((OOC Note: This is a companion thread to The Road to Immortality, which details Anyanka's voyage to her homeland to appeal to her goddess for a blessing with which to grant Victor eternal life.

The prologue follows the events of For The Children (still unfinished - I'm working on it), and afterward the thread shall focus on Victor during the time Anya is away.

Mature content warning due to explicit language, drug use, mild sexual content and extreme violence.))

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Prologue: Parting Is Such Bitter Sorrow
-Adapted from live play, May 28, 2010.
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Victor landed gracefully outside the theater, pressing a soft kiss to Anya's lips before setting her to her feet. He'd arranged something special tonight; the place would be completely empty for he and his Nischa. The promise of a sizable 'donation' to the Count and his establishment had ensured that. The seraph himself had Veego's keys. "No disturbances, no interruptions, you have my most solemn word!" The fat man had assured him more than once.

Perfect.

The door opened and revealed his 'preparations' - the bed used by the models during the photo shoots was remade with fine silk, covered with rose petals that led in a trail to the door. Studio lights had been replaced with hundreds of candles, along every wall and fixture. The only other furniture in the room was a chaise that resembled a favorite piece back home, and a small table bearing two glasses and a bottle of rare absinthe, her 'green fairy'.

Anyanka had been restless for the past few nights, but this night especially. Earlier in the day she'd retreated to the small pool in her back garden, for it was ever her sanctuary, be the moon full or empty. There was much to think about with all the small cluster of events taking up her time before the big leave... Organizing so many unknown schedules, balancing her time between the theater, Cerre*, Victor, and the models themselves. The siren was a very busy creature, but in truth, she'd have it no other way. It kept her mind from straying and weaving off of her lover's anxiety about the long, but easy trip coming up.

He feared her kinswomen, she did not; he feared for her life, she feared for theirs; he feared hazard chance, Anya feared nothing. Above all these fears, it was Victor's eyes, both of them, that shook her the deepest. It was why she so readily gave herself to his touch so much more often each day; the reason why she bent and bowed and arced to every single touch; he feared it his last, and in her passion, feeling his wanting, how could she deny him? His breath was hers, his heartbeat a candy in her throat, his heart a beat beside her own... Blinking back from her thoughts, the siren took a slow, appreciative look about the sumptuous spread her Vischa had set for them... For her.

"Мой, мой, мой... Смотрите, что мой сделал для меня?"+ Her purr was something velveteen and alive all it's own, sinking slowly and taking shape the second it left her mouth. Were it any thicker and deeper, it might have reached out to breeze along his spine; a touch that would surely send shivers through and through.

A mirrored eye** stared into her, slow fingertips threading through her hair. "I wanted tonight to be special, love." Only a night stood between this moment and her departure, and while Anya's confidence was supreme, doubt scratched and clawed at every corner of his mind. Tonight he would force it away and drown himself in her. "If for nothing else, than to give you pleasant dreams while you're away."

"With the vision I take behind my lids each night, sweet angel, I've an eternity of fair dreams in my future... One moment near a year past of you was enough to bring us here to this day." She took her time with each word, laying her breath around each syllable in a manner he might find dauntingly similar to her limbs tended to curl about him during their sleep. As she spoke, Anya walked; a hand rose to touch along his fingertips, meeting them halfway through the cayenne curtain of her hair he so loved to stroke. Lacing her slimmer fingers about his, she took him by the hand, meandering softly, stealing a path through the half flickered world of light and shadows.

Seemed she was playful and philosophical tonight; then again, that wasn't much different from every night. Perhaps it was a side effect of eternity? Or merely a manner of her kind? Given Cerre's oddity... Perhaps it was merely a siren thing. "... and if one moment in passing lead to this. How far, do you imagine, our time until now could take us?" The answer was simple, and the point of her journey. Eternity. Forever and together.

Victor had indeed grown more and more versed in Anya, the language***, as their connection grew. "I know, love. That's why I won't try to stop you any more... but it's never too late to change your mind about taking me with you." Then again, perhaps it was, and that would explain why he asked without much conviction. Once her mind was made up about something...

Slowly, he stroked the hand that held his, much the same as he'd run those same fingers through her hair - almost tentative and hesitant, as if it was their first night all over again. It was not born from fear, but from restraint. The moon was full and calling, and her body so warm and close. It was an effort to keep back the growing hunger, and it was too important that he take his time.

"Aaah, I'm afraid even my own superstition runs deep at the core, my Vischa. Not even I would allow a man to step foot where I dare go... The sea is a cruel mistress, but she cannot harm whom she gave life to. Their consorts, however? Why, who do you think taught us first and foremost how to use them?" Would it be any surprise to someone with a keen ear for the notions of gods and goddesses to imagine the realm of the deepest oceans on a planet to be ruled by a female deity? Not at all... Given the violent way it rolls and roils, and how harsh a sway the moon holds over it's ebb and flow, and in Anyanka's case with her kinswomen, the way it swallows men whole and leaves nothing but bones. As they moved, and she lent her free hand to the mundane task of fixing those two glasses on the table with a belly full of green, Anya cooed quietly, her shoulders rolling as the mass of the room's scents filtered through her every pore; wormwood, licorice, roses, fresh silk, warm wax, Victor...

As her eyes turned and spilled their crystal water across the scene once more, the siren smiled slowly, and it displayed every sharp tooth too. She could see the scents, their miasma ever so fine as it was enveloping. It was really only with her sight restored that the elder creature began to understand just how much she'd been missing. Turning once more, her gaze filled with the seraph's face; a face she'd long known, even before the return of her eyesight. "... No my sweet, silly angel. I prefer you here, watching my charge when I cannot, and trusting me now more than ever. Without your trust..." Her voice left it hanging there, pregnant and almost solemn. Without your trust, I've no reason to even go.

"I trust you." An absolute truth. ...but I trust little else...and I trust none of your kin. Especially not when it came to her. She was already branded and cast out, and now she returned to their nest... Stop. He dismissed the thought then by force, because he must. Not this again, not our last night. Instead he took up a glass and tapped it softly to hers. "...and I will spend the eternity you find for me showing you just how much."

"Why wait so long? That is... Unless you meant you wanted me to leave now?" Ever the tempter, and leaving her Victor to call the bluff, Anyanka moved and lifted one of the glasses, tipping it to her lips as the hand still wound with his began to unwind and fall at her side. Up and down. Somehow such a motion was crass with anyone else, but with Anya, it was a degree of speed stuck somewhere between suspended and slow, versus seamless and swift. Running the edge of her tongue along her bottom lip, the siren let one of those razor teeth come out to press; flashing her lover a serpent's smile as she moved, taking a liquid step back and around him, towards the door they'd just entered.

"Oh no, you don't." Teleportation was a skill he rarely used, but suddenly he stood between Anya and the door, his arms slipping around her waist seemingly out of nowhere. "I have pictures to take... and I didn't cover that bed with roses to spend the night without you in it." Lips found the side of her neck then, lips brushing as he whispered, "...tonight... you are mine."

There was something about the seraph could always say without a single pause to his voice; the siren knew when to speak and when to remain silent. It was a type of silence one might call wise and prudent, for she gave thought to each and every word or gesture as well as it's impact on the future, before she laid an expression. Feeling her husband 's presence suddenly so warm and near, Anyanka could say nothing; she merely smirked. His breath was a wonderful sword though, and unfortunately for the siren, she had a poor shield when certain words of her own design were used against her. Turning, she met his lips breath for breath, keeping all but a hair's width from his, her teeth still half bare and curled in a tempter's smile. "... does the angel mean to show his demon why she crusades against her god?" Came at long last her quiet, rumbling tone.

"He does," he smiled, and presed a kiss to those lovely lips. As to emphasize her words, he purposefully licked the points of all those razor teeth before withdrawing once again. "But first, there is something we must do... for the children..." A grin as sinister as any she'd ever given him took over then, and he shot down the glass in his hand all at once. This time he hardly even winced - it seemed this too was something that had grown on him. It didn't seem so long ago that he eyed it with repulsion, and he could quite clearly remember the words, weird green sh*t.

Even after released from the kiss, Anya seemed unwilling do go just yet. A hand had rose and claimed the back of his neck, hanging their without pulling, it's fingers stroking and dipping down to caress the nape of his neck. "Ah yes, the children... Well then, we all must do our part, hm?" Moving in for another kiss, the siren swallowed down a small sound just as her lips claimed his own, no doubt leaving a soft vibration there for him to feel as she stole what drops were left of his drink lingering on the back of his tongue. Slowly but surely, Anya managed to curb her need to crawl into his mouth and backed away one fluid, slippery step at a time. Her shoes were gone; when had that happened? Now her fingers were moving, and the button's along her blouse lost their life one at a time with little more than a flick of her sharp nails to the threads that held them in place. The siren never did have the greatest respect for clothing.

"Mmm... the one thing better than tearing your clothes off... is watching you do it." Victor grinned, his eye already recording, but then again, she'd be quite used to that. Within that eye was months of her in every state of dress and undress imaginable, from the moments he'd watched her sleep to a simple walk through the streets. They kept him company during the times they were separated, and he would rely on that even more in the coming days. "This will be so easy..."

"Will it now? Indulge me..." Her voice began to dip as it tended to when she meant to lull him deeper than he already was; a scary notion, considering she knew just how deeply his self-enchanted state with her went. She could feel it, and in turn, for better or worse, she reflected it. Every motion she made was for him. Every stroke of her fingers, every flick of her nails to the threads along her clothes, every stroke of tepid tips to the satin smooth stretch of her newly exposed skin; all for him, all with his reflection silvery and strong in the wide, deep cool of her eyes. "... tell me what the camera sees." Tell me why you love me... And there went her blouse; soon her fingers fell to trace the edge of her skirt, teasing the button with a slide of her thumb as if she meant it to sweat in the face of it's doom so near and impending.

Victor was taken in completely by her tone, by her every move, following her fingertips with his mirrored eye, admiring every last inch. "It sees..." Words were always difficult for him when it came to letting her know what she truly meant to him. The connection that had formed between them was a blessing beyond all in this regard, as he knew she would always feel it... and she certainly would now. The emotion pouring from him was a great, all-encompassing flood, like the one he'd read about in the book of some strange cult, of a man named Noah building a ship to house the creatures of some distant world. "It sees the most lovely creature ever given flesh," he spoke slowly, entranced. "A graceful, divine, loving woman, with a mind most could never so much as comprehend." A step closer he came... "A body of perfection, drawn from the liquid breath of nothing less than a goddess." ...then another... "One who reached inside a man who had lost everything, and gave him more than he could ever have wished for." ...then another... "I see my life... my world... my everything."

"My Nischa. My goddess."

If anyone could stand the wash of such emotions, it was Anya. In a world composed of endless to and fro waves between the masses, the siren stood a firm, wood plank in the face of it all; an infallible edge that stood, that divided, and never compromised. Her loyalty was fierce, her love deep, and her devotion all the deeper. "... Don't." But suddenly she found her throat thick, and though her aloof, confident expression remained, there was a light in her eyes and a weight in her tone that alluded to just how deeply the seraph's words struck. Then more so, how his need struck. Even the strongest, though they never quite break, learn to bend fiercely; only for Victor would she bend, ever for the seraph, his siren would creak.

"Don't stop..." His words or his closeness? Both no doubt. It wasn't often such a creature found themselves beholden to another's voice. Finding that it was much more difficult to speak than she felt comfortable with, Anyanka let her loss of patience effect the otherwise tantalizing speed of her stripping; the skirt was gone. Now she was nothing but a vision in black cotton lace, and it was only a few comely string ties that held her world from the rest of his. When had her knees hit the back of that bed? She couldn't rightly say, but she let her legs fold, and her body settle to the silk and petals beneath.

His slow steps didn't pause in the slightest. "You are the beat of my heart... the fire in my blood... and the light in my eyes." Kneeling before the bed, his hands rested softly on her thighs. "My first vision each morning when I wake, and the last that paints itself inside my lids when I fall asleep." His touch was gentle, reverent, sliding up to the curve of her hips, and upward. "You are my life."

Victor's eyes never moved, never so much as blinked as he spoke, holding her stare throughout. "Words will never be enough." He then released something he'd been saving, building, perfecting. It would not last long, but for a few short moments he opened himself completely, using the connection as he never had before, allowing her a true and absolute glimpse into his mind and heart. All she would see was herself, surrounded by a warm, radiant light. Memories of the past and dreams of the future surrounded them, and she was the center of every one. The rest of the world that they traveled - the city streets, the open fields, the sky and stars - was empty. Nothing else mattered.

"Мой..." His fingers to her thighs sent lightning through her blood, his eyes on hers shot bolts of fire like no other through her veins, his voice held her captive like some poor soul lost in one of her kinswomen's voices; all else was a void in which the black revolved around his shining sweetness. Anyanka shifted, her skin alive with a trembling shiver as his visions stole the very air from her lungs; with her throat so suddenly tight, her eyes widened, and the lamp-like shine of silver flickered back; the spell was broken in a moment, then back the next.

"...Victor." The sheer power was enough to steal her away, but Victor was her anchor, her river in which to find comfort when all else seemed naught worth a second glance. She'd been in a state of stagnation until she'd found Victor, and it was only now that she saw this; he'd breathed new life into her just as she had he. "Мой Vischa..." The thought alone was beyond words, as he said, and it was then she decided to embrace the need for the realm beyond. Unsteady hands found his arms, and their palms rode a crooked line up, up, up until they found his cheeks, his hair, the frame of his eyes. "... make love to me."

His clothes were ripped away in mere seconds, but he would do no such thing with his goddess. Rising to take her into his arms, he brought her with him the rest of the way onto the bed, his every move slow and delicate as he came to lay on his back with her above him... where she would always be. Underneath the curtain of her hair he found his heaven. "I love you, Anya," he whispered through soft kisses to her neck and throat. "I love you..."

"Мой Виктор..."++ Though there were times when the siren moved in a sleek, swift world all her own, tonight... Now. Now would not be one of those times. Each movement was meant to be savored, each one slow and framed in a memory only able to be outdone by the next. Caught and half suspended in a strange spiderweb of time and space that only she could weave them in and out of, Anyanka joined her Victor without a stitch of resistance. Planets themselves wished such a universal grace, the way each move she laid catered and curved to him, the moment in which each lift and dip stole them higher and higher into some distant realm of oblivion. "мой все, моя единственная вещь."+++ Drowning in him, her voice was little more a whisper over the sound of skin on silk.

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Later, as she lie atop him, Victor cradled in her arms, fighting to hold back tears. She must do this. She will succeed. She will find a way, and we shall have eternity. I must believe. "Anya. Love." He drew a deep breath, softly stroking her skin, fingers entwined in her hair, eyes locked on her with a depth of emotion that no amount of words could possibly illustrate.

"There is one thing I must ask of you." Eyes closing, another deep breath, stabilizing himself as much as he could. "It is selfish, and I can only hope you will forgive me." Opening once again, his flesh eye gave a wet sheen, and filled still. "I have given myself a drug that will put me into a deep sleep for the next twelve hours. Let me fall asleep with you in my arms..." His voice cracked, the tears started to fall. "...and slip away into the night." A sob shook his body, and he clung to her a little tighter to keep his world from slipping away. "...so I won't have to watch you leave."

With the last, the dam shattered and the tears poured freely. "Please."

I'll put a spell on you... Anyanka could only watch and listen; she dared not speak a word. There had been many a time she'd felt just how deeply the thought of her leaving had stricken him, but this... This was beyond her scope of understanding. Never in all the siren's years had she know such a capacity of remorse or love. Each wave of nauseating remorse was felt as her own, each trembling muscle somehow tweaked and twinged her own. But worse, oh so much worse, his eyes. You'll fall asleep and I'll put a spell on you... It was always his eyes that undid her to the basest of elements. Leaning in, Anya pressed her lips to the shine of Victor's cheek before turning and laying their faces cheek to cheek. Nestling further down into his arms, her voice began to rise softly at long last; she was singing. It was a low, enchanted warble that belied a birth far from the surface of the water; a place deep, deep beneath the receding crash of a cliff side's waves. "And when you wake..." Oddly it was her song. The very first words he'd heard her spill back during that fateful night in the city's famous inn oh so long ago. "...I'll be the first thing you'll see."

One more soft, adoring kiss, and his eyes started to close of their own accord as the potent tranquilizers set in. "...I love you..." A weak voice spoke, the last of his tears trailing down his cheeks. "...my Nischa..." With that, Victor's world faded to black, save for Anya and the brilliant light that surrounded her in his mind's eye.


((*A young siren, frequently abused by her elders due to her perceived 'weakness' - her father was a seelie sidhe. Anya took her in as a ward after a visit from her kin that ended in bloodshed.
+Russian is Anyanka's native language. She reverts to it often, especially with Victor, whose cybernetic implants include a translator with over 700,000 languages. "My, my, my... Look what mine has made for me?"
** Due to the assimilation of siren blood and magic into his body, Victor's natural eye is affected in the same manner as a siren when the moon is full, or near to it. The eye becomes reflective, just as Anyanka's.
***Anya is particularly notorious for speaking in riddles and answering questions with questions. Victor has long since dubbed this a language of her own.
++"My Victor..."
+++"My everything, my only thing."

This thread is also indirectly tied to Generativity vs Stagnation, the thread which chronicles the two from the beginning, from Victor's arrival on RhyDin. For those who were reading, it has not been forgotten. We still hope to one day achieve the goal of catching it up to the present day.))

Moonbathing; there really was no other word for the activity that Cerre had taken to doing as of late. Nude and belly up along a sumptuous blanket alongside the glossy surface of Anya's garden pool. That gloss was a fine shimmer born from the dull, half brilliant shine from the twin moons above, and it cast a haze over the violet beauty's reflection. One arm lay along the barely there, convex curve of her belly, the other at her side and trailing lazy, indulgent circles through the water at the edge of the pool; it was the only motion in it save for the slow, passing winds, thus the motion echoed out from her in a wide, proud radius. Despite her prime person, and all the unnaturally still poise about her, Cerre like her elder, looked quite at home the way she was amongst the grass the the foggy night air. Though the skies were far from ripe, her eyes held a soft sheen to their normally pristine, deep ocean-black they drown with.

The only thing that really set the image off in a grossly wrong direction, however, was the presence of a small, oddly clean bone pile at her side. It looked as though the siren had accumulated a collection of lamb leg bones... half yellowed from their newness yet freshly picked clean; not a scrap of sinew, flesh, nor any manner of tissue clung to them.

From beneath the surface of the water Victor's head emerged, and he eyed his timer. "Ninety-seven minutes. Still not enough." With a sigh, he threw back the wet hair from his face, and glanced over to Cerre, shaking his head at the pile of bones. "Damn. I knew pregnant women get f*ckin' hungry, but... damn. How many of those have you eaten today?"

Oddly impassive, Cerre gave a half-hearted shrug before she lazed and half rolled around onto one hip, facing her elder's mate. It wasn't long before her impassive face became something much more sweetly proud and a fair degree impish. The nudity, as usual, did not make her bat a lash; leave it down to a siren thing. "Thirteen... The butcher had no more than that in stock. Why, did you know where there are more?" Oddly enough the tone in her voice suggested she was serious, if not a bit eager.

"Couldn't be hard to find," he smirked. "I have to admit, I'm surprised you actually went to the butcher. Has carrying a demigod's child made you civilized all of a sudden?" His grin was more than enough to convey the jest in his words as he climbed out of the pool near her towel and took up his own. He too was nude, if for no other reason than to keep his clothes dry. "I'll pick something up when I go out, I have to return to the refinery. My lab is set up there and the nanomachines need more work. Ninety-seven minutes isn't long enough. Not even close. If something happens to her under the sea... I must be able to stay submerged long enough to find her, and possibly fight my way to her."

Shaking her head and laughing, Cerre rolled back down to lay on her back and face the half hidden face of the night sky. Though her words were for the seraph, her eyes were all for the bright millions above her. "Civility is a fun game to play when it suits... But no. No, no. Tearing up livestock will come later when I've less means to be polite and ask for food. Why tap the greater resources now so early on when there are others ways to acquire nourishment?" Clicking her tongue against her teeth, it was all the pale creature could do not to have that laugh turn into a giggle. Slowly, those dark eyes fell from the sky and listed lazily to follow Victor's movements with appreciative shine. "Your mate would be greatly impressed by your tenacity Victor, but you know Anyanka more well than I. She would not approve of your negative thoughts." Up ticked a finger in a tock-clock sort of fashion, wagging back and forth.

"You sound more like her with every passing day." Shaking his head once again, he finished drying, although his hair still clung to his back and shoulders. "And I know. She thinks nothing can happen to her. I want to believe that... but there are too many of them and only one Anya. I just know they are plotting something as we speak. She's already been gone five days, and... while I do still sense her, I... can't help but worry." His eyes that turned to her had begun to blacken as he spoke. "I will not let my Nischa be harmed... no matter the cost."

"Mm, it's a long journey, even for someone like her." Slowly, Cerre began to drift away again; or at least her eyes. Sounding like her elder she may be, but given the way she was constantly in her presence before the trip, and the likenesses their kind seemed to take from one another, was it any surprise? The violet creature was still very much her own, however; slightly faraway, drifting, distant, and ever ready with a lackadaisical sort of smile. It was only in rare moments that she had a true, venomous light shine through and prove her fiercer heritage. "... lots of currents change this time of year, too. Time's not a worry." She said it absently, almost as if the passage of such was not a matter to them; and indeed it wasn't, they were creatures made for eternity.

"Time? No. It is your kind that worries me. The ones Anya disgraced, in particular. The ones who treated you like shit." He sighed and turned back toward the house. "I'll be off as soon as I'm dressed. You want anything else, or just... more lamb?" He chuckled softly, having considered hauling in eight or nine sides of beef and calling it a day.

At first Cerre did not reply; something in his sentence gave her a pause and decent series of considerations to store away for later. Taking both hands and plumping them behind her head, the young siren arced comfortably before growing lax again. "Lamb?..." She echoed him aloud before shaking her head, thinking further on his initial offer. "... no. No lamb thank you. Maybe ham?" Rhyming now, was she? Oh yes. It was that kind of night. Then again, when one searches for the next best thing, one often plays an internal game of word-sound-association. She rolled her eyes to him preening gently as she spread him a pleasant, slightly pleading sort of expression.

"...I'll bring back a pig. That'll last at least a few hours, hmm?" Snickering, Vic disappeared into the house, a teleportation rune carrying him up to the bedroom. Not a moment after he'd slipped on his pants and boots came a knock on the door. "...Avarian," he guessed without even bothering to look. "Yeah yeah, keep your pants on... at least long enough for me to get out of here..."

"Oh that'd be lovely, thank you Victor!" Cerre was awfully bright on that last note; then again, her Elder's mate he mentioned bring back a whole animal versus chops of one; the idea in itself was delightful enough in it's own right. But like the seraph, the siren too had a very prime set of senses, hers were merely born, not crafted. The wind was fickle this evening, but her ears were sharp enough things to know that a great-bodied weight had been approaching their building from the streets outside the garden-yard's great walls. Crooning quietly, and paying little attention, Cerre rolled onto her side once more to face the water with a lazy gaze. The pale, full globes of her rear faced the house's back door.

Selecting a shirt that was tailored for his wings, Victor had it halfway on when he opened the door, and his eyes widened in curiosity. "...Melinda?" A glance back through the back door, still open, had him rolling his eyes, even as violets followed his gaze and stayed there. "Well... come on in. I was just on my way out." Slipping past the woman, he extended his wings and took to the sky.

Five days, Victor sighed, accelerating through the air toward the refinery. The designs were complete, now it was time to fabricate the equipment.

63 minutes later, the smoke had long ago been cleared, the table and the Elders still remained, the feast was nearly over. A small collection of younger siren still remained as well, though paler than they'd been just a little over an hour before. Myrr sat at the head of the low table, her features cool and pure as the Spire's stony face that looked out over the edge of their seaside home. There was resolution there in her eyes however; satisfaction, relief, and a sense of righteousness. The stench of the man they'd let in had been overwhelmed by the wreak of fresh, raw, coppery flesh; Anyanka's pillow she'd settle on had been shoved to a far corner to join a vast, neat collection of others ready for use; all was right, order had returned to the rippling sense of discontent and unease that had settled over the nest.

The storm had started again, painting the normally warm, sand toned walls of the stony construct in a haze of cool, rain dark grays. Even the braziers and lamps seemed to prove little color in the wash of dull that'd overtaken them all. Claudia had her head down, not out of respect for once, but from the great weight of thoughts pulsing through her brain. As the last piece of silverware was put down, Myrr pursed her lips, tapping soundlessly on her chin as she gave a pointed sniff. "Come... A prayer to the first as we disperse the bones of our meal." The Elders began moving, the younglings shifted and moved out to collect the used dinnerware; only Claudia stayed motionless. Myrr said nothing more as she rose from her cushion, adjusting the neat folds of her simple swath of gown.

A tearing sound could be heard from the air, as if the air itself were being rent apart by a shearing force. Victor, wings extended, cannons swiveled to serve as thrusters, rocketed toward the spire at the speed of sound, a prismatic mana shield held before him to keep his body from being burned by the friction. He only slowed at the last moment of his descent, landing roughly in a kneel in the sand before the spire's opening.

Standing slowly, blackened voids of eyes surveyed the great monument as the shoulder-mounted cylinders situated themselves and began to charge. "She... was here. I am certain of it." His area radar detected no life in his immediate range, and he stared at it for a moment until he was convinced it was no glitch. Black veins pulsed from his neck and arms, tendrils crept out from his eyes under the skin of his face, and cruel mithranium blades were bolted to each elbow. A living weapon, he had called it, and that weapon now walked slowly into the spire, toward the last location he'd sensed his Nischa.

"Claudia..." Myrr left the rest hanging in the weight of her stare as she looked towards the younger siren in question. With the girl's head already down, all she had to do was lift it and let it fall again to nod her understanding. Hands rose from her sides so that each set of fingers could hook around the braided chain about her neck. It was mostly composed of untreated leathers and a few choice shreds of silk; it looked like a bird's nest truthfully, with all it's odd bits and pieces, but somehow it was smooth, streamline, and glittering softly with streaks of vibrant, cayenne red; Anya's red. Myrr's eyes rested on it the moment the girl's hands did, and it wasn't long before they narrowed; it was clearly the source of their impending discussion. Claudia moved like the condemned towards the gallows as the first few Elders began to file out towards a higher room through the central staircase, a staircase that followed the length of the Spire floor for floor.

The younger ones however moved downward; the aforementioned post dinner ritual was not theirs to attend just yet, they set to cleaning and returning platters to the kitchen area down near the base of the Spire. As they younger siren reached the kitchen, they crooned quietly to one another in their own unspoken way, and one broke off from the group with a large copper pot to fetch a fresh vat of water from the raging ocean. It was her steps and the heavy, empty bop of the pot against her still youthfully fattened hip that the seraph would hear coming. She was young, a bit traumatized, distracted, and had a nose full of fresh blood from the recent feast; she would not know what awaited her below.

Siren. The Pare gave Victor the unspoken command, and a whispered rune of teleportation carried him directly before the youth, a blade driving forward to the center of the body, only inches below the heart. Dead, black eyes stared, unconcerned with the identity or status of this siren. Victor spoke only one word. "Anyanka."

The girl was a picture of innocence until the blades sank in; truly, with her ripening body and the sweetness from childhood still lingering in her face, all that sweet, strawberry blonde hair and the smattering of freckles to her otherwise flawless, olive skin might have marked her a milk maid or a farmer's bonny daughter; but the blade had sunk in, and out came her teeth. The teeth were not alone either, they came coupled with a wail so hideous and snarling one might think the grounds themselves had opened up to flash a burp from hell. The young siren thrashed like a pike on a hook, arms and legs flailing in the place of fins, jaws wide and gnashing as the great copper pot clanged piteously down the rest of the stairs and skirted off the edge of the entrance below to meet the swollen surf.

The others upstairs cried with alarm, one hissed, then their were more steps, and soon the wailing creature on Victor's blade was joined by two more. Wide eyes, bared teeth, hunched bodies, and then they were skittering back as soon as they'd come, moving to spirit back up the stairs and harp their alarm. Either they spoke little by nature, or their fright was simply too great. Either way, Victor received no response.

Charged cannons fired, one toward each of the siren that charged toward him. The charges were minute in comparison to the design he'd created, only enough to obliterate a one-foot radius. Both sought the chest, and exploded upon contact. Victor's eyes never moved from the first, and the second blade rose, swiveling to press against the side of her neck. "Where. Is. Anyanka?"

The concussive force shook the area slightly, jarring the blade inside the siren's chest, but Victor's footing did not give, and the impalement would not allow the her to fall.

Debris both organic and weapon made scalded the side of the girl's face as she shrieked her horror and pain; blood and explosive soot. The more she writhed on the seraph's blade, the greater the rush of blood that poured down it. There was little more than animal reaction from her now, and her brain knew only one thing, dislodge herself, run away. Answering question was beyond her already, he'd see it in the dilated darks of her eyes and the silver shine that had overtaken them. She was weakening quickly though, and her wails were already drowning down to panting cries. Further up the length of the stairs, however, closer to the very top, Myrr's head snapped, and Claudia stilled as cold and solid as a statue. The remaining Elders answered the blasts and screams with sharp, sudden barks of noise all their own. "What is that?" Came Myrr's indignant squawk.

"Worthless." The second blade swiveled once more, and in one clean move, the head was severed. Victor's arm slung out roughly, casting the body aside as one would throw off an insect that had landed upon his hand. His ascent continued; he didn't bother to clean off the blood. Sickening sounds echoed through the stairwell as he tromped over the corpses in his path.

Victor had prepared, for this and much worse. This 'mongoose' had come to the snake den with a fresh infusion of nanomachines, and just before she'd departed, Anya had given him her own blood. The wounds began to knit together almost immediately.

"How... dare I?" Both blades extended before him, spinning once again to keep her at bay. Cannons fired, but in his rage the blasts came almost at random, and could not compensate for her speed. "You took my Nischa from me..." Lasers scattered from his eye, and while the Elder could not get close enough to strike again, her body was liquid given flesh. "You took my world..." As Victor edged closer with every word, a barrage firing from every weapon at his disposal, she danced along the stone floor and skittered up the wall. "...my everything!"

Blades were one thing, explosives another, but lasers were not something the siren had encountered before, not even an Elder of Myrr's caliber. Still, she taunted him, her voice venom as she spoke. "Your world is an abomination!" It was then that she felt the blackened skin of Victor's throat almost crawling beneath her nails. A moment's hesitation came at the sight of his wounds closing, the bleeding having already stopped, and that slightest pause would be her undoing.

Gaping in disbelief, a howl building in her throat, Myrr moved back once more, seeking some way to weave through the blasts and dodge the swing of those dangerous edges to prepare for another strike. It wasn't until the Elder was on the floor and slipping as she tried to climb back up to her feet that she realized she was missing half a leg. From the knee down there was nothing save the red of her own blood seeping out from the stump.

Claudia was on the move, catching herself between an open space of the deadly rays and playing her game of statue once more to avoid moving afoul and meeting the same, or worse, as Myrr. Chest heaving, the younger siren continued to gaze on, horror struck and awed all at once.

A swift, brutal kick aimed for Myrr's face, and while the cannons ceased, the lasers kept firing. Victor had, in the space of a breath, severed all of the Elder's limbs, leaving smoking, cauterized wounds. The tracking and precision was a marvel, as each protruded exactly four inches from the body, even despite her wriggling and squirming. A charge on each shoulder sat ready to blast what remained into a million tiny pieces of bone and blood and flesh.

"You are the f*cking abomination... all of you!" Victor snarled through gritted teeth. "You... sick, pathetic trash..." Kneeling, he pressed a blade to her throat, leveling both cannons directly at her face. "She was more than you could ever be. More than you all could ever become." Red light shined from his mana eye, the blade dug ever so slightly into skin, and Victor's restraint held by a very thin thread. Black tendrils pulsed from his skin and his eye of flesh had once again become a void, sucking in the light surrounding him and shrouding his face in shadow.

Like a feral being at the end of its rope, Myrr gnashed and slithered for all she was worth. Even wounded as she was the creature was spry, and she escaped the pressing blade as Victor fought with the rage, seeking control. The Pare had taken him completely, and it wanted her dead. It wanted them all dead, and the spire - no, the entire isle - in smoldering ruin for what they had done.

Claudia's voice cracked from the other side of the room as she too dipped, falling to her knees and sliding backwards. She crashed into a nearby vase, falling into the pieces as they shattered across the floor and skittered past the seraph's feet. Myrr raged, her words nothing but garbled hate in their native tongue, too mashed to decipher, too furious to comprehend. Her hate ran inexplicably deep.

A hand raised, preparing a kinetic field, then Victor's eye caught sight of Claudia's necklace. The hair... it was unmistakable. His eye scanned it, but even before he saw her DNA in those strands, he knew. It was just enough to pull him back from the edge. "You... do not move." A press of a button created a protective shell around the younger siren as the cage of lasers closed in once again upon the elder. "...and you... will tell me what you did with her."

"I will not be commanded! You will kill me first before our sea mother witnesses me bow to her lesser creation!" Her words were the stubborn seethings of a bigot at the very core. Myrr saw Victor for what he was, her death, but even in the face of it she would order things her way. Claudia stilled however, she did not cower. Frozen for the third time this evening, the silvery sheen of her eyes watched the scene, her heart a furious bird in the cage of her up and down chest. Both hands had returned to her necklace, unwilling to let go of the security it offered.

"On the contrary," A warning light blinked from his arm console, as the first of his mana batteries was expended and his systems rerouted to the second. Victor ignored it. "I will not allow you to die until you obey my every command." Kneeling once again, his black stare bore into Myrr's eyes with pure hatred. "Lest you forget, I am not your sea mother's creation... and from where I stand, you are the lesser." Mithranium plating extended over his hand like a gauntlet to prevent an expected bite as he reached down to seize Myrr by the throat.

"These are the last words you'll hear from me... Listen well, you goddess forsaken piece of filth. That мусор* you rage for will be your undoing. She'll kill you in the end. She'll take all that you are and destroy it from the inside out!" Nothing but venom poured from Myrr now, though even with no other defense save her own noxious words, the siren still no doubt would have made to work what little magic she had over the seraph. Just as their voices could enchant for the better, they could bespell for the worse. The Elder's tone turned oily and blackened, each word more twisted and vapored than the next as a sinister expression took over her worn, pale face. "... she'll eat you alive after she's burrowed inside, just like a fat worm inside a putrid little crab apple. How perfect, I can see it all now, and more's the better, for I do not plan to be around when it actually happens." It was then that Myrr closed her mouth in a sharp, violent motion before spewing a mouthful of blood and spitting a thick, pink half of her tongue down onto the seraph's feet. Her laugh was garbled and half lost in the ruin she'd made of the darkness behind her lips. In the distance, the sound of more liquid hitting the floor echoed it's splatter onto the cold stone; Claudia had vomited.

Victor threw his head back and laughed. "Your mind games don't work on me, bitch. Didn't you do your homework? Not even Anya's song could seduce me." The memory of the night his love sang to him flowed through his mind then. The music of her voice in his ear, her shock when he did not fall to the spell, and her confusion when she realized she never needed it anyway. His eyes closed in reverence, until the thought of what had befallen her turned it sour and his stomach turned.

"Your disgusting voice shall not poison me." Shaking himself from the reverie, he put a boot to Myrr's neck, just firmly enough to keep her head from moving too much. The armored hand reached then into her mouth, ripping out her teeth one by one and tossing them aside. "You will tell me what I want to know." He acted fast, as the loss of blood from the tongue and gums could be fatal if he let it go on too long. "And no, I'm not going to let you choke." Turning her on her side, a swift series of strokes to the throat would force her to expel the blood. A needle then extended from his wrist and drove into her shoulder. Blood samples were taken, and DNA quickly decoded; he'd had plenty of time to study every nuance of siren physiology. He'd healed Anya's blindness, rewritten her very genetic makeup. In comparison, stopping the bleeding of a simple series of wounds and regenerating a tongue was elementary.

"This will take about fifteen minutes. It'll grow your tongue back, but... not your teeth. Or your limbs." A smirk crossed his lips as he crushed one of the teeth between his plated fingers. The bleeding would stop almost immediately; the regeneration of the tongue, however, was a slower process. "Why don't you spend that time reflecting on the miserable, worthless piece of sh*t you are?"

Standing then, Victor turned to Claudia. "Why do you wear a piece of my Nischa around your neck? Where is she?" There was very little threat in his voice, but the black remained, a threat in and of itself. "Is she alive? You will answer me. You will tell me everything you know, or you will look just like that," a dismissive gesture toward Myrr, "when I'm finished with you."


((* Garbage.))

Though the time was close, Myrr's tongue still had not fully formed, and her initial response was garbled beyond decency. The laser into her flesh didn't help much either, it made her tone pitched and wailing. "Suffer? Suffer... nothing like your bit of ocean garbage..." The Elder shook her head, eyes rolling away to the side as she sent a scathing look towards her follow siren and their wreaking aura of cowardice... all except Claudia. Claudia stood strong, albeit slowly. She didn't back away, she did not join her sisters higher up the stair, nor did she seek to descend them either. Moving towards the edge, she slowly sank back onto her rump, taking comfort in the cool stone beneath her overheated flesh; her heart was beating too fast, on edge with dual emotions that bounced between trepidation and excitement.

"...oh, we'll see about that." Victor smirked. The Pare began to blacken his flesh once more, the energy feeding into his rage. "Anya... was born blind... Perhaps you should know what that feels like." The armored hand held her face, and a laser burned slowly into Myrr's left eye. The process was slow, careful not to destroy the nerves before sending pain through every last one.

"You would not da-AAaaargh!" Her high pitched warble turned to a lung straining howl of pain. Limbs or no, the Elder could still buck, and the length of her spine creaked and writhed, bucking against the seraph's hold as her toothless mouth stayed wide and gaping. Noises came from Victor's back, though it was little more than strangled gasps and the shuffle of feet back up the stairs. Claudia and two others remained, watching Myrr's torture in reverent silence. Betrayer or no, Myrr was baring the brunt of her aggressor, the others would respect it.... They would stay and share Myrr's burden, so to speak, by keeping vigil from the sidelines. They did not mourn her impending death, but they would respect and observe it despite the worm in their guts.

Half the eye would be melted before he stopped, and he did not bother to use the laser's tracking while she thrashed; the motions would be rewarded with burns into the skin surrounding. "Where is my Nischa? Where did this Jeremiah take her? What does he plan to do with her? I am a genetic engineer, Myrr. I can keep you alive as long as I must, and you will scream for every answer you deny me... even if I must burn you until the end of time. I will carry you with me while I search for her, and I will take a little more of you with every mile I travel. You will not know the peace of death until I know everything."

There went Claudia's fingers to her new talisman again; she sought its strength now more than ever. Though the green haired youngling didn't know exactly where Anyanka had been taken, she'd seen the zeal in the man's eyes. She knew what he meant for her, what he meant to do to her; it was the look of a starved man after years of lacking a true meal. Shivering at the thought, Claudia held her resolve; she'd not speak a word unless Myrr continued or began to crack. Hated or no, wicked and unkind or no, Claudia would give her Elder something every siren, no matter their evil, deserved; their pride. Somewhere distantly, she knew that Ayanka would keep hers too. Myrr screeched her pain, trying to shake her head within the vice of Victor's hand. The burns were no deterrent, but her bucking was weakening. He'd taken so much from her already, it was a miracle she was even alive; a lesser creature would not have bore it. "She is where she belongs, filth deserves filth!"

"You are the filth. All of you. I felt something in her. She was granted a gift, something you were unworthy of. Something you envy... that's why you did this, isn't it?" Victor cackled. "Of course... it all makes sense now." The laser burned into her eye once again, again taking nerve by nerve. Her vital signs were carefully monitored; he would NOT let her die. If necessary he would give her as many nanomachines as necessary to keep her alive even beyond the most horrific of tortures. "Filth deserves filth indeed... I bet if you went down below the waves, to seek what Anya sought, you'd never return." The laser burned into her again, taking the eye that remained and leaving naught but a cauterized empty socket. "Now tell me where she is!"

"The darkness below is forbidden! Forbidden!" Her wail was enough to make the banshee of long forgotten moors peel back their eyes in pain. The last two remaining Elders fled up the stairs with their sisters, leaving Claudia still there, still watching, still biding her time as Myrr struggled with her own weary resolve. Her hatred was deep and without end, but her body, immortal as it was, could only take so much punishment. It had been some time since the Elder creature had felt pain, and it was a taste left in the back of her mouth she did not find herself enjoying. His voice came from the darkness now, and the noise made her shiver; somehow without her sight, his presence seemed all the more sinister. Panic was setting in, and her cries began anew in a differing tone.

"He's mad, mad! Mad like his father... The madness has stayed alive through near eight generations now, why would we allow that in our blood? Let him keep her, he'll end the perversions in the house that bore them!" And there it was, the small pearl of sane logic that had sparked and become lost in her incessant, manic rage.

"You're not answering me." The laser started to cut into her chest, melting skin, exposing nerves to open air. A few taps of his console produced the image of a simple molecular formula: NaCl. A moment later a canister ejected from his wrist. Salt. A little was shaken into each eye socket and the newly exposed line from throat to navel.

As Myrr's voice fell to a violent, shrieking ruin again beneath the new torture, Claudia cringed. She heard the Elder's voice slip in tone as the screaming began falling into sobs. This was where she could hold out no longer. She cleared her throat and scrambled from the floor to her feet once more, offering the seraph her last bit of observed knowledge. "He means to use her... I have not seen a creature look so starved save beasts on chains before a fresh plate of chops. Jeremiah spoke of her mother's beauty and how the family would be so proud. I do not know more... I do not. He just, he looked so pained , he means to slake every ounce of thirst he has. Her death was in his eyes behind the madness." Myrr hissed her fury through clenched, ruined gums and blood smeared lips, but her body finally fell from it's sharp arc to lie limp on the floor. She wasn't dead, no, not quite; but she was loosing resolve with each word from the younger siren's lips.

Another injection drove into Myrr's midsection. More nanomachines, healing and revitalizing, although they would repair none of the more permanent damage. "Thank you, young one... but she still has not answered my question." Blackened eyes turned back to the elder. "Wake up, filth. You will not escape me so easily. You will not find rest on my vigil. TELL ME WHERE SHE IS." As the nanos acted, so would every nerve waken anew, and he shook more of the salt into the wounds while his eye carved more still.

"She is where she belongs. The travel alone could kill her with all that poison in her belly! Let me die... Let me DIE!" Her throat was tinging with the rasp of raw flesh now, and it took great, shivering gasps to keep the Elder siren from succumbing to the untoward pain. Oddly, her blood bubbled with each tap of the granulated element; the sea knew it's salt, and apparently, so too the siren's body.

"Not until you tell me. Never until I know." Victor was unmoved, and the laser continued to burn, followed by trails of salt. Another injection, one to repair the nerves that had been damaged, only to let them feel the agony of exposure once more. A crisscrossing pattern now burned across her entire torso, a latticework of open flesh and exposed tissue, all being forced to regenerate millions of nerve endings over and over beneath the carefully melted flesh.

Claudia had long ago closed her eyes and took to rocking slowly back and forth on her heels. She'd opened the floodgates for Myrr's confession, now it was up to her Elder. The Elder in question bucked again, this time with the hopes of a death throe, for each and every inch of her was aching for complete blackness, not just the wretched blindness he'd exacted on her. "The manor! The Mehmetur manor eight weeks travel from here! It's farther then that wretched city of RhyDin, it's near the opposing pole of the realm's axis. Leave me, toss me to the sea!" Each syllable became more a moan than the last. Had the creature still hands to claw, they'd be bloody fists by now.

It was a location he did not know, but could find. His extensive mapping and scanning of this world helped greatly, and his internal navigation program was already plotting his course. "The sea? No. You get no last wish for what you've done." Taking her up by the throat, he stood, carrying her casually like a toy. "Young one. Tell your elders... this one is lost to them."

"Phillis, water the hounds would you? The master's to be away on holiday for a while..." A worn, but lofty voice called out to what looked like a scullery maid two times past her prime and all the grayer for it. The woman would have looked pleasant and rotund were her body so tired looking. Raccoons could take a lesson in make up from the maid, Phillis. The owner of the voice was quite the polar opposite in looks compared to the old maid; his name was Eugene; his limbs looked a bit super extended and frail, yet there was a firmness about him that suggested retired military, and a scar beside his left eye that simply wouldn't fade. Mehmetur manor was in the process of starting their day; dawn had nearly broke, and the entire household with it's empty halls and scarce looking trappings had few servants other than Phillis and Eugene piddling about.

Adjusting the edge of his worn suit jacket, Eugene took his tired eyes and directed them out the window and across the estate's sweeping lawn. Past the edge of the lawn, around the cusp of forest that bordered half the property line, like a miniature set laid out for a child's amusement, was the nearest city. Just beyond that was the ocean and the first streak of daylight, ominous and red. "...Tell Seamus to check the send a pigeon to that cranky old sea bat down in the city and remind him to pull up the pots. Looks like bad weather coming." Miles and miles away, the master of Mehmetur manor already had eyes full of the day's red light over the frothing sea. His captive lay bound and motionless, still as the grace save for the up and down of her breathing.

Far beyond the speed of sound, Victor could be heard before he landed. It's... a couple degrees off... did I mistake the signal? The Manor's location didn't quite match the tracker, and the seraph was second-guessing himself. No. This must be the place... it's exactly how Myrr described. She is in there. She may be able to escape if I provide a distraction. A small explosive charge homed in on the front doors, exploding on contact, and the seraph flew directly through the wreckage, landing just inside. "Anya!" A scream echoed throughout, hoping somehow to reach her ears.

Someone was screaming farther in; it was a woman's voice. A man's joined her, not in chaotic chorus so much, but in alarm and outrage. "Phillis shut your damn mouth woman! Herbert probably backfired that damn motorized abomination of the master's out on the front lawn!" But somewhere distant in the man's voice there was a thread of doubt, and a thick one at that. Feet scrambled, a fat cat tottered on by at light speed and hopped over the rubble to skitter up the carpeted staircase within the foyer that Victor had landed inside.

Down the hallway Eugene emerged with what appeared to be a double barreled something in his arms, slung up high and riding just right against his body. "Eugene, why do you have the winchester?! I thought you said it was Herbert!" The older woman's holler came from behind the man, the butler, Eugene, and was followed shortly there after by a cough, and sharp, stern bark from the seemingly fearless Eugene. "Now look here whoever you are! This house and all the lands bordering it belong to my master Mehmetur! You are trespassing in the foulest of manners! I demand you leave here at once!" Military indeed; there was a tightness about his neck and the rest of his old, withered muscle structure that spoke of times long gone by that sang with the familiar notes of bloodshed and battle.

The blades on Victor's arms spun up and a kinetic barrier formed around his body as he turned toward the man. "Good, then I've found the right place." A smirk came over his face at the sight of the primitive weapon, and a single beam fired, burning the hand that held it. Slow steps approached the man as he spoke. "Your master has my Nischa, and you will tell me where he is or you will suffer the fate of the last who tried to defy me." Holographic images projected before him of Myrr's torture, the lasers slicing through flesh, salt poured into burned out eye sockets, arms and legs removed. The black, pulsing veins in his face and arms spread their foul ink into Victor's skin with every step, and his cannons began to visibly charge. "...she begged for death."

"Sonuvabitch! Phillis! Urg, Phillis run outside! Go to town, get out!" Eugene roared with a ferocity that betrayed his age, giving a glimpse of the younger man he once was, and possibly what the elder Phillis could have meant to him. Though his hand had been burnt, he cradled the gun limply still, eyeing Victor with the utmost shock and contempt. "Look, I don't know who your 'Neesha' is, but my master isn't home! No one's here except our skeletal house crew... He left the day." He paused as a particularly gruesome snap of flesh was burnt and peeled away, shuddering, forcing himself not to blink. "... he left the day before last. He didn't say where he was going and I certainly wouldn't tell you if he did! What is it you want? Money? There is none! He hoards what's left somewhere else outside the manor! Go! Leave! The people in this house didn't do anything to deserve that." That, of course meant the images Victor was reeling.

The blades stopped, and Victor teleported, grabbing the man up by the throat and slamming him against the wall as he threw the shotgun aside. "My Nischa... is my wife. He took her from me, and you will tell me everything you know... or you will die." Watching as those Eugene had alerted began to scramble, he called over his shoulder, "No one leaves! If you run, I will hunt you down and bomb you from the sky!"

"Eugene!" Apparently Phillis hadn't listened, and she was sobbing his name piteously from down the length of the hallway a broom clutched tightly against her apron. Her wrinkled faced peered down through the debris in the foyer, barely catching the edge of Victor's elbow and Eugene's dangling feet. Tightening his neck, he let his limbs go limp the moment he tested his aggressor's strength and found it inescapable. He was resting, biding time, tapping into old training and putting it to good use. Clearing his throat, he rasped angrily around the corner without taking his eyes off Victor. "Con-foundit woman! Stay there!" Turning his face firmly back as far as the hands around his neck would allow, Eugene spoke low, his eyes swimming with confusion. "Look... I'm sorry about your wife, but the master hasn't had company here in years. He never married, he just ruts around in that damn study of his! Paying our wages late, locking himself away and sending post by hawk and pigeon out of his windows. I stay here because my family's been with his for as long as I was a boy, I've nowhere else to go, and I'm not abandoning the staff here."

Eyes narrowing, Victor fought once again with the Pare's urging to power up the laser and start taking this man apart. No... he could truly be innocent... "Jeremiah, correct?" His eye then replayed the words of Claudia and the final admission of Myrr. "He took Anyanka from the spire. Where is he now?"

"I told you, I don't know! He has other places he holidays to and visits regularly. Hunting retreats, lodges, small estates, business acquaintances with land. Master Jeremiah could be anywhere." Eugene was growing more comfortable now in his situation, and somehow knew long before his gun clattered to the floor that the sooner he offered this man what he wanted, the sooner he'd leave, and the safer everyone else would be. This obviously wasn't the first time someone ruff had come bashing at the door for some reason or another. Jeremiah wasn't the most sane of men and had a horrific gambling problem. How he kept his homes and vacation spots was a mystery his staff didn't dare dig into. Phillis chimed from the back kitchen from down the hallway. "There are some he visits more often in the summer months now! Mostly shore sides!"

Victor dropped the man then, growling in rage as a suddenly spinning blade and plated fist bashed through the wall, leaving a massive hole. His fury took a long moment to give way to reason, the wall before him in ruin when he was done. "...his study... where..." Speaking between deep breaths as he tried to calm, his tone still harbored no room for argument. It was obvious the seraph had started to crack. He'd not slept in over a day and a half, and had expended so much to strengthen his mana battery once more that regardless of his power, he was tired. So very tired. But he could not rest until he found her. "...he must... keep some kind of records. Maps. Locations."

Recovering from the sudden loss of a grip didn't take Eugene long, but he did look worse for wear by the time he stood up. He was careful then, keeping his back to Phillis and firming his stance a bit, as if to block the hallway off. Old habits, long ago established practices, all of which he displayed now in every rigid motion even as he pointed to the stairs. "Up there-" Before he could finish, he was cut off. "...up the stairs and down the hall, 'tis the last door on the right! Go, go, go! Just take what you need and leave, he's a slimey little man! Never treated women right when he did entertain them!"

Eugene shot a very stern look over the edge of his shoulder, and despite the severity of the situation, he turned his gaze back to Victor with a gruff smirk. "Sure it's worth all this?"

Turning back to the man, Victor's eyes blackened so deep that the light warped around them, veiling his face in shadow. "She is my everything." Perhaps even Anya herself would be surprised by those four simple words; every syllable, every inflection was absolute. There was nothing else, especially now. "I will find her... and I will destroy the man who took her from me... only death will stop me." Wasting no more time, he turned and headed toward the study.

As Eugene watched the man tromp upstairs, he slowly backed down the hallway to Phillis and promptly took her by the elbow. Phillis countered with a quick, sharp smack to the man's cheek and the two quickly began bickering under-breath at one another as they began rifling about and packing bags.

Reaching the study, Victor surveyed the room in shock. "...Mithril's f*cking blade..." Paintings lined the walls, all of red haired women in some fanciful seascape and licked at by the froth of the sea. A sealskin hung over his mantel, preserved fish trapped in glass lined his desk, at the center front of which stood a bronzed sculpture of a sea maiden with her mouth struck open in song. Books and ledgers and files of all kinds lined the floors, the desk, the cabinets, and the book shelves. Some were dusty, some worn and used more than others, but one thing was clear above all else through the mess, Jeremiah had been crazed for some time.

The paintings held his attention the most. They all looked like her. "...who... what... is this?" Taking up one book after the next he flew through the pages, scanning. Drawers were thrown open, contents scattered, paintings taken down from the walls, everything examined in every last detail. "...how does this man have all this?" The books written in the language he'd only just begun to unlock, the writings of the siren, had his world spinning in confusion. Still, Victor steeled himself, seeking some way to track his quarry. "...there has to be something... a ledger... a map..." Talking to himself in frustration, he searched and scanned everything he could find.

"F*ck..." he cursed as he opened what seemed to be a book of accounting, jaw slacking at the sheer fortune and mass of lands this family seemed to possess. Much more than he could simply search. Too many doors to kick down. It was then he found the lockbox, and one punch of a mithril needle from his wrist popped it open. The sight of its contents nearly took his legs from under him.

Inside an old tarnished oval frame was an aged, but well preserved portrait of a sleek looking nude; she had hair down well past her hips and a willowy frame. Familiar no doubt, but shockingly so when one looked at the face of the woman; it was so much like his Nischa, yet older, firmer, and pushing to the edge of her forties perhaps, yet still as lovely as anything. "...oh my god..."

As if he needed any further confirmation, a scan confirmed Victor's horror. The portrait was nearly nine hundred years old. "...her mother..." Sinking to the floor, he threw it aside and focused on the maps laid out before him. "I... oh god... I must find her!" Panic ran through every nerve, along with the building rage of the demonic oath he'd taken. Concentrating on his task was growing more and more difficult, especially as he fought with his constricting chest for air. I was right before. The signal was elsewhere. Tracing the map with a fingertip, reading the output he'd gotten before from his detection when she'd briefly awakened, he started to narrow down an area. Unfortunately, there were several of the man's holdings throughout, and he did not know if he had the power to send another message. If I push myself too far...

"F*CK!" Teeth grinding, nails clawing at his face, Victor sobbed, hands shaking as the blades spun up once again and turned upon everything in the room. In his rage he bashed through walls and smashed the furniture until splinters and shards had nearly mangled his arms. The sight of his blood pooling below finally snapped him from the spell and he sank back down to his knees, staring at the map once again. Anya... a sieve of tears poured freely onto the line of Mehmetur's holdings on the shore. As he held her image in his mind, he slowly began to remember. Her strength, her will, her power sent a tiny light of hope into what had become a black hole of despair. She is my Nischa... my goddess. She would never submit. She still has that strength... and she always will, no matter what he's done to her. I just need to remind her... awaken her.

Summoning all the reserves he had left, and further, draining from his very life force, Victor channeled all that he was into the bracelet. Anya! Awaken and hear me! The ones who took your mother... that is who has taken you! Awaken and kill this man! NOW! KILL HIM! The last came with a sound of bizarre static as the seraph had overexerted himself, and his vision turned to a haze. Grabbing his head in pain, he gave himself to the Pare to empower him to fight on, but it was not enough. Victor's world faded to black and he collapsed onto the maps spread out upon the floor.