Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Cascastel

as written by Script, Sentry, Ronin, SerinaBloom and EmperorJester


A guffaw of self righteous, amused laughter would explode once more, this time much closer. So close in fact, that the words were not carried on the ever increasingly foul winds, but right there, on the street. Within eye sight. Tall, beyond tall, bordering seven feet if not even more, with shoulders so broad it made the white duster he wore seem more a shroud of snow covering him head to toe. Dark haired and ivory skinned, with impossibly sharp features, and eyes so pale and blue they appeared to shimmer and glow. And that smile, that shark toothed smile, threatening to split a face with a mouth full of countless rows of almost needle-like fangs. And handsome. Otherworldly so. Almost as if the very air and ground he walked upon loved his touch, moaned his name.

And that name was Nox Caeruleum, Patriarch of the Novus Imperium autum Caer.

His name, his family name, was one steeped in Lutetian history, a name that inspired fear, a name that led a seventeen year war on the city, before being barely stopped by a feeble alliance of lesser creatures, betrayal, and mystical artifacts. The smile would explode in another bout of laughter, tears coming to his eyes. It would appear that the Lord of Nosferatu was out of breath, his enjoyment was so great. The words would roll out like honey over gravel, deep and rumbling, "Oh...Oh you pups...this is just too c-cute!" Another bout of hysterical giggles, "This attempt at combat is just so adorable! Oh, if only I'd known you creatures were capable of such comedy!"

Jason had been poised to stomp down on Rand's neck, ending the wildman once and for all, when Nox stepped into the warehouse. The booming voice, carrying with it a chill that was anything but natural, had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. The hesitation gave Rand his chance to break free of the pin, and Jason didn't move to stop him.

The Scion stepped back, positioning himself to keep Rand in his line of sight but allow him to focus on the new arrival. All his instincts were pointing towards this man as the new biggest threat in the room, even as he snarled at the vampire's mockery.

His veins still pulsed with unnatural crimson, and the wound in his shoulder was already beginning to close - it was clear that the brief brawl had taken little out of him. And despite the dark aura projecting from Nox, he was far from cowed.

"The fuck are you supposed to be?" Jason sneered, giving the Caer a disdainful once over. "Gay bar having a cowboy night or something?"

It was safe to say that the young and markedly uneducated werewolf had absolutely no idea who he was talking to.

Rand gasped as he fought off the boot, rolling over to his side and breathing hard. A curious glow which had been building in his eyes dissipated slowly.

The alpha looked up at the Caer, brows knit, a quiet snarl building in his throat. Battered as he was, Rand's senses were still intact. He knew the sickly death-scent of a vampire. Bloodsuckers didn't leave the city often, but when they did, they were usually insane - mad from lack of food or sustenance or driven to brinks of insanity by their condition. Rand had unpleasant memories hunting them through the forest with his pack, trying to stop them before they did too much damage to the ecosystem. They were strong. Swift. Deadly.

This one. This one seemed so much worse.

Felix scurried real close to Jason. He didn't care for his cowardice: this monster before them was much, much more important to fear, than to act snobby in front of. He wasn't quite sure why he felt that, only that it felt unnatural. He almost winced as Jason spat insults at him.

This guy was going to get him killed!

Claude who had been about to attack Jason to prevent his assult on Rand now stopped, looking towards the new arrival. There was definitely a heavy, dark aura about him. Claude made his way quickly to Rand's side, not as an act of cowardice, but in a motion to prepare for defense. He had a feeling this person was more dangerous than their current opponents and with his alpha in a bad way Claude would need to be on his guard to protect.

"Oooooh, a sharp little tongue you have there, don't you pup?" Nox would reply, giving Jason a mocking little grin. Then, those pale blue eyes would pass over each of the mongrels in turn, slowly, taking them all in. After first impressions, the only one who seemed like they would be a decent amount of trouble to deal with was the one with the mouth. Of course it had to be that way.

"Now, I hope I'm not interrupting anything too important. I doubt I am, but its better to get that out of the way." The Caer Lord continued on his path towards the four, his heavily booted footsteps seeming to generate no noise, not even the slightest -tap- against the pavement. Steadily getting closer, and closer. "I actually do have a reason to bring myself to speak to your kind. I don't suppose any of you belong to influential packs now, would you?" Packs. The word had left his mouth like it was a cancerous thing, longing to be rid of it.

Reassured that Felix was close at hand, within easy reach to protect, Jason snorted at Nox's mockery. Though the tension in the air wasn't lost on him, his pride and ever-pervasive sense of invulnerability meant that he had no intention to show this vampire deference - even if he was exuding power.

Nah. He could take him. No bloodsucker was going to intimidate him.

"Call me pup all you want, princess. I'm not into daddy roleplay," he retorted with a smirk. "Give me one good reason why I should give your poncy ass anything other than a boot, much less answers to whatever stupid questions you have."

He brushed off his shoulder where Rand had bitten him with a dismissive glance. His shirt was torn, but the injury itself had healed, leaving him fighting fit if it came to it. Still, the fact that he hadn't already turned this situation violent was an unspoken mark of respect for the sense of strength he got from Nox. Even if it hadn't cowed him, it had at the very least given him pause.

Rand rose slowly and stifled a groan as a shockwave of pain thrummed through his body. The Garoux's healing factor was already working overtime to accomadate the beating he'd recieved, but he was far from well.

The alpha put up a hand to Claude as his comrade approached - a signal not to advance any further. He began backing away from the fight, Claude in tow. Whatever fight Jason was about to initiate, Rand didn't want to be a part of it. Not with a bloodsucker like this one.

"Stay close," he murmured. First chance they got, they were escaping.

Felix could have slapped Jason. No doubt, the werewolf was powerful, and there was little in Lutetia that could stop him, but that's what sent Felix on edge. Something about this vampire's confidence told him that he was one of those things.

He took a sidelong glance at the other two wolves, but never let Nox out of his field of view. He wasn't a good fighter. He couldn't go only go one-on-one with Bloodstone's weakest. If he didn't tread carefully here, he was dead.

Calude followed Rand closely, also not eager to fight the vampire that had wedge his way into the middle of their fight. This fight should have never happened to begin with. Instead they should have focused on their original goal. Claude tried to slip out with Rand and avoid the situation.
 
as written by Script, Sentry, Ronin, SerinaBloom and Emperor Jester


Nox would put his hand to his chin. At some point, the finally kept fingernails had enlongated into impossibly sharp looking obsidian talons, and those fine blue eyes had lost their pupils, their whites, now just softly glowing spheres of deep sky blue. Other more subtle changes had occurred as well, but they would hardly be noticable to the wolves, unless some of those mutts had the ability to sense raw auras or magical fields. The thought of a spiritual or arcane focused mongrel all but brought a titter to the giant's lips.

But the disrespect was no laughing matter. If he was here on his own terms instead of those of his secret partner, at least partially, things would already be going quite differently. For now, he let the words wash over him. After all, the Caer knew who the real alpha was in this situation. "Well, I have a few reasons that might appeal to your ilk. Money. Power. Dominance over the other packs. The chance to work with the most hated house to ever grace this putrid city. Safety. Security."

There was a smirk then, an absolutely vile smile. "And I'm very sorry if this insults you or disappoints you, talkative one, but you simply aren't my type. I may be into a lot of things but beastiality is not one of them." Those eyes would shift quickly in his skull, not leaving Jason for more than a second. "Oh. Seems like your playmates are trying to slip out. Is that allowed?"

Jason's scowl had deepened as Nox continued to speak, his smirk fading back into a standoffish grimace. The Scions didn't need the help of a bloodsucker for any of the things he was offering, especially not one that so clearly thought of them as inferior. Rowan wouldn't tolerate it, and so neither would Jason.

He was ready to fire back with an angry retort when Nox drew his attention back to Rand and Claude. The werewolf snarled, jerking his head towards them. "You two stay right the fuck there, I'm not finished with either of you," he barked.

They were only spared a moment of focus, though, before he turned back to the newcomer. "The Scions don't work with bloodsuckers that don't know respect," he growled, "whatever you can offer, we can take ourselves. The fuck do you think you are? I should drive you into the ground for the patronising shit you're spewing." Jason clenched his fists, his crimson eyes meeting Nox's icy orbs, unflinching and charged with barely suppressed rage.

Rand half-snarled at Jason, his anger at the city welp dwarfed only by the imminent threat of the vampire. He admitted to being a bit curious about the bloodsucker's offer. Money had no appeal to him, but power? There was something appealing about the idea of walking into Lutetia without being accosted by a pack of mangy mutts...

He snarled and banished the thought. A deal with a bloodsucker was almost certainly a bad one. As it was, he kept his eyes on Nox, a small grin stretching his jaw and Jason dug himself deeper and deeper into a hole. Even if Jason COULD put up a fight against this nosferatu, it would be far from easy.

And there was no way in hell he or Claude were lending a hand.

Claude didn't even consider the option. Power was not something within his realm of interest. He gave no response to the vampire and along with Rand, Claude continued his attempted escape.

It took everything the Imperator had not to laugh. "The fuck...do I think I am? I am House Caeruleum, dear boy. I am the most feared creature in this city." He'd approach Jason then, stopping only if the lycan moved, or until his face was inches from the mutt's, whichever came first. The very air would seem to freeze, or rather stand still as the undead lord spoke. "My very name inspires more fear than your entire pack. You are mistaken if you think I value your respect. If anything, you should strive to acquire mine."

Even with a potentially dangerous foe within striking distance, his blue orbs would drift in the direction of Rand, picking up on his fleeting spark of desire like a bloodhound catching a scent. "You...you're interested. Tell me your name." The words were laced with Compulsion, a deep hypnotic ebb buried deep within every syllabel. They would pull at Rand's mental defenses, demanding he reply.

Jason narrowed his eyes, not budging an inch as Nox advanced on him, burning crimson eyes meeting the Caer's icy stare without flinching. He'd heard the name before. Who hadn't? The boogeymen of Lutetia, the story that good Evequan mothers told their children to make them stay in bed.

But Jason hadn't had a good Evequan mother.

"Fuck. You." He snarled.

And then he headbutted him.
 
as written by Ronin, Script, SerinaBloom and Emperor Jester

A split second too late, Nox's head would snap back around to face down Jason, just in time for a forehead to crack into hawkish point of his nose and the upper half of his jaw. Three fangs came dislodged and turned to ash in his mouth, though he could already feel their replacements growing from his bleeding gums. His nose would crunch inward, broken not for the first time in his long life. Too-dark, too-thick blood would spurt down his face and Nox would feel himself take a single involunitary step backwards.

Quickly, the Caer would ready himself for another attack, suspecting the wolf wasn't done. Steading himself to his full height, and then seeming to grow, shedding layers of his various illusions until he seemed closer to eight feet tall, if not more. Damaged maw would open into a hideous snarl, "Careful now...I'll give you that one for free..."

From the tone of the growl and the crazed, darting look in the undead lord's pale eyes, it was clear the blow had been more damaging to his ego than to his ageless body.

Nox was right in thinking that Jason was far from done, and even as the caer's black ichor splattered onto his face, he was drawing his fist back for a punch. The veins on his arm throbbed, aglow with power. If the werewolf was remotely intimidated by the transformation that his foe had undergone, he showed no signs of it, matching Nox's snarl with his own brutish growl. Whether that was courage, or if his rage had just blinded him to such details, wasn't entirely clear.

Jason drove his arm forwards not only with all the force of a wrecking ball focused down into his fist, but with surprising speed for a mere wolf. He struck straight towards the Caer's solar plexus, with the intent of plowing straight through his chest and wrapping his fist around the creature's spine.

Nox's sinew and bone would do little to slow down the attack, nor did he have the moment's notice to mentally force the section of his torso to lose all solidity. The balled up claws of his opponent tore mercilessly through his chest cavity, his mouth vomitting forward another torrent of sweet smelling ichor. There would be a sound like gurgling coming from the wounded Caer, deep rumbling as words fought their around streams of ebony blood to no avail.

Jason would be able to tell something though, from his direct contact with Nox. However fast other creatures might be able to heal, it was undoubtably eerie to feel the torn muscles and broken tissue already trying to knit itself back to its original state, coiling and pulsing against the intrusive limb. Scaberous pale talons would latch onto the lycan's arm, the grip cold and otherworldly strong. The grip would slow and eventually stop Jason's gore covered forearm. The frost of the Caer's touch would seep in like a shock of cold water, already beginning the process of frostbiting the flesh it was coming in contact with. Then, enough bile cleared from the vampire's throat and the noise finally broke free.

He was laughing.

Jason's satisfaction swiftly turned into surprise when Nox's hand came to his arm. He looked up, shocked to see the grin upon his face, and even more so to hear the laughter. His shock quickly turned to anger. The bloodsucker was mocking him. Snarling defiantly, he pushed forwards against the Caer's grip. Though his claw was icy cold, the frosty magic seemed not to be taking its hold as surely as it would have done to most. There was a strange heat to the werewolf's blood, something foreign and most definitely not natural.

His veins pulsed even brighter with ruby light, shoving his arm forwards with a steady force that would have been more at home on heavy machinery than a man. He refused to back down, and refused to acknowledge the flicker of doubt that had formed in the back of his mind when the Caer's laugh had spilled forth.

Doubt could far too easily become fear. And some primal, instinctive part of him knew that the moment he started fearing this creature was the moment that he'd be at its mercy.

The inhuman strength of the werebeast in man's skin would be met with equally calculated opposition from the lord of undeath. The freezing winds would continue to pour out from Nox, each gust stronger than the last, though the chill emitting from the vampire was nothing to the palpable, almost visible miasma of fear that circulted around his fine leather covered feet.

Being this close, in physical contact no less, gave the Caer Patriarch's normally mediorce arcane might a considerable boost, and he began to send visions into Jason's mind, not even bothering to try and test the mental barriers that might've been in place first.

Every life Nox had ever taken.

Every life he'd ever defliled.

Every mind he'd broken, ever spirit he consumed.

All of it was being channeled toward's the mutt before him. All the while that same smile would never faulter. If nothing else, that devil's grin would do its best to permanently imbed itself deep in the wolve's psyche.

Jason gave a guttural cry, finally wrenching his arm away and staggering backwards a step. His eyes were wild and furious, unused to the remotest challenge to his strength and most certainly unused to assaults upon his mind. His will was far from weak, however, and the imagery - though horrifying - didn't break his resolve, in no small part down to sheer stubbornness. "Get the fuck out of my head," he growled, shaking himself in an attempt to clear his thoughts. His instincts were screaming at him to shift, to let the beast take over and free himself of doubt, but he knew that the time it would take him to transform could easily be fatal against an enemy like this.

A flicker of his eyes backwards confirmed what he'd hoped - that Felix had had the good sense to clear out. He liked to mock the smaller wolf for his cowardice, but there were times when it was useful to not have to worry about keeping an eye on him. This was certainly one of them.

Nox advanced only a single step, latching onto the werewolf's momentary, fleeting fear to shed another layer. The already towering vampire seemed a giant now, but at most his height had extended to nine feet. Only nine feet. His jaw hung slack now with its hungry smile, a seemingly cavernous maw of serated black fangs, more like a shark's than anything remotely human. That formerly fabulous porcelian skin had become cracked with numerous ash-gray lines, leylines of corruption that seemed to drawn itself towards that void of a mouth.

"Whats wrong, wolf boy? Are you afraid you've bitten off more than you could chew?" And then, something unexpected would happen. Every layer and barrier Nox had shed would reappear in but a few blinks, his noble disguise his form once again. "We can still settle this with words rather than blows. I think that would be the less fun decision, of course, but unfortunately, I am not here to serve only my own interests..."

Jason growled, flexing his fingers to try and hasten the fading of the numbness in his forearm where the Caer's frost had touched him. "I ain't got shit to say to you," he spat. Like hell was he going to back down just because he was up against something that wasn't a pushover. He'd never backed down from a fight before, and he wasn't about to start.

Steeling himself, he let loose a ferocious snarl and charged forwards, bull rushing Nox in an attempt to pluck him from his feet and slam him down into the concrete floor.

Now. While they were tangled up, while the younger mutt was clearing out. Now was their time to leave.

"Come on," he snarled at Claude. He'd watched the fight with interest, careful to observe their techniques in case he ended up getting involved somehow. The ferocity of their entanglement only served to reaffirm what Rand already knew: this wasn't something he wanted a part of.

If unhindered, he and his pack mate would slip away quickly and quietly.

Claude followed Rand's orders and started to slink towards the exit. If they could remain unnoticed or at the very least be ignored then they could escape and continue towards their original goal.

Moments before the charge hit him, Nox spread his feet apart, hunched slightly, and planted himself with the sturdiness that would make a mighty oak jealous, and yet still, to the wolf's credit, the Caer felt himself slide back a yard or two. His opponent was strong, stronger than the vampire had given Jason credit for. Instead of dashing his confidence, Nox felt thrilled! Finally, something that might be able to give him some real amusement, some one who wouldn't go down after a single, full throttle blow!

He wouldn't be lifted though. It was as if the earth itself had secured his feet, like the undead lord had grown deep roots connecting him to the asphalt and the ground below it. A savage grin once more broke his fine, porcelian face as his raised his arms high above his head, formed a clenched double-fist, and aimed to it down right on his foe's spine.

With a defiant roar, Jason released his grip on Nox and brought his arms up, catching the Caer's downward swing with an iron grip. He grunted with the force of the impact, but he didn't buckle. Instead, it was the ground beneath them that gave, cracking slightly as the force of the blow was transferred through Jason into the concrete. Once more, the wolf went in for a headbutt, keeping his grip on the Caer's arms to prevent him moving out of the way, as well as using it to pull him into the strike.

Nox would go willingly, eagerly, throwing himself into the assualt with malicious glee, and a laugh. In the brief time the battle-crazed undead was being pulled forward, his expression changed, from one of joy, to that of a monster. The cackling smile opening wide into a seemingly endless abyss of fangs. Razors aimed at the incoming mutt's open face.

Jason's forehead slammed into Nox's mouth like a sledgehammer, and he growled in pain as the vicious teeth pierced his flesh, rending deep gouges in his scalp and coming dangerously close to his eyes. Unrelenting, and ignoring the rivulets of blood pouring down his face, he swung a blow for the creature's throat with the goal of crushing it wholesale. It was swiftly followed by a forceful jab to the gut. Jason wasn't even sure if this creature could be winded, and somehow he doubted it, but it was hard to break years of brawling instinct to accomodate for a foe that didn't seem to be feeling pain.

He briefly wondered if this was how the people fighting him normally felt, before the thought was lost in the chaos of the skirmish.

Nox's knife like teeth would cut deep, gnashing and tearing wilding at whatever flesh they could find, savoring the taste of battle and flesh. That is, before his neck was caught by a viscious hook, ripping the crimson stained spikes from the mutt's forehead and to the side. The blow was a surprise to the Caer, as was the werewolf's surprising level of durability under his jaws. He'd seen armor crumple beneath his bite before, but no flesh or bone had ever withstood it.

A growl ripped from his throat as the second blow came, actually forcing Nox back, and the snarl quickly turned into a roar as the monsterous undead retaliated. Those wicked claws that had been kept in Jason's grip had been freed the second the wolf had gone on the offensive, so now, wicked talons would come slashing in from the left, an attempt to gut his prey.

The claws cut deep, deeper than they should. Jason's eyes widened as the vampire's scything nails rent his body truer than any sword ever had. Blood flooded out, but though the wound was severe, his body again proved more resilient than normal flesh. No guts spilled forth, though by the depth of the cuts they had to have been grazed, and the injury began to close over just as quickly as the others - the ruby light that accompanied it now more evident with the deeper wounds.

To his credit, despite the pain, Jason kept going. He could barely feel it for the adrenaline and fury, as he lashed out with a kick to Nox's knee, aimed to shatter his leg and break it backwards, followed by an uppercut to catch his jaw as he fell - however briefly.
 
as written by Script and Emperor Jester

The fight raged on for what seemed an eternity, until the warehouse floor was slick with blood. Every wound inflicted was recovered, but they took their toll. Neither of them could last forever.

It was Jason that fell. Claws raked up his chest, leaving behind deep gouges of red. He staggered back, arms raised. Blood matted his hair and blinded one of his eyes, but he was still ready to fight.

His mind, perhaps. But not his body. Unbidden, his legs gave out, and he collapsed to one knee. The wound on his chest remained, glowing softly but not quite closing. Every supernaturally powerful muscle in his body ached. The power reserves that had fueled him through every fight he'd ever been in without need for a pause were finally running dry. He coughed, choking up a splash of vibrant ruby blood.

No. His thoughts protested, new anger rushing through him as he realised that he was at death's doorstep. NO. This can't- is not happening. Fuck that. Fuck this. I'm not gonna die like this. Not like a bitch, not kneeling.

Shuddering with the effort, Jason planted his foot on the concrete and pushed, rising from his knee to face Nox upright once more. He swayed unsteadily, but stayed standing, glare boring into the monster's eyes for several long moments, before a bitter grin split his face. "Fuck," he spat another mouthful of blood. "Didn't see this coming. Heh. Haha." A humourless, borderline hysterical laugh shook him, before it devolved into a coughing fit that almost dropped him to the floor again. "Guess I'm not invincible after all."

Nox himself was far from pristine. His clothes in more-or-less tatters, accompanied by deep, slow healing gashes that covered him from head to toe, oozing oily black blood. However, unlike his lycanthrope foe, the Caer barely seemed to notice. His feet were steady, and his stance was firm. At one point, he'd almost been overwhelmed, but he'd been lucky. Incredibly so. It seemed that around the time his healing began to peter out, Jason's buckled first anyway. But now, thanks to a brief window of recovery time, the slow resuturing his body had been doing to his wounds exploded with renewed power.

Around the time Jason had his coughing fit, Nox was once again a solid, umarred marble statue of a man, wearing a shark's grin. "My proverbial hat is off to you, wolf. You almost had me for a moment there."

Nox would make a dive for the neck with a powerful claw, aiming to similtaneously strangle and lift the mutt to its feet.

Jason brought an arm up to try and stop Nox's swing, but it was batted aside by his swiftly recovering foe. He grunted as he was lifted from his feet, finding himself on the receiving end of something he had often inflicted on others. He choked, kicking out in an attempt to free himself, but he'd been lifted free of the floor. He had no traction.

Death loomed in vampire form before him, and instinct kicked in. His eyes clouded with crimson, and a low, strangled growl began to emerge from his throat. There was a sickening crack as the muscle and bone in his back began to move, broadening, and fur began to grow rapidly from his skin.

With nothing left to lose, Jason let the transformation overtake him. Even if he doubted he'd survive till its end. Nox had a good ten to fifteen second window to strike before Jason's shift was complete.

For the first few seconds, Nox watched curiously. He felt it, a wall of power colliding with his own. In human form, this rabid dog has almost been a match for him. Sure, he'd been holding back. Both by his own choice, and the choice of the creature within him, but still...None had ever done that before. This would become riskier and riskier the longer it took the vampire to make a move.

Nox however, wanted to see it. He wanted to gaze upon a creature that might truely be able to defeat him, without magic, without artifice, without divine assistance. A being capable of giving him the fight of his life. The Caer patriarch ached for that, lusted for it!

So when he felt himself slip away, his control over his own body hijacked, he could only scream in impotent rage as Winter took over him. He watched as with brutal, cold efficiency, the right leg was torn from the transforming wolf's body. It hadn't even hit the ground when Nox savagely pulled the left arm from its socket, tossing it far away. With the sum of his being, Nox defied the demonic puppeteer that manipulated him, stopping himself from impaling the lycan through the heart with his talons. The Caer lord felt a cold pair of eyes wash over his exposed soul, as complete control was shifted back over.

The agonised scream that tore from Jason's throat when his leg was torn free of his body was equal parts human and bestial. The roar only intensified when his arm was ripped free, burning blood pouring from the ragged stumps and smoking where it pooled on the floor. Long past the point where any normal man's mind would have succumbed to shock, his eyes stayed open, radiating crimson.

His body's contortions, if anything, accelerated. The rush of desperate adrenaline drove the shift into overdrive, and his scream gradually became a howl as his face elongated into a snout. His neck expanded to beyond what Nox's hand could wrap around, leaving him to fall to the floor on his one remaining knee. Within seconds, Jason had shifted fully.

The Scion enforcer's wolf form was rarely seen in action, largely due to the minimal levels of control he had while transformed. Enemy and ally blurred together, not a useful trait when you were fighting alongside your packmates. Now, as he pushed himself up with his good arm, it was a sight to behold.

His bulk was monstrous, claws reaching down to his knees on the ends of arms like tree trunks. Thick black fur covered every inch of him, matted in places with blood from injuries that seemed to have vanished during the shift. And his eyes, set above a slavering maw that could snap a man's head from his shoulders with barely a stretch of his jaws, burned like ruby flames.

Both his stumps lit up with that same light, and with horrifying speed and an explosion of energy, new limbs burst forth to replace those that he had lost. Were Nox paying them any mind, he might have noted the severed arm and leg disintegrating into ichor as Jason planted his regrown foot on the ground and reared up to his full height. Where he had been tall in human form, shifted, Jason towered like a giant. Standing at over ten feet, he loomed over Nox, snarling. Acrid slobber dripped from his muzzle, hot to the touch where it landed.

And then like elastic snapping taut, he swiped, a claw rushing for Nox's side with every intent to throw him aside like a ragdoll.

An unnatural light flared to life in the undead's cyan eyes, turning sideways into the blow, slipping in close to Jason's side with nary more than a single step. The wall of power he'd felt before was still there, ominious, looming, crimson. But it was flawed. The castle was riddled with cracks and broken butresses, it's tower's all but collapsed. A shame. Perhaps if Jason had been given time to transform earlier in the fight, things might have gone differently.

But experience told Nox otherwise. Almost four centuries of combat, of blood and violence told him all he needed to. Hand flat, wicked claws now more a blade, the Caer would thrust his weaponized limb forward, intent on slicing through ribs, lungs, and if Nox was truly lucky, spinal tissue.

The Caer's claws scythed deep into Jason's side, but though his ribs were grazed by the strike, his bones seemed even stronger than before, turning away the strike before it could turn more lethal. Once again, ruby light flared in the wound as it began to close. In answer, the wolf's other claw swept up into an uppercut, again seeking to propel Nox away.

Those claws would not have thrown Nox away. Instinct told the vampire that the damage from that blow would've ripped him apart. A long enough a delay to his own regeneration that Jason might, no, would be able to turn the tables. So instead of a quick dodge, the Caer practically threw himself backwards, landing a good couple of yards out of the wolf's terrible reach.

For a moment that seemed to stretch on for a lifetime, Jason's ruby orbs bored into the icy gaze of his enemy with a hatred born of a dangerous mix of wounded pride and berserking bloodlust. But instinct was a strong thing, and even the beast that he had become knew that he was on the edge of death beneath this last surge of power.

And so with a roar that shook the warehouse, Jason turned and fled, going down on all fours and charging across the warehouse floor like a stampeding bull. He barely even slowed when he met the brick wall, slamming straight through it and out into the night, leaving Nox as far behind as his remaining energy would carry him before he collapsed.

It would take no small mustering of his control not to give chase to such wounded prey, but Nox refrained, somehow. Instead, he called after the fleeing wolf, bellowing out across the night, "Let us meet again pup! Tell your Alpha that I'm going to keep approaching your ragged pack until I get the meeting that I want!"

The equal parts taunt and warning were soon drowned out by arrogant, high pitched laughter. Laughter that quickly died out as soon as he was sure Jason was out of ear shot. It would then transform into a roar of his own, similar to the one he'd let loose when control had been stolen from him. Rage at his own incompetence, furious over his own failure at diplomacy. The warehouse would suffer the full brunt of Nox's wrath, and within the hour it was torn down around him.

The vampire would vanish long before anyone would have a chance to respond. Those that discovered the ruins of the battle, and its aftermath, would find the entire site left profane, supernaturally cold and reeking of vile energies. As if the land itself had been corrupted...
 
Snow fell from the night sky. Police cars made a haphazard circle around a Cascastel apartment building whilst a retinue of officers, guns drawn, shifting nervously in the street behind their vehicles. They knew where they were: Cascastel, pack territory. Police never came to this part of the neighborhood after sundown.

A new police car rode up to the perimeter. A younger looking officer with a grizzled-brown beard exited and joined one of his comrades near the sidewalk.

"What the hell is going on?" he growled, "I thought this thing was contained in Merveilleux? A burglary, right? How the hell did this carry all the way over to Casc?"

"We had it contained," the other cop retorted, "then they shifted."

His eyes widened. "They're Garoux?"

"Fucking dogs. Four of them. Ran right through our line. We chased them all the way here. Now they're holed up in there."

Both men looked up at the run-down building, roughly four stories tall. Small shadows flitted between the windows.

"What the hell do we do? They're wolves. Have they taken hostages?"

"Haven't said a damn thing to us." The cop thumbed a cigarette into his mouth. "We're waiting for back up."

"Back up? We've got a dozen squad cars out here. What more backup do we-"

"The other kind of backup."

"What-" his brows furrowed, "-wait, you mean..."

A nod.

"Here? This place, this hour?"

"We've already got confirmation."

"So, one of them is coming?"

"In the flesh," a stream of smoke steamed out of his nostrils, "listen close. You'll hear'em coming from a mile away."
 
The rumbling roar of Maere's motorbike filled the streets as she sped through the city on her way to Cascatel. She was a mile or two away from her destination, and she was thankful for the lack of traffic, whether it was from the lateness of the hour or fear from venturing out in the dark. It mattered little to her. She wasn't one to be picky. The sight of the snow falling was always more beautiful when it was accompanied with silence.

Though to be fair, it was far from silent now, thanks to her.

As she barreled through the city the flashing lights began to materialize on the horizon, and she felt herself begin to go faster, almost as if instinct had taken over for just a brief moment.

As if she were leading the charge into the gates of hell, themselves.

Focus.

After regaining her composure, she began to decelerate as the sight of the squad cars came into view, noticing that a few of them were making their way to her. Whether to attempt to scold her for the loudness of her arrival, or just to come to gawk at the sight, she wasn't sure.

She came to the curb of the sidewalk and stopped, securing it before she stepped away. She stood up straight and removed her helmet, sitting it upon the seat of the bike before turning to face the officers. All eyes were on her, a sight she had come to expect. She kept her poise despite this, and began weaving through the cars to where she believed the one in charge would be and raised her voice a bit, her response letting loose a blast of condensation from the biting cold.

"Maere Belmont. Paladin. Who's in charge here?"

She watched through the slowly drifting flakes and her fogging breath, waiting for someone to come forward, her hand resting instinctively on the firearm at her hip.
 
The police made a path for the advancing paladin. Though church knights weren't a rare sight within city limits, they were still uncommon - especially in a shithole neighborhood like this one. The police rarely came to Cascastel, much less the Monastic Order.

An officer in a trenchcoat stepped forward, nodding to the knight. White snowflakes speckled his curly brown hair. "Dame Belmont. I'm Inspector Simins." He offered her his hand. "I'll run through it. We got a call an hour ago from a Merveilleux domestic residence. Neighborhood watch. Reported a burglary going down. We pull up just as the perps are making their get away - three of them. Should've been the end of it there, but they shifted and made a run for it." He nodded. "That's right. They're werewolves. They must have been scared shitless or trying to hide something. I've never seen a Lutetian Garoux shift before - most of them stay human when they're in a pinch." He shook his head. "Anyway, we chased them halfway across town to this neighborhood. They've holed themselves up there. We haven't gone in yet. No telling what surprises those damn dogs have in store for us..."

The building was tall and run-down, like most of the buildings in Cascastel. The police had every exit covered. The doors had been thrown open and the fluorescent lights lining the lobby flickered on and off.

"We'd like to finish this quickly, paladin..." the inspector coughed, a bit of fear entering his voice, "...cops don't usually come by this part of the city at night..."
 
Maere listened intently as the officer got her up to speed. Her ears perked a bit when he mentioned they were Garoux, noting that as she processed the rest of the information he gave her.

After the cop commented on his preference that she'd hurry, She nodded, her eyes tracing the dilapidated apartment building.

"I don't blame you," She said plainly, shifting her weight as her inspection of the run down housing continued.

"Doesn't seem like the type of place anyone wants to be caught up in this time of night. That said, I'll do my best to get this wrapped up as soon as possible."

She turned to Simins, one last question plaguing her mind while she formulated her strategy of her entry. "Has there been any signs that they aren't the only ones in the building? Any signs of hostages or someone harboring them?"
 
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"We can't say," the cop replied, "only been on scene for ten minutes. Haven't had any contact. We pulled this place's file, though. 'Cherry Blossom', it's called. Houses about sixty people - all of them lower class or unemployed. I'm sure most of them are in there."

Glancing up at the complex, Maere might have seen a pair of eyes glinting from behind a window - wide and terrified. They disappeared as soon as she made eye contact.

"How do you want us to handle this, dame?" the cop asked, "we can come in behind ya, if you want. Sweep the place floor by floor."

A few of the officers shifted, perhaps somewhat nervous at the idea of facing a werewolf.
 
As the officer spoke about the amount of people that were most likely in the complex, Maere's eyes shifted about the complex again, mapping it out as she went along.

As her eyes reached one of the windows, the sight of another pair caught her attention, before they and their owner vanished. The brief glimpse was enough to rouse a small amount of suspicion, but her attention went back to the officer, who suggested that the cops could follow her in, do a sweep through each floor. She thought on it for a moment, taking in the details the officer had given her prior, and her mind returning to the fearful eyes that had watched her.

"That could work..." Her eyes looked to the flicker lights of the lobby, and the wheels in her mind began to turn.

How are you going to do this?

After another moment, she finally spoke up with her plan.

"I'd propose we have two groups, one up top and one from the bottom. Each group will sweep the floors as they go, until the two groups meet in the middle. They'll have no where to run -up down or out- and will likely panic. Even if it doesn't flush them out, they'll be sitting ducks until we find them."

She looked to the officer again, her voice sympathetic.

"I hate to put your team in danger like this, but we can't afford for them to lead us on another chase through town. Their desperation could lead to too many chances of innocents getting caught up in the fray. We have to contain it here."

Another burst of condensation broke out from her nostrils as she waited for the officer's response. "Does that work for you?"
 
"We're officers, dame," the cop gruffed, "we're prepared to do what we have to in order to protect our city." He nodded, before frowning. "But uh. You take the lead." He whistled to his troops. "Listen up boys! We're going in! Two teams. Gonna clear every floor, bottom to top."

The teams formed, guns at ready, standing behind the paladin. They looked to her for guidance.

"Ready when you are, dame."
 
The frown caught her attention, and it struck a chord within her. She knew now that she was going to be responsible for the officers' lives now that she got them further involved. This had the potential of ending poorly, but she couldn't afford to come across as indecisive. Or worse, ignorant.

Focus.

Maere nodded to Simins, one hand reaching for her firearm while the other pointed to the left side of the building, toward one of the entrances the cops had locked down. She spoke to Simins again as she moved her extended finger upward toward the top.

"One team take the side entrance and work your way up the stairs. When you get to the top, take a moment to prepare, then begin searching every corner, room, closet. Leave nothing to chance."

She looked to the other team, signalling with her hand for them to follow as the first team made their way up.

"We'll be going in through the front. We'll verify the lobby's clear, then begin our ascent."

She looked them all over once, giving them a confident smile. "Let's get these bastards and get you all out of this hellhole, yeah?"

She turned toward the front door, sidearm raised. After another calming exhale, she and her group began to move.

They entered the darkened lobby and fanned out, checking every nook and cranny for anyone who could be hiding in the shadows. Clears rang out amongst the officers as they inspected the room before they returned to Maere, who then made her way to the stairs.

"Lobby cleared. Next floor." She announced, before making her way for the stairs.

They rushed up the steps and began scouring the next floor, leaving no room untouched in their search. The buzz of the tenants began to turn closer to an uproar as the group of them dug through the building searching for the thieves who had turned this place into their hideaway.

Their search continued to yield nothing, but Maere wasn't worried. They had nowhere to run. It was only a matter of time now.

She looked back to one of the officers as they neared the next flight of stairs and spoke quickly.

"Radio up to Simins. See if he's had any better luck on his end."
 
The apartment complex was as grimy and run-down on the inside as it was on the outside. The walls were cracked, the carpeted floors soiled with mold and mud. The residents (most of whom had been sleeping) were none too pleased to be woken up by cops, but none of them had seen their targets.

"Inspector, have you got anything?" the officer radioed into the officer at the top floor.

"Negative. Just a lot of tired-... wait-... hold it right there! HEY! Police!"

The sound of a scuffle ensued.

"Third floor!" Simmins shouted, "third floor, hallw-" The radio cut out.

The surrounding officers paled, readying their weapons.
 
Maere's eyes widened as the sound of the scuffle broke through the chatter. She looked to the other officers, who all seemed to be preparing for the worst. She raised her sidearm again and called out, her voice remaining strong to be sure the fear they were likely experiencing wouldn't grow any further.

Well, as much as she could help it, anyway.

"You heard the man! Third floor hallway!"

She started for the stairs, her voice lowering from a shout, but still loud enough for most of them to hear.

"We need to intercept them before they have time to do something they'll regret."

The group bounded up the stairs, and burst through the door, just in time to catch the scene playing out before them. Before Maere could get a good look at the situation, she called out amongst the chaos.

"Stop right there! Monastic order!"

She raised her lawkeeper, prepared for things to get hairy.

In more ways than one.
 
Maere entered into a perilous image. Several officers - Simins among them - knelt behind doorways, guns trained forward. At the end of the hallway, three young men poised against them, fangs protruding from their gums. They looked young, the oldest perhaps twenty, and were completely naked. Dirt smudged their malnourished bodies and matted in their long hair. Their eyes were afire with fear and anger.

The middlemost was holding one of the officers hostage, using him as a human shield against the line of firearms. He had the cop in a headlock and was pressing something black into the back of his skull.

"Nobody move!" the Garoux growled, "we're getting out of here, alright? We're getting the fuck-"

One of the criminals noticed the advancing knight. "Oh god, Jack, it's her. It's the one I saw from the window." He backstepped, panicking. "A paladin, man. We're gonna die. We're gonna fucking die..."

"SHUT UP!" Jack yelled, tightening his grip on his hostage. He glared at the advancing paladin. "You there! Palapig! Tell your cronies to put their guns down or I blow this fucker's brains all over the wall!"
 
She raised her weapon, aiming for the head of the one holding the hostage. She would not call off the officers. She knew it would be fruitless. They needed to keep the mongrels right where they were. That wasn't to say she didn't care for the hostage whose life now lay on the line, but she knew that she had to use it to her advantage somehow.

But how?

As she went over what she had heard from the garoux while she was in earshot, she decided she would have to play it strong. She couldn't afford to show weakness, even at the thought of losing an innocent life. They had to be taken care of, no matter the cost.

She flipped the switch on her lawkeeper to another ammo type, causing the garoux to visibly flinch when it clicked. She raised her voice around the scuffling sounds that filled the hallway.

"Their guns aren't going anywhere, mutt. You don't have nearly as much leverage as you think you do."

She adjusted her hands on her firearm, her sights directly between the eyes of the one holding the hostage.

"You're surrounded on every front. The stairwells are blocked. The streets are filling up with more cop cars as we speak. I have several officers ready to blow your brains over these walls at a moments notice. No. I'm the only one here who will be making any demands."

She shook her head, her eyes looking over the officers around her before going back to the garoux.

"You kill that officer and the only thing you'll be doing is guaranteeing the death of you and your friends. I will not hesitate, and neither will they. You'll be dead on the floor before you can blink."

She stepped forward a bit, causing them all to shift uncomfortably.

"But, you still have a chance to turn all this around. No one has to die tonight. You let the officer go, you and your friends will make it out of here alive. Guaranteed. You won't be getting off scott-free, but you're brains will remain in your head where they belong."

She waited as the words soaked in to the garoux who had the hostage. He didn't seem to trust her, but she knew that he knew the score. He had no choice.

"I'd consider the offer, kid. I think your friends there would appreciate it. Their lives are in your hands now."

Her eyes looked to the one who seemed the most frightened, who watched her with same wide eyed stare she saw through the window.

"Let. Him. Go."
 
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The wolves stilled, eyes widening at the paladin's threat, her resolve. Perhaps the hopelessness of their situation only dawned at them at that moment, because two of the three criminals - the ones flanking the apparent gunman, entreated Maere's demands.

"Jack," one of them, a dark-skinned girl with dreadlocks, lay a hand on his arm, "let him go Jack. Listen to her. It's over. They have a paladin. It's over."

"Please, Jack," the other begged, tears in his eyes, "please. Don't let them kill you."

Jack stiffened, face flushing, then paling. "I... I..." He looked ahead and saw his face reflected in then paladin's visor. Suddenly, he snarled. "No... NO!" He jerked his hostage closer. "If they take you, you'll never get out! We're Garoux! They'll lock you up forever!" He looked ahead. "Let them go! You can have me, but they're leaving, both of them!" He growled from his throat. "I'm gonna stay here, you're gonna let them out the back, and if you so much as look at them wrong, I'm gonna fucking END this pig!"

The other two pulled at him, trying to get him to stand down. It was no use. From Jack's perspective, they were three werewolves about to enter a notoriously racist justice system. Surrender was not an option - not for the people he loved, at least.

In his anger, Jack left the cover of his hostage. Maere had a clear shot to his head.
 
There are rumors that have made their way into gossip across the lands. Stories of a strange bakery, with scents of heavenly-smelling sweets and baked goods coming from within. A bakery with all sorts of treats, each one specially made by the baker that runs it. A seemingly normal bakery, no? Of course, a normal bakery would never make its way into rumor. This one was strange. Apparently, it appeared and disappeared on a moment's notice, showing up in different places across the last century and a half, with the exact same baker taking care of it. Sometimes the rumors are exaggerated. One even mentioned people entering the place while it was around, and never being heard from again. Rumors such as that one are obviously false...Though the same could not be said about the disappearing part.

There is indeed a bakery that appears and disappears all around the lands, and now it appears here, in Cascatel of Lutetia. The sudden appearance was somewhat subtle. It appeared in a space that was empty. It appeared in place of somewhere that served no use to anyone or anything aside from dust. Where once was nothing, now was the bakery. Siimple as that...to some. Honestly, it was an overnight process. In a moment when no one was looking, the bakery simply came to be, and from the moment it appeared, the smell of freshly made confections wafted out of the windows, and caught onto the breeze. From there, the baker woman known as Genevieve worked, with her assistant baker, Quelana.

Though, to most, they were simply bakers and cooks, doing what they normally would do, to those with an eye for it, they would know of a little rumor. A rumor that the baker does a little more than just bake. Her skills lead not just to food, but also trickery and sometimes death. For the truth was that the baker was simply one by trade. In actuality, she was a witch, and one that was VERY good at hiding. How else would so few even suspect her? And even fewer actually know?
 
The Cherry Blossom was like most Lutetian cafes - cramped, quiet and swirling with the most delicious smells imaginable. Fresh pastries sat steaming in display cases beneath ancient wine bottles. Coffee grinds smoked from espresso machines and mingled with the sweet scent of bread, underscored with a mellowness of strong tea and herbs. Patrons sat with their faces buried in newspapers bearing grim headlines or talked quietly among themselves over glasses of wine and mugs of hot black joe. A small television mounted in the corner wall crackled with the evening's news. BREAKING: ATTACKS IN VALENTINE, LEMEUX, POLICE AND CHURCH SCRAMBLE TO-

"Here you are, demoiselle," a young waiter lay a cup of steaming tea before Aoife O'Mag, complete with a fresh-baked chocolate-almond croissant. He smiled. "Will you be needing anything else?"
 
Aoife looked up at the waiter with a warm smile. Despite the growing concerns she had for the events in the city, and more importantly in Lornanine, she was taking a moment to relax just a bit, and recuperative effects it was having on her mood were profound.

"Oi'll be fine for now, thank you," she responded, only to then sip at her tea. Ginger and fresh mint. Not exactly a common choice, but she'd taken a liking to it, as her father had said she would. As she drank from it, the scent of mint washed over her, and she began to smell, ever so faintly, of the herb herself.
 
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