Anger. Anger beyond ire, beyond wrath. There will be a price to pay, and for the sake of one city, they would surely tremble beneath him. How dare they play against him? Did they not know what would become of them? How he had shattered the phone within his hands, crushing it like an ant within a god's palm. What dire news did this wireless contraption gave? It was impressive to say the least, yet for the invisible birds which carried forth message to and fro, perhaps it was not magic to the youth who drove this obviously lackluster vehicle. A wildly lost thrall as a chauffer? With a vampire Lord sitting the back tapping idly against the handle of his umbrella. Technology was for the younger generation of vampires. Those who lived as long as Bedivere had often had to play catch up to fit in with modern times, yet who could blame them? How hard is it for a man to change what he knows? Try to tell him to hold hands left over right when he has always held them right over left and you shall understand his discomfort.
Sir. The Ravens have left. London has fallen it seemed. Fallen to an attack of bioterrorism as he witnessed amateur recording of his nation's capital being attacked. Though he cared not for the dumpy little city of London, with all the history behind it was a crown jewel of his collection. Despite the rotten pit it was, it held no candle to Camelot which was safe, tucked away far from that dreary city. A mockery of the true greatness of the greatest kingdom upon this Earth, now it fell apart as a bioterrorist seemed to release a plague upon the metropolis. How the attacker managed to evade everyone and everything, detection, documentation, surveillance, any sort of trigger warning that would have foiled his plot was on the front of his mind as he held bits of metal and chips remaining. The scene around him was no different though as humans began to kill each other on the streets. The bioweapon it seemed has struck here, and news broke that D.C. was also attacked. Fortunately there were precautions for these things put into play in London at least such that the government would not collapse.
It mattered not how many humans fell and rose, sick cattle would be burned, as the British Isles knew much about crazed cows. And a self-satisfied smile flashed across his face as his accomplice mow down the fleeing humans. Lucan was all too ready to see his Master it seemed. Ah, Mithias you rascal, sowing your wild oats. Right into the heart of the storm, Deon's hideout.
---
The generators died. The electricity snapped off as Deon's sanctuary darkened. The building now an open field for the vampire lord to unleash his frustration. Deon was the perfect target, and his lackies? Well, they merely got in the way. Between the erratic firing of Lucan at whatever moved, and the quick glint of Bedivere's blade cutting and stabbing his way through a river of blood. Quickly dispatching anyone that would dare to stop the Elder. Yet the writing on the wall was clear. It was here, this den of destitution did the virus find its launch. Though grossly unfamiliar with the sciences that created them, this place of Deons, with all the Draculian vampires gathered here and ran before his angered appearance, the guilt was in their eyes, and fear within their hearts. Also, Lucan in his moments of lucidity when seeing that Bedivere took care of most of those who stood before them, giving Lucan a few shots at the pathetic whelps that clung on to their slashed necks with dying gasps the mercy of a bloodlusted thrall, managed to tap into the central feed of the building to find where Mithias was and as well as Deon.
Ah priorities, priorities. Mithias was first, and then he would deal with that pathetic excuse for a Draculian vampire. And Bedivere knew Dracula, came over to England looking to harvest. Bought up Carfax Abbey, although that returned to Bedivere's retention since his passing. As old and powerful as he was, mere mortal slew him. And now London, poor London, collapsing in on itself, as its Knights were away.
"Remember Remember, The fifth of November..." Bedivere recited, Sing-songy as heads lopped of shoulders and rooms were torn apart. In the darkness he grew stronger, but now with Excalibur brandished? Oh how the sword swallowed up the light as he made bloody way through with Lucan desperately trying to keep up behind.
Sounds of gunshots echoing down the corridor as Kate, Mithias, Liam and Vladimir could hear the two approaching. The Elder's voice finishing the verses of the now-infamous tonepoem. A cry for revolution, a cry for anarchy, how ironic that it was this man of all men to sing it as he threw the headless body of a vampire dragged from gods knows were in his hand at the foaming werewolf. A dead mass thrown aside like a ragdoll, hurled to knock as his flourishing entrance. Finish of course with a flick of his wrist to catch a lock of his white hair back and rebutton his unusual white suit.
"Making new friends and pets I see Brother."
And then poor Lucan rushing up to Mithias. The Redhead throwing his arms around his master and almost tackling him to the ground.
Drink of my blood Master begged his frantic voice, losing himself entirely as bloodlust turned into mindless devotion. Mithias was in no condition to fight, and Lucan offered himself up with his neck so willing placed against those lips.
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