Mithias could have sworn he heard the growls and roar of a werewolf somewhere behind him. So he had seen one. That mortal-looking young man with the dark hair at the door had a wild spark in his eyes. It must have been him. A werewolf in London was an extraordinary rarity, but the vampire's intrigue would have to wait. Right now, he was on the ground slugging the zygomatic arch of a somewhat older vampire with a right hook, the one that had grabbed him with some kind of shadow tendril. 

The vampire's face came back slowly with a fanged grin. Clearly the punch hadn't been enough to discourage him. He laughed mockingly, daring Mithias to try something else. Bearing his own fangs in a frown, Mithias quickly reached for a bottle off the end of the bar and tried that, smashing it over the other's head with a splash. Such good alcohol gone to waste. Just as the stoic vampire was about to claw out Mithias' throat, the alcohol inexplicably caught fire, going up fast all over him. He reared up like a startled horse and completely forgot everything else besides his flaming head. Mithias scrambled up and kicked him into the furniture. 

A high pitched crack cut the air as the glass pool began to give way. Occupants above vacated promptly before the bottom shattered downward in a large section, creating a significant but temporary waterfall. The water moved tables and bodies as it shoved past everyone's legs in its escape. Certain lights flickered and died as wires were flooded and equipment was damaged. 

Mithias Varomere felt it more keenly and quickly than anyone else, the sudden appearance of that unmistakable presence, his aura itself triggering a sensation that jolted him like an electric current running through his core. Mithias froze. Lord Bedivere had arrived.

The rest of the clubbers felt it as well, particularly the attuned undead. The fighting was put on hold for the moment, no one daring to draw the attention of the club's owner who was most assuredly, already pissed. 

Bedivere quickly killed his manager, the bartender, then casually rounded the bar and grabbed his special sanguine stock. Everybody just watched him, at least everybody that was still conscious. With the compensatory murder and quality drink beginning to alleviate his displeasure, Bedivere delivered his list of options, ultimatums basically, and the disgruntled band of Soldier agents and werewolf stood dumbfounded, frantically processing their situation. The obvious release of the cursed blade of darkness, Excalibur, from its sheath-disguise as an umbrella made clear that Bedivere was ready and willing to deliver option four. 

Two strange vampires with violet hued eyes looked to be preparing for another fight off to the side. The werewolf also snarled and flexed at the vampire lord impressively, but fortunately stayed its ground. At least, he didn't seem to want to eat Soldier agents tonight. 

For a long moment, long by vampire standards, Mithias looked at Bedivere from across the bar, his expression unreadable. Their eyes met and locked on each other. The lights continued to fritz and what lumination remained began to dim even further as it was slowly consumed by Bedivere's blade. There was no escaping now, and certainly no victory. Being brave, and rational, Sonja began to explain, but her words were received as a mere pointless chirping. Deeds had already been done, deals stuck, blood spilt, kings checked, and nobody was going to look at a video feed. 

"Sonja." Mithias was looking at her. He slowly shook his head, meaning it was futile. He would be the one to step up to handling this, as was his position. 

Water sloshing around his lower legs, Mithias began walking over to the bar. "This, Soldiers, is Lord Bedivere of Sinews, Knight of Camelot, former Lord under Dracula, owner of Du lac, and suspected head of an illegal vampire mafia deeply involved in political manipulation." The accusation was cute in comparison to the truth. Mithias put a hand on the drink that had been poured for him and cast his golden eyes down to it, specifically avoiding Bedivere's gaze. "You have me in a bind, Sir Bedivere. You are a knight as I am, and a vampire of honor. In promising the survival of my men, you leave me no choice but to surrender myself. I cannot chose another option. I know you will keep your word and let them go." Mithias looked to Rin and Roman, and slightly to the very unexpected werewolf, to see their reactions. 

Roman could tell by looking at him that Mithias was telling the truth. Contrary to what Roman or Rin might have hoped, Mithias didn't give any indication that he was planning a fancy doublecross to get out of this later or anything. He looked to be simply accepting terms.