The Island

The Island

Part one

A Sanguine Universe short story of nobility and subversion

Dry Valley Antarctica

Deep below the surface of the Earth

Headquarters of the Sanguine Government

6:45 PM

For something intangible, the weight of responsibility was an unreasonably heavy thing. Though Bruce Carowitz had shoulders that could carry tanks and thighs powerful enough to squat commercial airliners, the monster hunter felt more like the Titan Atlas than he would like to admit.

The mechanical marvel's state-of-the-art Ashtech eyes scanned over a dozen computer screens simultaneously, each depicting combat involving supernatural entities. Most of these were caught on satellite and transferred automatically to Sanguine Headquarters before being systematically deleted. A few of them were memories, recorded on sight by intel scouts or gleamed carefully from designated targets while they slept.

The files were accessible only to those with Sanguis Black level clearage. As Bruce was Captain of the Sanguis Custodes, and one of the only remaining members of those fabled knights, he could not only access the files but study them.

Bruce rolled his shoulders and chewed on a cigar. The Knight Captain stood in the center of a large oval room covered floor to ceiling in high-definition computer screens.

Behind him, floating gently above a podium of Etherite steel, was a heavy, leather-bound book containing handwritten files on the world's deadliest supernatural threats. The Sanguine Knights lovingly referred to it as The Blacklist. Behind it was a shiny metal desk and a single chair that Bruce hardly ever used anymore.

There just didn't seem to be much point. His new body never tired. He still felt human enough to stuff himself into black cargo pants and reinforced steel-toed boots, and even though it took less than a quarter of his full strength to shred a kevlar vest, it wouldn't do to go to work every day shirtless. Towards that end, Bruce wore a black muscle shirt and an open, massive leather jacket, dog tags jingling against his metallic chest.

Surveying the images on the screens, Bruce breathed deep and felt the smoke pass through a dozen different toxicity filters before vanishing within his iron shell. He sighed. There wasn't even anything left to exhale. It didn't matter how many years had passed since the incident, or what the good doctors told him. Who could get used to being more machine than man?

The old hunter shook his head, recentering his focus on the task at hand. Despite the multitude of flashing images, Bruce routinely returned to three, rewinding the footage over and over.

One of them, a scene of combat, showcased a lean, beautiful, alabaster man with long golden hair that trailed behind him as he dashed. He wore a white and gold mask over his face and his eyes trailed stardust fire. The masked man carried a shining, diamond-like war scythe with which he fended off a monstrous beast. He moved like one for whom gravity had no meaning and sprinted across the battlefield on flecks of ash and snow carried by the wind. About his waist sat a decorative, white leather belt with a circular golden plate.

"Sia, name of that supernal?" Bruce growled.

He ran a huge hand through his short blonde hair and scowled. Somehow, Ashcroft and that maniac Ether had managed to use his real hair in the creation of his new body. For some reason, it creeped Bruce out.

"Virgil Beaumanoir," A helpful, feminine, artificial intelligence unit called Sia Helsing said. "Also known as Virgil the Vain, and Virgil the Vigilant. He leads a group of like-minded individuals called the House of War. As with many of his kind, there are two Virgil's. One is a false entity meant to disguise the capture of the original, the other has been altered by his experiences with the supernatural. Most notably, the Fae realm, also called Faerie, Thorn, and Arcadius."

"Uh-huh," Bruce grumbled. "So the one on the screen is the original?"

"Correct," Sia said.

Mentally, the machine-man opened a file titled 'Potential' and moved Virgil's information into it. Bruce knew a warrior when he saw one. The man with the diamond scythe commanded others like him and had fought battles that most people couldn't even dream of. He was a perfect candidate.

"Are you interested in contacting Virgil?" Helsing asked. "I can-"

"No," Bruce said gruffly.

He took a puff of the cigar and held the smoke in his mouth, lest his machine body whisk it away.

"I'll make contact when the time is right. For now, let's just keep going. What about them? What's the story there? Vampires hunting Vampires in Texas?" Bruce asked, using his cigar to point.

Sia expanded the small square of footage containing the vampires in question until it occupied the entire screen. It was a rooftop scene on a stormy night. The rain changed direction several times before hitting the roof, indicating high winds. Two of the vampires were dressed in what appeared to be heavily embellished catholic priest robes. A third looked like a biker made mostly out of muscles.

The footage began to spasm as the two priestly vampires blurred into action. Wisps of steel flashed between them, swords, Bruce quickly realized. They danced faster than the camera could follow, leaving behind little more than flashes of zig-zagging color.

Bruce tsked. Vampires and cameras had always been a problem. Even with government-developed, Masters Corp identification software specifically designed with a vampires' nature in mind, the best they could manage was blurry images.

Even still, the swordplay between the two was immaculate. The meathead biker appeared bored. Whenever the two sword priests slowed and squared off, the large man puffed his chest and cracked his neck in a show of power. It made Bruce smile.

There was a shift. Something happened. It was too quick to see. One moment the two priests circled like dancers. The next, a scarlet spray of blood, and one of the priests dropped.

The huge man threw his head back and laughed before helping the victor to his feet. In a single, hulking moment, the biker swept the sword priest in his arms and bounded from the top of the church tower, vanishing into the storm.

"Sia, who were they?" Bruce asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

"The large individual is Dakota Proudson, the only vampire in ten generations to come from the notable Proudson Werewolf bloodline. Aggressive and bestial, he single-handedly conquered and now runs the Texas chapter of Satan's Sons, a violent, vampire biker gang that believe vampirism as a condition can be traced to Lucifer the first fallen angel," Sia said cheerily.

The delivery was inappropriately chipper and Bruce chuckled.

"The priest in red is known by reputation as 'The Prince of the Church', Father Aston Voltani. He belongs publicly to a sect of vampires known as The Precedence. In every major city around the world, The Precedence controls the church. They believe that the secret origin of vampirism can be traced to Christ himself and that through practice and dedication, one can achieve a state beyond vampirism, something closer to their supposed divine nature," Sia continued. "That is but one facet of Father Aston. Privately, he is a warrior-priest in the Sanguine Sponsored vampire-hunting faction known as IX."

Bruce nodded.

"Yeah, I've heard about Nine. Technophile vampire hunting vampires. Dakota is a member of that group as well?"

"He is indeed," Sia chirped happily.

Bruce took a deep breath and turned slowly to face another screen. This one showed a ruined city, walled off and quarantined. The camera footage was shaky. A group of five Mages descended from the top of a battered skyscraper to battle what could only be described as a demon.

"Sia, rewind the Detroit incident to the beginning. Adjust the search parameters to include Kain. European male, six-foot, four inches, a weight of around two-hundred to two-hundred and thirty pounds. Note any supersonic disturbances or supernatural anomalies," Bruce commanded.

Sia paused and manifested in Bruce's HUD. She appeared as a little girl in a blue dress made of code. For reasons beyond Bruce's limited understanding, she was so young.

"Your access to information regarding the vampire Kain has been restricted," Sia informed Bruce.

Her hands were behind her back and her head was down. She was sad.

"On whose authority?" Bruce thundered, suddenly angry.

Before Sia Helsing could answer, a whooshing sound drew Bruce's attention back to the world around him, and he turned to see a powerful, mature woman with piercing red eyes and long, shiny black hair enter the room. Behind her and just off to her left stood a towering, bronze-skinned man in an immaculate white suit and an ornate, Egyptian headdress designed in the style of the ancient pharaohs. His eyes glowed with pulsing, white-hot power that Bruce could feel from several feet away.

"Charlotte Sanguine," Bruce said, narrowing his eyes. He raised them to take in the seven-foot-tall giant behind her. "And The Egyptian, of course."

He spat the name like a curse. Neither Charlotte nor her bodyguard seemed to take any notice.

Charlotte Sanguine was the founder and head of the Sanguine Government. An Immortal huntress with the respect of the monster nations. She terrified Bruce.

The Egyptian was an enigma wrapped in silk and gold. There was little to no information on his origins or abilities. The only thing Bruce knew for sure about The Egyptian was that he wasn't human.

Bruce lowered his head in a mild show of deference as Charlotte took a seat at the desk. The Founder held her hand out expectantly and The Egyptian produced a black, plastic folder from seeming nothingness and handed it to her. It was bound in simple red twine. Bruce recognized it immediately as his file.

With a wave of his hand, The Egyptian cut the feed to every screen in the room. Darkness took the chamber. Then, the strange entity raised two fingers and resurrected a pair of lights opposite one another; one just above Charlotte and one directly above Bruce where he stood. The thin, pale beams looked strangely yellow and reminded Bruce of police interrogation rooms in cheesy action movies.

"Knight-Captain Carowitz," Charlotte said, her tone sharp and clipped. "I understand you have been reviewing footage of the following incidents: Detroit, Los Angeles, and Redemption. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Ms. Sanguine. I believe that-"

"Did I request further elaboration, Knight-Captain?" Charlotte Sanguine asked.

Behind her, The Egyptian glowered, his shining eyes somehow disdainful. '

Bruce shook his head.

"No, Ms. Sanguine."

The captain of the Sanguis Custodes folded his arms behind his back and stood straighter.

Charlotte Sanguine sighed steadily, her red eyes boring into his. Bruce read several expressions in her stone features; pity, understanding, regret.

"Why do you do this, Bruce?" Charlotte asked quietly.

She pressed her fingers together and tapped her thumbs on her lower lip. An extremely human gesture for one who had surpassed that state ages ago.

"The Blood Guard betrayed the organization. Except for a few choice members, you and Archmage Pathos chief among them, they have all been Red or Black-listed. We focus now on individual agents or talent teams. Control. Contain. Blacklist Elimination occurs now in teams of two maximum. Larger teams fracture and break. The potential for betrayal is too high," Charlotte said.

Ms. Sanguine's experienced eyes roved over Bruce's mechanical body. Bruce had died for the Sanguine government, and for his efforts, he'd been reborn. He'd never been more powerful, or easy to control.

His body was a technological wonder; a miraculous fusion of magic and robotic science plied from the undead hands of Markus Ashcroft. It shouldn't have worked. There had never been one like him, and more than likely, there never would be again.

Bruce pulled heavily on his cigar, consuming more than a third of it in seconds, before plucking it from his lips. He was anxious.

"Permission to speak," Charlotte granted, exhaling audibly.

"With all due respect, Ms. Sanguine, the last Blood Guard was selected by Marduk Towerbane, a werewolf with shit racial beliefs and shittier combat prowess. That team was then approved by The Egyptian," Bruce said with a scowl. "It consisted of two vampires, both of which had little to no practical combat training and their own agendas, a mage who was and still is clinically insane, another mage who jaunted into the lair of the worlds greatest threat and vanished, me and one other hunter, who eventually fell to lust for power and became a vampire, and our fearless leader, Xavier Hart, who got possessed by a spirit of mass destruction and also went insane. None of these people were picked by me. Most of those people should never have been on the team! I understand what makes a team. Let me put together the next Sanguis Custodes. I'll have your Blacklist closed within the year."

Charlotte took a deep breath and laid her hands on the table. She looked up at The Egyptian at the same time he looked down at her, as if they were completely in sync. His golden eyes lit up her face for a moment. Then, as one, they turned and looked at Bruce.

"No," Charlotte said.

"No?" Bruce echoed, hardly able to believe it.

"That's right, Bruce. No," Charlotte said. "You are still Knight-Captain, and should the time come for another Sanguis Custodes to be assembled, you will lead them in battle. That is not in question. The issue comes from your lingering humanity despite your phenomenal physical augmentations and titanic combat potential. You display textbook prejudice towards vampirekind and retain an unhealthy obsession with the self-titled vampire god known as Kain. The assembly of this team of yours is driven solely by the desire to destroy the one that destroyed you. And revenge, my dear boy, is not how the Sanguine Government handles business."

The steel beams of Bruce's eyebrows lowered and his titanium jaw set in a scowl.

"You have been off mission for three weeks now. It's time to get back to work, Bruce," Charlotte said, flipping through the file laid out before her. "And before you protest, I'll allow your performance tonight to impact my decision on the Sanguis Custodes. For now, you are enough."

"Tonight?" Bruce asked.

He tossed the remains of his cigar to the side and produced another one from his jacket pocket.

"That's correct. Turn to Blacklist page six-hundred and thirty-nine," Charlotte Sanguine said.

Bruce smiled wide. His modified brain contained nearly every file in the Blacklist, and he knew in seconds what she was sending him after.

Dutifully, Bruce strode forward and turned the ancient pages of the book until he came close to the end. There, waiting amongst the dusty, parchment pages and blood-writ notes, was a sky-blue travel brochure. On the cover flap, in big, bold, white, and gold letters were the words 'Avalon Paradise Resort' with an aerial view of the island.

To its credit, it looked unrealistically beautiful.

Bruce scanned the notes left beside the brochure, making sure the pristine pamphlet was safe to touch. The attached, hand-written notes bore only the names of agents that had been sent to the resort. With calculated delicacy, Bruce plucked the brochure from the Blacklist and turned it over. It was located on Addu Island in the Maldives.

"The Island?" Bruce asked, tossing the pamphlet back on the Blacklist. "How many agents have you sent to their deaths there?"

The Egyptian scowled, his orange eyes flickering like a windswept campfire. Charlotte Sanguine merely smiled.

"We have no confirmation that the agents sent to Avalon are dead, Knight-Captain, and you know precisely how many have been dispatched."

"Thirteen," Bruce said with a low, taunting whistle. "Unlucky number thirteen."

Charlotte Sanguine ignored the taunt.

"We know very little about The Island. However, three of our best reconnaissance teams, thirteen members in total, ceased communication within thirty minutes of entering the resort. Our estimations place roughly five-hundred and thirty-two civilians trapped on Avalon, in addition to another hundred or so resort employees. All have ceased communication with the outside world. If the number thirteen is unlucky for anyone, it's for whatever is on that Island. I'm dispatching you, Knight-Captain, to seek out the anomaly keeping those people there, and destroy it," Charlotte Sanguine said.

"Alone?" Bruce said. "That's fine by me. When do I leave?"

Charlotte Sanguine close the file before her and leveled cold, red eyes at Bruce Carowitz.

"You will not be alone. A Sanguine Knight will be joining you," Charlotte said evenly.

"Was this your decision?" Bruce asked.

"It was not," Charlotte answered. "Joining you on this hunt will be a Sanguine Knight from the vampire hunting organization Nine. Her name is Alex Kyznetsov. She comes highly recommended.

Bruce chewed the end of his cigar. He didn't enjoy working with vampires, even if the undead of Nine were an accomplished bunch.

"Oh yeah? On whose authority does she come recommended?" Bruce growled.

Before Charlotte could answer, the locked and sealed mechanical door whirred open and hundreds of thousands of tiny, spider-like robots chittered into the room. They were each the color of dried blood and when they moved in unison, resembled nothing more than a crimson wave slathering across the slate steel floors and ceiling. Striding behind the tiny robots, absorbing them into his body with every footstep, was the machine-lord vampire and Director of Nine, Dr. Markus Ashcroft.

"That would be...mine," He said with more than a hint of pride.

The Sanguine Director was tall and thin, with dark purple eyes that glinted from beneath nearly opaque sunglasses. His thin, black hair was slicked back, allowing one to better view his strangely perfect, angular face. Bionic augmentation lined his eyes and there were ports all along his neck where Bruce assumed the mechanical vampire plugged into something, though he didn't want to know what.

That wasn't the extent of Ashcroft's robotic physical augmentations. If the director's highly classified file was accurate, the vampire was more machine than man.

Just like Bruce.

Dressed in a long, high-neck black trenchcoat, military-grade black boots, and a pair of black leather gloves, Markus was a pale mystery wrapped in the colors of the night. He strode into the room, absorbing the last of his mechanical insects with a wave of his hand, and then stood at attention. He nodded to both The Egyptian and Charlotte Sanguine before casting his predatory gaze fully on the Knight-Captain.

Dr. Markus Ashcroft smiled wide and spread his arms, gesturing at Bruce as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. His two thin fangs glinted in the low light of the room.

Bruce knew of Ashcroft. Thanks to the work of the good doctor, Bruce couldn't look at a single thing without being reminded of his Ashtech eyes and body. His every footstep reverberated with calibrating systems designed to make him the walking weapon that he was. Even Bruce's thoughts chimed with artificial suggestions and prompts. The technology that kept Bruce alive, fighting the good fight, had been crafted by a vile entity who never should have been given the gift of unlife.

Before the day he died, Bruce hadn't known of or cared about Markus Ashcroft. Now, there wasn't a day that went by that the vampire didn't cross his mind.

"Knight-Captain Bruce Carowitz, this is the Director of Nine, Dr. Markus Ashcroft," Charlotte said, slightly exasperated. "He is-"

"My maker," Bruce finished for her. "I know."

Bruce gnawed on his cigar and crossed his arms as Markus came closer, striding into the room. The vampire exuded an air of confidence and power that Bruce found extremely distasteful. His eyes roved Bruce's machine body hungrily, surveying the metallic skin layered over weaponized systems that put science fiction movies to shame.

"Incredible," Ashcroft whispered. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"We've never met," Bruce growled, forcing his tone to be neutral. "Bruce Carowitz. Pleasure to-"

"I wasn't speaking to you!" Markus growled, his purple eyes flashing crimson.

The calm, collected visage of the Sanguine Director shattered in an instant and Bruce tightened his jaw, seeing the truth behind the facade of control. Vampires were monsters, inhuman predators that projected the image they wished for you to see. The truth was always below the surface, a beast that thrived in states of heightened emotion. It would always show itself, eventually.

An alarm system within Bruce trilled to life and a threat analysis manifested across his HUD. In bold, flashing script, the words DANGER flashed once before disappearing. Bruce studied the tall, lanky vampire. Ashcroft straightened his collar and sighed, an exaggerated, human gesture.

"Taken from me before you were finished," Markus continued, looking Bruce up and down. "To save the life of a good soldier. That was always the mission."

Director Ashcroft glanced at Charlotte and The Egyptian behind her. He was still as a statue, his golden eyes fixated on the proceedings. With a slight chuckle, Markus turned back to Bruce.

"You turned out better than I could have ever hoped for."

Bruce took a deep breath and crossed his arms.

"My eyes are up here, Director," Bruce said sternly.

He was no longer interested in entertaining the vampire doctor, Director of Nine or not. Markus Ashcroft gave Bruce the creeps. Bruce wasn't an object to be ogled at or a lost art project. Bruce was the best in the world at his craft, and his craft was killing monsters.

"Ah, my apologies, Knight-Captain," Dr. Ashcroft said.

He took a step back but his smile never lost its luster. If anything, it grew bolder with the challenge. Bruce scowled and took a huge puff of his cigar.

"How do the artificial lungs feel? Does your new body get enough oxygen?" Ashcroft asked.

"They work fine but the body filters toxins too well. Can hardly get drunk or enjoy my smoke," Bruce grumbled.

Dr. Ashcroft rolled up his sleeve. His wrist bubbled and the skin peeled back to reveal a sleek, electronic notepad. Markus typed furiously into the machine and then swiped it away before readjusting his sleeves.

"That's the work of that straight-edge psychopath, Manix," Ashcroft grumbled, straightening his jacket. "He rushed the job with magic, merging systems he didn't understand without consulting me. You are beautiful, but you have no idea what you could have been had I simply been-"

"Director!" Charlotte Sanguine said.

Bruce felt strange in the presence of Markus Ashcroft. The scientist was a renowned technophile and his works were directly responsible for some of the Sanguine Governments' greatest accomplishments. He'd worked for Master's Corp, the world leader in advanced medical science, and had furthered nanotechnology on a scale that few could even dream of. Hell, Markus Ashcroft had even cured cancer, a feat that, like himself, might never see the light of day.

But that wasn't it.

What bothered Bruce about Dr. Ashcroft was something else, something primal and difficult to describe. There were physical effects that Bruce was keenly aware of standing this close to the man who'd crafted his metal body. His artificial skin rose and he felt goosebumps on the back of his neck. An uncharacteristic shiver trilled down Bruce's spine and his internal weaponry shifted and came online, as if threatened.

Though Bruce was calm and in control of his emotions, in the presence of the techno-vampire, his physical frame exhibited textbook displays of fear.

Ashcroft took a step back. Bruce watched the doctor straighten his jacket, roll his neck, clench his fists and exhale, all before looking studious and deadly calm.

"Apologies, Ms. Sanguine," Ashcroft said.

Charlotte straightened the pair of reading glasses on her nose and stared eagle-eyed at the pair of high-ranking Sanguine officials before her. Backlit by the golden glow of The Egyptian, she was a silent force, exuding presence and power.

"Regarding The Island and your temporary partner, Bruce, you haven't a say in the matter," Charlotte continued. "Alex Kyznetsov is being screened for a promotion, possibly to a permanent position amongst the Sanguis Custodes, depending on how this mission goes. The Island will be her trial."

Bruce scoffed and turned to face Ms. Sanguine.

"With all due respect," Bruce began, but Charlotte held up a hand, effectively silencing him. She removed her glasses and stood up, her chair scraping behind with a steel screech.

"She is already here, Bruce. The matter is closed. The next words I hear from you had better be 'Yes Ma'am' followed by a successful mission report, or we are going to have a problem. Is that understood?" Charlotte asked.

"Yes, Ma'am," Bruce grumbled.

Charlotte Sanguine shared a long look with The Egyptian before turning on her heels and exiting the room. Bruce waited until the sound of their footsteps were distant.

"So where's this prospect of yours?" Bruce asked Ashcroft, glancing around the room. "She like to make an entrance like you do?"

Ashcroft smiled.

Suddenly a light breeze caressed the back of Bruce's neck. A draft from the closing door? No. It was too direct and cool. His Ashtech eyes connected with the room's security cameras and he saw her. Bruce's Horus Mark-V combat pistol ejected from his massive forearm into his waiting hand and he spun on his heels, aiming.

There was no one there. Markus Ashcroft's smile grew wider. He shrugged.

"You're good, Bruce," Alex Kyznetsov said, her Russian accent thick and sultry. She tapped him on the side of the cheek with a sleek, curved knife. "But if I wanted you dead..."

Bruce chuckled and pulled heavy on his cigar.

"If you wanted me dead, you'd be left wanting," Bruce said, turning around.

Alex Kyznetsov was alluring. She had long black hair, pale, cream-colored skin, most likely flush from a recent feeding, and bright blue eyes that peered up at Bruce fearlessly. Though her physical frame would suggest a young and fragile woman, Bruce knew there was nothing fragile about Alex. Her sleek outfit of black leather and metal was enticing, but not revealing. She wore stylized, silver-plated armor on her shoulders, arms, and knees and heavy black, impact-resistant boots that should make significantly more noise than they did.

The Knight-Captain's threat sensors registered a half-dozen hidden blades on Alex's person, though with her vampiric abilities, there could easily be more.

Bruce tensed. He didn't mean to. As Knight-Captain of the Sanguis Custodes and a supernatural entity of the science project variety, Bruce was accustomed to being around others like himself, vampires included. But there was something strange about Alex, something...dark. The shadows in the room weren't following the natural order of things. They danced on the walls like writhing serpents.

Alex smiled sweetly.

"Knight-Captain Bruce Carowitz, Alexandra Kyznetsov, Field Commander of Nine," Markus Ashcroft said, folding his arms behind his back and striding towards the door. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted."

He paused and looked back over his shoulder, dark purple eyes shining wickedly.

"And Bruce," Ashcroft said. "I'm looking forward to seeing you in action."

With a pressurized hiss, the doors opened and Ashcroft glided out into the hall. The security camera's glitched as he passed.

"So," Alex said with a smirk. "You're the project that Ashcroft lost."

Bruce frowned. Alex was direct.

"I'm a person, one who others deemed worth saving," Bruce said. He stared at her through a cloud of cigar smoke. "I'm a project to the science types and a useful monster to the director types."

He raised a fist and banged on his chest, producing a thick, metallic clang.

"But in here, I'm still just Bruce, and I've got a job to do."

Alex stared off for a moment thoughtfully before looking up at the enormous Knight-Captain.

"I like that," Alex said. "So, what is the job?"

Bruce handed her the pamphlet to Avalon and watched as her eyebrows narrowed.

"Avalon? Are we going on a vacation?" Alex asked.

Bruce turned towards the doors and waved for Alex to follow him.

"Avalon ain't that kind of island."

* * *

A few hours later, following a thorough, but uninformative briefing and an invasive medical diagnostic, the pair stood in a remote level of Sanguine headquarters, located roughly thirteen-hundred feet below the Antarctic. It was oppressively dark and unnecessarily foreboding in Bruce's opinion. Alex found it soothing.

The walls here were solid steel, built to support the massive compound deep within the earth. Someone or something had etched sigils into the steel, crude carvings that pulsed and glowed, providing shaky, multi-colored, potentially multi-dimension light with which to see.

"We took a creaky, hand-cranked elevator to get down here," Alex commented. "What exactly is this place?"

Bruce sighed. He didn't like it this far down. There was no technology in over a hundred yards to connect to. Despite the Russian vampire standing right next to him, Bruce felt oddly alone.

"Teleportation Wing. Can you see in absolute darkness?" Bruce asked, trying to change the subject.

"Absolutely," Alex answered smugly. "Can you, metal-man?"

Bruce tapped his eyes and then motioned for Alex to follow him further into the basement.

"Ashtech eyes, latest model, augmented by wizards to allow sight across multiple spectrums of vision, darkness included."

"Wizards?" Alex asked with a laugh.

"Mages, spell-casters, sorcerers, warlocks, whatever you call em', I don't exactly trust em'."

Alex nodded thoughtfully.

"Yet, if what they say is true, mages saved your life. You are a product of life-saving technology and magic," She said.

"I'm a freak," Bruce grumbled. "The modern day Frankenstein. Just Charlotte's pet monster. C'mon. We're meeting someone at that sigil up ahead."

Alex slowed and watched the enormous man walk. His gait was stiff and powerful and his broad shoulders swayed proudly, but there was a sadness to him that he kept private, a weight that he carried like a cross. She could sense it in his aura and see it in his shadow, though what it was, she couldn't guess.

Perhaps responsibility? A sense of duty? Loss?

In Bruce's line of work, the list could be endless.

"There is no one here," Alex said, catching up easily. "I would sense it."

"Yup," Bruce agreed.

"Then?" Alex asked.

"Watch," Bruce said, slowing.

A tiny red flame appeared in the air before them, no brighter than a welding spark. It gave off heat but no odor and Alex frowned. Suddenly the tiny spark flared and exploded, and, bursting from a puff of smoke that smelled deeply of molten crust and lightning was a small, fairy-like woman.

She had beautiful gossamer wings made entirely of energy and a visible, vibrant blue aura that shimmered in the low light of the nearby sigils. Her eyes sparkled like multi-faceted emeralds behind a pair of glasses too large for her face and her white hair flashed with kaleidoscopic color, an effect that Alex found both disturbing and fascinating. Upon closer inspection, Alex could see the woman was human, albeit extremely magical. Blood pumped through her veins, just like any other mortal, though Alex sensed instinctively that the blood of the small, magical woman was supercharged and probably lethal to her kind.

At just under five feet tall, the woman had to be one of the smallest adults Alex had ever met. She smiled sweetly, hovering in the air on fairy wings, a blank and giddy smile plastered on her expressive face.

"Alex, Field Commander of Nine, meet Pathos Vigil, Arch-Magi of Chaos and Conundrums," Bruce said with an aura of satisfaction.

Pathos giggled. She wore a black business dress with white, zig-zagging designs down the front and back, and large diamond heels that dangled in the air as she hovered. Bruce might have found the outfit revealing if he didn't know her so well.

The diminutive Arch-Mage produced a black and green wand from nothing and waved it. With a loud pop, the sound of chimes, and a puff of sweet-smelling smoke, a dangerously overstuffed travel bag appeared in her hands. It dragged the tiny mage down no matter how hard she struggled and pumped her wings and Alex suppressed a laugh.

"Pleasure...to...meet you!" Pathos hollered in between gasps of breath.

Alex gave Bruce a puzzled glance before she reached out and caught the heavy bag easily.

"Oh!" Pathos said. She let go of the bag and flew a quick circle around Alex. "You're a vampire! Bruce, she's a vampire."

"I know, Pathos," Bruce said. "We're on a mission. We need-"

"Teleportation! Yes! Avalon! The Island! We're going on a vacation!" Pathos screamed, unable to control herself.

Bruce and Alex shared a glance. Bruce stepped forward and put a hand on Pathos's shoulder, effectively halting her flight. She looked up into the machine eyes of Bruce.

"It's not that kind of island, is it?" Pathos asked sadly.

"Next time, killer," Bruce said.

Alex set the bag down on the floor gently and folded her arms behind her back. Pathos flew up and stared at Bruce.

"Bruce, I'm still a Sanguine Knight. I didn't leave. They know I can still fight, right? Just because Morbid got Velius..." Pathos said, trailing off.

Bruce stepped past Pathos, towards the pulsing sigil on the floor. He sighed, a sound reminiscent of a hydraulic hiss, and looked at the ceiling.

"Charlotte disbanded us, Pathos. She's resistant to the idea of putting together a new Sanguis Custodes. Fearful even, I don't know. It's not just Velius, but Zero, and X too. Too many of us defected. Maybe we did more harm than good. At this point, I don't know if she trusts any of us," Bruce said.

He gestured for Alex to follow and she did, stepping lightly past Pathos. Alex kept her eyes down and her ears open, recognizing juicy names and details when she heard them.

The Arch-Magi's sorrow was palpable. She waved her wand and the travel bag disappeared in a comically large puff of smoke. Pathos lowered to the ground slowly, took a long, deep sigh, and closed her eyes. When she reopened them, they shone with renewed vigor.

"I'll do my part and get you to that island," Pathos said.

Her wings grew bright white and then shattered into fragments of light that vanished when they hit the floor. The tiny mage rolled her shoulders and mocked rolling up her sleeves.

"But when this one's in the bag, you and I are gonna talk to Charlotte Sanguine together. I WANT BACK IN! I am NOT a glorified Transport Agent!" Pathos screamed, wagging her wand at Bruce.

"Understood. Mini-Mage wants back in the Blacklist game," Bruce said with a smile.

"That's Arch Mini-Mage to you, Knight Captain," Pathos said, sticking out her tongue. "And I never left. You don't sideline a powerhouse who can nuke a whole cabal of vampires, no offense Alex."

"None was taken," Alex said easily.

Pathos smiled brightly. She exhaled heavily and then nodded to herself.

"Ok, you know about teleportation and The Island?" Pathos asked.

Alex stepped forward.

"We were briefed. There is some sort of interference preventing direct teleportation to the island's surface. The closest anyone has been able to get is roughly three-hundred feet out or up. We'll either be swimming in or dropping in," Alex said.

The smile Pathos wore became a voracious grin. Her eyes sparkled wickedly.

"The closest anyone's been able to get so far! I'll get you within one-hundred feet or I'm not Pathos Vigil!"

Bruce grinned.

"There she is. You ready, Alex? We're gonna drop in. One hundred feet up. Think you can manage?"

Alex shook her head and smiled subtly. She checked her hair to make sure it was tight and secure and then put her hands on her hips.

"This is nothing," Alex said.

Bruce crossed his arms.

"The Island is located in the Maldives. We've got about a two hour time difference. Think you can keep going?"

Alex nodded and stood straighter.

"Let's get moving, big man," She said.

Pathos squealed.

"So exciting! Ok, stand on that blue sigil there. I'll stand here. Ok! Do you have everything you need? Weapons? Equipment? Communication devices? Undying friendship?"

"Pathos," Bruce grumbled.

"Right! Yes! On it! Here we go!" Pathos said excitedly.

She hurriedly adjusted her glasses, then took a dramatic stance reminiscent of a fencer or conductor. Pathos exhaled forcefully and a beautiful aura of kaleidoscopic energy surged around her. The black and green wand began to glow an ethereal green and then, with style and finesse, Pathos used it to scribe onto reality as though the air before her were glass. In one smooth motion, she drew a fiery, green circle and then decorated the center with swordplay, creating an alchemical pentacle that only she understood.

When Pathos was finished, she placed the tips of her fingers on the glowing pentacle and it began to spin. Simultaneously, the blue sigil beneath Bruce and Alex squirmed to life. It spat and licked at them as though made of fire and churned in a slow circle.

"Here we go," Bruce said.

Alex said nothing. She was studying the magical fire carefully, her dark eyes narrowed and untrusting. Bruce smiled to himself.

There was a loud pop and then the floor beneath them was gone. Alex and Bruce had a single moment to witness the world below them shift into open, endless sky before they were falling through it.

A voice called down after them from somewhere far above.

"Safe travels, friends!" Pathos screamed.

Then, they were alone, hurdling through the night sky towards the circle of golden glittering lights that could only be one thing: Avalon.

To be continued...