(Warning: horror, description of violence)
The descent into the Parisian catacombs was long, winding, and oppressive. The air grew colder with every step, damp with the weight of centuries. Darkness pressed in from all sides, held at bay only by the flickering glow of three torches. Shadows danced across the ancient walls, seeming to give life to skeletal remains and faint carvings long worn by time. Vlad led the group, his crimson eyes faintly aglow whenever torchlight grazed his features. His stride was unhurried, measured. An unspoken reminder that in these depths, his will reigned. Behind him, Albert van Helsing kept pace with disciplined vigilance. His sharp blue eyes swept over every alcove and branching tunnels, searching for threats only he knew to anticipate. Lady Alinna brought up the rear, occasionally cutting glances over her shoulders. The faint luminescent in her golden-amber eyes was enough to discourage any curious—or darker-intended—tunnel dwellers.
The silence of the descent was broken only by the soft scuff of boots on stone and the distant, haunting echoes of water dripping somewhere far away.
Vlad finally broke the hush, his voice low and laced with the faintest growl. "Albert," he said, letting the name reverberate off the walls. "Elaborate on us. Why did your hunters enter the catacombs in the first place?"
Albert's frown deepened. "Two weeks ago," he began, his words carefully chosen. "The Parisian police alerted the Order’s French branch to a wave of disappearances. Seven people, all with different backgrounds. No visible pattern except they were seen around Church of Saint-Merri at some stage. Around the same time, we received a tip from one of our informatives about a ‘cult artifact’ in the 4th arrondissement of Paris, presumably linked to dark magic. In response, a team was deployed to investigate..."
"And their investigation brought them here?" Alinna interjected, raising an eyebrow. She tilted her head to meet Albert's gaze as they walked.
"Not directly." Albert sighed, pressing a gloved finger to his temple as if the memory itself brought him headache. "Their assignments was to gather information. Had they found evidence pointing to the tunnels, they would have reported back for further orders. Either they acted recklessly…or something else compelled them to come down here..."
"It matters not," Vlad laughed a low humourless laugh. "If your hunters ventured into the catacombs without my knowledge, they were trespassing. And trespassers...often meet unpleasant ends."
Albert stopped in his track, his blue eyes narrowing dangerously. "Is it a threat, or a warning?"
Vlad took his time, turning to face the elderly hunter in a slow, deliberate manner. Torchlight cast long, jagged shadows across his sharp features. "It is a fact," the vampire replied evenly, his tone as cold as the air around them. "There are forces here in the catacombs, Archmagister, far older and darker than you or I. If your hunters were deemed a threat—by the Court or by something else—their fate is already sealed."
Albert squared his shoulders, taking a step closer. "And you're certain the Court has no role in this?"
Vlad's gaze turned icy, his patience fraying. "You're walking through my domain, Archmagister. If I had anything to hide, would I have granted you access?"
"Albert, calm down." Smelling the gunpowder in the air, Alinna positioned herself between the two. She placed a hand on the Archmagister's shoulder, the gentle pressure belied the authority in her voice. "Rosenschwert hunters went missing—or worse—in the catacombs means conflict. And the Court of Miracles does not thrive on conflicts. At least not from Vlad's perception."
Albert clenched his fists, then exhaled slowly. "You're right," he said grudgingly, though his expression remained tense. "This isn't the time for suspicion."
"Nor posturing," Alinna added, darting a brie glare to Vlad, to which the vampire simply shrugged.
The rest of the journey was spent in silence. The twists and turns of the labyrinthine tunnel brought them to the area matching Hugo's description. This section of the catacombs, though not the deepest, was reserved for the more seasoned explorers. Here, the tunnels branched toward an old sewer junction, from which Hugo and his companions had made their ill-advised descent.
The air was warmer but carried the pungent, damp stench of stagnant water and decay. Splashes of graffiti marred the walls—some recent, others faded by time. Scattered bones, loose stones and occasional cans and wraps littered the ground, remnants of centuries-old burials and the reckless abandon of modern intruders.
The three fanned out, their torches sweeping across the damp walls. At first, there was nothing of interest: just bones, stones, and meaningless scribbles. But as Alinna turned a corner, her nose wrinkled. She leaned her torch forward, its flickering flame illuminating the faint outline of a forked tunnel ahead.
"Alinna, did you find anything?" Noticing the sudden shift of light, Vlad called out from further down the main tunnel.
"There is a smell..." Alinna replied, her voice echoing faintly. "Like decay, but worse."
Her words brought Vlad and Albert to her side. The three gathered at the entrance of the forked tunnel, their torches casting overlapping pools of light. Alinna's nostrils flared slightly, her sharp senses picking up the faintest trace of something unnatural. She stepped forward cautiously, leading them deeper into the fork.
They didn't have to go far. Alinna halted abruptly, her torchlight spilling into a small alcove carved into the wall. Bones lay scattered across the dirt in crude patterns, melted candles fused to the rock at odd intervals, dark dried pools of coppery substance marred the floor. Many carvings– jagged and erratic–were gouged deeply into the stone walls. They looked dull, almost mundane at first glance. But the lingering stench of rot mingled with something metallic, sharp, and sour told a different story.
The setting was all too familiar to those who deal with the occult: a makeshift altar.
Albert moved passed Alinna and ran a gloved hand across the carvings, his expression darkening. "These markings…" His brow furrowed as recognition stirred in his mind. Abruptly, he sucked in a sharp breath, tension gripped his entire being.
Alarmed, Alinna snapped her head toward him, her golden-amber eyes narrowing. "Albert, what is it?"
Albert didn't respond immediately, his fingers traced a few more lines of the carvings, as though verifying a troubled memory. When he finally spoke, his voice was a perfect imitation of calm. "I have seen similar carvings before. An archaic demonology script, we found them nearly thirty years ago in the Alps. But these…" His voice trailed off again, the brief pause hung in the air like a noose.
"These what?" Vlad swept his torchlight closer, impatience evidenced in a grimace.
"These ones are...different. The formation is altered, corrupted...or perhaps...evolved." Slowly turning his head, Albert darted a side-way glance at Vlad, a carefully measured suspicion simmered just below his blue eyes.
"Or whoever did this had no idea what they were doing," Vlad snorted, sidestepping Albert's implication. His crimson gaze scanned over the disorganised symbols with clear disapproval. "I sense no power here. Teenagers, thrill-seekers, half-dabblers of the occult...I have dealt with enough of their...theatrics in these tunnels."
"What is the origin of those writings you encountered?" Alinna inclined her head, trying to gain more insight of the situation.
"Have either of you heard of Holzmit?" Albert sighed, his fingers tightened at his side.
"The Village Under Snow? Gone in one night, destroyed by an avalanche." Vlad frowned, recalling the half-forgotten tale.
"That village was already gone before it was buried by the snow, the majority of its population wiped out," Albert drew a shaky breath, biting off each word, "the Order of Rosenschwert investigated the case, found similar carvings on massive bones in a nearby cave. We never fully uncovered their purpose, only that it came from beyond our realm of understanding." He straightened, his stare sharp as a blade. "And now you are telling me, Vlad, that thrill-seeking teenagers or some worthless group of weekend occultists made graffiti of them in your domain?"
"The Court of Miracles does not possesses such knowledge," Vlad rested his shoulder against the alcove entrance, his face a mask of composed indifference. "Nor would we allow it to spread unchecked. If these markings came from the Court, I'd already know."
Albert nodded toward a Cerberus head—the insignia of the Court of Miracles—half-hidden among the layers of old and new graffitis. His lips curled into a sharp smirk. "Then perhaps you've lost control of your own backyard, High Lord."
Vlad's eyes narrowed, something akin to amusement but much darker gleamed in their crimson depths. "Or perhaps the Order of Rosenschwert has once again let its forbidden knowledge slip into the wrong hands, Archmagister."
"Gentlemen, focus!" Alinna hissed in frustration, pinching the bridge of her nose.The mingling odours of rot and dried blood were grating on her nerves, this back-and-forth between the two men only made it worse. "We are here for an answer, not for a war! Albert, your hunters are missing, you want them found, ideally alive. And Vlad, somebody is painting demonic symbols—real or not—in your territory, I presume you want the culprits identified as well. Do we have an agreement on that?"
Albert sighed, dusting off his hands. "Then what do you suggest, Lady of Nightborn?"
"We investigate, record everything we can." Alinna said curtly. She raised her torch, sweeping its glow over the wall, then aimed it at the ground. The flame glinted off a dark trail, a rusty-red stain creeping through the disturbed dirt, vanishing into the gaping darkness further ahead. "And we follow that!"
The discovery along with Alinna's glare silenced all debate. The three exchanged a brief nod then follow the trail. Alinna walked between the two men as a buffer of sorts as they ventured deeper into the tunnel. The corridor grew narrower, forcing them into a single line at times. The soft flickers of the torches battled against a creeping darkness. The air grew thicker with each of their step. The smell of decay—not just decay, there was something much worse, like corruption—lashed against the three's sensations, churning their heads, gnawing at their nerve.
Albert paused at a junction, raising his torch to peer down a narrow side passage. The stone walls were slick, glistening with brackish water. At the corner where the hallway bent, Albert spotted something, a crumpled piece of fabric, its dark, rusty stain catching his eye. He knelt, careful not to let his torch flame scorch the damp cloth. As soon as the rag was fully revealed in the light, Albert’s pupils contracted. "This… this is Pellavas."
"The stone linen! Rosenschwert hunters' vests!" Alinna leaned in, her fingers brushed the fabric's frayed edges, her brows furrowing. "It's meant to be near indestructible, resistant to blades, even bullets. For something to tear it apart…" She trailed off, her expression darkening.
Vlad's gaze swept from the torn fabric to the looming darkness ahead, his lips pressed into a thin line. "We should hurry."
A stale gust of fetid air rushed past them, carrying hints of something living—or undead—within.
Alinna shot to her feet, her instincts prickling at the edges of her consciousness. She held up a hand, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Wait...I sense something. Movement."
A sound echoed faintly from the darkness ahead, ragged breathing, wet and uneven, reverberating in the chamber. The three froze, their torches flickering as though responding to the unseen presence.
Albert unsheathed his sword with a faint hiss of steel, the blade catching the torchlight. Vlad shifted his grip on his torch, free hand prepared to summon whatever power he commanded within these realms.
From the far corner of the small chamber, something stirred. It lurched into the dim torchlight—a grotesque figure, vaguely humanoid but twisted. Its sunken eyes reflected the flicker of fire, its skin stretched taut over bones. A hiss escaped its cracked lips, dripping black liquid that sizzled upon hitting the floor.
Albert inhaled sharply, his knuckles whitening on the hilt of his sword. "By the Foremartyrs…"
Vlad's crimson eyes narrowed to slits. "A ghoul? Or something worse?"
"It's not like any ghoul I've encountered," Alinna edged sideways, every sense on high alert. "It smells… tainted. Corrupted."
Albert took a step, his blade raised. "Could this thing have attacked my hunters?"
The creature answered with a savage lunge, its snarling ferocity rattled the chamber. Albert dodged aside, his blade singing through the air. It struck the creature with a nauseating thud, but the ghoul only staggered before hissing again, a renewed wave of black drool spilling from its mouth.
Vlad moved with preternatural speed. Slamming his torch into a sconce on the wall to free his hands, the vampire seized the creature from behind, attempting to pin it. The thing thrashed with unnatural strength, twisting free and slashing at him with claws like serrated blades. The strike tore through Vlad's leather jacket, narrowly missing his flesh.
Alinna seized her moment. Swift as a shadow, the Nightborn darted behind the creature, her coat fluttering like a dark wing. She delivered a precise strike at the base of its neck. A sickening crack sounded, and the beast crumpled to the ground, its limbs twitching violently.
"Hold it," Albert commanded, stepping around the thrashing form, his sword aimed at its face. Vlad pressed his forearm against the creature’s torso, pinning it while Alinna trapped its flailing arms. The thing growled and snapped its jaws, black saliva bubbling at the corners of its mouth.
"What is this thing?" Alinna asked again, recoiling slightly as the pungent liquid sizzled near her boots.
Albert's hand trembled as his gaze locked onto something gleaming faintly in the torchlight. A silver blade jutted from the creature's ribs, its shape of a slender cone unmistakable. Nearby, several black iron nails pinned the creature's shoulders, palms and chest, each told a story of pain and desperation. Beneath them, a second blade—long and black—was lodged deep in its abdomen.
"Silver Thorn and Black Thorn," he breathed, voice quivering with sorrow.
Alinna's eyes widened, and Vlad's expression turned grim. The Rosenschwert hunters do not relinquish those twin blades, not in live, not even in death.
"Turn it over," Albert said, his voice taut. With effort, Vlad and Alinna flipped the creature onto its back. Pieces of tattered Pellavas—the remnant of a Rosenschwert vest no doubt—clung to its twisted form.
With a growl, Albert gripped the twin blades, wrenching them free in one fierce motion.Then, with the Black Thorn, he hammer away the iron nails embedding the ghoul’s limbs, each blow elicited a bone-chilling shriek. The creature's body spasmed in agony, but a strange lucidity glistened in its sunken eyes. A tear-like trace formed on its contorted face, two guttural syllables scraped from its throat: "Kill… me…"
The words stopped Albert cold. He closed his eyes, fighting back the hot sting behind the closed lids. "Requiesce nunc, fortissime venator. Corpus tuum revertatur in cineres, at anima tua pergat ad aeternam vigiliam." (Rest now, brave hunter. Let your body return to ash, but let your soul go on to the eternal vigil.) With a long and shaky breath, the Archmagister uttered the final benediction, his Silver Thorn hovered over the creature's chest a moment longer before swiftly plunging into its heart.
A faint breath of thanks escaped the creature before its eyes dulled and its flesh began to collapse in on itself. With grim efficiency, Albert raised the silver blade one final time, severing its head to grant certain release.
Alinna and Vlad eased the lifeless body to the ground, a quiet heaviness settled in the chamber like a pall.
"Albert… I'm sorry," Alinna pressed a hand over her chest, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
"You may have found your first hunter." Vlad inclined his head, his tone weighed down by a sober respect.
Albert stood rigid, in the blink of an eye, he was upon Vlad, the Silver Thorn's tip came to rest against the High Lord's chest. "You still claim ignorance, Vlad?" Albert roared, his eye blazing with fury. "Does the Court of Miracles truly have no part in this? Or perhaps Sagramor's necromancy has outgrown your control!"
The burning coal of Vlad's eyes intensified for a brief moment, his fists tightened then relaxed as reasons won over. "This is foul magic, Albert. And I do not condone such magic in my domain." He said, his voice even but sincere. "The Lord of Bonewoven deals in dark art but he knows and has his limits. If Sagramor is indeed behind such abomination, I will deal with him myself."
Albert studied Vlad's face for any sign of deceit, but there was none. The two had known each other long enough to forge a mutual understanding, one that was built upon the many battles fought along with and against each other. Albert exhaled, lowering his weapon. Deep down inside, he knew as well, if the Court had anything to hide, Vlad wouldn't have allowed their descent.
Darting a cold glare to his old foe, the Archmagister turned his attention back to the remains. The three carefully gathered what was left of the ghoul—once a proud Rosenschwert hunter—while Albert traced a protective circle around the body. His incantations reverberated softly, words of sanctification and release.
When it was done, Albert stood. He stared at Vlad, meeting those crimson eyes once more. "You do understand the gravity of the matter, do you not, Vlad. This, if handled unwell, could end up with a war. But war is not what I want, Vlad. I want an answer, I want my people back."
"The Court of Miracles fears no war, Albert, neither do we seek it." Vlad stood tall and still, his voice mirrored his posture, grave as stone. "This crime violates the Court's law. The Order shall have its answer, you have my word." Slowly, he extended a hand. Albert, after a moment of hesitation, clasped it. Their grips were firm, the unspoken promise sealed.
Alinna stepped forward, shadow gathered at her will like spreading ink. With a flick of her wrists, the darkness blanketed over the fallen hunter's remains, hiding it from any further desecration. "Then it is settled." She said, her voice was quiet yet as grim as the shadow she commands. "Who or whatever behind this will pay."
Albert nodded, his face was again a mask of resolve. He gestured into the deeper tunnels, where the darkness yawned like a ravenous maw. "We should move. I am not intended to lose any more of my hunters."
