ˈvɪr yə lənt

They left.  You’re alone.  He rolled weight forward, shifting from seated with knees pulled close to crouching, palms pressed to hardwood floors.  It had been far, far too long since Thomas’ own voice was the only that echoed in his head.  For the first time in over seven decades, the voice of The Master had fallen silent.  Sariel had not died, but still a sickening hollowness in his chest brought upon a sorrow so deep Thomas - even in his century of living - had not yet experienced anything close.

They left.  You’re alone.  They left.  They always do.  In a fraction of a second, the voice that spoke to Eichhorst - his own - became unrecognizable.  Filters that capped senses from years and years of work fell away in an instant, upending an entire world of previously organized scents and sounds over the strigoi.  He could smell everyone who resided in the complex, who had visited even months before.  He could hear the quiet beating of the head of security’s heart as he sat, floors away, watching the property’s multitude of cameras.

Everything melted into a horrible blur that flooded his senses as sentience broke.  But, even in this raging sea, something stood out.  Ever so slightly pointed ears pulled back and Thomas carefully lifted his head as if afraid to plunge himself into the riptide of information that suddenly filled the very air around him.

He knew that scent.

The strigoi loped, still crouched, through winding streets that brushed dust across his perfectly tailored suit.  The makeup on his hands wore away with each contact with the ground.  He didn’t notice.  He didn’t care.  The smell that guided him was his sole focus.  He knew it and yet...lacking even a hint of humanity, he couldn’t hope to place a face or name to it.  He didn’t notice.  He didn’t care.

Long before he reached the shopping district, the scent hanging in the air pulled Thomas off course.  Fainter tendrils beckoned from further in town, but the heavier concentration turned his route towards a small neighborhood on the outskirts of downtown.  If he’d kept any ability to differentiate familiar smells, he might not have strayed from his original path.

Clouds drifted over the thin crescent of a moon, dropping the town into harsher darkness.  From the front lawn of a rather unassuming home, eyes fiery as stoked coals settled on partially opened windows high above.  With a running start, the strigoi leapt to the windowsill of the ground floor, pushing off to lunge upwards.  Fingers caught minuscule holds between bricks and, mere seconds after he stood on the grass below, Thomas’ right arm swung above his head and made contact with the sill of the cracked window.  Another second and he was inside the house.

He landed silently on the carpeted floor of the bedroom he’d pulled himself into.  The scent, though the most comforting of any other he smelled that evening, was overpowering now that he neared its source.  He crept into the hall, staying low to the ground.

The strigoi momentarily froze when someone reached the top step of the stairs several feet ahead.  He didn’t rise from his spot inches from the ground where he’d, catlike, explored the home.  Only his gaze, glassy and unfocused, traveled up to meet that of the one Eichhorst had sought out.  Even as he stared directly into the eyes of the other, not an ounce of recognition crossed features or brightened a weary expression.

And, as he looked upon familiarity, an inhuman noise bubbled up from within Eichhorst’s chest, spilling from his lips.  He saw Abraham Setrakian -- and he purred.

Werner’s eyes widen when Thomas confirms his suspension and he quickly steps to the side of were he was standing before. He looks down at the ground and replied,

“No, but it seems a bit disrespectful doesn’t it, Mr. Cryptozoologist?”

“You didn’t know,” Thomas reminded the other.  “And you moved, after all.  You’re probably not going to get haunted.”

“One of these days you’re going to have to stop using me as a shield,” Thomas pointed out.  “For now, though?  I’ll walk in first.”  He stepped to the shut door, swiftly spinning on his heel to face Werner.

“If you don’t mind sharing.  I didn’t even know we had one of those, but now that I do, I plan on staying at least thrice the recommended time in there.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

He swept his gaze across the area surrounding before again checking the gps gripped tightly in hand.  As best he could tell, Werner stood at the exact point they’d hiked out to over the past several hours.

“Congratulations,” he started, gesturing to the ground at Dremerhaven’s feet. “You’ve found him!”

"I hate the basement. I'm just putting that out there."

"I've come a long way to talk to you because I think you're a piece of crap."

"Is this spirit being a smartass?"

"You look great for being... not alive."

"Ghosts don't even like me."

"It's cold, it's dark, and it's exciting as hell!"

"Are you banging your head on the wall?"

"Something is up here, gathering all the power it can."

"If this is the portal of hell, why don't you come up out of that ground and get us?"

"Here I am in the sugar shack!"

"I hope you can hear me up there in the damned attic!"

"I can't wait to get locked in here."

"Dude, he's kinda creeping me out. No joke."

"Have you ever heard of those guys who wear jackets when it's really, really hot out?"

"I can't believe they left me out here, all by myself, with this music playing."

"Wait, am I standing on his grave?"

"I have respect for all spirits... except for you."

"I just wanna see where the massacre took place."

"This right here is like putting holy water on a demon."

"I'm just pumped! Are you guys pumped?"

"I smell beautiful."

"Do you see that? Because I can't, either."

"You have reached your final desination. Hell."

"This is tougher than it looks on tv, trust me."

"This is beyond dangerous. I don't recommend anybody do this."

"It was probably the most dangerous, craziest thing we've ever done."

"Hey, we're just lost. We need a place to stay."

"Thank you for knocking."

"I've got a teddy bear for you!"

Had the team’s cameras been rolling, Thomas would have turned to look directly at them.  He took a deep breath, brushing snow from his shoulders and pulling his jacket tighter around himself before addressing Dremerhaven.

“Right.  What’s your suspicion about that then?” He asked, raising a gloved hand over Werner’s maps to point sharply at the massive stone structure the next peak over.  “Because my suspicion is…wolves?  Bears?”

“Thomas, I thought you hated water.” He said with a slight chuckle. He and his companion were having drinks on their own, which he found much more enjoyable.

“I think we do indeed.” He wasn’t the heaviest drinker, but with Thomas he had learned to indulge.

“Boats do not need to be on water, Werner.”  He shook his head, dismissively waving a hand, seemingly exasperated by Dremerhaven’s inability to perfectly follow his line of reasoning.

He stood his ground.  The anger radiating from the man before him did not frighten him.  Elizalde’s obvious rage only served instead to fuel the faint twitch at the corners of Thomas’ mouth, the flicker of a smile missed by anyone not looking for it.  Anger had the tendency to blind, to open up weak points usually heavily guarded.  Anger was a scare tactic.  And Thomas Eichhorst was not scared.

“Had and were,” the strigoi said, as stoic and bored as ever.  “Perhaps.  Then we are quite the opposites, are we not, Augustin?”

He paused, awaiting the look of uncertainty from the human he knew would soon twist his features.  Not long ago he himself had been one of them, but even before infection the terror conveyed in the subtlest of micro-expressions gave him a rush like no other.

“You believe I had nothing.  I was nothing.  I now have the ability to wipe this planet of the scourge of humanity.”