;; 𝕞𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕

@antonylcts​

tw: violence

Emre had a very specific job, he was a bartender at the only place in town that catered to the needs of vampires. But, it would not due to allow those who offered themselves to the vrykolakas to die after a few simple feedings. It was inevitable, sure, that was why Emre had found himself here to start with, some poor soul who didn’t know when to stop had given too freely, and the vampire on the receiving end had been too greedy to stop. 

The reaper appeared in the backroom now, a simple affectation of his own ability to teleport had him leaned against the wall next to where the striking vampire had taken more than his fill. Clearly he was hungry. “That’s enough, time’s up.” Emre deadpanned, he could feel the quiet ebbing of the other’s soul as it inched towards oblivion, truly, he did not care either way, but the psychotic witch who owned this bar claimed to have a reputation to uphold. The reaper’s blood held no appeal the vampires, neither were the vrykolakas able to kill them by any conventional means, which made Emre well suited for this job. “I said,” the reaper wrenched the wobbly kneed human free, “enough.” 

It had hit him like walking face first into a brick wall, the bar smelled exclusively like fresh human blood. The smooth music was loud enough to mask the sounds of teeth tearing into skin and quiet grunts of pains and sighs, but they stuck out to the old vampire. The bar was a place for his kind, creatures like him willing to pay a hefty price to discreetly delve into their nature without prying mortal eyes. Antony was in a state of disarray, much like when he was left to his own devices after becoming a vampire. With no linear path to follow, the cult was in hiding. Unable to go back to what home he’d made in the hotel he simply wandered. And he was thirsty, having been laying low, not wanting to risk unwanted attention he’d decided to get a long needed drink at the only place he knew where he could find a warm willing body. 

He had underestimated the strength of his thirst, not something he’d witnessed in centuries. The control he thought he’d mastered was absent the moment he tasted the mans blood on his tongue. Fingers gripped at the arms of his meal, refusing to let the poor man leave. A voice just whispered past his ears, all senses turned towards the victim who’s body was slowly turning more an more pale. If the disembodied voice hadn’t reached over to pry the body away, he probably would have drained him dry. Like a feral animal with its meal yank away, he snarled. But only for a moment, composing himself quickly when he realized what was happening. Teeth retracting, and not one for apologies, he considered leaving without giving the bouncer a second glance. Standing up he wiping off his clothes, and looked up. “sorry buddy, guess I forgot we aren’t in the middle ages anymore.” he sniffed, wiping remnants of blood from his face, gaze lingering far longer than he’d intended. “I know you.” 

A setback had been suffered, but that did not mean Markus was without a plan. He would regroup, and consider what Hektor had told him, the years that he had spent with Persephone whispering in his ear, the drive that he had felt to serve a cause greater than himself. For two decades the vampire had considered himself an instrument of her will, but he was a vampire no more, his connection to Hekate had been restored. While the king he had been long died, Markus felt more himself with magic at his fingertips than he had in centuries. His heart beat, his lungs breathed, and with the new life afforded him, Markus felt he must have purpose to it also. 

“She will tire, eventually, magic like this is not sustainable, though we both know how powerful a motivator spite may be.” Markus said bitterly, his brother was living proof of that. “If she doesn’t, if she finds some way to continue this magic, then I will acquire the means to break it.” He may have only been a witch, but he knew of some others, and further to the point, he was much older than the air genasi. Markus would find a way to counter this magic, eventually. 

“I don’t need your help.” Markus stated evenly. His baby brother could do nothing for him. “You realize you mean nothing to him, right?” Markus clarified, “Whatever you think of him, whatever you think he might be able to give you, there is nothing awaiting you but a cold death. Find the rift, but take the cure for yourself, brother. You can still serve the cult as a witch, but we were never meant to live like this.” 

Those moments between brothers when they were first reunited was long gone, the shades drawn back light shone down on the reality of their relationship and the bitter words shared between them. "You are delusional.” he kicked his brother’s leg, “look at yourself. You’re no different than the fools lining the streets outside the castle grounds begging for scraps.” looking around the hovel in distaste and the many animals scattered about. “If mother saw you like this,” he whistled under his breath, shaking his head. Pinned against one another from an early age there would constantly be that competitive stake between them, at least Antony. Forever trying to prove himself better than his bastard brother. To become mortal would admit defeat after living all these years, he’d sooner become a werewolf than back to a witch. 

“You better hope she tires soon, you’re looking worse for wear already. Besides, you don’t belong out here.” he scoffed, brows raised as an incredulous look shot back towards his brother, “How exactly do you intend to do anything? You’re a witch with an affinity for animals, you’re not exactly a strong and powerful genasi like you used to be, Snow White” Lighting up a cigarette, t he tone of Markus telling his younger brother he had no use of him, set off a spark in the pit of his stomach. Anger spreading through like the long drag of nicotine that engulfed breathless lungs. “You’re a god damned fool, Medrault --” cutting himself short, staring back at his older brother incredulously, “You think I’d be better off like you? Return a witch, crawl into a hovel and do what exactly?” but we were never meant to live like this. 

Ezio looked genuinely shocked, “I’ve burned a lot of bridges in my time, you’re probably the closest thing that I have to a friend.” The spirit answered candidly, they never really thought they needed anyone, never really relied on anyone. They had no family, and all that they loved, at some point, they had betrayed. Noah, Anemos, recent additions in their life but individuals that had worked their way into the spirit’s heart just the same. Ezio guessed that the latter would have information on the cult, maybe, but the pair of oneiroi had only just met, they would be a fool to trust them so quickly. Ezio stepped in, “Look, I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but look around you,” Ezio gestured, “these crimes demanded retribution, and powerful as I may be, I have no talent for warfare.” They had never been a warrior, their talents lay elsewhere. “Hektor, the leader of this cult along with his pet pixie abducted me, help me get even and I’ll guarantee that your wildest dreams all come true.”

 That was certainly brave to admit, eyebrows furrowing in thought as he considered their relationship. “You manipulated me, we’re well acquainted at the most.” It wasn’t that Ezio had actually done anything to wrong him, only subconsciously persuaded him to do something. But, he couldn’t understand why he was so upset by just that, perhaps just angry that he could be so easily swayed to do someone else’s bidding. It was often that Antony felt taken advantage of, but Ezio’s past actions left him wary of the spirit. Even if it was for a just cause. Folding his arms over his chest, he kept his mouth shut for once as the Oneiroi spoke. “You’re really serious,” commenting as he stared the other down, although he applauded their efforts to approach him for help against the Cult. There was no way he could give up the position of fear they held over the city.  I’ll guarantee that your wildest dreams all come true. If there was one thing Antony was, it was loyal. A stubborn loyalty that was bound to get him killed one day; but he’d never even considered what he wanted. He was always doing something for someone else, whether it was his mother, a goddess, or even Hektor. The offer struck a chord he didn’t know he had. A long sigh escaped his lips, eyes squinting against the sun as he looked back to Ezio. “Fine. I’ll help you.” to an extent. “But, you have to quit fucking around with my head.” he stuck out a bloodied hand, staring the spirit down. “deal?” 

“I’ve been cursed,” Markus said simply, “by the genasi that Hektor had me abduct, Safiye. She owns Pandora’s Lore. Standing behind you is the image of our dearly departed mother, at present she’s reminding me of my great many failures. If that wasn’t enough Safiye also did something to my senses I… can’t go into the city. It’s too painful.” Markus could hear his own blood pump through his veins, his heart as it hammered in his chest, the sun overhead was blinding, he had tried to return to the hotel but had found only a charred, burnt ruin. Undoubtedly the work of Phoenix. 

“The immortal that goes by the name Patroclus, he lives with another of his kind, the Spartan Hyacinth.” Markus had foolishly tried to interrogated the wrong man and had paid the price for it. “I had him by the throat, he grabbed my hand and all of a sudden I was mortal once more. I take it Hektor tasked you with finding him when I inevitably failed?”

The younger of the two watched, and listened as the newly made witch listed off the burdens that had been placed upon him. No more was the strong vampire standing tall and proud; the quest he’d laid his life on the line for, a failure, and he was paying the price. In any other circumstance he’d take him up on his claim. He could kill him, undoubtedly. “So, what are you going to do about it?" Hands clenched and uncoiled at his sides at the mention of their mother. A wicked thing, even casting a glance back as though he’d see the ghost of her memory the same as Markus, but, with no avail. Thank the Goddess. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards, returning a frosted stare back towards his brother, “She never was one to sugar coat things,” musing along side his brothers tormented soul. Markus had gotten sloppy; that’s what Antony elucidated the result of the sulking man before him. 

A name. Patroclus. Bringing him a step forward in finding the Rift. “Hektor knows I won’t make the same mistakes. I’m not as foolish as I used to be, brother. I’ll get the Rift.” determination coated his words, and from his expression. He meant it. Failure wasn’t an option, and if there was one thing he learned from dying twice, is how to be careful.  “So you’re going to stay out here with the animals, is that it?” scoffing and looking around the poor structure of the shack and the many animals that decided to stew in the shadow of gloom the former vampire propagated. “You’re not even going to ask for my help?” 

“You don’t remember?” Ezio asked, their tone bordered some offence as they watched the audacious man deliver a final and killing blow. “I’m offended.” They mused slightly before they pointed with their chin to the cowering frame of a beggar hidden behind one of the alters. “It is where we first met, or at least, where I first saw you.” Much had changed since then, the oneiroi had come into their power, understood its limits, its constraints, they had spent centuries in pursuit of another of their kind, a search that had for so long been in vain. “You always were straight to the point,” Ezio mused as they stepped over the body of one of the disemboweled crusaders. “but I did not bring you here for a history lesson, this time, I need help. I was taken recently by a maniac that calls himself Hektor, a sycophant that has stupidly devoted his immortal life to that haggard Goddess, Persephone. She has a cult following of vampires, I wanted to know what you knew of them… This is probably going to be a huge surprise to you, but I don’t have many friends, or people I can turn to in times like this. They nearly killed me, I’d rather avoid that again.”

The memories that shrouded the spirit were ones that Antony had slipped away in the recesses of his mind. Involuntarily, he’d quickly forgotten their first meeting, but now looking back the deja-vu hit him like a truck. He followed the spirits gaze to the tiny quivering body, someone who Antony hadn’t taken any notice too, why would he. “I wonder why I didn’t remember,” he shot back, sarcasm coating his exasperated sigh. Turning back to face Ezio with a quizical look as he waited for them to explain exactly why they bothered to meet him in this dream realm. He knew Ezio wouldn’t have known that he’d been involved in the Cults activities that transpired, giving the vampire the upper hand. “Oh, you need help?” he repeated raising his eyebrows, watching the spirit carefully. Nearly having to hold back laughter when he was asked the question, something so obvious. If only Ezio had known it was him that caused him all that pain and torment, and not Hektor. 

“The Cult of Persephone.” he tilted his head to the side, nodding along, “I know of it. They’ve been around for centuries.” he feigned innocence. “But I didn’t know they were here, in Corinth Bay? That doesn’t seem like them.” Letting out a sudden snort,“You really don’t have anyone closer to you than me? We’re not even close to friendly.” but he grinned, cocking an eyebrow and playing along, “You seem pretty capable to take care of yourself against vampires -- what exactly do you need to know about them?” 

@antonylcts​

Markus could feel the telling press of a genasi’s curse, the magic he was afforded now gave him a uniquely familiar insight to the dark magic that had been levied against him. If the former vampire had to guess, this was an act of retribution by Safiye, the owner of Pandora’s Lore that he had kidnapped in the name of the Cult of Persephone. Since his encounter with Patroclus he had avoided returning to the hotel, Safiye’s first curse had fallen on him quickly - an overbearing and uncontrollable sensory overload. Followed quickly by his own personal eidolon that remained shackled at his side. Unable to stay within the city, Markus instead retreated into the wilderness, found an abandoned hovel that would have, at one time, been the home of a witch and aimed to contemplate his next move. 

His dearly departed father for company.

The man sat on the floor within the fallen log, remnants of forgotten magic littered the walls about him, Markus had not yet tested the meagre amount of power that had been restored to him. It still felt… Distant, uncertain. Truly, Markus had been a genasi for far longer than he had been a witch. Yet, subconsciously, his misery had drawn the attention of some of the forest creatures. Birds had landed about him, a stray dog whined outside the hovel’s dilapidated door as if they were also awaiting the cultist’s decision. 

“I figured you would find me here.” Markus lamented as he drew his eyes towards his brother’s frame, he was certain that Antony would have been jumping for joy at the sight. Next to him stood the eidolon that Safiye had saddled him with, their father, positively beaming from ear to ear while the forest screamed in Markus’ senses. He could still hear the city, but it was distant, Antony’s footsteps had alerted the witch to his approach, yet Markus had made no attempt to leave. 

Distantly, Markus recalled the sight of Antony’s mutilated corpse, how Lancelot had disemboweled him and Arthur had left him to rot. The genasi had gone to great lengths to return his brother to life, but how many lifetimes had passed between them now? Of all the things time took, it was the things that time left behind that left the deepest scars. 

“Congratulations.” Markus stated miserably, “You might actually be able to kill me now.”

When he started following the maudlin trail through the forest, he thought he had been following the trail of a drunken witch who got themselves lost in the woods. What he stumbled upon was much more intriguing, if not just shocking. The look of surprise that crossed the vampires features was not one that could be replicated with theatrics of feign ignorance. There was genuine shock and almost a grimace of disdain at what his brother before him had become. Markus was a warrior, a great king who saved Antony’s skin countless times in the days of old. Now looking upon him -- although he appeared to be the same Mordred who dragged him back from the dead --this was someone else. “You weren’t exactly hard to find,” Antony offered a shrug, taking in all that was laid out in front of him. The dilapidated shack, absently wondering if Markus had made it or happened to stumble upon it. In the state he was currently in, it suited him. 

“You’re not giving up?” trying to piece together why the hell his brother would hide all the way out in the middle of no where, surrounded by whining animals he tried to piece together what he was up to. “You’re mortal, not dead.” There were times Antony wished he could get the better of his brother, constantly being second best. Fighting for praise and recognition; it was many times that he wished to see his brother just like this. Broken down just like the hovel he was hiding out in. Maybe if the bad blood between them was a little bit thicker he would have killed him. But he owed him, for the countless times Markus had saved him, he was in his debt.  “I take it you found the Rift then.” Answering his own question, it wasn’t every day a vampire could get turned back to a mortal. Gently ushering the dog away he crouched down, looking around the makeshift home before his gaze landed back on Markus. “Who is it?” 

Hektor was closer to Antony now, and he placed his hands on the other’s cheeks, “You’re not. And that’s what makes you invaluable.” The vampire’s grin was cruel however, and he dropped his hands from the other’s jaw, “When it’s over, I’ll be gone. It’ll be your job to help your brother. I don’t think he can do it alone. Find the rift that can cure vampires, bring me their blood. As for Phoenix and Nemea…kill as many shapeshifters as you see fit. And mail their hearts to them. Can you do that for me?”

Staring back into Hektor’s gaze was icy enough to cause Antony to lose the thought of whatever he was about to say. Even just for a moment, his jaw clenched and shoulders stiffened. There wasn’t an ounce of warmth in that crooked smile that gleamed back at him. “Of course.” he replied, obedient like a soldier following orders. His gaze hardening, the instructions were clear, and ever the need to prove himself. Doubts that previously fogged his mind were long gone and a new determination took over, a spiteful, angry thing that nestled itself into the pit of his stomach. "I won’t fail you.” 

@antonylcts​

Nemesis didn’t really know many vampires, there was one that came to mind but their relationship was… tentative, at best. Their last interaction, that Nemesis could recall, had soured quickly when Antony had learned the truth behind why the vampire had hunted so many members of the Catholic church in the twelfth century. It was a shame, Ezio was certain that the pair of them had gotten along famously, it was this faint hope that had led the spirit to seeking out the vampire once more. It seemed unsafe to seek Antony out in the open, the creatures of the night were volatile… at best, and this one felt especially unpredictable. With a simple but familiar spell, they found Antony’s dreamscape once more and colored it in their favor. The scene was Jerusalem, as the pair of them had witnessed it once with their own eyes, this time Antony cut through crusader after crusader, each a construct of the oneiroi’s own as they observed from a distance.

The last crusader fell and Ezio stepped around the corner and kicked one of the stupidly dressed Crusaders. “You’re so strong Antony,” Ezio mused, they didn’t need to reveal themselves, they could have made the vampire think that helping the spirit was their own idea, but they wanted to play it a little differently this time. Maybe somewhere the oneiroi felt bad for their early manipulations of the vampire, but they did not show as much on the surface. Besides, they wanted something from the man. Answers. And Antony was the oldest vampire they knew. “ Impressive as always.”

“Yes, the position of authority - though my magic won’t work in here, you would have to let me out for your answers.” Cole offered, “I would even make a promise: no tricks, no lies, no deceit. Just the answers you’re looking for.” They played the fool well, too well, some might say, but when it came to understanding others, this was something the oneiroi had been practicing for centuries. It was their desire, after all, to understand the workings of a mortal mind, and as immortal as Antony was, he had been but a witch, once upon a time. The home they had built within Antony’s mind all those years afforded them some inside knowledge into the man’s life before - his hopes, his fears, the hatred in his heart. “Would you see your brothers on the other side, for instance? Not that prat” Cole nudged their head towards Markus, “The others, the ones that did not usurp a throne that should have been yours.”  Family had long been the thing that interested them the most, because it was the one thing that they would never truly have, or comprehend. “I want my freedom, Antony, I can’t be turned into a vampire, I’m of no use to your Goddess, let me go and my talisman is yours.”

The amusement evaporated from his eyes. Whatever warmth was left in his quips were gone faster than summer rain on the tarmac. The spirits silky words wrapped around his thoughts, considering letting the creature out plagued his mind. But, the threat of Hektor finding out he’d let someone escape brought a chill to his spine that shut down all ideas of what the Oneiroi could offer him. Even if the spirit was seemingly worth nothing to them, he didn’t want to risk it. “You must think I’m some sort of an idiot; like hell your word is worth anything to me.” the spirits words twisted and turned, coiled around Antony like a rope around his neck. There was an anger boiling beneath the surface of his skin, the mention of his family brought back feelings he’d pushed down for so long. Feelings coming back to the surface, being second best, being the poor baby brother who got nothing; who got killed and needed his brothers help  Reaching forward he grabbed the Oneiroi by the collar of their shirt pulling abruptly forward to smack them against the bars. “Stop it!” he practically screamed at them. Eyes wide and unhinged, “Get the fuck out of my head; I don’t care if my goddess needs you or not.” pulling the spirits arm through the bars and twisting it backwards, threatening to break it. “When the rest of them are gone or sacrificed. I’ll make sure they don’t touch you, so you can rot down here.”