Sleep To Dream

To ensure neutrality and dissuade both combatants from employing prohibited tactics, the duel was hosted at Friedrich von Ritter's private home. A sprawling, antiquated estate southeast of San Diablo, overlooking the rocky, heavily forested coastline.

Because von Ritter did not personally approve of the Cainites' justification for wishing to destroy one another, he had ordered the duel to occur outside of his actual walls.

For himself, Cypress simply thought Von Ritter had a taste for melodramatic settings. He glanced beyond the cliffs, watched the churning, dark waves of the Pacific as they surged toward the coast--a never-ending, timeless assault.

It was as good a place as any to die, he guessed.

Cypress glanced at Marissa, unwilling just yet to allow Friedrich's packmates to 'escort' her to the priest's side, where she would be permitted to watch the duel unfold.

He wasn't sure what type of farewell gesture would be appropriate at a time like this. Probably none.

Cypress stared at her, thoughts cycling like a terrible vortex behind his otherwise calm expression. It was plain as day to her. He showed no fear, but the consequences of forcibly crushing said fear was painted all over his face.

He smiled, almost grinned down at her, reached down to enclose his fingers around her hand.

"This won't take long." He assured her.

Behind them, Brink was taking practice swings with his weapon of choice. A hatchet. The wooden grip sharpened to a menacing tip, a makeshift stake.

One direct hit to Cypress' heart and the fight would be over.

Her eyes searched his face, full and amber. She nodded a little at his words, her lips pursed. Brow furrowed, she chewed her lower lip as anxiety threatened to overtake her. Her fingertips stroked his as he reached for her, and she nodded, quietly.

She leaned in, lips brushing gently against his cheek, she murmured softly so that only he could hear.

"I love you."

She pulled away, smiling weakly at him. She made fists, nails digging lightly into the skin of her palms.


There were only four (visible) observers. Fearing violence against himself and his haven if the duel went badly for either combatant, Von Ritter had barred Cypress and Brink from bringing vampires loyal or well disposed to either of them along. This was a private dispute between 'Free Cainites', Von Ritter had insisted. Let it be settled in a private, civilized manner.

Behind them, Brink finished his practice swings and simply stared at Marissa. His eyes watched the beautiful Fae, unblinking and obsessive. Although there was no way to know exactly what his thoughts of her were, it could be safely assumed that they were horrible, nightmarish to the last.

* * *

Cypress initially allowed her to pull away from him. His first instinct was to show as little emotion as possible in front of his fellow Sabbat. Quite frankly, they didn't like that type of shit what so ever.

Then again, it was his 'fellow Sabbat' who demanded that he face destruction tonight, that Marissa be given over to the clutches of a monster so hideously beneath Cypress in every aspect (as far as he was concerned, at any rate). That his business was their business. That he had to hack Brink to Final Death in order to have the 'right' to claim Marissa as his own.

No.

To hell with the goddamn Sabbat.

He turned to face her, ignoring Brink. Ignoring the pair of heavily armed 'coven knights' that Von Ritter had sent over to escort Marissa away.

He clutched behind her head with both arms and kissed her, ferociously on the mouth.

"I love you too." He uttered. His voice was cold, certain.

* * *

"Time's up," one of the knights informed them.

He gestured back toward Von Ritter, who stood--dressed in his best suit, looking somewhat impatient. Checking his pocket watch as if it actually mattered what time it was.

Breathless as the kiss broke, his hands on her face, His words. She nodded a little, her eyes threatening to well up but she fought it. She remained stoic and passive for him. She had to be strong.

The knights looped their arms into hers, pulling her back. She struggled momentarily, and finally acquiesced, allowing them to lead her away. Her eyes fell on Brink as she was marched from her lover and she offered him a scathing glare. Her hands slid into her pockets, thumbing the lone razor blade that she had brought.

Just in case.

She didn't want to entertain the fact that Cypress could lose... but she was a realist if nothing else.

Brink stepped forth. He was taller than Cypress. Bigger too. But despite his apparent leaning toward brute strength, he was also innately quicker.

The Toreador antitribu was undressed from the waist up, wearing only a pair of ragged and blood-stained jeans. No shoes, boots, or footwear of any sort (as the rules demanded).

His toenails, curiously, were painted black and well pedicured.

He raised his hatchet in front of his face, saluting Cypress' rank within the Black Hand--though he personally had nothing but disgust for a Cainite who gave himself over to such human frailties as affection and love.

Cypress deserved every shard of agony that Brink was about to inflict upon him for betraying the ideals of his sect and the nature of his own race.

Brink felt eyes upon him and glanced over at Marissa.

"Allow me to provide you with an example of how vampires are supposed to behave. Faerie."

Cypress reached behind his waist, lifted the hem of his black and red Adidas hoodie and drew the commando dagger sheathed there. One weapon only. No fangs. No claws. Just one melee tool of choice.

Of course Brink had cunningly circumvented that rule by making his hatchet's wooden grip into a small stake. Cypress shrugged it off. He shouldn't have been surprised.

He tore his eyes away from Marissa, forced himself to pretend like he didn't hear Brink's words.

He'd make him eat them, anyways.

Cypress lifted the dagger. Saluted with an overt sneer. He only did so because Von Ritter was in attendance and he knew the Tzimisce had a penchant for medieval motifs and themes...

...Despite the sniper on the roof of the mansion, who had been ordered to put a .50 round into the first Cainite who cheated first.

Cypress waited for Von Ritter to give an indication that Monomacy was at hand.

The priest, once Marissa was secured at his side, pulled a revolver from underneath his suit and fired a live round into the air. The noise ripped through the air like a miniature strike of thunder.

Cypress looked at Brink, who looked back at him.

They met one another in a sudden, rapid, and utterly savage series of attacks. Nothing would be held back.

She flinched at the shot, but managed to suppress a gasp. Distracting Cypress in anyway could prove deadly for them both, so she managed to keep quiet. She pressed her lips together, a hand cupping over her mouth. She fidgeted with anxiety, praying to a god that had betrayed her.

It was almost too much for her to watch.

The Tzimisce stood beside Marissa. His eyes were trained upon the two combatants, although the words he spoke were clearly directed toward her.

"You're very pretty. And I can indeed smell your blood from where you stand. It is quite intoxicating, the scent. Can only imagine how you taste. I can see why these two are fighting to the death over you."

He paused, winced as Cypress drew first blood. Then smiled, lost for a second in vicarious bloodlust, as Brink recovered from the initial stab wound without a flinch.

"What is your name? I would like very much to remember you. Maybe have you and your vampire, which ever vampire it turns out to be, over for some social life one night. Wouldn't that be fun?"

His eyes went wide, he grinned, bringing up his fists as he saw what appeared to be Brink plunging the sharpened wooden handle of that hatchet into Cypress' chest.

The tip of the makeshift stake, however, caught on Cypress' hoodie as the Assamite antitribu instinctively pivoted out of the way. The snared weapon was pulled from Brink's grasp.

"This is getting good."

She gazed at the tzimisce wide eyed for a moment. She opened her mouth to say something, and hesitated. Social graces were certainly not the same with his people. She bit her lip, marveling how very much like Xem he was, and finally nodded a little.

"Of course..."

Presumably in response to the tentative invitation. He was peculiar and eccentric- but he was also the boss here.

It wouldn't do to piss him off.

Her attention on Cypress, exhaling in relief as he twisted away, murmuring appreciatively.

Brink was disarmed, but he didn't panic. He immediately pounced on Cypress. No hesitation.

Brink's elbow struck Cypress directly on the bridge of his nose, snapping his head back with a force that would have shattered a mortal's face and most likely severed his vertebrae.

By the way that Cypress' head rocked backward at such an unnatural angle, that was precisely what it looked like.

It was far more obscene and noticeable an image than Cypress' right hand thrusting forward and arcing up.

Brink grinned, fangs bared, eyes narrowed into viperous slits of wrath and hunger.

That expression stuck on his face as he fell backward, losing consciously.

Brink's entire upper torso had been split wide open. The swath started at the lower left corner of his abdomen and ended just below his sternum.

He hit the turf, motionless. Eyes staring but seeing nothing at all. Lips still spread into a wicked grin. Atrophied, dry intestines and other organs exposed as the impact of his fall made the wound split further open.


Cypress staggered back, nose destroyed--the horrific center piece of a presently-marred visage.

He raised the knife in front of his body defensively. For the initial second it took for Brink's torpid state to register, Cypress didn't even know he'd won the duel. He just waited as the clock ticked, waited for Brink to make a second attack.

Then his instincts gripped him. He snarled at his enemy's unmoving form, approached it cautiously--ready to knife him again should Brink move an inch.

He didn't.

Cypress crouched down beside him, knife still at the ready.

He smiled with reckless, savage glee as he fell upon his opponent. Sticking the blade into the side of his neck and cutting, sawing, ripping. Content that he'd inflicted a destroying blow to Brink's neck, he then raised the Nomad Hero's head up...up...and off.

And hurled it as far as he could beyond the cliffs.

Mad Marissa sputtered with what could have been described as bliss- it wasn't really the right word, but she supposed it was the first that came to mind. Her hands clasped over her mouth, tears that had been banished before now come through- this time with joy and relief, rather then fear.

She cast her amber eyes at the tzimisce and offered him a warm, grateful smile, before turning her attention to the victor.

Friedrich smiled in response to her words. He didn't blame her for refusing to give up her name. Poor thing, he thought. She was terrified. He didn't feel any pity for her. He just acknowledged the fact that Marissa was most likely frightened and in no mood to chat with him.

"hmm."

He acknowledged the duel's end with an arched brow and a dubious expression.

"Over far too quickly if you ask me," he said to Marissa. "Mr. Dreadslay should have drawn it out more... No matter. You're free to return to his side."

She blinked, distracted. She hadn't heard the request for her name. Rather, she had, but it hadn't registered.

"The black Madonna." She murmured belatedly.

She nodded and wiped her face with the back of her hand, pulling away from his side and making her way to Cypress. She moved with liquid grace, her hands reaching for him

Cypress staggered back to his feet. He licked every drop of Brink's Vitae from the blade of his knife and from his own fingers, which were still locked in place over the grip of the weapon. Wasn't much sustenance, but he'd ashed his opponent before even thinking to drain him. A waste, many would agree, as the fallen Sabbat's blood was given over to the victor after Monomacy concluded.

He turned around, still holding that knife. His face was a mess. The bone and cartilage forming his nose had been completely shattered. However, when he finally saw Marissa reaching for him, when her visage registered in his mind, he smiled with electrified joy and relief.

He lowered the knife, returned it to its sheath. He was still reeling from the pain of his broken face, as well as the sheer rush of the kill. The euphoria that Brink would no longer trouble them was also setting in.

Before this onslaught of varied emotions, Cypress stood transfixed. He did manage to reach forth with his right hand, once the knife was sheathed, and place his hand on her hip, drawing her close to him. His fingers weren't trembling as might have been expected. They were stronger than normal, the force they exerted even in pulling her body to his terrifyingly potent.

His eyes, for the most part, seemed suddenly dazed, lost in a state of fugue. He might have survived the blow to the head, but it was quite a vicious one never the less.

"My face. It's all fucked up," he explained, as if it needed explaining. His voice was extremely distorted. His nasal cavities would need to heal before he could talk properly.

She nodded as he pulled her close. She smiled at him, tearfully, coiling against his frame and clutching him desperately against her. She shook, she trembled- enough for the both of them it seemed. She sniffled, ecstatic that he was in her arms, relatively unharmd. She giggled as he spoke, twisting her face to kiss his neck, and murmuring low, just for him to hear.

"I still think you're handsome."

Cypress' lips cracked into a faint but blissful grin at the words she murmured into his neck. His left hand closed upon the back of her head. Fingers raked up over her scalp, sharply and without finesse. He eyes lidded and he pulled her closer to him.

"I'll take your word for it."

Listened to her heart beating against his own chest, felt her pulse resonate up from her skin and into every one of his fingers.

He knew he wouldn't be able to expend much of the unholy essence in his blood to heal his face. He wasn't exactly ravenous yet, as the duel had been brutal but quick in its duration, but any more and he'd risk a frenzy when, not if, he tasted her blood that night.

That thought did seem to shake him free, somewhat, of his current dazed state of mind. He clutched at her, pulled her closer, held her possessively. His fingers combed through her hair, the only aspect of his embrace that was afforded any gentleness what so ever.

"Let's get out of here."

Around their feet and ankles, the ocean-scented wind scattered Brink's flaking remains like the contents of a toppled, overflowing ash tray.

She nodded, pressed against him both of his volition and of her own. His hands in her hair made her eyelids flutter, and she nodded, smiling gently. She pulled away, sliding her hand into his, letting him lead her away.

She twisted back, offering a half wave at the elder who had overseen the event. She was grateful at least, that he had been objective.

"Home?"

He barely permitted her to escape from his arms, even to twist back and wave at Friedrich. Didn't want to let her move an inch at the moment. Her living warmth, her mere presence was intoxicating to him at that point in time. It even made the throbbing pain in his face seem pleasureful somehow. Every sensation, every thought he had was charged with exhilaration, with self-immersion in thankfulness and joy that, for a time at least, they were going to be alright.

Cypress detached his right hand to press his fingers to his nose. He sacrificed enough blood from within his veins to fuse the cartilage back together and give his nose something of a normal shape, although it was still clearly broken.

"Home." His voice was still somewhat nasally.

Cypress smiled and nodded down at her, removing his hand from his face and keeping his arm around her, holding her to him as he began that long walk back to their car.

There was still that illusionist to reckon with. He didn't want to think about him at the moment. Maybe word would spread of Brink's fate, giving the illusionist pause. Cypress didn't count on it, but didn't want to think about that at the moment.

No. This was their time. He was going to make certain that they both enjoyed it, reveled in it, immersed themselves in it, for as long as it lasted.

"Home..." He reiterated, kissed her temple lightly.

Love, and Sex, and Loneliness.

Cypress had remained in the hills just outside Meridian for the most part. The old mansion (known by it's ironic name, the 'Vampire Court') had once been a place he'd never venture without being strapped for Armageddon. He'd almost met his Final Death numerous times on the grounds of that place. How time eroded and twisted all things, he thought.

Now it was a sanctuary.

He felt besieged by the Unknown, besieged by Brink--the powerful nomadic Sabbat hero who'd ordered him to surrender his lover's blood as a sign of renewed loyalty. He also felt besieged by the creeping presence of a gathering threat. It was like the Unknown but Cypress knew this faceless threat had an identity, a purpose, even a name and material form.

Actually, he was still ready for Armageddon, but the mansion was now his ally--not his enemy.

He sat in the spacious gardens that stretched outward from the back of the Court to the initial slopping terrain of the nearest hill. The gardens were overgrown with weeds and decay, rockwork crumbling and the grounds littered with debris.

He found a certain ascetic in that. It was fitting, he thought. The night was relatively lukewarm, so he wore only a light jacket, black with red trim, over his T-shirt. He reclined on the bench and stared up at the starless night sky. He was looking for the Red Star, recalling that before the death-sleep had gripped him for a handful of years, he'd been quite fascinated by it.

Couldn't remember why.

Under the bench was a black sports bag, unzipped but positioned nearby Cypress' feet.

He had a red-tinted, double-edged knife held absently in his right hand. As if he were waiting for that sense of a pending threat to click within his psyche and send him over the edge into killing mode.

He smiled.

Pale arms folded over modest breasts, Marissa cocked her hips. Green eyes, like they had agreed, gazed at him half lidded. Her lips pursed, she gazed side to side, debating her approach. She disliked meeting in the open like this, if no reason other then what had happened last week in meridian.

There had been losses on both sides. Marissa had mourned for days the loss of her children. That being said, she was rather glad he had not yet asked about their creation, or the scars on her abdomen.

How the hell would she have explained that?

A red skirt tonight, tight black blouse. Hair bundled into pigtails gave her an innocent quality she would have otherwise lacked. A smile tugged at her pale lips as she approached, murmuring his name.

"Cypress..."

She approached, resting her hand on his shoulder from behind, swinging around the bench and taking a seat. She gazed at him, the bag, the knife. The whole ordeal bewildered her, but she sat for the moment in silence.

Cypress' predatory instincts took hold quickly within his thoughts.

Cypress froze as he felt the impressions of Marissa's fingers upon his shoulder. For less than an instant, he thought his acute senses had failed him, that an attack from his blind side had succeeded despite his preparedness. Then her voice erased that irrational impulse.

His form became relaxed, absent once again. The knife folded inward, pressed against the fabric of the light jacket covering his upper body. Feet crossed at denim-clad ankles. He glanced up at Marissa, a quizzical smile crossing his lips.

"Marissa." He responded to the usage of his name with her own. Eyebrows elevated coolly. "Everything alright?"

She gazed at him sidelong, crossing her legs as she leaned back on the bench. Her eyes shifted to the duffel bag and finally back to his face.

"You tell me."

She spoke simply. There was no hint of anger or irritation in her voice, she simply wasn't very adept at expressing curiosity. So many things were left unsaid between them. She enjoyed the peace for now.

God, she had missed him.

She resisted the urge to lay her palm on his thigh, and instead took the moment to study his face. Angular features, blonde locks.

After what seemed like eternity, she smiled at him.

That was Cypress Dreadslay?

A little disappointing.

The vampire watched from his perch atop one of the spires of the mansion's rooftop. He scowled. Although he was not obfuscated, perfectly physically visible, all anyone would see (if they stared up at the rooftop) was a perched fox coiled in its array of multiple tails (nine in all).

The vampire wrote Cypress off as a dead end. He needed no more undead foot soldiers unless he found someone terribly remarkable. Cypress was not. Not enough command presence.

Good thing he hadn't come to the hills to stare at Cypress Dreadslay. No, he was there to scout the mansion and the surrounding area for potential additions to his Collection. He trained his eyes on Marissa and Amber next, gazing long and hard at them, attempting to discern what they were...if anything more than mortal.

He watched the movement of her eyes. She required knowledge of his 'artillery' as they called it on the streets of Meridian and San Diablo. Cypress responded with a cool nod, shifting his lean frame to face her. Absorbing her image into his sapphire eyes.

It was fine for her to know, he thought. No reason for secrets with Marissa.

"Just a bit of added firepower. In case Brink and his pack decide to show up." In truth, he was concerned about more than his rival Cainite. But Brink was the least ephemeral of his concerns, at least. "It's a machine pistol and a sawed-off shotgun. Decided it might be necessary."

His smile never fully faded from his lips, although it flared back into full existence when she gave him that beautiful expression of her's.

"I feel like something's just....plain wrong. It gets worse when ever I leave the hills," he gestured via his features toward the rolling landscape around them. "And it can't just be Brink." He paused, unsure if he'd even told her that was the 'priest's' name or not. "The priest." He added.

"It's worse than him, though he might be utilized as part of the greater whole...That make any sense?"

She listened, hands folded in her lap. She regarded him calmly as he spoke and finally nodded. What he said was reasonable enough. She disliked guns, but she liked her life a little more. Now was not the time to argue semantics, especially when both of their lives were at risk.

She nodded as he spoke of higher powers, larger pictures were her forte. Emerald eyes blinked softly, her head tilted to the side. She considered the implications. The fates had never been kind to her, why change pace now? She bit her lip as she mulled his words over. Certainly there had been other factors at work even before they met. This whole situation felt almost....

Almost orchastrated.

She pursed her lips, and spoke finally, watching his eyes and chosing her words carefully.

"I suspected as much..."

george

Cypress shifted, pressing his back against the bench. He lidded his eyes, trying to get back to that place of sublime, instinctive calm that he'd once mastered. It was not a discipline, not something anyone had taught him. It was one part nature and two parts practice. He was one third of the way there.

Relax. He instructed himself within his own thoughts. She is relying upon you to remain calm, to show her there is no cause to worry, that you've got everything under control.

That may not have even been true, but Cypress whole-heartedly believed it. He glanced at her for a second. She seemed contemplative tonight, which was fine. He enjoyed the comfortable silence that sometimes settled in like a shroud over them.

His arm slid over her shoulders. The touch of his fingers was deathly cold tonight.

"Something weighs on your thoughts," he observed verbally, though he kept his voice quiet, relaxed. "Talk to me."

She leaned easily into his embrace, it felt like home to her. She was contemplative, though there was nothing in particular bothering her. Marissa's personality had a tendency to ebb and flow between introverted and extroverted, he just happened to catch her at a time when the tide was out.

She shrugged, casually leaning her head on his shoulder, and smiling gently up at him, but something tugged at her nerves.

"I missed you."

She spoke simply. Disliking admitting it, it wasn't her nature to whisper sweet nothings, especially in public, but she felt it, and she meant it. His arm around her sliced a hairline fracture through her hardened veneer, and sentiment spilled out.

She flushed a little, almost ashamed at herself. Desperate for a change in topic, her eyes scanned the skyline, and caught movement,

Cypress regarded her with a more acute gaze as she admitted to missing him. He found the way she simply, quietly stated it to be endearing. His smile turned crooked, pleased as she flushed slightly.

"I missed you too," he stated bluntly. Cypress' eyes met her own, his gaze caustic for short-lived, existing for only a second before he turned his features away and continued to scan the garden, the hills, for any hints of abnormality.

His outward persona remained somewhat cold, detached. One would have to be right beside the two in order to see that Cypress' mood was actually the opposite of cold, the opposite of detached. He simply reserved it for Marissa. No one else. His fingers gripped her opposite shoulder, drawing her slightly closer as his taller frame edged against her's.

He noticed the movement of her eyes toward the skyline. His features tilted, his stare returning to her.

"See something?"

She nodded. Her eyes met his gaze, a hint of amber beneath the emerald contacts. Returning her gaze to the skyline, her brow scrunched up as she tried to get a better understanding as to what she saw. Her senses however,m weren't as keen as his. It was possible she saw nothing but the movement of the wind, she turned to him, silently pleading.

Anyone watching them would assume they barely knew each other, and that was the way Marissa preferred it. Its quite likely she would come off as a fridgid bitch to any unwary onlooker, anyone foolish enough to eavesdrop, but it was quite the opposite. The passion between them ignited the air. The heat and electricity of it would make the hair on the back of the neck anyone who was foolish enough to approach, to stand on end.

It was the calm before the storm. Animals could sense it, people too, but most were too blind or stupid to care. The air crackled around them. Static and staccato.

The mistake was made. Love slipped from her lips, dripped down her chin and landed in his lap.

Cypress rested his elbow on the back of the bench, leaned back slightly. The pretense of a calm, uncaring demeanor had cracked with the necessity to study her. The wordless plea resonant within her eyes, symbolically veiled by her emerald-shaded contacts, struck him with piercing dissonance inside his thoughts.

This registered plainly in his eyes, although it was barely written at all elsewhere upon his visage.

The corners of his mouth slid upward, forming a smile that was both faint and completely razor-edged--cutting through the layers of hesitation that seemed to fall around them when ever they were anywhere other than completely alone.

He nodded, wordlessly confirming what she had wordlessly conveyed.

Cypress looked back to the Meridian skyline, though he paid little attention any more.

His hand gripped her shoulder and squeezed, pulling her, centimeter by centimeter, completely against him.

"We'll be fine," he assured her, still caught up in that self-imagined hero's role. Knight with a poisoned dagger. And a shotgun. "I'll see to that."

She nodded, offering no resistance as he pulled her close. Careless and proprietary, she smiled softly eyes dropping to the ground. Her lips pursed slightly, happy he was here with her. There were few times she would have appreciated being protected, but he seemed to bring it out of her.

She -WAS- his, and she was content with that.

Her lips curled gently into a warm smile. She closed her eyes, nostrils flaring as she coiled tight against her lover. She nuzzled her nose into his neck, taking the opportunity to whisper in his ear.

'I trust you."

In a perfect world, they would have been permitted to hold one another like that for as long as desired. The seconds wouldn't have felt like the reverberations of .44 magnum blasts sending their sonic waves through his chest.

But this was far from a perfect world.

Via the basic fundamentals of Auspex, which had taught him to rely on his instincts subconsciously at all time, to obey them as if they were divine commands, he knew that this moment in time was about to be interrupted.

Something was coming.

It intensified his reaction to her abrupt and sudden show of affection. He might have been more passive, content to receive her actions and return her smile and words. Instead, the sense of something fated, something pending scraped over his nerves and his reaction was anything but detached, cool, casual.

It was caustic.

His hand shot to the back of her head, his lips crushed to her's.

He clinched his eyes shut as he kissed her. Hungrily and desperately, as if his metaphorically clawing against walls that were closing in.

His arms gripped her as he maintained just enough composure to pull her to her feet, so that they'd have a chance to run if possible.

Still gripping the back of her head with his left hand, his right maintained its ironclad grip on the handle of his knife. The metal brushed her hip as he reached for her, then remembered the presence of the weapon.

But he didn't, for an instant, stop kissing her until it became absolutely necessary.

Emerald eyes snapped open, the change in his demeanor setting her nerves on fire. His lips on hers in an instant, not that she didn't appreciate his aggressiveness, but the context set her ill at ease. She ground her teeth, tensing. Nerves wound tight like gears, getting ready to pounce.

Regardless of how much his lust drive her crazy, for him to act like this when there were eyes on her was seriously wrong. She allowed him to pull her into a standing position. Her hands in his hair, gripping him. She drew strength from him. Her eyes slipped shut, she focused on the passion, the anticipation.

So this was what their lives had become.

She supposed there were worse things to succumb too.l At least he wasn't boring....

Breath short and shallow, she waited on him. Content to let him take the reins tonight, she was still recouping from her careless expenditures from the nights previous, and she needed to horde her reserves until other opportunities came to light.

Besides, she had to allow him to be in control sometimes too. She cast him an impish grin masked by his kiss.

The kiss slowly tapered away into an intermediate affair. Off and on, as he held her with one arm. Eyes oddly shut, as if he didn't trust them, or any other sense except his sixth.

This was how he readied himself for a confrontation he knew was inevitable.

In contrast to her shallow respiration, his own was nonexistent. There was no need for words at this point. His actions, and her own, had served beautifully as a conversation in his mind.

His lips curved into a calm smile, eerily absent of emotion. Eyes opened, just slightly as he entered that psychological state of absolute clarity. He never knew it as a mortal youth, didn't accept or comprehend it when the reality of it was forced upon him for the first time almost a century ago, and never truly delved into it until he was rendered unliving. But this was him at his most natural state. A killing state.

The knife in his right hand twisted, scarlet-tinted blade twisting as he flipped it to a downward-pointed grip. He forcibly tore his eyes from her and stared at the far corner of the garden...

"It's over there," he whispered to her, head lowered slightly. "I can't see it. Not yet. But I can feel it watching us."

If she truly did trust him, there was no better time to do so than right then and there.

The creature veiled in the image of a nine-tailed fox continued to observe them from its perch upon the rooftop.

It slipped behind one of the spires on the beautifully manicured rooftop of the mansion and peeked over its coil of tails, balefully glaring at them.

It prepared to direct one of its minions forward, testing these two, wanting to discern their capabilities.

Misdirection and study for now.

An imperceptible nod, she pressed her lips tight together as he finally broke away. She struggled to catch her breath, eyelids fluttering closed. She stood close to him, obediently, knowing much better then to get very far from his side. with her glamour reserves as low as they were she was pretty much cannon fodder.

Her arms slipped around his hips, pulling him close, stroking his back. Only her eyes showed the concern she felt. A gifted actress, emotion rarely penetrated her features.

It did so now.

Resting her head on his shoulder,s he murmured softly.

"Fight or flight, Mr Dreadslay?"

"Both," he concluded.

Her mannerisms were far more passive than they were the other night, when the two were trapped in that shard or bubble or what ever it had been. That 'false' reality.

He canted his features toward her, features now void of any expression other than calm discernment as he steadied his nerves, kept them flat and unhindered by apprehension. He forced himself to push what he felt and the thoughts she gave him, deep into the blackest recesses of his psyche. Focus.

He stepped away from her, keeping her within arm's reach but also giving them both the opportunity to make split second movements. His blood burned abruptly.

So did the enemy's.

"Keep between me and those vines and undergrowth in the far corner of the garden," he ordered quickly, but his voice remained soft and even in tone. "Get the bag under the bench ready and hand me what I ask for."

The vines he'd referred to shifted and a blur of streaking movements shot toward them both, clearing the garden and flying straight at them.

She nodded with a quiet sincerity, bending nd moving immediately to do as he asks. She retrieves teh bag with fluid grace, slinging it over her shoulder in one fell swoop. She sidesteps him, moving to stand where he asks.

No questions, no qualms.

She stood, feigning a casual stance. Her hand sliding into his, holdong him fast and reluctant to let him go. Perhaps it was silly, but she was apprehensive.

As Cypress reacted to the incoming blur of movement rushing toward them, his hand withdrew from Marissa's.

This was it.

The two Cainites in front of Marissa decided who lived and who died at a pace so frighteningly quick that it was over in a matter of seconds.

Meanwhile, she would see the fox with nine tails approaching her. She'd also recognize it as eerily similar to chimera--but something else. Perhaps a corrupted version of the glamour-infused creatures she was used to. It was...false. Anemic of glamour. Yet still very present.

The creature paused, glared at her with baleful ghost-white eyes.

-This will be your only chance- A voice in her head. -Step back into the mansion immediately if you wish either yourself or your friend to continue to exist-

The mental voice was lofty. Cold.

Narcissistic to the extreme.

The hostile vampire rushed them. He used his first wave of preternatural speed and strength to clear the distance between the underbrush and any obstacles along the way. By the time he reached Cypress and Marissa, his second wave of celerity had been initiated.

The vampire was armed with a curved, bloodsoaked knife.

He swung his weapon with zealotry and determination, not to mention practiced skill. This creature might have been a grunt, but he was a powerful one. What ever allegiances he once had were irrelevant now. He served the Master in all that he did, all that he said, all that he thought.

The first strike hit Cypress square in the neck. He only knew he'd survived the blow when this swift, deadly encounter was over.

It happened so quickly he didn't know he'd even been struck.

Cypress' body twisted to the side, arm guiding his movements and not following. Never following. The hand he struck with was everything, the tip of the spear.

His blade cut into his adversary's chest, sheering through clothes and flesh, leaving a poisoned swath in its wake.

The opposite vampire stabbed toward Cypress' gut.

Cypress twisted his frame out of the way, but took a gash to his side.

A hack at the back of Cypress' neck. Poorly timed but delivered with force.

Cypress brought up his left hand, blocked the hacking motion by chopping their wrists together. The impact of his forearm to the wrist of his enemy was sharp, painful. The enemy was stronger than he was, but Cypress held a slight edge on fortitude.

He found his enemy had also lost his edge of speed. Celerity running dry.

Cypress stepped forward, knifed him down in two more fluid motions to the man's neck.

Her attention focused on everything. She commanded herself to reel it in, being too distracted right now would only serve to get them both killed. Eyes widened, a voice in her head.

She stared at the creature, clutching the bag. She eyed the door, her gaze darting to the cainites, her mate, the creature, and then back to the door. her mind leapt ahead, considering, calculating.

She teetered on indecisiveness and finally reasoned that if a being was powerful enough to communicate directly into her mind, it was probably in her best interest to fucking listen to it

She hitched the bag up, and made a beeline for the door, casting a backwards glance to make sure her lover was ok.

The rush of celerity ended as abruptly as it had begun. Cypress turned around to grab Marissa, seeking to pull her back into arm's reach. It was vital that they not be separated.

It was then that a sharp, searing line of pain slid across the nerves of his neck. The wound didn't bleed as it would upon the skin of a living being, but it grievous none the less. It was designed specifically to destroy him in an instant. Failing that, it was designed to hurt.

Very, very fucking bad.

"Oh my God." His voice was etched roughly into the air emerging from his lips. Vocal chords damaged. The poison rendering his initial attempt to heal the wound unsuccessful. He'd require time, energy, and concentration to even begin to recover. That sort of clinical thinking in and of itself was difficult to maintain. He didn't know how bad the injury to his neck was at the moment.

"Marissa, wait, damnit." He could barely speak above a raspy whisper, voice mutilated by the slice.

Cypress gritted his teeth, limped to the door behind Marissa, doing his best to catch up with her.

That was when he saw the back door of the mansion fly off its hinges, cycle around and around in the air, and slam straight into him as if thrown by a poltergeist. Taken off guard, he fell flat on his back, senses reeling, mind in shock.

Marissa, however, saw no such illusion. The door was open, it hadn't moved an inch. She was in the hall.

-Leave him- The voice in her head whispered. -He was stricken by the blade of one of his cousins. The poison unravels him. He will perish now. There is no use. He would not desire you to follow him, would he?-

The words were clinical, matter of fact.

But behind the proverbial curtain, the one weaving them into reality was grinning like a madman as he did his best to deceive her.

Marissa would see the nine-tailed fox out of the corner of her eyes, perched at the end of the hallway, its ghostly eyes seeming to beckon her forward.

-Come with me. You will be safe.-

"NO!"

She turned abruptly from the creature. Perhaps it was right, maybe he would have wanted her to continue unharmed, but she loved him, and she wasn't going to leave him there to die.

The realization hit her like a brick wall. Helr emotions knocked the wind from her. Her head reeled, she reached out for the wall to steady herself, regain composure. It was true. she did love him.

Bittersweet, the realization came on the cusp of his demise.

She darted back out, ignoring the beast that had lead her astray, cursing silently the abomination. She dropped to her knees, leaning over him, clutching, blood red tears creeping down her face.

"please, please lets go....."

She struggled, trying to pull him to his feet, trembling and sobbing.

"Don't leave me... I'm so sorry...."

She shuddered. Leaning over him, waves of fear ripped through her. She prayed to a god she didnt believe in, begging for salvation.

Her life was worthless without him.

"I'm... hey," he whispered. "Hey. Marissa. I'm okay. Not going anywhere. Just got knocked down. I'm alright."

He spoke rapidly, trying his best to calm her down. He must have been cut very bad, he thought, if she believed he was about to ash.

Of course, he had no idea about the insidious creature who'd tried to separate and conquer them, one by one.

Cypress' eyes were confused, disoriented, but very much sentient. The gash on his neck seemed laced with a translucent red oil that was very clearly malignant. Something like blood, but transformed into something else. The same stuff that she knew tinted his own knife red.

His lips curved into a smile that bordered on delirious as he saw the image of her face abruptly cut into his vision. He reached up with his left hand, still gripping his knife in the right. His hand pressed to her shoulder, snaked downward over the inside of her arm as he moved up to a kneeling position.

He'd heard her words. Seen the expression on her face, the look within her eyes. She would see his lips tighten, his fangs elongated and clearly present, a look of absolute hatred in his eyes--pierced by that emotion's opposite number as his gaze focused upon her.

"I'm okay. I'm okay." His voice hissed roughly. "Just got cut."

His left arm hooked around her own, pulling her back up to her feet as he stood. His world tilted. He tried to maintain balance.

"Something hit me with the door... It flew off its hinges," except it hadn't. Perhaps the poison was making him hallucinate?

He pulled her closer. There would be time to indulge completely in the vortex of feelings she'd induced in him, and Cypress wanted nothing more than to do so.

For now he had to maintain control. Had to get them out of the garden.

"We circle round...go in through the front... Then we barricade your door."

It was a rough, makeshift plan. But he still felt like the court, and the hills around it were much safer than the broader Meridian area at the moment.


The nine-tailed fox dissipated, erased from existence.

The one behind it, behind the telepathic whispers, slid away into the shadows of obscurity. It required incredible sacrifice of will to weave such emotions, and to infiltrate a Fae's psyche with its voice.

Perhaps, it could have overwhelmed Cypress. He was weakened. But this elder was too intelligent, too old to gamble. He only fought by himself when he knew he'd already won. And then there was Marissa. He'd never underestimate a faerie. Never.

He'd be back, though. Whether for them or to others, only the most powerful or elusive of creatures in Meridian were truly safe from his designs.

She nodded, stifling a sob. She wiped her eyes hastily, her arms wrapped around him. She nodded at his plan, any plan was better then nothing. Her fingers gripped him, she trembled, and spoke quietly.

"The poison.. cypress..."

She trailed off, tears starting fresh. what was it about him that turned her into a blubbering child? The creature was gone, and she cursed herself for being so foolish, so easy to control. If he didn't make it through this....

She wasn't sure what she would do.

She forced the possibility out of her mind, using his elbow to guide him, she moves in the direction he motions.

He kept his voice to a low whisper at all times. Drawing upon experience and instincts, he began to recover his shaken resolve. It turned to steel within his psyche. Sapphire eyes swept their gaze from left to right. Right to left, as they initiated their walk round the grounds of the mansion.

"The worst of the poison is over. It's designed to cripple my ability to recover from the injury itself. Other than the lack of rapid blood loss, the wound is as one inflicted upon a mortal... for a time. Eventually I'll recover."

He utilized the explanation to both remind himself that, no, he wasn't dying. It just hurt. Calm the hell down. And also to distract her from the passage of seconds, the anxiety creeping in around them as they walked, alone, yard after yard, over the mansion's grounds.

When they reached the Court's front entrance, he stopped her, pulled her against him. Cypress glanced down at her, a sharp and reassuring smile flickering in and out of existence.

"Thanks for not running off. I wouldn't have wanted to chase you down feeling like I do right now."

He paused only a few more seconds, mind still operating instant by instant, play by play. Emotions, abstract thoughts, tightly constrained.

Cypress pulled her along after him, back into the court. He swore he'd never, ever go into that garden again unless absolutely necessary.

Her arm encircled him, she took his words in, and relaxed. The way he had warned her against the poison when they were driving had set her mind ill at ease. She was relieved to know that it, in itself was not life threatening. As he spoke again, her eyes welled up once more, tears of blood dripping down her face again, such an odd phenomenon. She sniffled a little, and biting her lip before speaking, determined to at least explain herself.

"I heard.. a voice..."

She traile off, pressing her lips together as she struggled with language and emotion, both getting hte best of her.

"It told me to go through the door, that we would be safe..."

She faultered, wincing and leaning in to kiss his cheek gently. Her arm clutched his waist, pulling him tightly.

'I believed it, but then you fell, an it urged me to go on.. and just leave you... I couldn't. I... I lo-"

She stopped short, shaking her head.

Cypress paused before he guided her back into the mansion. He took in her words, patiently analyzing them and listening to what she had to say. He also noticed her the scarlet traces of her tears, staining her cheeks. A plethora of different impulses and emotions flooded his psyche at once. He desired to lean over, lick the tears away, absorb what ever sustenance he could from them. That rather inhuman urge was not without empathy, however. He felt as if it would be done lovingly, if also for a selfish core reason. He wanted her blood, perhaps, more than ever before--having had her nearly torn from his side by some mysterious entity.

He compromised, kissed the more prominent stains of blood from her face. He tore his gaze and his lips from her face, feeling his sense of control beginning to slip away.

"The voice most certainly was not trustworthy," he finally answered her. He reached over, wiped another tear from her face with the pads of his fingers. The touch itself was adoring, admiring, reassuring. "You did not listen to it, in the end. So you have nothing to explain, nothing to worry about."

He glanced down at his fingertips, wet with her blood. He licked them clean.

Eyelids closed for a second as his world reeled--this time from the taste of her blood in his mouth. Distracted, he shook his head and pulled her inside the building.

"Come on." He whispered as they continued their walk. "We'll be fine. We'll be safe. This was a harrowing night, but we survived. That's all that matters."

She nodded sullenly, grateful he either hadn't picked up her momentary slip, or chose not to call her on it. Either way, it allowed her to save face, at least for the mean time. His touch, so careful and caressing, reminded her gently what she stood to lose shoudl she act so foolishly again. She remained quiet, contemplative as he ushered her inside. She did not argue or protest, eyes flickering to his. Baleful, and full of woe, it would be some times before the Madonna broke out of her self imposed prison.

The mother of sorrow wept for herself.

Of course his words had a ring of truth to them, they were safe, neither was grievously injured. That was the important thing, he was right. But the fact that she had been so easily distracted shamed her down to her core.

'Yes, Mr Dreadslay... you're right."

Her eyes shifted, she'd taken a step back from him, figuratively speaking. Marissa had always been good at building walls, segregating herself. This had never been intentional, but regardless if it was or not, she was emotionally retreating. She'd be back, everyone had thier own coping mechanisms.

Mad Marissa's was being introverted.

It was not until they were safely inside her little apartment, their enclosed sanctuary, that he began to become fully aware of her shift in demeanor. In a state of violence or turmoil, his capacity to feel anything at all simply faded into nonexistence.

Certainly, he still possessed the same thoughts of her, but it was not until time stopped racing forward at a terrible pace that he was capable of translating those cerebral things into anything more substantive.

Cypress paused in front of the locked door, shut his eyes, forced the hyper-clarity of the crisis to end with said crisis.

It was over. For now.

He felt at the injury to his neck. It far overshadowed the scratch on his lower back or the deep bruise on his forearm. If he had been weaker or his opponent a bit stronger, he'd be ash right now--not the other way around.

It was a sobering but ultimately irrelevant thought and he pushed it out of his mind after accepting its existence.

"Marissa?" He said quietly. His vocal chords seemed to have healed enough for him to speak at a low pitch and volume. Voice was still a little rough.

He turned toward her, eyes seeking her out.

He held out his hand to her, didn't wait, took her hand, pulled her close.

He looked down at her and then, only then, did he finally toss the knife he'd been gripping the entire time to the floor. Fucking thing.

Cypress attempted to say what he needed to say. The look in his eyes was unpleasant, as if his words were coming up like shrapnel out of his throat.

Lips parted but he shook his head. "Give me a second. Composure's a must here." He whispered obliquely.

She cradled against him, nodding at his requested pause. She struggled with her emotions, beating them down, forcing them into submission for the mean time. There were other things at stake here then how she felt.

She tore her eyes from the floor, gazing at his neck, and then into his eyes. Her head tilted to the side, holding the pigtail out of his way, she shifted her weight against him. He needed her, especially now. the act seemed to pull her from her hiding spot, at least momentarily.

"Please, take it..."

it was the least she could do, and the fact that this had become a ritual for them, a dance, a seduction played a part as well. Her fingers stroked his hair, she mumbled repeatedly how sorry she was.

The offer of blood seemed to distract him, for the time being, from what ever statement he was trying to figure out how to form into words.

His hands gripped her with a force that would have been violence if not for the will he poured into self-restraint. Even so, it left her with no need to stand, only the toes of her shoes brushing the floor. Cypress wanted, desperately, to ask her why she was sorry. Why she kept apologizing.

His thoughts were not eroded by the taste of her blood. They were incinerated. He very nearly found his psyche drowned in a vicious frenzy, but for the constant reminder. He loved her. He loved her. He loved her.

When he pulled back, Cypress was on the edge of blacking out. He licked the marks he'd left on the bottom of her neck, right above her collar, sealed the wound. He pursed his lips, cleaning them of her blood.

His smile was absent, cold, bright with hatred as he replayed over and over again, his kill from earlier that evening. And the kill he intended to duplicate once he got his hands on the mind-speaking fuck who'd almost taken Marissa from him that night.

Marissa.

He said her name without speaking it. No voice. Just a movement of lips.

His eyes became clear with thought again. He looked down at her, his expression suddenly far less viperous, more human.

"I..."

He glanced from her feet to her eyes, scanning her, trying to decide if...fuck it.

"I love you."

Her fingers stroked through his hair, gripping gently as he lifted her. She felt that familiar prick, his lips and tongue on the alibaster skin of her throat. As he set her down, her name on his lips, no sound, just warm.

Eying him cautiously, he looked her up and down. As he spoke, her face seemed to blur somehow. Her features almost crumbled. She opened her mouth to speak, and stopped short.

She pulled away from him abruptly, slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. Sobs couldd be heard on the other side. Quiet hiccoughing as she fought to bring herself under control. He shouldn't see her like this, she was being weak.

When she finally unlocked the soor, wiping blood from her cheeks, she looked at him, large amber eyes meeting his. She gazed for but a moment before moving to him at speeds that surprised even him. She flung her arms around him, trembling in his grip, she finally spoke.

"I didn't want those god forsaken things in any longer..."

She blinked, obviously referring to the contacts she had removed while in the bathroom. Her voice, barely over a whisper. She wanted him to see her, not some seer-kind facade.

'I love you."

The tears started again, and this time she didn't even attempt to get them under control

Of shoes and ships - and sealing wax - of cabbages and kings.

About a week had gone by. Cypress had been gone for the last two nights.

The Madonna could hear the sharp rapping of what sounded like a steel bludgeoning device against the front door of her room. In truth, Cypress was using his knuckles, but his urgency was such that he applied every shred of natural and unnatural strength he had at his disposal. Although he relied primarily on speed to kill his enemies, he was at least as physically powerful as an average unliving warrior--he was simply much, much faster.

This became evident when the rapping began to accelerate in pitch and frequency for a few seconds.

Then there was just silence and nothing beyond that. An ominous quiet as he attempted to gather hold of his frayed sense of control. He was so very fucking angry. He was somewhat concerned what would happen when she actually opened her door.

The creaking of old wood, she pulled the door open. Though loathe to admit it she had missed him, so the fact that he had returned brought a faint smile to her lips, however, there was something wrong.

Something very wrong indeed.

His urgency had alarmed her. What could unnerve a man over a hundred years old? She suddenly wasn't sure she wanted the answer to that question.

Amber eyes peered at him, then behind him, and back to his face.

"What is it?"

She stepped aside easily, allowing him access to their room.

He looked down at her as she opened the door. At first, everything which had taken place over the last two nights was forgotten. The feeling was blissful, although Cypress looked anything but.

His black T-shirt was tattered, singed. The left knee of his jeans had been torn out and the frayed edges were stained with blood. From what she could make out of the skin on his knee, however, he was just fine.

His right hand was pressed to his side, a small but double-edged blade held in a relaxed grip. The steel weapon was tinted red, as if dipped in blood that coagulated but did not dry and turn to a rusty brown.

He looked over his shoulders, as if just checking to make sure that whatever enemy he'd armed himself against wasn't going to suddenly appear out of the darkness. Satisfied, Cypress stepped inside.

Extending his free hand, he reached around her waist, pulling her along with him, and then pushed the door shut with his shoulder.

"We need to leave, before they discover where your home is. I don't want you involved in this."

As if that explained anything, much less everything.

Cheek muscles tensed as she took in the sight of him, disheveled but essentially unharmed. She considered the implications, perhaps he was over reacting. Pursing her lips, she decided finally that though she knew little of him, the Dreadslay was not prone to theatrics. If anything, she considered that he may potentially be downplaying the issue.

That thought made her blood run cold.

She nodded finally, allowing the single sheet that she had wrapped around her to fall to the floor. Moving to the dresser with fluid grace, she pulled free a fresh black skirt, and red blouse. She dressed in silence, as quickly as she could.

She scooped the remainder of her things haphazardly into a black suitcase. Clothes, Makeup, bible. She zipped and latched it shut, slinging it over her shoulder, and moved to take his hand.

She was horribly confused, but no sense trying to pry answers from him in this agitated state.

He did not at all expect her to simply... trust him.

The sight of Marissa turning to the dresser gave him chills. Not simply due to the image of her unclad body, but the way she moved--not a word, not a sound. Compliance. Trust.

Such things were rare in this world of theirs, even if it only manifested once--for a single sequence of events.

Cypress took a step away from the door and leaned against the wall, observing her as she dressed without words and then packed her things in a hasty but ordered manner.

"I'll explain in the car," he finally told her. "I acquired one they won't immediately match me with, I think."

Her hand was extended and he took it. His chill fingers encompassing her own, careful not to squeeze. His instincts were on fire. His first encounter with opposing predators since awakening from the death-sleep had changed him, invoking a side of him that hadn't been fully present since before the lights went out.


After that, he opened her door and led her out of the Court. The vehicle parked outside was yet another stolen car--though he was intelligent enough to steal from individuals who wouldn't likely report the theft. Hardened criminals who were yet mortal, whom he had no compunctions about draining and robbing.

He let her put her things in the back seat and then opened the passenger's side door for her.

She climbed in gingerly. There was something about those moving hunks of metal that didn't sit quite right with her, but this was not the time to be protesting. She reached over, slipping the belt over her hips and clipping it shut, turning her attention towards the drivers’ side as he climbed in. The sight of him brought all those emotions flooding back, but she steeled herself, quelling even momentarily the surge as it threatened to pull her out to sea. Pursing her pale lips, fingers clutching the arm rest, anxiety seeping in.

Eyes slid closed, she took a few full breaths, trying to calm herself. When she opened her eyes, she leaned into him, murmuring softly.

"I don't understand...."

She did trust him. Fully and completely. Though she would be lying to say there hadn't been a hint of doubt that first night, even the second... The doubt had evaporated quickly.


"I'll explain. Promise." He spoke quickly, but his voice was soft and relaxed. Not necessarily gentle. He was simply in control now, operating in a way that had long become second nature. In any given bad situation, it was always vital not to freak out. Panic spawned disaster.

He stared straight ahead, delaying that promised explanation until they were cruising northbound on an old state highway. He didn't trust the Interstate tonight. As he had no clue as to which vampiric faction, if any, was currently held sway over the region--he'd much prefer to face off against a lone pursuer that happened upon him on this aged road than risk being ensnared in the proverbial net.

Once they were in the hills that shrouded the Vampire Court in makeshift seclusion from the nearby cityscape, reducing the luminescent towers of Meridian to an eerie glow above the treetops, Cypress finally relinquished hold of that red knife he'd been holding like a good luck charm--even as he drove.

"Don't touch that." He said, putting it on the dash. "It's poisoned."

Cypress checked his rearview, but more to the point he relied upon his instinctive sense of approaching threats. This sublime ability had saved his unlife more than his more overt or destructive powers ever had.

He felt nothing directly related to him, although there was strangeness in the air. Something he neither understood, nor related to.

For Marissa, it became far more evident as the minutes ticked away. She'd see things that Cypress couldn't. Shapes in the trees. Faces in the clouds. The towers of smoke from a food packaging plant somewhere in the hills appeared to twist and writhe like ephemeral tornados.

"Okay," he started to come clean--but paused. How much should he tell her? How should he spin it? Cypress shook his head. Only two nights away and already he was unconsciously urging himself to manipulate her. "I was approached two nights ago. Vampires. Five of them. They proved themselves to be of my...group, sharing the same allegiance. That means nothing, however."

He paused again, waiting for something.

She nodded as he spoke, eyes traveling to the knife, eying it as it balanced precariously on the dashboard.

Her attention shifted as she glanced out the windows. Brows furrowing as she watched the chimera bend and swirl in the distance. As he spoke however, her attention drifted back to him.

Her head cocked.

"I'm afraid I don't really understand the politics of the children of Lilith."

Her hands folded in her lap; she waited for him to continue. She would have liked elaboration, but this wasn't really the time to be picking his brain. Her nostrils flared, the way he chose his words, set her slightly on edge.

"Just tell me the truth, Dreadslay. Do not try to sugarcoat it."

Cypress observed her from the corner of his vision as he drove. The way her nostrils flared and her mood revealed itself to be sharper was incredibly attractive. Though perhaps now was not the best time to dwell on it.

He gave her a quick look when she told him, in a very straight-forward manner, to come out with it. Somehow, this prompted a smile to appear on his lips for the first time that evening.

"They told me to sacrifice you."

He reached forward, taking the knife off the dashboard, slid it back into the sheath on his belt. His lean frame shifted to accommodate the movement. Although he decided to put the blade away completely, just in case she might be tempted to worry about it, he realized that even reaching for it after those words was likely a very savage thing to do.

Cypress gave her an apologetic glance, and then focused back on the drive. He continued his explanation.

"One of them was very adept in the arts of reading others' thoughts. He pierced even mine. Not sure what the extent of his vision was, but he perceived that you are valuable to me. As a 'show of fidelity', he demanded your blood for himself and his pack. Said that I had been gone a while, which is true, but that is not the point.

"I am confident in my ability to destroy him. It's what I do.

"Unfortunately, that was neither the time nor the place to remove him. He knew my answer even before I gave it.

"I could tell, by subtle nuances in their behavior, that this individual was giving his command to immobilize me via stake. So I struck first. Killed two of his pack mates.

"I escaped. But we're a vindictive race. He will seek your blood. And mine."

Lips pursed as she mulled over his words. She was torn in two directions. One, she was strangely lifted by the fact that they perceived her to be, and at his own admission, valuable to him.

That being said, his life was now on the line, for her.

She nodded with a small frown she chewed absently at her nails, eyes gazing at the glass.

"For now, we are safe? Where are we going?"

Leaning her head back on the seat, fingers drumming against the armrest.

"And when the 5 are dead, what then? Will more turn against you?"

"We're safe for the moment," he replied to her initial question. Cypress hesitated. He did not know what exactly this Cainite priest had seen when he glimpsed traces of his soul, but one thing was certain. He had chided Cypress for 'behavior abominable to the race' before offering him a chance for contrition. Although he truly felt nothing for the broader ideology of the sect, its indoctrination practices were truly frightening. He questioned, if even for a second, if he hadn't been in the wrong. If he hadn't put his own self-indulgence before the good of his brethren...

Fuck that.

Cypress was as trapped in the sect as was the lowliest expendable pawn. He hated it at times, accepted it at others, but there were certain lines he'd never cross. After what Marissa had given to him, how could he even question his course of action?

"I apologize..." presumably for the lapse in his answers, "Was thinking. We're going to a place that I know to be safe. I found it on my second night awake, prepared it as a refuge. Didn't think I'd need it so soon," he shrugged. That was unlife. "I believe I may have utilized it as a hiding spot in the past, which means that I would have kept it secret. My memory, however, is still sketchy in some places. The sleep does that to you."

Was he even making a shred of sense? He hoped she could piece together some meaning from his hastily-presented explanations.

"When the five are dead? I hope to settle the matter simply by killing the priest...um, the one who looked into my head. I can challenge him, but it requires another priest to sanction the match. Finding one might take some time. So until then, we must use caution."

She nodded sullenly. Her thoughts skipped like rocks on the surface of a lake, galloping ahead. Amber eyes flashed with interest as he mentioned the word priest.

She turned toward him, pondering. She had known and killed many priests in her lifetime, but she was fairly certain none of them had been children of Lilith.

Her thoughts drifted. She remembered the screams of the last priest she killed like it was yesterday. It had been her father, after all.

She shook her head, bringing her attention back to the present.

"Caution.... Okay."

He folded her arms over modest breasts, wondering where they were going, but found it best not to riddle him with questions for the time being.

His gaze slid in her direction once again, that sharp and intrigued look in her eyes distracting him. Barely-felt the chills drifted along his shoulders. That familiar sensation of an advancing threat crept up on him and, before he could steady itself, he felt as if their vehicle was being followed by an invisible pursuer.

Cypress accelerated slightly. His fingers gripped the wheel more tightly. Something was coming. Its nature and the methods with which it would threaten them was a complete mystery. His sense of danger wasn't as convenient as precognition. He didn't see what form a threat would take when it emerged. All he could do was feel it begin as a blood-chilling inception and grow into a consuming drumbeat in his subconscious mind.

Faster. Faster.

The speedometer passed seventy-five, going on eighty. Cypress was an efficient driver, but by no means an expert. He'd never been fully comfortable with automobiles. Hadn't had them as a mortal. The first mechanized land vehicles he ever saw had been-

"Son of a bitch."

Their seat-belts went taut.

They almost swerved right off the road as another vehicle merged onto the state highway from a smaller road, its headlights off. If she looked at all, Marissa would see the pairs of glowing red eyes in the shadowy confines of the vehicle.

The pursuer kept moderately close, stalking Cypress' car patiently as they continued on.

Cypress grew increasingly nervous, wondering when the pursuers would make their next attempt to drive him off the road.

"Marissa? Listen to me. We. will. be okay. I've been in this situation plenty of times."

He tried to smile, tried to quietly laugh it off. Although he was confident, he wasn't as self-sure as he'd once been.

She writhed in the seat, eyes darting back and forth. She nodded as he spoke grateful for his reassurances, yet blaming herself.

Neither of them would be in this position right this moment if not for her.

Her palm slipped over his thigh, face steeling against the unseen threat. It simply wasn't in her nature to show fear, but there were clues, nuances for those who paid enough attention. Though her face was blank, void of emotion, her fingertips clutched at him desperately.

One always had to read between the lines with Mad Marissa.

Gazing at the red eyes in the mirror, she wondered what tricks she had up her sleeve that might help. Skipping through a mental inventory before she started squandering glamour.

After careful consideration, The Black Madonna closed her eyes and mumbled something under her breath. Her concentration is demanded for a moment or two, and when she finally opens her eyes, she glances out the car window to her right. Alongside them is an exact, sentient duplicate of both them and the car.

Though it will not likely fool their attackers for long, she silently hopes it will buy them some time.

The sensation of her fingers clutching his thigh, sharp impressions through the denim, both exhilarated him and increased his nervousness. There was no denying or concealing the fact that Cypress took very real pleasure in having his unlife at risk. The slightly upward shift at the corners of his mouth betrayed the rush he felt as the waiting game continued.

And ended. At first, he though another pursuant vehicle had appeared on his flank--straight out of nowhere. His keen perceptions, however, quickly caused his mind to register the fact that the car looked exactly like his own.

"Fuck. Did you just do that?" He wondered what else she was capable of.

Playing off her move, Cypress made his own. His right hand reached out to the side and his muscles constricted to the point that it ached. He gritted his teeth, inhaled needlessly through his nostrils, and pushed his right foot down upon the accelerator.

Their pursuers gave chase, gunning it. Red eyes blazed with predatory glee.

The needle of Cypress' speedometer passed 80 miles per hour. He began to lean forward. The look on his face was akin to a man on the verge of motion sickness. He was clearly uncomfortable in a high speed chase. He sincerely hoped that duplicate vehicle would do something decisive before they rounded a sharp curve. He truly did not know if they would make it.

"Here they come," This is fucking it. He didn't say it but for those nerve-eroding seconds he believed it. Keeping his mind on the matter at hand, Cypress spoke breathlessly, his words rapid. "If you can make that car do what you want, move it between us and them."

He didn't know if that was possible, but he didn't really have time to ask first, and then make the request.

The red eyes behind them vanished suddenly as the pursuant vehicle's headlights flared into existence, bright-lighting Cypress with disorienting effect as they roared forward.

Up ahead, cautionary orange signs foretold another curve.

Further ahead, beyond the cure, there lurked a watery, flickering sequence of cold, bluish light.

Akin to lightning striking out of nowhere, with no hint of a thunderstorm overhead. No rain. No wind to speak of.

Nothing but that slashing radiance, its source obscured by the twists and turns coming up on the highway.

She nodded, at his question, her lips curling up almost proudly at his question. She ground her teeth as the picked up speed, and signaled at the chimera.

The pseudo-Cypress saluted and obediently tapped his breaks, coasting in behind them.

There were many other tricks she had up her sleeve, but resources were scarce at this point, and she had no reason to squander it for the time being. She'd wait to see how her little illusion played out, and pull another rabbit from her had when the time came.

Her eyes flickered to the windshield and she winced, her breath caught in her throat. She saw something up ahead, brow furrowing and eyes squinting, she tried to decipher what it was.

The pseudo-Cypress took to swerving.

Their pursuers were forced to hit the brakes. Hard. The screeching of tires could be heard in the distance behind them. If not for the fact that they were clearly veteran highway predators, there would have been a devastating collision.

They coasted around the curve at about 70 miles an hour, Cypress releasing his foot off the accelerator enough to prevent a potential disaster.

Cypress' right arm drifted back to his side, away from Marissa's body as he returned both hands to the wheel--somewhat more comfortable driving at high speeds now that the harassment tactics had currently been brought to a standstill.

As the pseudo-Cypress swerved back and forth, it blocked the pursuers from simply gunning it around him and continuing the chase.

"Heh." He laughed a little, looking in his rear view quickly, then back at Marissa. His lips curved into a crooked smile as his gaze shifted back to the highway. He sped up; wanting to make good use of every straight stretch that fortune threw their way. "That was pretty fucking good, you know that?"

There were still those lights to consider. What the hell was going on up ahead?

It rained.

It didn't start to rain, it simply was raining. The weather changed in an instant, from mild and calm outside their car to a torrential downpour that reduced their visibility to mere yards--and only then because Cypress' eyes were preternaturally sharp.

Cypress looked confused, but likely did not begin to comprehend the gravity of what the shift in weather meant for them. He did know that he had to slow down or they were screwed. Thankfully, the same applied to their pursuers--if they were even still back there.

"What the hell is this?" He asked, more to himself than to Marissa, as he quickly turned on the wipers.

"I guess I'm useful for something other than blowjobs."

There was a hint of sincerity in her voice. Her lips curled up, she offered him a flash of smile. She wasn't one for jokes, but she felt it best to lighten the mood as best she could, while she could.

She frowned lightly in confusion, as bewildered as he at the sudden shift. She gave his thigh a gentle squeeze before returning her hand to her own lap. She didn't like this, not one bit.

Eyes in the rearview, she made the decision to channel more energy into the second vehicle. So far, it was proving to be a reliable decoy, might as well keep the charade going a little longer.

He grinned back at her. "Hell yeah you are."

The expression grew more subdued, a slightly edged smile and nothing more.

This had suddenly become fun, in his mind. They'd just completely smoked those idiots and were unscathed. It felt wonderful to see this side of her come out. A truly dangerous side, perfectly capable going toe to toe with aggressors.

Then came the rain.

Their speed ground to a painfully slow speed. No more than 15 miles per hour at time from that point on. Wind sheered across the highway, sending violent reverberations throughout Cypress' car.

A vehicle far behind them honked at their decoy--but it sounded more like a fog horn than anything else, bellowing through the air out of the nothingness behind the slashing rain.

A very large truck could be seen on the opposite side of the yellow line, passing both the decoy and their own car. The interior of Cypress' vehicle filled with a baleful, pallid illumination--cast by the flood lights mounted on the machine behind them.

"The fuck is going on?" His voice was icy, barely a whisper. Paranoid thoughts began to trickle into his psyche from a subconscious still somewhat damage and thoroughly haunted by the dreams he'd entertained while in the death-sleep.

The fog horn sounded again, warning anyone on the road ahead that they'd better watch out for the machine or be laid to waste.

After it passed them, they'd both see that the bed of the huge truck was packed with silhouettes. They were hunched and broad-shouldered, appearing as though armored. Many of them watched Cypress and Marissa and their small car as the truck continued on.

Gazing distrustfully at the truck as it passed, Mad Marissa mumbled under her breath.

"I don't like this one bit.."

She shifted in her seat, bracing herself. She wasn't sure what she was bracing herself against, but she knew it was coming.

Something.

Her amber eyes slid closed. Agile mind leapt again. Picking at the strings of the loom of fate, and following them along the path. She could never see far, she was not as adept at soothsaying as her sister Kahlan, but she could perceive what would come to pass within a 10 minute marker.

The next few moments played fast forward in her head before they actually came to pass.

She saw them continuing on down the highway.

She saw that the heavy truck was stopped in the middle of the road, its path halted by the fact that a large bridge that linked two hills together had collapsed into a swirling, violent flood that had overtaken every trace of land in the area that was not of raised elevation.

She witnessed the apparently armored figures getting out of the strange machine and 'fueling up' by feeding a smaller silhouette into a mouth-like orifice located on the bed of the truck. The orifice was lined with shredding, grinding spikes, turning at a steady pace--mashing up its sentient fuel and presumably converting it into some type of unwholesome energy that gave the giant truck its power. Power to do...something. The armored ones were completely unmoved, stoic.

Her vision zeroed in on the being they were feeding into 'fuel chamber' of their giant vehicle.

It was a childling satyr, who shrieked and writhed helplessly as it was shoved inside the fatal chamber.

After the feeding, the truck's massive wheels would literally stick to the eroding hillside as the driver circumvented the collapsed bridge and scaled down into the violent waters, disappearing.

Cypress continued to drive. Slowly, relaxed.

He had no idea that just up ahead, there was both a collapsed bridge and a grisly sacrifice, which the two of them were definitely not meant to witness.

He even tried to make conversation with her as they crept along, occasionally reaching out and touching her shoulder--unsure of why she seemed so suddenly withdrawn.

Their surroundings were eerie, weird. That was true, but it was best to keep talking, keep their mind's sharp and warded against apprehension.

"This is... not happening..."

A sharp inhalation. Her mind raced, she spun her mind through available courses of action. Regardless of what option she chose, what was occurring was beyond even her own comprehension.

Teeth ground as she wove her glamour, slowing down the speed of everything around her. Him, their car, and the various participants on the road to give her more time to think it through.

A single thought leapt into her head.

The bygones.

Now this was the precipice of an interesting ledge for her. Would she allow the Dreadslay to witness those horrific chimerical beings? She certainly couldn't shield them from his view should she call on them. Had she any other options?

She didn't believe she did.

Relaxing her grip on the flow of time slightly, she spoke quickly, struggling to keep her voice calm.

'There is something very nasty up ahead, Dreadslay, something I don't like one bit. I'm going to do something I -really- don't like doing, but trust me when I say it’s the only way...."

Cypress gave her a perplexed but accepting look. At Marissa's behest, the flow of time was altered, buying precious seconds for both themselves and the small changeling scheduled for extermination up ahead. Cypress was, for the time being, unaware that she was behind the fact that the rain seemed to be falling in slow, almost hypnotic waves against his car.

Or that the sharp gusts of wind had transformed into groaning, prolonged currents that were more noisome than capable of being felt.

He looked back to the road and nodded.

"I trust you."

He finally returned that gesture of placing his fate in her hands. She had shown with great clarity that she trusted him.

It was time for him to do the same for her.

"Do what you have to do, Marissa. Just tell me what you need me to do, if anything."

Her left hand moved back to his thigh, gripping precariously. Her right went for the armrest of the door. She closed her eyes, and hated herself for what she was doing, but she had precious little options, and even less time left.

She breathed deeply, in through the nose and out through the mouth, preparing herself for the moments ahead.

She spoke, under her breath. A litany, guttural consonants, hushed vowels. Hardly English but no other discernible language. She spoke their names, conjuring images of the 'Children' in her mind, she remembered each of them. Lovingly crafted in the throes of a murderous depression. She'd trained them, sculpted them, and bred them for one purpose only.

Slaughter.

The ground beneath them shuddered. Rubber tires on the tarmac shimmied. Her nostrils flared as the scent of rot assailed her. Further ahead, to the sides of the road, if one was watching carefully they would see cracks starting to form, as if something was breaking through the crust.

The beings packed into the bed of the large truck shifted uneasily as cracks began to form along the sides of the road. They moved silently. With a will not entirely their own, readying their weapons. Automatons.

The childling they had been preparing to shove into that spiked, grinding orifice at the 'mouth' of the fuel chamber squirmed, but was held fast by a hand encased in steel.

The armored beings used weapons that were oddly mundane, out of place among their otherworldly host. Everything from shotguns to vintage Soviet-era assault rifles to high caliber revolvers.


Cypress glanced down at her hand on his thigh. He looked up at the road ahead. He could see shapes in the distance. Had that fucking truck parked in the middle of the highway?

He remembered Marissa's words. She'd foreseen something truly horrific happening and he was approaching it. His foot let off the accelerator even more. It was barely even discernible that the car was moving at all at that point. He shut off his headlights, although he figured he might have been too late.

He reached between the seats, withdrawing a small handgun. It was all he had to show for a once impressive arsenal. But times change, especially when torpor was involved in the equation.

He also drew his knife, that red-tinted blade he'd warned Marissa not to touch.

He glanced at her gravely, waiting for her word on what she needed from him at this point.

The cracks widened and became craters. The beasts clambered out. Two, Three, Five, Eight. The flow seemed to stem, and then there were fifteen, eighteen, and finally Twenty three.

Twenty three deformed, broken corpses milled around, waiting for word from their mistress. No monstrosity was left unthought. Reeha stood closest to the car. As Cypress looked out, he would see one tiny arm, fingers protruding from where the elbow joint of any normal being would be. The other arm was freakishly long, knuckles dragging across the ground as it, (He... she?) advanced on the truck. Anya looked at her mistress, that one had a gaping maw where a stomach would be, and a sewn up wound where the mouth once was.

Each of them, bearing no clothing, were pallid and pale. Chunks of gangrenous flesh clung to them precariously, pieces falling off in their wake. The horrific beasts advanced on the Truck, and party, seemingly unconcerned at what weapons they may possess.

As they came to a halt, Mad Marissa pried open the door, and hissed a command under her breath.

The Bygones began to pick up speed.

Alistair never thought he would be back in this town, but his employers weren't the type who would actually care what he thought of the matter. It was a simple call on his cell and he was on his way. The information he had gotten alarmed him and he was raking his brain to try and imagine what he would be up against.
Well.. up against wasn't the right definition, what he would be reporting on was more like it.

His car was getting nearer the collapsed bridge and he tried to mentally prepare himself of what he would be seeing around the corner.

Cypress watched in abject...fascination at what Marissa had wrought into existence.

He leaned against the wheel, arms crossed, weapons gripped casually. Though there was nothing casual about his gaze. He sharpened his vision, trying with mixed results to see what was happening.

He saw Marissa crack the passenger's side door and reached over to do the same, thinking she might actually be getting out to approach the giant truck herself.

The armored silhouettes opened fire. Rifles, shotguns, pistols, sub machine guns. They blazed with a spectacular aurora of stark white illumination. The muzzle flashes didn't do much to cast light on any details about their forms, however, due to the thick, heavy smoke produced by so much gunpowder being burned up at once.


The monstrosities pulled together, forming a combat line one would only expect of cannon fodder. Traditional weapons had little effect on them. The seemed confused but only momentarily. They looked to The Black Madonna, and she simply nodded. They continued their advance, pieces of flesh falling with every bullet wound, though none seeming to slow their pace.


The gunfire Alistair suddenly hears as he's almost reaching the reported "interference" sounds a lot more mundane than he had expected. He's not close enough yet to confirm a visual but decides that he would draw less attention to himself by foot than if he would arrive at the scene in a car. He parks his car at the side of the road and gets out.

He checks his pockets for his gun, cellphone and id, than pushes the door shut and under cover of darkness moves towards the ruckus in the distance.

"Jesus."

Cypress saw the eruption of gunfire mere yards away. The reports of automatic fire, blasting shotguns, thundering revolvers--they reverberated right through his car.

He was grateful that Marissa had the good tactical sense to bring forth her helpers on either side of the road, rather than directly in front of them. His stolen car would've been riddled in seconds by the silhouettes' violent response.

All the same, he undid his seat belt quickly and sat down his pistol. He'd rather keep the knife handy. Cypress reached over and readied himself to pull Marissa out of the car in the blink of an eye.

"We're gonna get clear away from those trajectories, alright?"

The Bygones continued, slow and steady, approaching their targets. Bits of flesh rained down on Marissa and her lover. She nodded as he spoke, bracing herself to move with him on his mark. She glanced towards her children and winced, bits of blood and bone flying. They shooters by this point were likely getting nervous at the perseverance of the children.

Finally Alistair reaches a bend in the road from where he can get his first visual on the scene. He stops in his tracks when his mind compiles the first images. Nothing headquarters could have said would have prepared him for the scene ahead. His whole body screams signals of fleeing to him but he stays where he is.

Slowly he takes a deep breath, convincing himself that he is far enough away to not be noticed or harmed. His hand goes over the gun and the cellphone, than he crouches down for a moment at the side of the road and touches the dirt.

The armored silhouettes began pouring out of the bed of the monstrous truck, all fifteen of them. They fought like mindless drones, not a SWAT team. Their purpose was clearly to be expendable pawns, which meant that they were either cheaply created or drawn from such a vast recruitment pool as to be so expendable.

The minions charged the Marissa's creations, firing wildly. The epic muzzle flashes could be seen for miles in the dark, rain swept night in this flooded, twisted reflection of northern California.

Marissa's Bygones would inevitably reach their targets. Once they did, whom ever was superior in fighting with claws, teeth, fists, and boots would prevail.

Fragments of bone clicked against the hood. Slivers and chunks of dermis and sinew had been cast across his windshield, which abruptly shattered a second later as a stray round finally caught Cypress' car.

Thankfully, whether or not it would have hit one of them never had to be answered.

Marissa would find herself pulled against Cypress in a split second. Only an almost painful blur of wind, darkness, flashing gunfire, and rain followed.

He sat her down a bit further back, near the tree line--except the forest was gone.

It had been replaced by gnarled, ruined husks of what had once been a thriving wood. Still provided some concealment, if not outright cover.

He kept his taller frame in front of hers, instinctively protective. There was still a lot of metal being sent flying madly through the air over there...

The silhouettes were heavily armed, but outnumbered. Her children got to work, tearing down the creatures with guns. A few of them were lost in the process, though not as frail and weak as a human body, there was only so much to protect against being turn into Swiss cheese. Marissa made note of those who fell, as she would weep for them later.

Casualties on both sides, this became a war of attrition.

As she moved with him, and he set her down, the Mother of Sorrow noticed movement on their flank. She clutched at Cypress's arm, and pointed to where Alistair crouched.

"He's not one of them..."

She spoke with caution, more a question, than a statement.

Alistair, from his vantage point on higher ground, would see a tiny shape beginning to crawl on its belly away from the monstrous truck. He might not be able to discern for sure, due to poor visibility, but he might swear this diminutive creature had horns.

He stands up again, more calm than when the first images registered. The sounds of gunfire hurt his ears and just to be sure he grabs his cellphone from his pocket. Slowly he starts to move closer along the side of the road.

A sudden movement ahead makes him stop again. For a second he's not sure what he had seen, but now he clearly sees a man standing in front of a woman at the side of the road, near the tree line.

Not taking any chances he opens his cellphone and seems to make a call. Though in truth he only diminishes the chance he'll be hit by bullets.

Cypress looked down at her, keeping his frame, and hers, pressed against the husk of what used to be a large tree. Reminded him of something he saw almost a hundred years ago. No longer troubled his conscious mind, although the alterations those distant memories left on his personality and instincts left him suitable for the blood he now had in his veins.

He nodded to Marissa and glanced in the direction she indicated.

Everything was happening so quickly. He had to get better, had to get his reaction, his reflexes built up again. It was a matter of practice, but-

A bullet whisks by overhead. Another sends tiny particles of dirt into the air, as one of the silhouettes empties the final vestiges of a drum clip at Marissa's children--who subsequently tear through its Armour and expose it as a flesh and blood, mortal entity.

He looked down at Marissa.

"Where... where did those things come from? Did you-"

He shook his head.

"Never mind. Time for that conversation later."

Outnumbered and faced with superior foes, the armored silhouettes began to fall left and right. As reloading their firearms became impossible with the close-quarters fighting reaching its peak, they were savagely beaten. Destroyed to the last man.

Discouraged by the failure of the minions, the massive truck's engines roared. Black smoke belched forth from the exhaust pipes and smoke stacks situated upon its hulking steel frame. Huge wheels turned, as it slowly attempted to back up and go back the way it came.

The sacrificial childling had apparently escaped, leaving the monstrous truck bereft of the energy it needed to scale the almost sheer surface of the eroded hillside, down into the water.

Her mouth fell slack at his question, and she promptly shut it as he moved on. Certainly it was a conversation for a later date, but one she would dread no less. She cast a glance over her shoulder, wincing as the children slaughtered the silhouettes. Four or Five of her own had fallen, and thought it was certainly a wise tactical decision, she regretted it no less.

Her eyes flickered back to the approaching stranger, Alistair, trepidation looming in those amber orbs.

It was clear to Alistair that he was spotted by the duo in the tree line. Still holding his cellphone to his ear with his left hand, not wanting to break its effect on him and his surroundings he slowly and carefully came walking closer.

The falling bodies and fighting seemed to unnerve him quite a bit but he tried not to let it get to him too much.

Cypress definitely had a bloodthirsty nature, and it had not been sated this time around. He regretted the fact that he had not yet destroyed an adversary in front of Marissa, since she had now orchestrated the demise of an entire host of enemies.

It was a very basic, instinctive desire. To prove that he was not weak. Perhaps he had no reason to have those thoughts, but it had long been ingrained into his psyche.

That being said, what he had just witnessed had increased his fascination and attraction to Marissa many times over.

He glanced down at the poisoned blade in his right hand, turned downward. He tentatively sheathed it, and then glanced at the departing truck and the creeping figure who lurked further up the hillside.

Cypress waited, wanting the truck GONE before he returned to his car and decided whether or not it was still drivable.

He remained quiet, content to allow Alistair to close the distance before he said anything.

Alistair stops still a fair distance away, making sure there is no reason for a sudden attack. He notices the truck driving off and feels relieve fill him, putting him a bit more at ease again. He looks down at the duo, wondering if they'll do anything to clean up this mess. He doesn't count on it and resigns in the fact that this is going to be a long long night for him before he can report back to his superiors.

His actions were eerily in-congruent to the situation. Chatting on a cell phone, while monsters and people ripped each other to bits? It set her ill at ease. He might as well be wearing a party hat and playing a trombone. There was something, plucking at the strings of her distrust.

Nostrils flared, trying to get a scent from him.

Her attention turned to her lover, and she flashed him a soft smile, before averting her eyes. And catching her breath.

The remaining Bygones mulled around, and started picking up the pieces of their fallen brethren, as well as the bodies of the enemy, happily chewing on bones.

The girl had definitely noticed him. Alistair shut his cellphone and the shimmer of magic, undetectable by any mortal but maybe noticed by other super naturals collapsed. He puts the phone in his pocket and stays where he is.

The sight of the things picking up the remains and starting to eat them turns his stomach. He tries to hide it but is having a really hard time doing so. Throwing up would not be wise at this moment so he fights it but visibly has trouble.

Cypress stole one more glance at the aftermath of the bloodbath. He'd been through many vicious fights in his unlife, but this was different. His more aggressive, inhuman aspects might have been lamenting the fact that he hadn't killed anything yet, he was very glad that Marissa had been able to handle the situation through her intriguing proxies.

He placed his left hand at the middle of her back, idly guiding her with him as he moved to approach Alistair. Very carefully.

At closer glance, Cypress could see he did look very much out of place. Or did he? Maybe he was a cop. Or a journalist covering whatever nightmarish thing was happening. Surely a completely uninvolved bystander would have fled as far away from the battle, as quickly as possible.

"Excuse me," Cypress spoke, adopting an intentionally passive tone. He flashed Alistair a smile designed to look nervous. "Do you have any idea what's going on down there? It's crazy. That truck almost ran us off the road and then... this. I can't believe what we just saw."

Fae eyes follow his gaze to her children, and then back to him. She notices the shimmer, brow furrowing in confusion, this is no chicanery that she recognizes. However, much like a magpie is distracted with something shiny; the Madonna notices his discomfort and smiles, playing with it like a jewel.

The truck's roaring engine could be heard, even miles away. As could its fog horn, blaring to warn other travelers to get out of the way or be smashed to bits. Its multiple floodlights created a glow among the immediate hills as it picked up speed--heading back toward Meridian.

Or where Meridian ought to have been, anyways.

Down by the collapsed bridge, the mangled remains of the 'silhouettes' were revealed to be human-like, although their body types had been a bit shorter and broader than the average grown man. Any discernible facial features or other qualities would soon be erased by the hungry bygones.

She offered no resistance as Cypress ushered her quietly to the strange man. She stood in uncomfortable silence, strange yellow eyes piercing Alistair's. She gazed between the two as they spoke, content to let Cypress handle this one.

Finally Alistair successfully fights off the feeling of having to throw up. He tries to compose himself a bit better when the man addresses him. It's a supernatural alight, same with the girl. He tenses visibly his mind racing to find the right approach for this and getting out of here unharmed.

The guy was good though, his act was quite convincing. If it hadn't been for his training he would have believed it.

He smiles slightly nervous at the man, trying to not let his eyes wander to the eating "things".


"I.. I have no idea..

You.. probably are in shock from almost having crashed... "

The 18 remaining bygones, having feasted to their hearts content, drag themselves towards their mistress. They click and coo, offering no discernible language skills. They creep closer still, and hesitate about 10 feet away.

Marissa murmurs something, excusing herself, figuring it would be the lesser of two evils to leave this men to chat, rather than beckoning the children into their midst.

Sometimes they can be too much for her to handle, let alone someone who'd never encountered them before.

Madonna crouched on the ground, the children milled around. She cast sidelong glances at Cypress and the stranger. She cooed softly, petting and placating the deadly beasts.

Cypress nodded to the answer, too psychologically strained to keep up his act for much longer. He thought maybe the man might have some immediate answers about a massive flood in the area--although that didn't make any sense. Even the fastest of flash floods didn't just...happen in a few seconds, right?

The entire rainstorm had started from nothing in less than a second. Cypress hadn't driven into it, it drove into him.

Then there was the fact that he didn't remember that bridge even being there before, when he drove this road a couple weeks earlier.

He was confused, but understood that whatever had occurred had gravely supernatural roots.

Cypress smiled at Alistair politely.

"Well, we're going to get out vehicle fixed... Probably head back to Meridian... I guess... as that bridge," which shouldn't exist, he thought. "No longer exists..."

He looked extremely uncomfortable at the idea of letting Marissa wander even a short distance away, although rationally he understood that her Bygones would protect her. Still...

He looked back to Alistair after seeing the bygones gather around Marissa, clearly a matron-figure to them.

"Well, I guess it's time to drop the charades," Cypress suggested. "Seriously. What is going on? I just wanted to leave the city for a bit. I mean you no harm."

A tight smile tugged at her lip as he dropped the facade.

Her attention on the children, eyes slip closed. Using the final reserves of expendable glamour she has left, she sets to work on knitting the flesh of those gathered around. One at a time, she mends them, heals their wounds, and murmurs a purring thank you. They respond in kind, strange grunts and growls but obviously appreciative. She stands, and the bygones waddle to the cracks from which they came, seeping back into the earth.

The words of the man seem to put Alistair a little more at ease. He takes the cellphone out of his pocket again but doesn't open it, just letting his fingers go over the smooth top. He frowns as he looks at the girl and her.. Things.. Than looks back at the man who's talking to him.

"To be honest sir.. I have no idea. We.. I got a message to check out what's happening here. Maybe better if you and your.. ehm... girlfriend.. and her ehm... things.. Be on your way..

Unless you have more information?"

The Madonna saw a pair of bright emerald eyes staring at her from behind a decrepit, shattered tree trunk. Upon a direct glance, she could make out the features of a young girl, Less than ten years of age. While others would only see ragged clothing of a very young street urchin, her dress looked very regal--but for the mud that now streaked and coated it.

A pair of small horns protruded from her scalp of curly dark red hair.

She moved over to Cypress, glancing at the phone and back to the Child of Lilith. She shook her head imperceptibly, and met Cypress's eyes.

Something was very, -very- wrong with that phone.

She shifted her weight, squeezing against Cypress, Amber eyes furrowed.

Her attention piqued.

Amber eyes met Green. Her brow twitched, but she kept her face a pale mask. She glanced, sidelong at the satyr childling pondering a course of action.

Should she draw attention to the child? Or let her escape unharmed....

Alistair had noticed the child thing before but it seemed as if only now it popped back into his consciousness. He made a mental note of it, but at this time just seemed to keep his attention to the man who is talking to him, barely glancing at his girlfriend.

"Oh we will be on our way. I promise. No plan what so ever on staying put. I'm thinking in a little while, this place will be crawling with...with whatever the hell those things were."

Cypress saw movement out of his peripheral vision, turned for a second and witnessed the bygones creeping back into the crevices in the rain soaked earth along the highway.

"No. No information. Just a maniac in a giant armored truck with more maniacs in armor with guns and...honestly I don't know..."

Marissa's sudden approach brought his attention back toward her. He returned her gaze, right back into her own eyes, saw her seriousness. She was worried about something but what?

Marissa kept looking at the phone. Something about the device unnerved her but he couldn't fathom what it was. Still, he'd learned tonight that it was wise to trust her.

"You're not here to kill us, are you?" He asked Alistair, his voice straight forward and detached, not offering aggression but eerily cold.

The small satyr crept back behind the tree-husk it had peeked out from behind. She was quite terrified, but being what she was, she was no helpless child. Determined to make her way back to her friends, hoping the iron men hadn't snatched them up as well, the childling creeps further into the desolated woods covering the hills.

If she ever encountered Marissa again, her face would be remembered and she would be counted as a friend. For now, she would tell the story of what had happened here to the others.

No words escaped her lips, but she kept her eyes lock on his phone. She shifted, lips pursed.

Her eyes lifted finally and scanned the face. She sniffed audibly, no scent of death. He certainly wasn't kithain. Brows knit, and finally she spoke.

"Hidden one..."

At first Alistair seems more at ease with the man's words. Despite the big clean-up this would probably not turn messy. When the guy asks his question he can't help but tense up. The hand in which he keeps his cellphone trembles slightly. He knows it's crucial he does not set the duo off and forces himself to remain calm.

"No.. I’m not. Worst case.. I’m here to clean up. "

It dawns at him that he could have picked those words better and he fidgets for a second and quickly adds.

"The mess the truck made... "

He looks at the woman after her words. Those amber eyes clearly unnerve him a bit. He frowns, trying to understand what she means with her words, not really considering himself as something that's hidden from somewhere.

"Well in that case," Cypress said. "We'll just be on our way and let you do your job."

Clean up? It was a weird concept, but this was a reality full of weird shit. So it truly didn't perplex him as much as it would have if this had been a 'normal' confrontation.

"Come on," he avoids calling Marissa by her name. "Let's get out of here, shall we?"

Cypress guided her away from Alistair, unsure of what she meant by Hidden One. At this point, there were plenty of questions to be posed between them. Vampire priests asking for her blood. Evocation of a horde of frenzied killers. The term 'Hidden One'. It went on and on.

Plenty of time for that later. He hoped.

"I'll be right back," he said quietly to her once they reached the car. "Keys are still in the ignition. If you could try to start it up..."

Cypress seemed in a hurry. Something was making him apprehensive on an instinctive level.

In the distance, in the direction of the nearby (and apparently horribly overflowing) Pacific Ocean, a series of spotlights could be seen, emanating from the whirling cloud formations that had spawned the massive rainfall.

Cypress walked over to the site of the carnage, gaze shifting between all the fallen weaponry. He had to get something heavier than the pistol in his car. Much heavier.

He decided on an old favorite from nights past. He knelt down, picked up an empty Kalashnikov rifle. Clip was empty, but there were full magazines still littering the asphalt and mud, as one of the minions' great failings had been their inability to reload their weaponry fast enough before they were overrun.

Alistair nods at the man, glances at the woman than looks back at the man. He followed his gaze at the lights.
This time he doesn't hesitate. He opens his cellphone, puts it to his ear. Oddly enough he doesn't talk into it but looks straight at the man in front of him.

"Leave."

The words didn't leave any doubt. It was as if Alistair had finally slipped into the shell they had trained him so hard for. He couldn't care less about the woman and just hoped the man would get out of the way before the thing with the lights got here.

She nodded, watching him carefully. She didn't relish the thought of leaving the Hidden one to clean up the mess, but thankfully the bygones had devoured most of the debris. She climbed into the car at his instruction, leaning over the passenger side and revving the engine to life.

The forces at work here perplexed and unnerved her. The childling, the hidden one. The faceless horrors. They all pointed to something bigger and more foreboding than she had the power to imagine.

She rubbed her arms, arching to peer out the window at him, licking pale lips.

Cypress heard that single-worded, impulse driving command. He abandoned his scavenger hunt for a better weapon. That would have to be taken care of. The rifle was left where it lay, never picked up.

He got into the driver's side of his car. It still ran, although the front windshield had been partially destroyed. That was okay. His main purpose at this point in time was getting himself and Marissa as far away from this place as possible. It seemed that they would have to brave the streets of Meridian after all.

He put the vehicle into drive and took off, hoping the rain would stop eventually or at least become more sporadic.

It never did.

Finally Alistair was getting grip on the situation. Less factors on his list to deal with, less dangers, more focus.
He was glad the man and his girlfriend left and the creepy things returning to the ground.

Now there were only 4 more things to do... the lights, the girl, the driver.. And collapsing this reality.

It would be a long night.

She leaned against him, shaking with the exertion of the evening. Her mind raced in silence, as it was prone to do. She tried in vain to assimilate the information she'd acquired, but regardless of how she attempted, the pieces simply didn't fit together. Amber eyes drooped, half lidded with fatigue. She leaned her head against the passenger side door and stifled a yaw, there was plenty of time to consider the implications and consequences in the morning.