Sometimes, in order to achieve the victory we seek, we must do that which we have sworn we will not. Thus is the price of power.

Ashala Dunn - Queen of Fimmirra

Steel shattered rock, sending forth an eruption of stone. One otaur guardian smashed the head of another, thinking it was going to strike Lars instead. But the Blood Lord was gone. On wings of shadow he'd fled from the shoulder of the crumpling, headless, and toppling living statue before the fatal blow struck.

Lars quickly realized sheer strength would not defeat these magical guardians. Thus he had given up with trying to win his battle with them in a straight up physical confrontation. Instead, he had restored to tricking them into attacking each other on his behalf by inserting himself strategically and drawing attention in advantageous ways.

While the creatures weren't slow by any means, as might have been thought from just observing their size, their bulk certainly impaired their actions. Still, their sheer magnitude meant that, even with their lumbering movements, one did not want to be stuck on the receiving end of their weapon's blows.

The constructs also weren't entirely mindless. But they weren't superb tacticians either—possessing only rudimentary intelligence that was more akin to animal instincts than cognitive thought.

Both of those characteristics were things Lars used to his benefit.

Upon shadows and the flickering darkness, Lars appeared on the shoulder of the next bull-headed living statue assailing him and hindering him from his goal. He swiped at its neck with extended, claw-like nails. Had it been flesh, he would have shredded it. As it was, they only screeched as they scraped against the stone. That was enough, however, to get the attention of another axe wielding representation of an otaur.

And just like before, Lars was gone long before the blow meant for him found an unintended mark. The stone of the injured otaur statue crumbled as the collision ended anothere of the threats—leaving only two remaining.

Lars appeared between the legs of one and, once he secured the attention of the other, its strike incoming, he shifted to underneath it and instigates its lone partner to do the same.

It was a deft deception, bolster by some luck. Eliminating each other simultaneously, Lars allowed the cascade of rumbling stones to settle. With his distractions disposed of, he refocused once more on Cassandra. Struggling to claw her way over to her weapons, she grunted and strained with each pained lurch of her body across the floor.

She was almost to them. Had it taken Lars another few minutes to defeat the guardians who had sought to protect her, she might have made it. The Blood Lord could have moved in his unnatural way, but instead chose to casually stride over, like any mere mortal would, and kick her swords and pistol out of reach just as she was about to claim them.

"Why do you persist?" he scolded her. "Prolonging the inevitable, makes it no less inevitable."

"Because." She stared up at him, her last hopes at salvation now so far aways and no longer an option. "Someone has to end this."

"And I fully intent to, child. I—"

It was at that moment, with Lord Hedric on the verge of saying something else, the wall of the cavern crumbled a way. And through the collapsing stone strode a new adversary. One that both Cassandra and Lars stared at with awe, but one that only Lars recognized.

"You?" He growled. "But how?"

Cassandra watched as the newest arrival tossed aside the limp body of the blonde woman, the seer who had once frozen her in Koroth Ulin. She was dead. Drained of her life. Cassandra refrained from gazing directly into those red hued eyes of this man who oozed menace, ones that she knew if she allowed to bore into her soul would capture her.

She'd always felt the persuasion hiding behind Lord Hedric's own stare. Lurking within that dim red hue existing simultaneously with the blue of his eyes. But as she had consistently found herself able to resist it. Something in this other Blood Lord's eyes, something she caught just from the few brief glances she stole of them, told her she wouldn't find adequate strength to do the same with his.

Carmon Dagarth laughed. "Good to see you, my old friend."

Again Lars growled. "I've told you before, I am not your friend."

"Now, is that any way to thank me for making you what you are today?"

"You made me nothing! Only took everything from me." In a vengeful thrust of anger, Lars hurled himself at the other Blood Lord. Grasping hold of the shadows, he sought the throat of Carmon Dagarth. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice and allow him to live.

Instead of his plan bearing fruit, a wave of invisible force slammed into Lars, hurling him backwards and silencing his rage as quickly as it had formed. Lars crashed into the wall and crumpled into a pile of rubble from the recently defeated statues.

Standing there, pondering the energy he had just unleashed, Dagarth grinned a blood coated and fanged smile. "Now that is something. The power of the seer will be a nice addition to my collection. As will be that of the fallen angel."

Rising, shaking the cobwebs from his rattled mind, Lars took a second to regain steady footing. He focused on Dagarth's last statement. "You killed Noranda?"

"Her blood was extremely appetizing. I do hope you weren't counting on her to come and help you. You didn't need any help before. But you also sort of took advantage of the situation. Didn't exactly face me at full strength. And, as you can see, you didn't finish the job either." Dagarth leveled his eyes on Cassandra. "Ah, I see you've prepared me another snack."

With the aid of the shadows, Lars shifted and placed himself between Carmon Dagarth and Cassandra. He couldn't afford to allow him to feed on her and sap the strength he derived from the bond they shared. "I suspected there was another Blood Lord still out there after I encountered those minions of yours in Catersburg. Surely you didn't think they could take me?"

"Lars, no. They were not supposed to go anywhere near you. But you know how difficult some of the lessers can be to control. Sometimes their instincts take over."

"Where have you been hiding all these years? Like a coward."

"With some new friends. A tribe of dwarves within the undermountains. Dwarven blood is sour, but it sufficed to sustain me." There was disgust in Dagarth's tone at what he'd been forced to endure. "Thankfully, the occasional human came under my power to offset the foul taste. I've let them loose up top to feed. Although by now those dwarves are probably bloated and returning to the undermountain. No matter, though. They served their purpose." Then Dagarth expelled a sigh. "You know, Lars, it is a shame that you turned on me."

"Funny how that happens when you steal someone's life from them. Expecting that I should have been grateful for what you did is the height of arrogance."

Another sigh from the elder Blood Lord. "You and I were going to rule these lands, Lars."

"You were going to rule them. I was always going to be just your servant."

"You know what they say. Better to serve the master than to die by his hand."

Lars struggled against the anger boiling over inside him. "I'd have taken death over what you gave me."

"That can be arranged, Lars."

In a bolt of gloom, Carmon Dagarth was upon the former cleric of Earoni. Lars dodged a slash of vampiric claws from one hand, but the talons on the other dug into his chest as they ripped through his clothing and into flesh. The blow staggard Lord Hedric as blood seeped out of the wounds even as they closed.

Carmon Dagarth licked the blood from his fingers, tasting the energy they contained and craving the rest. "You are strong," he said. "But I can sense that you have foregone the true power available to you. You're using the old ways and limiting your potential. It's not as though you haven't drained others before. So why not now?"

"Because I still have a soul."

Carmon Dagarth laughed while Lars continued to recover from his injuries. "Funny how you weren't so altruistic while plotting my demise centuries ago. Besides, souls are meaningless to those with eternal life."

"Even Blood Lords can die," Lars reminded him.

Dagarth's laugh eased into a smile. "I am proof that not all must."

Again he was upon Lars, but this time the attack was less successful. Lars was more careful with his dodges, taking advantage of an opportunity presented and opening four gashes to the elder Blood Lord's right arm while forcing him back.

"Do not underestimate me," Lars said. "I may not drink blood from the living pulse, but I will not fall so easily. Not to an evil like you."

"An evil like us," Dagarth corrected.

"I'm nothing like you."

Carmon Dagarth regarded that comment with a skeptical and raised brow. "You still believe in your possibility for salvation? After all you've done?"

"There is always salvation," Lars said, remembering teachings he'd long ago abandoned. "Even for the worst of us."

"None for you!" Dagarth's response was a lion-like roar, and the two Blood Lords rejoined their battle in a flurry of slashes and strikes meant to take the other's life without mercy. He attempted to sink fangs in to Lars's neck, but Lord Hedric evaded and replied with a tearing slash across his cheek.

What was immediately obvious was that Carmon Dagarth had taken the blow on purpose to open Lars up for the counterattack. A crushing backhand sent Lars hurtling into the air.

But he was not allowed to land. Carmon Dagarth, his wound closing as though by the skill of an invisible surgeon, stood there with his hand outstretched, holding Lars at a distance with the telekinetic forces he now controlled after consuming the seer. Lars jerked to a hard and sudden stop in mid-flight, the vertebrae in his lower back partially dislocating and his nerves flaring to painful heights.

Carmon Dagarth closed his hand halfway into a fist, leveling a crushing force upon Lars's flesh and bones. "The weak," he said, "have no place in this world. Except beneath we who are gods among men."

Lars's body felt close to imploding as a wail of agony burst out of him.

In answer, a rebellious and defiant yell ripped out of Cassandra. The sheer strain evident in her war cry told of the pain of the injuries she was still fighting through to make such an attempt.

Distracted by his current target, Carmon Dagarth did not have time to defend from the incoming blow. Slicing down upon the elder Blood Lord's arm with her sister's elven sword, the blade cut like a bolt of fire through ice, severing his forearm half way up.

While Cassandra heaved, her healing but still broken ribs aching, the detached limb burned to ash before hitting the floor. Released, Lord Hedric tumbled to the ground. But it was the response of the Blood Lord that was entirely unexpected.

He didn't howl in agony. He didn't even flinch or seem bothered by what had just happened. Staring at the stump, now residing where his hand had once been, he exhibited curious patience at what should have been considered more than just a minor inconvenience.

"Let's see you heal that," Cassandra quipped, even as his impassive reaction stunned her.

Holding the former hand up, he smiled. "You mean, like this?" From the stump started to sprout bone and muscle as the severed appendage began to reform.

"Shit. Time for another plan." Cassandra whipped her pistol from her belt and leveled it at the Blood Lord. Firing, her shot ripped through a vaporous mass of darkness before slamming into the far wall.

Cassandra prepared for another shot, scanning feverishly for her opponent. Pistol in one hand, sword in the other, she only caught brief glimpses of the elder Blood Lord as he was shifting among the debris and shadows. His taunting laughter mocked her futility at finding her target.

"Does this mean," Lars limped over to her side, standing up straight and guarding her back. "That we're going to put our differences aside?"

"For now. We're allies of convenience." Cassandra continued to assess the situation. Thinking she saw the other Blood Lord, Cass ripped off a shot. That one only missed like the previous one had. "Fuck," she swore. "I only got one left."

"Aim for the head," Lord Hedric growled.

"That'll kill him?"

"Depends on how much damage you can do with that."

"If I get a good shot? I could take his head clean off."

"That would do it then. At the worst, though, it'll wound him enough that I can finish him off."

"Can you regenerate that fast? Just asking, because once we take care of him, I'm settling the score I have with you. And I want to know what I'm against."

A frustrated sigh preceded Lars's response. "No. And I've never seen another Blood Lord regrow a lost limb that quick either. Usually it would take about a year. But the power of the blood he's consumed today is obviously fueling his abilities to levels I've never before experienced."

"Not even with my blood?" Cassandra asked.

"Not with the means I've used. Perhaps if I were to drink it straight from your throat—"

"Don't even think about it."

"You asked." Dagarth flashed in front of Lars for the briefest moment, and Lars swiped at him, only to miss. "He's toying with us."

"We're not going to last if we don't find a way to gain an advantage."

"Agreed. What we need to—"

Cassandra whirled about as Lord Hedric's reply was cut short.

Carmon Dagarth had tackled her reluctant ally, separating them after plowing into him with speed only a Blood Lord could manage. He fought with feverishly Lord Hedric about fifteen feet away.

Cassandra tried to draw a bead on the elder Blood Lord as the two struggled, constantly shifting their positions as to who was dominating the other. For one brief moment, she had a clear attempt at Lord Hedric, but stayed that final shot as her finger twitched and the hammer of her revolver pulled back halfway before stopping.

In roils of darkness, the two vampiric lords continued to fight, appearing and disappearing here and there. Tracking the confrontation about the rubble of the room nearly gave Cassandra whiplash.

One thing was clear. Despite Lord Hedric's best attempts, Carmon Dagarth had gained a distinct advantage over the master she had recently willingly served. He pushed Lord Hedric his back on his heals with a flurry that forced him to stumble. Then, with an upward swipe of claws and a spray of blood, Dagarth tore a chunk of flesh from Lord Hedric, toppling him.

Cassandra's finger still remained on the trigger, half pulled, preparing to move the final fraction of an inch required to end this. Should her aim be true.

Just a hair away from the hammer falling and issuing the click that would be followed by the resounding boom of the pistol's furor was when Carmon Dagarth's and Cassandra's eyes met. And when she froze.

In her hesitation, Carmon Dagarth rode the darkness to her. He was behind her in an instant. Hands around her throat. Her weapon still trained on where he had been and twitching reflexively with a desire to break free from his spell. But she could not.

"I believe I've won," Dagarth hissed. And he sunk his fangs into Cassandra's neck.

Time frozen, Cassandra found herself once more outside of her body. In the strange nether realm of spirits, she once again beheld the glowing forms of white mist that were her parents.

Cassandra's mother stepped forward, her spirit drifting over the ground. "Cassandra, we are here." Arms outstretched, she beckoned her daughter. "Come to us, Daughter."

Cassandra turned and watched the suspended form of Carmon Dagarth partaking of her blood. "This can't be how this all ends." Her rebuke of the situation she found herself in breathed out of her. "Is it?" She engaged her parents with the question, ripping her vision from the scene of her own death.

"Sometimes things do not happen as we wish them to."

"But the prophecy?"

"Will be fulfilled," her father spoke. "Just not, it seems, by you."

That caused Cassandra to pause. "Was it supposed to be me?" she asked. "Was I supposed to be the chosen who would end this blight upon the world?"

Her father shook his head. "Prophecies are never known for certain until they come to pass. You must have faith that your sister will endure."

Again Cass turned back to the sight of the Blood Lord killing her. "No. This isn't right. How can Sheala defeat this evil? If I don't do something, and he takes my strength, he'll be too powerful."

"This is true." The answer came not from her parents, but from another apparition that now appeared. It was the blonde-haired seer stepping into sight. "If Carmon Dagarth is allowed your soul, there will be no redemption for anyone. Prophecy or not."

Her mother spoke once more. "It is time to come home to us, Cass."

"No," she said. "Not yet."

Pain flared in Cassandra's neck. The feeling of daggers piercing her skin pushed out a silent scream as the arm and the revolver it held pointed at nothing.

Oblivion drifted towards her. Trying to hang on to the slowly unraveling threads of her life, she sensed her doom descending on her.

Struggling against the command in her mind, the one swaying her not to resist, she found the will to move. If ever only so slightly. At first it was just a slight bend to her elbow. But soon it was more.

Harnessing the strength within her, a spirit that refused to drift into death without a fight, Cassandra ripped herself away from Carmon Dagarth. His fangs tore open her neck as she pulled from him and turned her pistol upon the Blood Lord.

He did not seem to quite grasp what was happening until the spark born of the hammer falling cracked the weapon to life. He almost avoided the shot entirely. Almost.

He was fast. But at point blank range, and taken by surprise, he wasn't fast enough.

The bullet opened the right side of his head in a spray of blood and brains and teeth and shattered bone, knocking the before now seemingly unstoppable vampiric lord down and transforming him into a quivering and howling mass. He writhed, clutching at his wound. As the blood rushed out of the injury, one that would be grievous to any mortal, that which was missing, began growing anew.

Cassandra dropped to her knees, her last shot expended. Had she been a split second faster, she'd have taken his head clean off. Cold like death, her body went weak. The pistol slipped from her fingers and metal rang off the stone. She was choking—her on her own blood running down her esophagus and into her lungs.

That which Carmon Dagarth had not drained from her was seeking to leave her. And the realization that he had not drank all of her blood caused her great fear. Where once she had pondered, even asked, for such a fate and its power, now the prospect of the fear of that reality only added to the chill overtaking her.

"Cassandra."

The voice was unable to be distinguished within the turmoil of her own thoughts. Only her name, not who had spoken it. She fell into arms that held her as weakness began to sap her remaining strength.

Cassandra looked up into the blue eyes with their red haze and the blond hair of Lord Hedric. "Cassandra?" he asked again. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"I'm weakening," he admitted, his skin much paler than it had been in recent memory. "He's taken your life force, and my strength with it." Lars looked at the opponent he would soon have to face without the means to defeat him.

"Most of it," she struggled to say. "But not all."

"You're in no shape to help me fight him."

"No. But there is a way I can help you."

"How?"

"You need to finish me off."

"No."

Eyes pleading, Cassandra restated her assertion. "There is no other way. If I die, and you do not drink my blood, you'll never have the strength to defeat him."

"I swore—never again." Still holding her, he turned away to hide a frustrated tear.

"You have my permission. My only request is that you don't leave even a single drop." Her voice was almost gone. Sensing his hesitation, Cassandra reached up and, with a bloodstained hand, turned his eyes back to hers. She wanted him to see how sincere she was. "Please. I don't want to be cursed. If you don't, I will be."

"I can't."

"You must." Cassandra urged his mouth towards the already bleeding wound on her neck. He fought her. And she grew more forceful in her request.

Smelling the warm blood ebbing from Cass's cold body awoken primal instincts within Lars. His body craved what she was offering so willingly. Still, he wasn't sure it would be enough. But he couldn't resist. He'd fought the urge for so long. He sunk his fangs in and, against his desires, drank, knowing he had to if there was to be any hope.