Kristian muttered, as Frankie used a crowbar to crack open one of the crates. It was filled with a pile of purple-veined ore, unfamiliar to Jaro. “What could he be using it for?"

“Beats me." Jaro blew air from his cheeks. “You saw the wagons coming in and out of the city. Orobos is a trade hub, and the Dreamless is its best customer."

“And what's he buying?" Kadir asked, peering into the crate. “You telling me Zakhar's out here in the freezing cold making jewellery? What's he trying to do?" 

“Whatever he wants," Jaro said, pulling on a cabinet door and finding it refusing to budge. “Place is locked down tight. Why? Nobody's going to break into a place like this. People are afraid of Zakhar, they don't care what he's trying to do."

“Other vampires do," Kristian said.

“That's what I was thinking," Jaro replied. He pulled a knife from his pack, wedging it into the crease between the cabinet doors as he tried to pop it open. “They're scared of what he's doing here. And he wants it kept secret." Wood splintered around the lock and the door swung outwards, revealing a row of keenly polished skulls. They were all canines from what he could tell, though each one had a small mutation warping the bone. Distorted teeth, or a closed nostril, or no eye sockets. Some of them simply had gnarled, undulating rivets running across the bone. 

“I don't understand," Jaro whispered, pulling one out and examining it. “Guards, locked doors, for this? What the fuck does this mean?"

Noah gave him a smile. “Means Zakhar likes skulls, mate." 

“Don't put too much stock in it," Kristian said. “There is still a lot of tower to examine."

“Yeah but…" Jaro shook his head. He didn't know why, but he'd been expecting something… more. It felt stupid now. What did you think, that Zakhar would have just left the cure down here lying around with a big bow on it? “Is this all we're gonna find?" Frustration rippled through him, and he found himself squeezing the skull so hard a huge crack burst down the middle of it. “Zakhar was supposed to be different," he whispered.

The back of his neck twitched, tingling. Glancing back, Jaro realised the others were all staring at him, tense, just waiting for something to happen.

“What?" He asked, shoving the skull back into the cabinet. 

“You right, mate?" Noah asked. “Look a little on edge, is all." He saw their little twitches, the tell-tale signs of fear, ready to snap into action. Fingers, tightened on triggers, ears laid back. Kadir was right. They all saw him differently now, they knew what was coming. 

But am I different? I'm not one of them yet, am I? 

“Jaro–" Kristian said, gently reaching out, lightly touching his elbow. 

Jaro forced himself to relax, first with his fingers, then his shoulders, and finally his jaw. He shook his head, slinking back. The others kept staring, like deer caught in headlights. You're starting to think of them like prey, aren't you? Like less-than.

“I'm okay," he insisted. As he met Kadir's eyes, he found the caracal staring back at him solemnly. They know. You're not mortal anymore. It's so close to being over. 

He just needed more time. You don't have any.

Behind it all, another voice whispered. Would it really be so bad? Jaro squeezed his eyes shut, trying to resist examining the thought. Was it his own?

Back outside. He'd been out of control, they all knew it. Blood, death. But it needed to be done. Right? He tore them to pieces. They deserved it. They were helpless. Weak. But they were people too, weren't they? Not even Black Tongues. They were pathetic. Kadir said it himself, servants of a vampire. Scum. They were animals. Prey. Meat. 

He opened his eyes and found Kadir staring back at him. Shit. There was worry in the caracal's face. Jaro couldn't believe he missed the anger. This was so much worse.

“You good?"

“I'm fine," he growled, throwing his paws up at the others. “What are you waiting for, huh? We can keep looking." 

“Okay. Like Kristian said, plenty more tower to check. But Jaro…" Kadir hesitated, before turning away. “You're right, let's keep looking."

Leaving the freight room behind, Kadir led Team Two up a narrow spiral staircase set into the corner. Jaro stuck close to Kristian, his breath held, half expecting every new turn to bring a whole army upon them. Fortunately, the tower seemed deserted. Did Zakhar prefer to work alone? They hadn't seen any sign of thralls, not to mention the lack of Black Tongues. 

What does he know that we don't? Maybe the guards were just for show.

“What is he keeping around here?" Noah asked, leaning into one of the gloomy box-rooms. They'd made it past the fourth level now, and except for a large freight elevator that was sealed behind bars, each floor seemed to be used for little more than storage space and administration room. “After what you lot said about Steambreather, I was expecting worse. Victims, corpses… experiments. Not libraries."

Eventually Jaro lost count of the floors, instead choosing to just follow up after the others.

“Did Chevron get it wrong?" Kristian asked.

“Chevron is never wrong," Ioana replied from ahead, face screwed up in puzzlement. “But… the way she spoke… I thought there would be more."

“Fuck me sideways," Frankie whispered, rolling her shoulders. “This whole bloody place has got me upside down. Longer we go without somethin' trynna eat our guts, the more nervous I seem to get."

“Yeah," said Noah. “Feels like it's more likely with every minute that passes. Keep waiting for something to jump on out at us." 

“Shush," Kadir growled, aiming his gun up round a narrow corner in the stairs, stepping forward. Just as he was about to leave their floor behind, Kristian flagged down the rest of the team, dragging them all back to the previous level.

“It's just another fucking door," Kadir said, slowly inching back down the staircase.

“No, look. It's different, isn't it?" Kristian suggested, leading them forward into the floor. Jaro admitted it, the doctor was right. There was less dust here, and slightly more light. 

Behind them was the spiral stairs, and before them was a wide entrance with white-washed walls, faded from time, two ornate double-doors locked before them. 

“The floor," Devna added, dropping to a squat as she ran a finger through the grime. “Less dust than before. Someone's been walking down here." 

“And it's locked," Frankie said, trying the handle. “That's gotta be a good sign, right?" And before anyone could protest, she raised a foot and kicked the middle of the doors, cracking the wood as they slammed inwards, bouncing on the hinges as they crashed into the adjoining walls. 

The room they led into wasn't a storage space, Kristian had been right. 

“What am I looking at here?" Kadir asked, coughing in the dusty air. 

Noah whistled. “It's a lab, isn't it?" 

Jaro kept his head on swivel as he stepped deeper into the workshop, ears perched back, listening for any prick of movement. Vampires were quiet, but not silent. At least, not to me.

Still. The space seemed empty, at least for now. 

The air hung heavy and stale; thick with the stink of old books and must, the faded florals of ageing herbs, all of it accented by the now-familiar metallic tang of blood. The place felt almost reverent, like a church – Zakhar's place of worship, dedicated to the most unholy of vampiric sciences. His pews were meticulously organised shelves, laden with jars of foreign organs preserved in oddly coloured liquids. The flickering oil light sent shadows dancing across every varied surface, the metal of tools and a small surgical arsenal glimmering in the dimness. 

“This is a dark place," Ioana said, spinning in place. “You can feel it, even the air does not want living things here." The walls were workspaces. Covered in painted runes and faded tapestries, research and hastily-scrawled ideas. Jaro saw medieval depictions of strange occult rituals, situations that seemed impossible – organs and bodies stretched to points so far it hurt his brain to look at. 

“Read any of this?" He asked Kristian, and the doctor meekly shook his head. Jaro wasn't surprised. The old lettering reeked of dead tongues, a forgotten and forbidden language. 

At the centre of the laboratory stood an ornate granite table, carved up with arcane symbols and decorated with books. Someone had tried to scrub away the blood stains, but evidently they hadn't tried hard enough. It was large, diamond-shaped, and beset with unusual tools. Saws and drills, scalpels and tweezers. It was an idol of suffering, a reliquary of sin. 

And this probably isn't even his main workshop, Jaro realised. They weren't even halfway up the tower. 

Thankfully, this room held no prisoners. Rusted cages lined the far wall, but for now they remained empty, housing only dust and an occasional rat corpse. 

“Do you feel it?" Noah asked Jaro, the bear unable to let his eyes settle on any one place for too long. 

“I do," the wolf replied. It was the worst part. Like a subliminal frequency, imperceptible, but painful nonetheless. A buzzing of energy. A dark chthonic hum that throbbed between the scarred bricks of this room, the echoing leftovers of Zakhar's insatiable curiosity. Whatever had been done in here, it had hurt the fabric of the world, perhaps even weakened the space between Nightworld's dimensional brane, and another. 

Does he want to make another Source? Jaro wondered. One only he controls? 

“Doctor!" Noah called, nudging some of the books on Zakhar's stone altar. “Can you make anything out of these?" 

“Erm, I'm not so proficient with the technical side of the language," Kristian said, approaching the altar. He picked up one of the nearby books, leafing through it. 

“Try," Noah said firmly, fingers fidgeting on his gun. “Maybe hurry. This place rubs me the wrong way." 

“I… I don't know," Kristian muttered, irritation bleeding through his words. “Something about origins, creators, primordial laws…" 

“What?" Noah asked, shoving closer. Jaro frowned. Where did this sudden curiosity come from? As far as he'd seen, the sapper had been interested only in blowing things up. “Try harder, please. We need to know what Zakhar is researching, don't we?" 

“Vampire origins," Kristian said, more confidently. “Zakhar wants to know who made him. I think he… Oh, I see. Not quite who made him, exactly. But rather, who made the first vampire." 

“Chicken and egg situation, huh?" Noah said. “Does it say what makes him sure that something made them? I always assumed these bastards just crawled up out of hell." 

“Well, I can't really make much out without some more time." The marten continued flipping pages. “Zakhar writes a lot about primal times. The margins are filled with more modern text, notes written in. He's rambling, but he seems frustrated by the vampire limitations." 

“The sun." 

“Not just that. But the bloodlust too. He seems to be at odds with it. Some of its just gossip too… Ashani and Belisarius are both referenced… hold on…" the doctor cleared his throat, adopting a deeper voice as he quoted. “If only our Emperor might see the value of this work. Oh! To be unchained from our own deepest desires, and found that of which might let us walk free. A world of immortals. A world free of the tyrannical sun, of the relentless thirst. Oh, how it plagues my thoughts, my dreams. To be free, but to be without… um oh… to be without weakness still. I fear our Lord, wise as he is, may concede far too much serious thought into the desperate whinings of Belisarius. So insular. That one which fears for the value of his lambs. Without a desire for blood, a need, a reliance, what use is a bloodletter? It is our power, says he. I say different. I say it is our curse. We are born in blood, annointed in sin and pain. Free of that, and we would not be the devils of this land, and those further on. We would find ourselves of this and all… their gods." 

As Kristian finished, the team stood silent, all staring at their feet. Jaro had no doubt they were all imagining the same thing. 

A world filled with vampires unshackled by limitation. Bloodthirsty, cruel, vicious monsters that moved faster than any mortal could dream, immune to bullets, immune to the sun, descending on a helpless and unprepared world. Our world. 

If not even the daytime was safe… if the monsters could walk in the light like any ordinary person might… 

Europe will drown in its own blood. Jaro tried to swallow, found his throat so dry he choked. Steambreather is nothing compared to what they might do. 

The reverent silence was split in half by the sudden ear-piercing blare of a horn. The team scrambled for weapons, scattering to the sides as they rushed for cover. Jaro threw himself against a shelf, rocking the fixture in place and sending several jars filled with green-tinted sludge tumbling out the other side, where they shattered on the bricks. He buried the stock of his rifle in his shoulder, sight raised as his finger curled around the trigger, hesitating as his brain tried to make sense of the 'attackers'. 

A pudgy fox stood before them, both arms raised and devoid of any weapons, unless you counted the large ram's horn hanging at his belt. His face was firm and his chin raised. Behind the fox stood six canines fanned out in a line, completely walling off the door the team had come through. The dogs were armed, but each of their spears were aimed squarely towards the ceiling. Not a threat exactly, but still a warning. If you want to leave, you have to go through us. No one had started shooting, it seemed they'd all reached the same conclusions. This isn't an ambush, is it? But then what was it, exactly?

“PLEASE! HOLD THY AGGRESSIONS" Cried the pudgy fox in a shrill voice, meeting the eyes of each member of team two. “I BEG THEE! HEAR MY WORDS, OTHERWORLDERS" Jaro felt himself relax slightly, and to his right so did the others. The guns stayed up, but there was less tension in the shoulders. This wasn't going to get violent. Supposed to be some kind of vampire herald?

“What is it? What did he say?" Frankie asked, glancing back at Kristian. 

“He wants us to hold our fire, and listen."

“Well I'm listening ain't I? Ask the fancy cunt what he wants already." 

“If you wait," Kristian hissed. “I am sure he'll tell us."

The spearmen behind the fox looked like a ceremonial guard to Jaro, the sort of thing you saw at Buckingham palace. They all wore identical red, double-breasted coats buttoned all the way to their chins, silver and gold buckles squeezed tight around their midsection, a second short knife tucked away in an ornamental sheath. Their paws were hidden beneath black leather gloves, and their trousers fit so perfectly they had to be custom tailored. What Jaro couldn't work out was what use for a ceremonial guard a vampire would have. They're like toys. It's Zakhar playing dress-up. 

Jaro tried to catch Kadir's attention, or any of the others really, but they were all stuck staring straight ahead, puzzled expressions plastered across their faces. Everyone was trying to make sense of the fancily-dressed newcomers. The pudgy fox seemed to be waiting for something. Approval? We're not shooting, that's about as friendly as it gets with your kind. 

Kristian cleared his throat, nodding to the herald. “Please, um, continue?" 

“PLEASE! WOULD THAT YOU MIGHT HEAR MY MISSIVE, 'O GUESTS OF THE DREAMLESS TOWER! I AM BUT A VESSEL, YET HERE, I SPEAK WITH THE LORD ZAKHAR'S VOICE! WOULD THOU HEAR ME?" 

Kristian quickly translated for Kadir and Frankie. 

“Missive? Vessel?" Frankie snarled, racking her shotgun. “Bloody hell I'm fed up with this shit boys. How 'bout we see what they want as we scrape their guts off our boots instead?" 

“No, this is new, I wanna hear what he has to say," Kadir said, nodding to the pudgy fox. “Tell him to go on."

Kristian relayed the message and the herald bowed so deeply Jaro thought his head might go right between his legs. Still bent, his shrill voice rose higher again, bouncing off the sheer stone walls.

“THE EMINENT ETERNAL DREAMLESS OF THE SNOW, THE FIRST OF THE DREAD EMPEROR'S LORDS, AND THE MOST TRUSTED ADVISOR OF THE GREAT IMPALER DRACUL – THE GREAT LORD ZAKHAR – WISHES OF YOU ONLY YOUR COMPANY IN HIS DINING HALL!" 

“Our company?" Ioana warned, stepping towards the pudgy fox. Her one remaining arm raised Isla's pistol, the barrel pointed straight for the fox's head. A click sounded as she slowly pulled back the hammer. “And what could such a monster want from our company?" 

The pudgy herald finally rose slowly, meeting the old fox's eyes. If he felt afraid in that moment, he did not show it, his face a mask of respectful amusement.

Mercifully, when he spoke his voice finally came out at a normal volume. “Of that, m'Lady, I would not dare to presume. The goals and notions of the Dreamless stretch far beyond even the wildest dream of the servant mortals. To guess would insult us all. If safety is your concern, I shall convey that the Lord Zakhar has sworn to me that those who accept his invitation shall remain in possession of their own blood, organs, and flesh." 

“What a fucking unsettling way to say unharmed," Frankie snapped, after it had been translated. 

“And if we do not accept," Ioana said. “What then?" 

The herald cocked his head to the side. “What, indeed?"

“A threat."

“Why make things difficult?" The herald asked. “Zakhar is a diplomat, above all things. Orobos is a haven for new ideas. And beside the matter, if he wanted you dead… you already would be." 

“We need to make a decision," Noah said, in English. He looked back at them all. “I'm inclined to go along with it. The servant is right. Zakhar must want something from us. Something he can only get with our cooperation." 

“I say we kill these freaks, and take the fight to him next," Frankie growled. 

“Vampires are not to be trusted," Devna agreed. 

“If he wants something," Kristian said meekly. “We may be able to negotiate." Jaro sucked in a tight breath at that. He knew what the marten was thinking of. The cure. 

“Let me kill 'em," Frankie said. “He hasn't got anything we want that we can't take from his corpse." 

I'm not so sure, Jaro thought. Who knew how involved removing the vrykolakas might be? He doubted the solution would be printed on a jar in some drawer. 

“This isn't a fucking democracy," Kadir finally growled, lifting his weapon off and flicking the safety back on. His eyes darted towards Jaro, whiskers twitching. Would the old Kadir have agreed to this?

“These bastards lie as easy as we breathe, don't forget that. But we hear what he has to say."