NIGHTWORLD

12: Steambreather

The path to Steambreather was solid but worn, a winding switchback trail of mud and rocks that led from the edge of Barda, to the bottom of the great quarry the factory was built in. The journey took nearly twenty-five minutes to complete, and the Bardites travelling it moved with the enthusiasm of men sent to the gallows.

Jaro didn't blame them.

“You really think that's going to help?" Kadir whispered in his ear, careful to keep his voice low as he pushed in close. The four of them had separated slightly during the walk, and it was difficult not to be swallowed up by the dense crowd of workers. 

“Can't hurt," Jaro replied, staring at the painted rag Chevron had given him. The druid claimed that memorising the runes inked into it would help protect him against vampiric mind-control. He wasn't so convinced. Back in Dracula's castle, he'd felt Romulus touch his mind; it had been so easy for the ancient vampire to completely seize them with nothing more than a word. There was no fighting that. Sniffing in the chilled air, he stuffed the rag away, forcing himself to look up at the great steel factory looming  before them. 

It had seemed large in the distance, but now that he was up close it was impossible to ignore. Jaro knew it was a pyramid, he'd seen that from the rise back at camp… but down here it felt shapeless. A steel wall stretching in every direction, even bigger than Dracula's castle – a structure so large it was impossible to hold the entire thing in his vision. 

Steambreather.

Down here on the quarry floor, it blotted out the sun, the sky, the entire world. There was nothing but the factory, and Jaro almost felt as if even gravity was pulled in towards it, the weight of the world sucking him in. 

The Bardites marching in kept their eyes locked on their boots. Few spoke and none laughed. The workers who had just finished their shift were even worse, shuffling out like living corpses, blood spattered across their paws, faces, and clothing. 

A great wide door stood open to greet them like a ravenous mouth, feeding on the endless flow of reluctant bodies as they came and went.

“And into the devil's house we go," Kristian said, glancing back at Jaro. 

A shiver skittered down Jaro's spine as they passed the threshold, the clotting smell of humid, iron-tinged air suffocating as it rushed into his lungs. He was glad for the muffler still wrapped around his face, and saw that many of the Bardite workers had the same. 

They'd only reached the entrance, and already it was loud inside Steambreather. He wondered if the clangs and hisses of steam and metal were real, or if they'd been engineered to hide the distant screams of slaughtered people.

The group dispersed slightly as the walls began closing in, allowing the crowd of shuffling workers to swallow them up, though Jaro was careful not to lose sight of Isla and Kristian. They did as the others did, and Jaro followed behind a small bear, mimicking his well-practised actions as best he could. 

After arrival, the workers donned a leather apron from a shared pool to one side. The clothing seemed clean of gore or bits, and it got Jaro wondering who was responsible for washing them. 

Surprisingly well-oiled machine, he thought. He'd expected a nightmarish dark hole, but this… clinical, cold, mechanical death factory was almost worse. Somehow this lack of deliberate malice disturbed him more than the thought of a vampire killing for pleasure.

“Do you see that?" Kristian asked, drifting back as he fastened his apron about his waist. Jaro followed the marten's motion, catching a glimpse of several fancier looking men, all braced on a walkway sitting above the rest of the workers. Some stared down at the procession below with a face of contempt, but many were only shouting out orders and designations, assigning worker groups to different sectors inside the facility. 

“Foremen," Jaro said, nodding. A few workers ahead, he caught Isla's eye as she looked back, and they both nodded to one another. “That's our best chance at finding out where prisoners might be kept." 

“Excuse," Jaro said to the bear ahead of him, tapping the man's back. The bear turned slowly, his eyes glazed over. Jaro pointed up. “I must speak with a foreman, how do I do this?" 

The bear shook his head, a bemused look on his face. “You are not wanting to speak to them. They are not wanting to hear from you." 

“Oh," Jaro replied, glancing at Kristian. “We are refugees… from Cujac, out of town. I do not know where to go." 

The bear nodded, sighing deeply as he turned back to face the front. “You follow. I show." 

Ahead Isla was making furious eyes back at him, and next to her Kadir did the same. Jaro only shrugged, trodding along behind the bear.

“I am Jaroslav," he whispered to the man. 

“I am Kuzo. You follow, be quiet now." 

Jaro nodded, adjusting his muffler and reaching a paw behind his waist, gently touching the gun secured there. It was so deafening in here, he doubted anyone would notice if he used it. 

On the walkway above, the foreman closest to the end of the entryway was pointing feverishly, directing swaths of workers into different tunnels which broke away from the cross-section. 

“GROUPS ONE AND TWO ARE ON LOWER MOP DECKS! PROCEED!" He screeched, his voice amplified by a large bronze cone fitted onto the walkway railing. “GROUPS THREE, FOUR, FIVE – GO TO INGRESS ELEVEN! SIX AND SEVEN TO CARVERY! EIGHTS ARE TO LETTING!" 

Jaro followed behind Kuzo, heading into one of the many dark tunnels. It twisted and turned, stairs and dim lamps leading them further in. Already Jaro felt so far from the outside, like he might never feel daylight again. 

Eventually however the tunnels opened up to a maze-like factory floor, and the sight of it made Jaro's throat close up.

It was built in sections, organised squares. All throughout, raised belts dragged hanging corpses speared on butcher's hooks. They'd been killed somewhere else, and hooked before being sent here. Some of the bodies continued to twitch and spasm, though none of them bled much as they came through. Most were half-naked. At the least each body's torso was exposed, and although a lot still wore pants or underwear, many were nude. Some bodies were filthy, some clean, some fat and some thin. 

Jaro saw sharp wounds in their skulls, like that made with a small hammer or spear. It wasn't cruelty, it was just work.

“If you must make sick, go there," Kuzo said, showing them a low trough pushed to one side. “But – breathe through mouth. Do not look at the faces. Remember, this is just meat." 

Jaro and Kristian nodded, following him across the factory floor.

“We do different job every day," Kuzo explained, nodding his greetings to several other sullen workers. “Today, we are bloodletting. Tomorrow perhaps mop deck or filtration. The furnace work is best, the carving room is worst." 

“Carving room?" Kristian asked. 

Kuzo cleared his throat, nodding. “You are seeing? In this room we are draining the blood." Jaro saw. The hooks moved staccato, go-stop-go-stop. Each time they stopped, a worker at a station would reach across, running a blade through the body. Some stations seemed to go for the neck, others for the wrists or thighs. Each body would be cut four or five times by the time it reached the end of the room. The blood drained down the figures, dripping into a collection trough below, where it continued to slowly pool out, heading to other sections of the factory. It moved on beat, slow but rhythmic.

Dozens of bodies. Unimaginable. 

“After this," Kuzo explained to Kristian. “They go to the carvery. There the extra meat is hacked off."

“Is it always this… busy?" Jaro asked. 

“No, no. Lord Belisarius does not usually go through this much, but lately we are working doubles. The… other one… he is thirsty." 

“The Iconoclast.". 

The bear gave him a sharp look. “Quiet. We do not speak of him. Normally, we are left alone down here. Belisarius trusts us to do his dark work. The other one… is not so kind. He is here, he listens, all around he has his own people listening to us. He is cruel, and likes to play games. That one is always laughing, but he does not tolerate disrespect." 

Jaro nodded, turning away. “I see."

“Where do you think all this blood goes?" Kristian whispered in his ear. “Vampires are gluttonous but… even this much is… unthinkable." 

“All over Wallachia," Jaro said. “I saw the canals in the castle. This is the heart of their power, and who knows how big the empire really is." 

Through the metal scaffolding at the centre of the room, Isla caught Jaro's gaze, pointing up towards the corner of the room. Jaro looked, spying an office with a small balcony. The foreman's perch. He nodded to her, pulling his muffler down to mouth out the words – ONE. AT. A. TIME.

He returned to Kuzo at the edge of the conveyor, where the bear placed a sharp curved blade into his paw. “Be careful to keep your tail and fur out of the mix," he warned. “We work for two hours, then small break. It is busy now, but may quiet soon. Do not look at their faces, just open the throat, then step back and close your eyes. That is how we do." 

“I will try," Jaro said. “Thank you, Kuzo." 

The bear again coughed his throat clear. “If you miss one, is okay, up ahead they will catch. You just do what you can. That is all Lord Belisarius asks of us."

“Sounds like a fair boss…" Jaro muttered. A body swung to a stop in front of him. It was a deer, a woman, hanging limp. Exhaling slowly, Jaro reached across and froze, the blade pressed to the deer's throat. He tried to imagine it was just a mindless animal he had hunted with his father. Still, his paws would not cut.

“Don't stop, don't think," Kuzo said, taking the knife and slitting the corpse's throat with one strong move. Blood bubbled from the wound slowly, dripping down her front. The smell of it was strong, the tang of iron, cloying at the dryness in the back of Jaro's throat. It made his eyes throb and his teeth ache. The sweat, the steam, the gore. 

How could you drink that? He wondered, watching the blood filter out in the troughs below. 

He covered his muzzle, suddenly groaning and pretending he might retch. “I… I am sorry Kuzo… I thought…" 

The bear slapped his back, waving him off. “No, all make sick on first week. Normal action. Go, go, breathe, come back. I will wait." Jaro nodded, winking at Kristian before pushing off. 

None of the other workers paid him any heed as he stumbled through their midst, slowing by the sick trough, before jerking his chin at Kadir who was also doubled over there. 

“I can't understand what any of these rustic fucks are saying," the caracal hissed in English, growling slightly. “How can they just obey like that? Isla's right, Nightworld will be a hell of a lot cleaner with this place underwater."

“Agreed," Jaro said. “We need to get into the foreman's office. I saw a door beneath the balcony, but there's a guard."

At that moment Kristian pushed up beside them, doubling over the sick trough and vomiting for real. Jaro gently rubbed his back, wrinkling his nose. “You're a committed actor, doctor." 

The marten wiped his mouth, righting himself and shaking his head. “I always knew they were evil, Jaro, but this is…" he only shook his head harder. 

“I know." 

Kristian grabbed his elbow tightly, squeezing hard. “Jaro, please don't leave me alone here." The marten went still, as if just realising himself. “Er, I-I didn't mean that." 

“It's fine, Kristian. I won't." 

Isla joined them then. “You've seen the door?" 

“Yes," Kadir said. “There's a guard." 

Jaro nudged him, jerking a thumb back at Kristian, who was still looking quite woozy. “Soon as this one got a look, he started acting all crazy, mumbling, passing out. We gotta get him out." 

Kadir frowned at Kristian, who shrugged. “Yeah, I see it, looks like he can barely walk, hey?" Jaro looped one of the marten's arms around his shoulders, while Kadir took the other as Kristian pretended to fall limp in them. Isla took the lead, rushing the group towards the single Black Tongue guard, busy standing bored by the door. 

The short wolfdog saw them coming and raised a gloved fist, one paw going to the club hanging by his belt. “What is the meaning of this?" He barked, tail curling. 

“I do not know!" Isla snapped. “He is very sick! We have to get him away, he might contaminate our Lord's supply!" 

“Contaminate?" The Black Tongue asked, eyes falling wide. “No, not another sickness." 

“Open the damned door!" Jaro demanded, shoving forward. The Black Tongue scrambled, turning in place and nearly dropping his keys in the haste to get it unlocked. The door swung in and Isla shoved them all through. 

The Black Tongue turned, his guard completely dropped. “Now, what has he–" He was interrupted as Jaro released Kristian, slamming the door shut behind them as Kadir threw his weight forward. The caracal crashed into the Black Tongue, wrapping his paw tightly around the wolfdog's muzzle, his other arm stabbing the silver vampire stake deep into the guard's neck. 

It was over before the wolfdog knew what happened, his body seizing and twitching as he failed to scream through Kadir's paw, blood gushing from the wound.

“You Black Tongues," Kadir hissed in his face, watching the man die. “Selling your souls to the monsters that bleed these people dry. I say, you are worse. You are ten times worse than them." He drove the stake even deeper, and the Black Tongue's eyes bulged wide for a moment, before his body finally gave out, collapsing against the wall. 

Kadir tugged his stake free, wiping it clean on his pants. 

“You alright?" Jaro asked, and Kadir only grunted. 

“Didn't think we could just ask him where the prisoners are?" Kristian asked, brow furrowing at the dead body. 

“He wouldn't know," Kadir said sharply, turning to head up the stairs. “Scum."

“Jaro," Isla whispered, catching his arm. “Just… watch him for me?" 

“Something I should know, Isla?" 

“Not now, but… eventually."

Jaro nodded, drawing his gun before following the caracal upstairs. Kadir didn't wait for them to catch up, kicking through the foreman's door with his gun and stake raised high. 

The foreman was a fat badger in a double-breasted coat, seated behind a desk and wearing glasses. He immediately bristled at the disturbance, standing hard enough his chair was thrown over backwards, banging a fist on his desktop. 

“What is meaning of this interrupt–" he half-finished, before Kadir had rushed around the desk. The badger instantly recoiled, but the caracal seized him by the frock of his collar, dragging him close and firing a shot into his leg without hesitation. 

The gunshot was deafening in the small office, and the foreman howled in pain. Kadir slammed him face-down onto the desk, once, twice, then a third time, holding the back of his neck hard and grinding him against the tabletop. He put the barrel of his pistol hard against the back of the badger's skull, the foreman squirming beneath him.

“Make him talk," Kadir snarled. 

“What are you all doing?!" The foreman hissed in Wallachian, spittle spraying from his gritted teeth. 

Jaro, Isla, and Kristian stepped in front of the desk, meeting his panicked eyes. 

“You have death wish?" The foreman asked, a grin spreading across his face. “Foolish slaves. Don't think he won't find you." 

Isla showed her teeth, dropping to a squat so their eyes were level. “I don't care for your threats. Prisoners, like the ones put up in the Emperor's Square, are there others?" 

The more she spoke, the more excited the foreman seemed to get. His eyes darted between each of them, and he continued to lick at his lips and teeth, a thick black tongue snaking across. “What can you do? Huh? What could you do to me that he won't?" 

“More scared of Belisarius than you are of us?" Jaro asked.

The foreman chuckled again, prompting Kadir to shove the gun harder against him. If it frightened or hurt the badger, he didn't let it show. “No… not him…"

“The other one," Kristian murmured. 

Isla nodded to Kadir, and the caracal pressed his knee into the back of the foreman's leg wound, drawing out a sharp cry.

“So you do still hurt, even with that tainted blood in your mouth," Isla spat. “The prisoners, are there more of them?" 

The foreman blinked, whiskers twitching. Finally, he said, “...oh, yes. There are more. One like you even, dog bitch."

Isla played it calm, not betraying how desperate Jaro knew she must feel. After everything, they were so close to her husband and his men. 

“Alive?" 

“Unfortunately for them." 

“Where?" Isla growled, leaning in close. She covered it well, but Jaro could see the gun in her off paw trembling.  

“Fools, you are such fools." The badger looked between them, his breaths coming in short, pained gasps. “The Iconoclast will shred your souls, and revel in the crimson tide that flows from your broken bodies. You think you know pain? I thought so too." The foreman snickered once again. “But there is so much more than blood from you to take." 

“TELL ME WHERE THEY ARE!" Isla screamed suddenly, lashing out and squeezing the foreman's jaw. She put her face right up to his, a growl buried deep in her chest. “You think I can't hurt you? You think I won't?"

“Not like him." 

“And what if I left you like this?" Isla asked, cocking her head. “What if I find those prisoners, and your masters learn you're alive and well? What will they do then? When they catch me looking around, how do you think they will react, if I tell them it was you that helped me get here?" She looked to the side of his desk, where a name was embossed on a piece of bronze. 

“Neculai," said Kristian. 

“Neculai," Isla repeated, as the foreman's eyes grew wider. “Very easy to remember. But it could be so easy to forget, if you help me."

The badger inhaled deeply, shaking slightly beneath Kadir's firm press. “Fine. Fine! You go – out that door," he gestured with his eyes to the other side of the room. “Keep to the right, through the tunnel into tower two. That will be leading you to the Pit. That is where you are finding prisoners." He swallowed. “You're all going to die down there."

Isla smiled wanly. “Better than dying up here." Then she stood back, and shot the foreman in the head. 

Kadir eased back, pushing the foreman's body to the floor. “He tell you?" 

“They're kept somewhere that he called 'the Pit'," Jaro said. “That way." 

The caracal nodded, looking to Isla. “Are you alright?"

“I am, I just… we're so close now," she said, voice faint. “I never thought we might actually find Fyodor alive. Never let myself hope that much." 

“Isla…" Kadir paused. “Look at this place. You should prepare yourself for–"

“I know," the Doberman snapped back at him. “I am well aware." Without waiting, she pushed onward, leaving the office. 

“Jaro," Kadir said. The caracal sighed. “Tell you what, just be ready. I don't know what kind of state Fyodor is going to be in, if he's even alive then… a place like this… mercy might be better." 

Jaro looked away. “I was thinking the same thing." 

“Isla's not going to like that answer. But I can trust you. She's one of the smartest people I know, but everyone has a breaking point, so just… be ready, is all I'm saying." 

“Let's just wait and see. Isla's not stupid, and who knows what's down there." 

Kadir sniffed. “I can guess." 

The walkway leading to the pit stretched across several more factory rooms. The flooring beneath Jaro's feet was all meshed grating, and it gave a perfect overview of everything happening in Belisarius's factory. From beneath you'd scarcely be able to tell, but from above the overseers could easily watch any of their workers. 

He imagined the Lambcatcher, drifting throughout his little red kingdom like the phantom of the opera, mouth watering at the blood and pain wreaked by his order. There was the filtration room sifting the blood and flesh, throwing out the bad batches. The mops of the overspill rooms worked tirelessly to clean. Even the carvery was there, though Jaro could scarcely bear to look at that one. One of the rooms featured a large crusher, scoured bones piled up in, crunching as they went on their journey towards the furnaces. 

Everywhere he looked, Jaro saw metal and blood. Torn bodies, shredded flesh. Already he felt numb to it. It was amazing and terrifying all at the same time, how quickly and easily they stopped being people and instead became meat. The faces disappeared, and they turned into tasks and objects. 

That's how they survive here, he thought, watching the workers. They cut themselves off from it all. Allow the numbness to take over. It made Jaro think of his father, of their time spent hunting in the Hungarian woodlands.

“Everything has a mother, Jaroslav. We should not ignore something simply because it makes us unhappy." This was what Sandor tired to stop him from becoming. Numb. 

Suddenly the lesson made a new kind of sense. 

Felt like a thousand years ago. 

Eventually Isla and Kadir held a closed fist to indicate they all stop, and the group braced up against a wide doorway. 

“Jaro, take a look," Isla said, peering in. Jaro shifted around her, dropping to one knee.

“Looks like a Pit to me," Jaro whispered.

The door they were all hunkered down behind led to an elevated steel walkway, which ran around the full edge of the spacious, square room. Below them was an open area lined with sand, much of it stained red. The centre of the Pit was left open, with a few stone pillars lined with iron rungs, but around the boundaries of the room the sand was subdivided into little cages. From their perch, Jaro couldn't make out the figures inside the cages, though he guessed that must be whatever was left of Team One.

“I can't see faces," Isla said, “but that's our real problem." She pointed to the walkway, which was lined with vampire thralls. They were similar to the ones that ambushed Team Two outside the Godhead's Lament; walking corpses with patchwork fur, yellowed cloudy eyes, and shredded dry flesh left to expose bone and teeth. They stood like gargoyles, not patrolling, simply staring blankly down at the pit beneath them. 

It felt like such a sick joke. Killed by a vampire in some horrible way, and if you were really unlucky, come back as a mindless zombified slave for as long as it took you to rot. 

“I count twelve," Jaro said. “Guess Belisarius likes to keep them away from all the fresh blood." 

“There's a reason they use people down there, and not these things," Kadir agreed. 

“It's gonna have to be loud," Jaro said. “There's no other way through that many of them, and you remember the castle – they're stupid, but not weak."

“Don't let them overwhelm you," Isla said. “You and Kristian take left, Kadir and I will take right. We loop around, clear the walkway."  

“Ready?" Kadir asked, and they all nodded. 

“Stick close," Jaro said to Kristian, and the doctor agreed. 

One a count of three, the group burst into the room. Jaro immediately fanned left, and the second he pulled his trigger the first thrall went down in a silent heap. A split-second later the room exploded into chaos. All of the thralls leapt into a sudden screeching life, saliva frothing at their jaws, claws outstretched as they clambered unnaturally over the walkway railing, leaping for blood. Below them, the prisoners all leapt to their feet, shouting in confusion and begging for aid.

Jaro ran past the first dead thrall, downing two more with a few shots, chunks of their decomposing bodies exploding out with every shot. Behind him Kristian was firing, though the marten wasn't as experienced with guns, and half his shots went wide. 

Jaro hissed as one of the thralls dove at him over the pit, crashing into his side as it slashed for his throat. “Shit!" He cried, twisting his body and pinning it against the wall, pressing his gun into its chest and squeezing the trigger. Stinking ichor sprayed up on him like mud, and he spat to try and clear the foul taste from his mouth. 

“Keep going!" He shouted back at Kristian, who was firing at a thrall that had somehow circled around them. 

Pushing on, Jaro rounded the corner to the far side of the walkway. It was here he saw it – one of the thralls wasn't like the others. It was a horse, built muscular, standing firm and towering over the rest of them all. 

“What the hell are you?" He asked, mostly to himself. The thrall snorted viciously, charging at him. 

Jaro raised his gun and fired, once, twice, three times, four times. The monster didn't stop, and he cried out as it crashed into him, ramming him into the back wall with a dizzying slam. He got off two more shots, but if the thrall felt them it didn't care. It whinnied at him in a mad frenzy, not clawing like the others, but instead punching, aiming for Jaro's ribs, his stomach. The blows felt like gunshots, pain blowing out from each impact.

Jaro got his paw free and pushed his gun up to the thrall's face, firing two rounds into its nose. Bone exploded outwards but the creature was only annoyed, tearing the gun painfully from Jaro's grasp and hurling it away. 

“Oh shit–fuck–no!" Jaro cried, even as Kristian stood back, unloading several more rounds into the beast's body. 

The horse bared teeth, whirling on the marten. He squeaked in fear, quickly backing up as the thrall walked at him. 

“Kristian!" Jaro cried, shaking his head to clear the daze, before kicking off the wall and spear-tackling the thrall. He collided with its side, wrapping his arms around its midsection and throwing them both forwards – the momentum carrying them into the rail and then tumbling over it. 

He fell for a few nauseating seconds, entangled with the creature. Finally they smashed into the sand below, a foul crunch sounding from the former horse's body, ichor and blood spraying out from beneath it. Jaro felt the air punched from his lungs as he bounced off it, rolling across the sand before coming to a stop at the foot of a stone pillar. 

“JARO!" Kristian cried from above, a few more gunshots sounding off as Kadir and Isla finished the remaining thralls. 

Jaro picked himself up slowly, coughing painfully into the sand as he tried to get his bearings. The ribs on his left side throbbed painfully, his stomach retching as it tried to recover from the vicious blows. He checked the giant thrall, but the horse had finally stopped moving. 

Panting, he braced himself against the stone pillar, sucking in sour air. 

“The hell is this thing?" He muttered, studying it. Rungs were bolted into the stone, and his best guess was they were somehow used to tie up prisoners?

Demonstrations, maybe? They said the Iconoclast likes to play games. 

“Jaro, you breathing?" Kadir called down from the walkway above. Jaro nodded back, giving him a thumbs up. “We're gonna find a way down, hold position." 

The wolf nodded again, mostly to himself, still concentrating on trying to force enough hair back into his battered lungs. Stepping over the dead thrall, he sniffed, casting his gaze into the largest of the segmented cages. 

“Team One?" He called, coughing and spluttering. Only murmurs from the shadows echoed back. Jaro stumbled closer. “Team One? Fyodor, are you there?" 

A lean fox in shredded fatigues, face swollen with bruising, shoved himself up against the bars of the cage. “Yes, yes, we're Team One. Who the fuck are you?" 

“My name is Jaroslav Tamasi, I'm a medic with Team Two. With Isla." 

“Isla's here? She's here in Nightworld?" Another ripple of murmurs echoed through the terrified group. Jaro recognised the sightless look of their eyes, he'd seen the same thing in Africa. These soldiers had been terrorised. 

“Is Fyodor there?" 

The fox stared back, looking down. 

“Is he dead?" Jaro asked, stepping forward. “C'mon man, fucking talk to me." 

“Are you here to get us out? Are you with them?" The fox railed against the bars, trying to shake the door. “Is this some fucking game?!" 

“What?" Jaro looked around, wondering if they'd seen the thralls he'd just killed. “What games? Of course we're getting you out, we don't have a lotta time."

“So many tricks…" The fox mumbled, sinking to his knees against the bars. “Please, just stop. Just leave us alone."

“Just…" Jaro turned, calling out to the others. “KADIR! HURRY DOWN HERE!" He dropped to a crouch before the wounded fox. “Man, you gotta talk to me. You're in shock, okay? Just look at me, look, I'm a medic, right?" The fox glanced up. “We gotta get out of here, and fast. But I don't wanna leave others behind, nobody's coming back here. Is Fyodor dead? Or is he being held somewhere else?" 

“Fyodor…" The fox murmured, face falling. “You… he's…"  He raised a withered paw, pointing to the opposite cage. “He's there." 

Jaro told the fox to hang on, then stood slowly, drawing the stake from his pocket. The cage the soldier pointed out hung open, the inside of it dark. Jaro approached slowly, sand crunching under his boots. Shadows hugged the silhouette inside, the shape of a man in a chair, sitting slumped and completely still. 

“Don't be dead," Jaro whispered. “Fyodor? Are you there man?" 

He took another step, eyes adjusting. He made out the shape of sharp ears, the pointed snout, the Doberman fur markings. He was wearing combat fatigues and sitting slumped, a rifle hanging by his side. A small amount of blood was sprayed on his chest. No mistaking him, that was Fyodor Koch.

And he wasn't breathing. 

“Oh," Jaro said. He swallowed, looking back to see if Isla had caught up yet. He checked the dead Doberman again – he didn't look that stiff. If he was really dead, it must have happened recently. 

All this for nothing, he thought, looking up. It was surprising to find how much stock he'd put in finding Fyodor. Nightworld was a place without hope, and rescuing Isla's husband had been something to hold onto. Cursing under his breath, Jaro wiped at his eyes. Pull it together. The rest of Team One was still here, and he wasn't about to just leave them. 

“Fyodor, for fuck's sake," he growled, returning to the slumped body. How was Isla going to react to this? “How can you do this man, all this effort, and you're really dead?"

The Doberman opened his eyes.

“Not exactly," he rasped, rising from the chair, muzzle splitting into a wide, wicked grin. 

Oh no. Jaro took a trembling step back, and Fyodor took one forward. As he moved, he took his rifle in his paws. Four black tendrils stretched out behind his shoulders, and from the darkness stepped a small group of enthralled soldiers, each one linked to the dark vines. Their eyes had been torn out and the brown stain of old blood was smeared down their faces. They stood like statues, each one holding a gun. 

“You're the Iconoclast," Jaro said, the horror mounting in his chest.

“We've yet to be introduced," Fyodor said, moving closer. His feet seemed to drift over the sand, moving in the pulse-free stillness of vampires. As he did, the four caliginous soldiers tethered to him moved in unison, staring blindly ahead. “Here I was, trapped in eternity's grasp… and Isla's been recruiting." 

The vampire's eyes were the red tinge of murder, his fangs gleaming in the light. Jaro's paws were twitching, clinging hard to the silver stake. There was maybe a metre and a half separating Jaro and Fyodor, could he get in and stake his vrykolakas before the Doberman realised? With vampire reaction speeds, it wasn't likely. Jaro wished he had a gun. 

“...Fyodor?" 

Jaro froze. He turned halfway back, where Isla stood in shock, Kristian and Kadir flanking either side of her. 

“My love," Fyodor replied, his voice rising with excitement. “You came." 

“Isla, don't," Kadir growled, raising his pistol. “He's a monster." 

She ignored him, coming closer, mouth hanging open. “Fyodor… what have they done to you?" 

The vampire raised an open claw, beckoning her closer still. Jaro stumbled back, the gorge rising in his throat as his stomach turned. 

“Welcome my embrace, my dear," Fyodor said, his Russian accent barely more than a whisper. “It won't be long until my seed matures, and together we can share this…"

Isla sniffed, glancing from her husband to the four dead soldiers surrounding him, as if seeing them for the first time.

“...Share it?"

The vampire nodded, inching towards her. “We can be together forever, we can live eternal – embrace me, and together we will cast aside the confusions of the old world… and be beautiful in sin." 

“Isla…" Jaro warned, he wanted to reach out and grab her. “Kadir's right, he's a monster."

“I…" Isla covered her mouth with a paw, a single choked sob escaping through.

“For fuck's sake Isla!" Kadir cried. “Look what he did to his own men!"

“I'm sorry Fyodor," she said, finally shaking her head. “But no. No, we can't do this, I won't let you become this. But listen – my love, we can still help you." She turned, putting her back to him as she gestured to Kristian. “We are progressing on the Hellsing serum, and we are now so close to a cure. Kristian, tell him, tell him how we have held back Jaro's infestation!" 

“Isla, he's already a vampire," Kristian replied. “Kadir is right." 

“He's my husband," she snapped back. “We came here to find a cure, and I will not give up on that!"

“Oh, but I will." Over her shoulder, Jaro saw the Iconoclast wink. 

“Isla, NO–" he cried, but it was too late. 

Fyodor lunged forward, seizing his wife with a flash of brilliant fanged teeth. They sunk deep into her neck, blood spraying forth and drenching her front. Isla's eyes went wide, her paws reaching numbly for Kadir as Fyodor began to feast, drinking deep of her, a thick wet growl emanating from his throat. 

Kadir wasted no time, he shoved Kristian aside and raised his gun, putting two shots first through Isla's chest, and then emptying the rest of the clip into Fyodor. The bullets shredded the undead Doberman's flesh, but otherwise he remained unmoved. 

“Run, run!" The caracal barked, turning on his heel and dragging Kristian away. 

One of Fyodor's thralls raised his rifle, and Jaro seized the opportunity to lunge forward, slamming his silver stake through the soldier's eye. The wolf went down hissing, steam rising from the wound as Fyodor flinched beside him, though his vice-like grip on Isla's neck never wavered. 

“TAMASI!" Kadir screamed back, and that was enough. 

Jaro bolted for the door as the thralls opened fire, bullets flying as he sprinted after the others, dashing down a doorway as they ran for their lives. Back in the Pit, they heard the echoic laughter of the Iconoclast booming out, the cries for help from the remaining living soldiers close behind. 

“Keep moving, this way!" Kadir cried, tugging them this way then that, choosing the paths at random. They crashed through a group of Steambreather workers, leaping across a conveyor belt in their bid to escape. “Any ammo left? I'm out," he asked, panting as they continued to run. 

“Gun's gone," Jaro replied, ducking beneath a loose rack of metal. 

“I've still got half," Kristian said between heavy breaths, sliding his clip back into the gun. 

“Fuck, fuck," Kadir hissed, turning and twisting as they ran. Deeper or further out Jaro couldn't tell, every twist and turn inside the factory looked the same. “I told her damn it, I fucking told her! Neden bir kez olsun dinleyemedi?" 

The trio rounded a corner, entering a long dim hall. At the end thralls were amassing, snarling and hissing, guarding an exit. 

“Not there!" Jaro shouted, driving them off to the left. Room after room of blood and machinery blurred by their side, an endless maze of death. They turned, ran, jumped, leapt, eventually crashing through a large set of swinging doors and coming to a stop. 

“No, no-no-no-no," Kristian muttered, spinning in place.

“Dead end," Kadir whispered. 

Jaro shook his head. They'd come into some kind of storage room, large steel drums stacked up by the walls. Nowhere to run. 

“And lo," said a sudden, flourishing voice behind them. It was speaking an elegant, twisting Wallachian. “The rabbits broke free, only to find their world was a greater hutch the whole time." 

They turned to see a tall mandril standing before them. He was dressed like an old Roman emperor, lightweight armour strapped to his chest, purple and gold robes flowing like water from his shoulders. His eyes were crimson, and through his thin smile lurked two razor-sharp fangs. 

“Belisarius," Jaro said. 

The mandril gave a tiny snort of derision. “What pleasure, when the prey knows the predator. Thou has arrived at the bittersweet end, here – where thine hopes and joys of triumph escape like vapour. Welcome to my factory, welcome to eternity's grasp." He smiled. “Welcome to Steambreather." 

“This place is an abomination," Kristian said. “I've never seen something so sick."

“Quoth the meal to the mouth," Belisarius replied sharply, eyes narrowing at the marten. “And a noisome one at that. Would that I could spill your entrails here and be done with it… alas, all heed the tithe of our Dread Emperor." He chuckled softly. “Yet still there is pleasure in thou's fear. The Impaler demands your presence. And his will is manifest." 

Kristian raised his gun, emptying the last of his clip into the vampire. Belisarius stood statue-still, flesh bursting as the slugs shredded his arms and neck. When the pistol ran dry, he took two great strides forward, seizing Kristian by the throat and lifting him clear off the ground, sneering as he did. 

“Pitiful worms," he hissed. “Thou must speak with respect…" 

“Let him go!" Jaro cried, lunging forward and burying his silver stake in the vampire's arm. 

Belisarius snarled in pain, tossing Kristian aside, the marten crashing into the barrels and falling to the ground in a groaning heap. The vampire turned on Jaro, looming over him as he tore the steaming stake free with a pained cry, lips pulled back and his fangs exposed.

“You're nothing," Jaro spat. “A hungry beast without a soul, and I am not afraid of you." 

Their eyes met, and Jaro felt the Prey Dynamic kick in; his body growing still, muscles getting weak. He could scarcely have fought back if he wanted. 

“Heed my words, blasphemous cur," the Lambcatcher growled, drawing nearer. “Thou art but a droplet of life's sweet nectar. I am the unquenchable thirst of hatred, the insatiable hunger of malice, I am the lust and craving of all who desire to see suffering wrought upon their neighbour, and I shall drain thee to the dregs. Each heartbeat shall be a haunting reminder of thee's desired death, yet even as you beg to be freed, I will forge thy very soul into an unending chalice from which I shall sup, leaving thee a desiccated husk knowing only pain, a mere relic of thy former self."

At that moment the wide doors swung open, and Jaro's stomach dropped as a tall, lean, familiar figure came striding through, his own cloak the colour of absolute midnight. 

“Luck of the devil comes in many forms." Belisarius cooed, backing off. He looked to the fearsome new arrival. “I suspect few mortals would welcome the Lord of Sanction, but alas, our existence brings many a queer turn." He looked back to Jaro, sniffing in amusement. “All the misery I might rain down upon thee, little wolf, and yet I could still not hope to touch that of our great Teardrinker. Dracula chooses his dogs wisely." 

Romulus met Jaro's eyes, the two red pupils almost hidden in a sea of shadowed black fur. He grinned, claws twitching by his side.

“And so," he said softly. “The lost pups came home."