Alexander Ivanovich

Quotes

2008-01-06T09:29:31Z

"It's like killing roaches... You have to kill all of them, or what's the point?"

"I am become Death; destroyer of worlds."

Retribution Part 2

2008-01-03T08:56:46Z

Alexander stood as best he could and looked on as Stout stalked toward him, a mad glint in his eyes and his fangs bared. Alexander's own fangs showed themselves, and his eyes shone red. Of course, his eyes were actually shining a very bright -very light- blue behind the contact lenses, but who needed to know that? Red, as far as he knew, was more... impressive. Plus, it was different. It broke the uniformity of the Coven, which Alexander liked a great deal.

"Come on. What'cha ya got?" Alexander made the 'come hither' motion and Stout growled before lunging at him. Stout never got to him though, as down from the rafters swung on a grappling line a young woman. The boots she wore slammed into the old Lycan's side and sent him through the air and into the opposing wall.

The girl let go of the line and dropped two feet to the ground. She was dressed similar to a Death Dealer, but this was no Death Dealer. "What would you do without me?"

"Kaitlin, why are you here?" Alexander quipped a brow.

"Because you told me not to come." She replied sweetly.

"You know Katie, there are times I'm very glad that you don't listen to me." Alexander smiled. So, Ms. Harwood had shown for the occasion. She was twenty two now, but would never age a day past eighteen, not after what had happened three years ago... when he infected her. God, what a mess had led up to that.

"So, what do we do with him?" Katie pointed a Colt .45 automatic at Stout, who was once again getting to his feet.

"What do we do with him?" Alexander smirked. "Katie dear, what do we do with any Lycan?"

Katie smirked. "Care to teach this old lesson again Darling? I am still somewhat new to this."

"Professor Ivanovich, at your service." Alexander raised a finger. "However, I do require an assistant. Class, any volunteers?"

Katie shot her hand into the air. "Oh! Pick me! Pick me!"

"Ah, very well then, Ms. Harwood, please come to the front." Stout was slightly baffled at this turn of events, not that if took much to do that in his current state, but, it was strange to see how these vampires worked in comparison to those of the Coven.

These vampires were different. Quite surely, they were the same brood as the Coven, but they acted far different. While the Coven was cold, stealthy, and professional -seemingly at all cost-, these vampires were lively and hardly professional at all, unless the need arose. Though it has been said that the environment makes all the difference when raising a child. Maybe the principle here was the same...

Katie strode forward, acting as if she were still in high school. This was all a game. A game of strategy that is... "What do we do first Professor?"

"Well Dear, first we must know our opponent." Alexander put his arm across her shoulders and pointed to Stout. "In this case, that opponent is a Lycan. Now, tell me, what are the weaknesses of a Lycan?"

Katie turned her head to look at Alexander, and acted as if she were thinking. "Well, there's their allergy to silver, their hotheadedness, and the fact that the can be killed by various sword or knife strikes." Now, there was probably more than that, but that is just another part of the game.

"Well, those are the basics, so I suppose we can start with those." To Alexander this was actually quite nice.

Not the feeling of superiority. Not the fact that one of his greatest enemies was across the room and he was mocking him in a subtile way... no. It was nice to be so near to the one he loved, be it in the middle of a battle or in private quarters away from prying eyes. He loved her, and would never allow a thing to happen to her. Though, he would have to teach her that when he said "don't follow me", it didn't mean "stay here for fve minutes and then follow me". Though, granted, her following him was the reason he was alive.

Stout had alread had more than enough of these shananigans. Alexander was injured, or at the very least tired. His wounds had healed for the most part, as had Stout's. It was time to kill him, and his little whore. Baring his fangs, Stout charged forward.

"Now Katie, let me show you an example or their allergy to silver." Alexander went to picked up his revolver and held it up so she could see the silver nitrate bullets inside. "Since nineteen-ninety-five the MNRO has been using silver nitrate ammunition as it is the most effect ammunition type we have for handheld weapons. One round is not enough to kill a Lycan, at any stage, unless it hits them in the head. It will take two, possibly four rounds to bring down a Lycan depending on age, rescent diet, and caliber of the round fired. Ah, time for the demonstration."

Alexander leveled the revolver, aiming in Stout's direction, and fired. The first three rouds were dodged, but the fourth -and last- round hit. Stout howled out in pain as he stumbled, slamming into the floor and tearing it up. The round had hit him in the shoulder, and the nitrate was spreading. Unfortunately, it wasn't a lethal dose.

"One round is only enough to temporarily incapacitate a Lycan, and the legth of time that they are incapacitated pends again on the factors I mentioned." Alexander calmly reloaded the revolver and holstered it before picking up his sword.

"Now, as for a blade. It takes much less fuss to finish a Lycan with a blade, pending on how skilled with a blade one is." he turned the handle as he held the sword. "I myself am no expert. I never quite had a knack for sword fighting. Firearms are my specialty, though my father insisted that I learn to fight with a sword, and thus I do know how. I presume that you brought your materials to class Ms. Harwood?"

"Yes Professor." Katie drew the Scimitar Cutlass Blitz had given her. The Rapier had snapped during the "grand finale" of that last battle -it was a Rapier, go figure- and he'd decided to give his great great great really great granddaughter the scimitar as a wedding gift. Yes, she got a sword for a wedding present. She could still remember when she opened the box and seeing Alexander's eye twitch in that "oh shit" way. He'd turned to look at Blitz when Katie had smiled at him, and Blitz just laughed about it.

"Good. Now, I recall you mentioning something about their anger being a weakness, correct?"

"Yes."

"Now, would you care to clarify what you meant by that?"

"Of course. It is simple really. Lycans are at a disadvantage in the fact that while they are driven primarily by primordial instinct, their rational thought is clouded and like all animals, when in their reverted stated, they act on survival instinct. Thus, their rational thought is skewed and therefore judgement is no longer truly possible. Due to this, it is very easy to whip them into a frenzy and cause them to make mistakes that would lead to their inevitable extermination."

Alexander blinked. "Miss, might I inquire if you wrote a paper on the subject?"

"No, but I did think about it."

Alexander quiped a brow as if to ask if she were serious, and not just playing her part. Katie just smiled.

All this talk had definitely peeved Stout. Though, the nitrate bullet to his shoulder had pissed him the hell off. No more mister nice Lycan. Stout reared up off the ground on two feet and roared. It could be described as nothing else. No howl could have sounded like that. His fangs we bared as he began walking toward the two. He snarled and snapped his jaws, but Alexander simply looked at him as if it were nothing, and that pushed Stout over the edge. He ran at the two vampires. He'd fallen right into their trap.

And that trap was sprung.

The two vampires ran toward him, Katie on the left, Alexander on the right, with their swords drawn. Only at the last moment did Stout realize what had happened. They had played him. Led him along and tricked him into falling into their trap. His realization came to late though, as a second later, the top half of his body fell into three pieces. Head, abdomen, and torso. All of which hit the floor with a sickening, wet, thump.

Alexander and Katie were still for a moment, kneeling with their swords forward, and stiff. Then, after another moment had passed, they looked to eachother and stood upright. Then they looked to the downed Lycan and Alexander smirked. That beast was finally ended. It had been almost seventy years since he and Alexander had first encountered one another in that concentration camp, and now Stout had finally paid for his crimes against humanity.

Katie smiled as she sheather the scimitar. "You did it Alexander. You did it!" She rejoiced and ran to him, wrapping her arms around him.

"No, Katie. We did it." Alexander smiled and wrapped his arms around his love. "And you know what?"

"What?"

"I couldn't have done it without you." Alexander smiled. "I love you Kaitlin."

"And I love you Alexander." It was but no more than a moment later that they affirmed it with a kiss, full of passion, and only broke for air. "So, what now?"

"Hmm?"

"What will you do now? Moscow is yours. Perhaps you should hold on to Russia? Your uncle never did give you the chance for the throne, so it is rightly your country."

"Ah, that would be grand. I can see it...but..."

"But?"

"No. Now that I have it in my grasp... It doesn't feel right any more."

"What do you mean?"

Alexander sighed. "Dearest, the time of the Tsars is over. I am sad to say it, but it is the truth. Besides, The Organization can do much more good for the world than I ever could as Tsar of Russia. The throne is no longer my place."

Katie smiled. "I'm glad that you finally see that."

"Oh? So that was a test then?"

"Yes, and you passed with flying colors. You see, this just proves that you have overcome what your uncle did all those years ago. You don't need the throne. You're fine, just the way you are."

"Thank you, Love." Alexander held her close, but then slackened.

"Alexander?" Katie looked up to Alexander's face, and saw his eyes were widened. "Alexander, what's wrong?"

"Ah, shit!" Alexander abruptly let go of Katie, and she was bewildered as to why until he spoke. "My uncle. He's here, and I forgot!"

"What? Was he reincarnated? How could he-?"

"He organized everything Katie. He-."

"Slow down."

"He's a Lycan faction leader, Katie! Come on, I'll explain later! He was in the Presidential Office. Follow me!" Without another word or moment, both of the vampires bolted for the President's office. They arrived only a few moments later, but they were already too late.

"He's gone."

"Damn. We were too late." Alexander sighed. "We could have had him."

"Perhaps... perhaps it is better that he's not here." Katie walked up behind Alexander as he plopped down in the presidential chair at the desk and massaged his shoulders. "You need time to rest. Besides, Moscow is under MNRO control for the most part now, and Stout is dead. That's enough retribution for today. Don't you think Alexander?"

Alexander leaned his head back and looked up into Katie's eyes with a smile.

"You know my sweet, I believe it is."

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Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory!

As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!

-Emily Dickinson

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Ich Will (English lyrics)

2008-01-03T08:20:05Z

I want

I want you to trust me
I want you to believe me
I want to feel your eyes
I want to control every heartbeat

I want to hear your voices
I want to disturb the peace
I want you to see me well
I want you to understand me

I want your fantasy
I want your energy
I want to see your hands
I want to go down in applause

Do you see me?
Do you understand me?
Do you feel me?
Do you hear me?
Can you hear me?
(We hear you)
Can you see me?
(We see you)
Can you feel me?
(We feel you)
I don't understand you

I want

We want you to trust us
We want you to believe everything from us
We want to see your hands
We want to go down in applause - yeah

Can you hear me?
(We hear you)
Can you see me?
(We see you)
Can you feel me?
(We feel you)
I don't understand you

Can you hear us?
(We hear you)
Can you see us?
(We see you)
Can you feel us?
(We feel you)
We don't understand you

I want

Retribution

2008-01-02T12:07:39Z

Character Name: Alexander Ivanovich
Origin: Underworld - OC
Word Count:
Character’s LJ: alxndr_ivnovich, blitzvonkrieg, kaitlin_harwood
Rating: PG -13
Prompt: January 2008 - Retribution, Romance, Reincarnation (and probably a few others)

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1602, Hungary.
One of Viktor's military outposts.
Specific location - Unknown.

"The Coven? A lie. A lie covered by other lies, and a commune whose members are disgraced by those that rule them. That is what this grand Coven is. How can you follow a liar? Trust, a liar? Believe, that a liar truly carries in their thoughts only the best intentions for the whole? You cannot. Therefore, how can you trust Viktor? I have found that you cannot."

"Then what do you propose we do?"

"Follow me."

"Where?"

"Anywhere but here!"

"And if Viktor or another Elder gives chase?"

"Fret not my friend. The Elders will be far too busy concentrating on the Lycans to have time for us, and if they do come after us, then we will stand and fight for our freedom!"

"What about the Lycans? Will we still hunt them?"

"Yes, of course. That will not change."

"Where will we go? What will we do? The Coven is the only place for us. our only home..."

"We will salt the Earth. Travel to its ends, and stay together. It will be hard at first, but we will carve out our place in this world."

"Do you mean we will form our own Coven?"

"No. No, there will be no Coven, friend. We will not form a Coven. We will form a nation; a nation which will stand amongst the most powerful nations of the world and look to its past with pride! We will not squander away our existence on a petty blood war with our lesser wretched cousins; we will stand amongst humanity and protect them in the night, from the Lycans, from plague, from themselves if need be. We will preserve them as we preserve ourselves. We will not hide. We will stand at humanity's side, united."

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If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.
-Henry David Thoreau

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December 25th.
2012, Russia.
Open battleground.
Just outside Moscow.
2000 hrs.

It had been six weeks & six days, yet the Russian capital still held against the assault. It was like Berlin all over again, but with modern weapons, and colder weather. The northern and western portions of the city were fifty percent under their control, the southern portion was ten percent under their control, but the eastern portion had yet to be touched.

Only two divisions were available to assault the capital, as all others were currently in Europe, the "United" States, and China. The world was once again at war, but alliances were shoddily drawn, quickly broken, and at many times ignored. The MNRO -known around the world as the Multi-National Relief Organization- had been trying to hold things together as best it could.

It had been taking out the major world powers in an attempt to stomp out the leaders of the war, though that was easier said than done as many countries had splintered. The US alone was in three pieces: southwest with its capital in Texas, northern midwest with its capital in Kansas, and eastern with its capital still in Washington D.C. The Army, Navy, and Airforce had all splintered, leaving the Marines as the only united branch. On that note, the President had seen fit to promote a five star General in the Marines.

National division and internal strife, coupled with international conflict, rising terrorist activities... It was a mess... Not to mention that ever since it was revealed to the world that the MNRO was run by vampires... the world had sort of gone "what...the...fuck...?" and shied away from them. Though some countries had actually wanted closer relations. France, Japan, Israel, Egypt, Kazakhstan, and a few others had embraced them - especially upon hearing that they weren't the "movie monster" type, and rather just "genetic mutations". Though that almost sounded worse than just saying "vampire".

The larges threats in the war were the US, Russia, and China. The three biggest players. Fortunately, they were not working together. In fact, the EUS -Eastern United States- was aiding the MNRO against Russia with intel, in return for military support against the SUS -Southwestern United States- who was trying to take over. The NUS -Northmidwestern United States- was staying out of the "Second Civil War" and tieing itself diplomatically and economically to Canada.

France, Israel, and Egypt were aiding the MNRO in Europe, and Japan and Kazakhstan were aiding it against China. That unfortunately left the MNRO to handle Moscow alone -militarily speaking. No help, from anyone.

Though, who did he expect to help him? The Covens? He was surprised that they hadn't sent a specially trained Death Dealer to kill him. Though, he had made sure to protect them to some extent. He'd made no mention of them, whatsoever. He didn't particularly like the Coven -not because of the people, but because of the lifestyle that one had to lead as part of it. He'd rather live his life than squander away his immortality on a blood feud that was centuries old.

The city defenses were extremely well put together. Ordered, structured, uniform... and that was the reason that Alexander's men had been able to push to where they were now. The defenses were predictable, and thus his men had learned quickly how to react to -and destroy- them. What was slowing them down was the unsuspected. The Russian soldiers that were in the wrong place, the patrols that were early or late by plus or minus five minutes, the civilians with weapons... All the things that one simply could not properly fit into the equasion when first solving it.

Currently, the Russians were hunkered down inside the city with five divisions -two armored, and three infantry. They had air support coming from anywhere they could launch fighters, bombers, and helicopters from, and were recieving supplies and reinforcements from the East, the same area of the city that had not been touched. now, one might ask, "why has the East not been blocked?". It was not that simple. Efforts had been made to block it off, but it was being held open by companies of T-90s and Tunguskas, and battalions of infantry. Not to mention the platoons of helicopters.

The MNRO divisions' push into the city had also been ground to a halt. The infantry division was down to sixty-seven percent combat strength, and the armor division was down to seventy-five percent. Meanwhile the Russian divisions were only down to an average of eighty percent combat strength, and were recieving reinforcements and supplies. It was an uphill battle, and Alexander was on the losing end... or it looked that way...

However, the option of launching cruise missiles and beginning a General Sherman style invasion of the city was still present. But would he do it? Would Alexander truly decide to announce a proclamation of complete Total war against one city? Would he do what Roger Chickering described:

"Total war is distinguished by its unprecedented intensity and extent. Theaters of operations span the globe; the scale of battle is practically limitless. Total war is fought heedless of the restraints of morality, custom, or international law, for the combatants are inspired by hatreds born of modern ideologies. Total war requires the mobilization not only of armed forces but also of whole populations. The most crucial determinant of total war is the widespread, indiscriminate, and deliberate inclusion of civilians as legitimate military targets."

By Chickering's definition, he'd already partially begun a campaign of Total War, but would he order his men to engage in full total war? To target civilians? To ignore international law? To mobilize everything they had, including such devistating "superweapons" as their new space-based laser cannon and tactical nuclear weapons? Could he even bring himself to consider it?

Yes.

He'd already considered it actually, and the answer had been a resounding "NO!". However, taking a lesson from the Germans during World War Two, and tearing out a page from their playbook, Alexander had decided to bring in twelve railway guns -descendants of the German Schwerer Gustav- to shell the city. He refused to target civilians outright, but if some died due to the firing of these behemoths, at least nobody could say he shot outright at civilians. Besides, the guns would only be aimed at military targets; if civilians died, they were probably getting ready to attack them.

It was not long before the shelling began. Alexander had ordered his men to hold their positions during the shelling, as they did not need to have their own soldiers vaporized by one of their own shells. The first three targets had already been decided: the largest airport -as it was being used now as an airbase-, the subway hub -as the subways were being used as a tunnel network by the Russians-, and the Russian headquarters for obvious reasons.

The twelve one-thousand millimeter -forty inch- artillery guns stabalized themselves, and adjusted for their targets. Each shell fired would actually work similar to a MIRV missile. Inside the shell were forty one-thousand pound bombs that would rain down on the target area, and obliterate it. One salvo would be fired, and then Tomahawk cruise missiles would be targeted and fired at division HQ's in the field, along with any anti-aircraft artillery and/or missile batteries. Following that, Harrier and F-35 fighter-bombers would sweep over the city and blast away as much of the armor divisions as possible, and drop napalm on the areas with the highest conscentrations of enemy infantry. Then, the final wave would come from the infantry and armor division supported by helicopter gunships.

It would be so simple...

Right...?

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December 31st.
2012, Russia.
The Kremlin.
Inside Moscow.
2000 hrs.

It had worked! The Russian divisions had been shattered, and their remains had been driven to the southeastern portion of the city, of which was devoid of civilians. Not one civilian remained in this city. They had all been evacuated, killed, or were now fighting for one side or the other. Many of the civilians went to the MNRO, while few went to the Russian divisions -which were still recieving reinforcements.

It could not be said though, that the victory did not come with its own pricetag. Both of Alexander's divisions were down to an average of forty percent combat strength, though that was much better than the Russians' ten percent average. The Kremlin, and most of Moscow was now under MNRO control. Across the globe, many Russian forces were falling back, demoralized at the fact that they'd lost their capital... That their Elite Guard had been routed in less that two weeks.

Even though the fighting still rage in the southeast portion of the city, Alexander smiled as he walked into the Presidential Office inside the Kremlin. This is where it all began. No, not this office, but here, inside the Moscow Kremlin. This is where it all began for him. This is where he grew up. This is where his siter died; where his father died; where his uncle exiled him from -"never to return".

"If only my Uncle could see me now." Alexander smirked as he looked out the window.

"Oh, but I do." In an instant Alexander whirled around in shock, drawing his sword and revolver. It was him. His uncle Boris. "And if I remember correctly, did I not tell you to never come back?" There was a dangerous glint in the man's eyes. One that Alexander recognized; one that easily explained how his uncle Boris lived.

"You did." Alexander snarled, clenching his teeth. "So, dear Uncle, when did they turn you? Before, or after your treachory?" Alexander glared at the man that had done him wrong. "Wretch."

Boris smirked and a dark chuckled rolled from his lips. "Dear boy, who do you think orchestrated all of this? Everything from the moment of your mother's death to this point has been a part of my plan."

"Really? Well uncle, I believe you overlooked something."

"Oh? And what is that if you are so enlightened?" Boris smirked and ever so lightly tilted his head to the side. The boy had never suspected him for a Lycan. It was quite funny really, that his two enemies were one and the same, yet the thought had never once crossed his mind.

"All that you planned and plotted has only made me stronger."

Boris laughed aloud. It was as if he'd gone insane. His laughing began to subside and he wiped away a tear from his eye. That had been rich. "Made you stronger? Dearest Nephew, whatever do you mean? Your organization? Hah! Please... A band of pathetic mortals coupled with some lowly vampires... Vampires that, might I add, left the home that they truly belong to? Surely you jest? Honestly boy, are you daft? That is no strength. That is an illusion of strength. No better than a mirage in a desert."

"Once, long ago, uncle, you told me that strength did not just come from power, or numbers, but from knowledge. You meant those words, and I understood them. I took those words to heart. Over the years I have made it my mission to seek out knowledge wherever it may be found, and through the trials you provided me with I gained knowledge. I gained strength. I gained power. And... I gained loyal friends. Those friends taught me things that I could never have learned without them."

"Did they teach you the realities of this world?" Boris let the question hang for a second or two while staring down his nephew. "From what Stout tells me, apparently not. You obviously don't know when to stay out of things that don't conscern you... Like this war for instance."

"Yes, they have. They've taught me that things aren't just shades of grey. There are things that are black and white, Good and Evil." Alexander had slipped from bitter, to defiant. "Oh, and what woud you do? Simply let this planet go all to hell? Knowing you, probably. I, however, care about humanity. I know that that may not quite register with you, ubt I don't really care." he stopped for a moment. Wait...a connection... "Stout? I killed him! TWICE!! First in the camp, then in Israel!"

"Well, maybe you should have made sure he was dead." Boris chuckled. "You never could finish anything you started. Not even those piano lessons so long ago."

"I blew him up, BOTH TIMES!" Stout was alive? "Where is he?"

"Who do you think has been in command of the Russians?" That voice came from an unlit corner of the room, and the person stepped forward.

"You two have been working together..." It wasn't a question, though anyone else would have thought it one. Everything was coming into place, like a game of Tetris. It was all beginning to make sense. Everything from the past. "Why?"

Both men laughed. "Why?" Boris was the first to speak. "Did you hear that Stout? He wants to know why."

"You simpleton." Stout shook his head. "Can't you figure it out for yourself? It is simple. Very simple really. We wanted this all for ourselves. We stayed away from the Coven; didn't even attempt to interfere with them unless Lucian asked. We bode our time organizing, gaining power and influence, and building armies. It was all a chess game. A game which you have lost."

Alexander was in shock. This couldn't be happening... could it? "I haven't lost yet!" This chess game wasn't over yet, not by a long shot. Alexander still had a few pieces.

Raising his revolver, Alexander pulled the trigger, and the two wretches jumped out of the way, startled, leaving the gap in front of the door open. He quickly ran through t and disappeared into the structure.

Quickly composing themselves, Boris and Stout stood, ready to charge after him, but Stout held Boris back. "Please, let me finish him. He did blow me up twice." Of course he wasn't serious about having been blown up... "I believe I owe him and should repay him as soon as possible." Stout smirked.

"Very well. But bring me his head."

"Oh, I will."

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Alexander ran, he knew not where to go though. As well, it looked as though his thoughts were racing his feet. With every step his mind attempted to wrap itself around what he'd just learned. Stout and his uncle Boris had been working together the whole time...

Everything that had happened at the consentration camp made sense now. Stout hadn't really believed in a Nazi victory, or the propaganda that they spewed. He'd just wanted to trap Alexander, but why? Surely it wasn't really to get a blood sample for Lucian... Alexander would bet Boris had comissioned Stout for the job of killing him. Though, the blood sample for Lucian was not entirely a non-possibility...

And then later, how else could Stout have raised an army like he had in just sixty years, without backing? Simple: Boris had provided the funding, troops, and equipment. It hadn't been about finding Joseph's bones at all. It had been about seeing the capabilities of Alexander's forces, and what he had at his disposal. He felt like a fool now! He'd played right into their hands!

Wether he'd meant for this to be the place or not, Alexander was quickly coming to his destination. The Kremlin Arsenal. The regiment of soldiers had cleared out when the Russian divisions pulled back, but a good deal of weapons, ammunition, and other supplies had been left behind. What to do? What to do?

He didn't have time to do anything, for Stout -in full Lycan form- burst into the room snarling. That did, however, give Alexander his answer. What to do? Fight!

Stout leapt at him, jaws open, and tackled him to the ground. His claws tore at Alexander, smacking him across the face and leaving tears in his skin which began to heal, only to be replaced by new ones. The only thing keeping Stout's jaws from Alexander was his bent arm against Stout's throat. unfortunately, the arm stopping those jaws was connected to the hand in which he held his revolver.

The other hand however, did still hold his sword. With a snarl, Alexander thrust the sword into Stout's abdomen, near his kidney, and gave it a quarter twist. Stout screeched out and Alexander took the distraction for what it was worth, shoving Stout off of him, and scrambling to his feet. Stout growled, gritting his teeth against the pain, and stooding upright. The vampire healed quickly from the slashes, but the old Lycan healed just as quick from the stab wound.

Stout hunched his shoulders, a feral gleem in his eyes. Alexander was sure that Stout wanted to rip his head from his shoulders. Little did he know that that is exactely what the Lycan had been ordered to do.

The question now, was should he fight... or flee?

Stout decided the answer for him as he quickly went to all fours and sprang at Alexander. Alexander snapped the pistol up and fired twice, but missed both times. Again he was knocked to the ground, but this time both of his weapons were sent flying. Stout however, did not just keep slapping at him with his claws, he smacked him in the head and then backed off before tossing him into a wall.

Rusdrac

2008-01-01T08:43:51Z

“Do you have the master computer online yet?”

“Coming online now, sir.”

“Good. Tie us into the network. I want global command controls established from here immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Notify me upon connection.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Alexander walked from the control center. Thus-far, there were few transition problems from their world command base in Russia. The equipment was in fully functional condition, and the technicians knew exactly what they were doing. Everything was running smoothly.

The old Mexican fort had been a steal at $4.7 million, though the average person would argue that point considerably. The facts remained however, that it had been refurbished, powered, and had running water. All the basics were there, and that’s all Alexander needed to turn this old fort into a modern impregnable fortress.

Supplies were arriving daily and everything was running like clockwork. Ships would dock at the largest harbor on Catalina, trucks and Sky-Crane helicopters would bring all the supplies up to the fort, and technicians, mechanics, and construction workers would take everything inside to be stored and then used.

Unfortunately, most of the grunt work had to be done under cover of darkness by the vampiric troops, but they got things done very quickly due to their experience, speed, and strength. It wasn’t a big problem though, as the mortal troops got quite a bit done during the daylight, and anything that needed done inside was done by the vampires.

Alexander came to stand inside one of the spires of the old fort. Some might say it looked to be more like a medieval castle than a fort built by the Mexican Army. And indeed, it did. Grand spires, high walls, large wooden doors… and many other things about the fort made it look like an old European castle.

The Russian Vampire smiled as he looked out at the fort, with the sun setting behind him. These spires made him particularly happy. He could get so close to the sun without it burning him, yet if he ever stepped directly into it…well… It would not be good if he did. It was also the perfect spot to station a sniper team and some anti-aircraft weapons.

With a sigh, Alexander left the spire, heading back down into the fort. The name of it had been lost to the pages of history, but he had decided on a name for it, if even if it was used as only a codename. That name, was Rusdrac. It was a word combination, and a simple one. It was simply Ruso and Draco together without the O’s. It meant Russian Dragon. A strange name for a fortress perhaps, but oh well.

Taking the elevator, Alexander soon found himself inside the aircraft hangar. The hangar was not only that however. It was also the launch facility, complete with a catapult system and set of blast doors. Currently it was only occupied by twenty aircraft, but had enough space for eighty. Six Huey Gunships, four Blackhawk transports, six Harrier VTOL fighter-bombers, and four F-22 Raptor fighters.

These twenty aircraft were an arsenal in and of themselves. He had enough firepower in this one room to flatten a small city. Not that he meant to do so, but he could if he needed to. It was not likely though, that he would need to.

Another look around the room, and he once again departed. The totals would eventually be twelve Huey Gunships, eight Blackhawks, twelve Harriers, eight AH-64 Apache attack helicopters, sixteen F-22 Raptors, six RAH-66 Comanche scout/light attack helicopters, six Chinook transport helicopters, six Sky-Crane transport helicopters, and six VTOL Osprey transport/Gunships. Air superiority was not in question.

His mind wandered aimlessly, as he through the fortress. Soon enough he found himself in the motor pool. Not much was there yet, just eight Humvees and two T-90 command tanks. That was a good start though. In the end there would be thirty Humvees, five T-90 command tanks, twenty T-72 main battle tanks, ten T-80 main battle tanks, twenty-five BMP APCs, fifteen Avengers (Modified Anti-Aircraft/Anti-Tank Humvees), and twenty Bradley APCs. More than a match for anything they’d probably encounter.

With a nod and a smile to a couple of the technicians and mechanics, Alexander continued on through the facility. It wouldn’t be too long before it was filled with soldiers. One thousand-five hundred-sixty to be exact, along with four hundred forty vampires – Alexander’s “Elites”. Those however, were just the combat troops. Rusdrac itself would be operated by one thousand persons total.

Not to mention that in order to get to the fort itself, you’d have to get past the small fleet of fourteen Destroyers and five Akula Class Nuclear Submarines that were guarding it. The aircraft carrier, USS Independence, was also on call if needed. It was nice to have the United States behind you. When you did, you got nice little presents… like aircraft carriers, for example.

The radio in Alexander’s pocket crackled, alerting him to the fact that someone wanted speak to him, and thus he took out the radio. “Go ahead.”

“Sir, the master computer is online and basic command and control capabilities are being established right now; also, the automated defense grid, what of it that’s installed anyway, is operational. Looks like everything is good to go.”

The Seer's Bones - Chapter One

2007-12-31T11:56:02Z

January 14th, 2007
Just outside Cairo, Egypt
0000 hrs

=/+\+/+\=

"So what do you have for me, Olan?"

"Well, seeing as how all you left me were three destroyed armored vehicles, and a bunch of dead terrorist guerillas, I have quite a lot of information." Olan Hammerstein. Division Commander - R&D Division. German by birth. Citizenship: International. "We were able to recover hardrives from the tactical computers in the T-90 and the Tunguskas. Most of it was generally unremarkable information, maps and things of the like, you know, the average tactical data. However, there were some things I think are a bit out of place."

Alexander quipped a brow. "Like...?"

"Well, the thing that stands out the most is what appears to be a mass order that was found on all three hardrives." Olan pulled out his laptaop and booted it up before opening some downloaded data files.

"What is it?"

"We can't decipher all of it, but it looks like they're trying to find a tomb. The "Tomb of The Seer" they're calling it. Apparently it's somewhere in the Middle East, but they don't know the precise location."

"Guesses?"

"They are searching in Iraq, Iran, Egypt, Syria, Jordan... Hell, the list goes on. Looks like the only place they've ruled out is Israel."

"If they're looking for some tomb, why the tanks and guns?" Alexander stroked his chin. "Hell, why not just hire some archeologists?"

"Because they're terrorists? What archeologist would work for them?"

"Any archeologist they pointed a gun at."

"Alright, then you tell me."

Alexander smirked. "Because they don't want anyone to know when they find it, or what they're finding."

"So what's our next move?"

"Well, we've got three options. We can try to find out what we can from the hardrives. We can try to find what they're looking for..." Alexander smiled. "Or, we can track the history of those tanks."

"How?"

"Just like you track the history of a car. All Russian vehicles, military or otherwise, have serial numbers stamped on them so they can be tracked back to the plant they were made at. Find the serial numbers from those tanks, and track them back. I want to know everything, from the day they were made up until the last record the Russians have on them. I don't care how you do it, just get it done."

The Seer's Bones - Introduction

2007-12-29T12:23:48Z

January 13th, 2007
Just outside Cairo, Egypt
2000 hrs

=/+\+/+\=

"Where the hell did that tank come from?!"

"And what shitty idea in your mind makes you think I should know Exander?!"

"You're the one with the eye in the sky! You should have seen it coming Al!"

"Alright, you have a point, but must I remind you that the EQUIPMENT WAS DESTROYED?!"

"Good point. Can you ID that tank Al?"

Alucard leaned around the corner, just until he could see the tank. He didn't get a great look at it though, for two of the terrorist guerillas taking cover behind the tank opened up with their AK-74s. Bullets smacked the corner of the stone wall, sending pieces of mortar and rock flying through small puffs of dust as he quickly got back behind the safety of the wall.

"Looks like a T-80. I didn't get a great look though. I'll give cover fire if you take a look."

"Alright. On three."

1...

2...

2 1/2...

3!

Alucard whipped around the corner, bringing the scope of the M-16 to his eye, finding the guerillas in his crcosshairs. Bullets flew toward him, and he winced as the corner was struck by bullets again. Scooting back behind the corner slightly, he found his target, and fired.

Headshot.

Clean kill.

The other guerilla ducked down as Alexander looked over the ruined wall, and zoomed in on the tank with his Ak-47's scope. It looked like a T-80, or a T-72... but it wasn't quite right. When he finally realized what it was, his mouth dropped open and he ducked down again, grabbing Alucard and pulling him back behind the wall. This wasn't good.

"I suppose this means you know what that big brute is?" Alucard asked, sitting up.

"Yeah. It's a T-90 command tank."

"You're shitting me."

"I wish."

"You know any way to put one of those out of action?"

"An Apache attack helicopter." Alexander shrugged. "But we'll probably need two."

"Two? Better call for four then." Alucard held down the mike key of his radio and began to speak. "Pheonix Base, Pheonix Base, this is Recon Two, do you copy?"

"Recon Two, this is Pheonix Base. Do you require assistance?"

"Affirmative, Pheonix. We need a flight of four AH-64 Apaches and a Blackhawk dispatched to our coordinates immediately. There is a Russian T-90 command tank approximately twenty five meters due west of our current position."

"Roger. Blue Flight is lifting off right now. ETA is fifteen minutes. Hold on just a bit longer; the cavalry is on the way."

"Copy, we'll hold out as long as we-." Alucard was cut off as the radio was shot from his hand. Alexander whirled around, catching the sniper in the chest with a burst from his AK-47. Needless to say, the sniper dropped dead to the ground from his perch on the nearby building's roof.

"Let's get out of here." Alexander motioned toward an alley between some ruined stone buildings.

"Right." Alucard quickly followed Alexander as they bolted down the alley, and then smacked into him when he abruptly stopped.

"Jesus Christ." Alexander said as if in awe as he backed up into the alley.

"What is it?" Alucard quipped a brow.

"Look." Alexander pointed around the corner out of the alley. Alucard looked around the corner. And what he saw was just perfect. Not.

Two squads of soldiers. Ten armed with AK-74s, and four armed with RPG-7s. That wasn't the bad part though. The bad part was the two Tunguska-M1 ZSU-30-2s that they were guarding. The even worse part was the fact that they sat right in the flight path of those four Apaches, and they had no way to warn the flight. Those helicopters would be torn apart.

"What do we do Exander? The Apaches will be cut to ribbons."

"We have to take out those Tunguskas."

"How?"

Alexander thought for a moment and then it came to him. He grabbed one of the concussion grenades from his belt, held it up, and smiled. "I have a plan, Al."

"What is it?"

"First, kill the guards, and then put grenades down the missile tubes. The grenades go off, light off the missiles, the warheads go, and both of those damnable things get blown to smitherines."

"That's crazy... I like it." Alucard smirked, and Alexander nodded. 3... 2... 1...

Alucard and Alexander bolted out from the alley. Bullets flew all around in both directions. One guerilla, two, three, six, ten dropped, and then Alucard finished the last four all at once with a grenade out of the M-16's M203 launcher. With a grunt and a growl, the bullets that had found their way into the two vampires were expelled and the wounds quickly healed.

"Let's finish this and get the hell outta here." With a nod, Alucard and Alexander grabbed their grenades, pulled the pins, shoved them down the missile tubes, and ran like hell. Ten seconds later, both Tunguskas lit up like Roman candles on the Fourth of July. Pieces of them went everywhere, and the two vampires took cover as the debris rained down.

A couple moments later, the four Apaches buzzed overhead and the Blackhawk came down, hovering just off the ground as the two vampires climbed aboard. The four Apaches made quick work of the Russian tank, and soon all five helicopters were headed back to the base.

"Well, that was fun." Alucard smiled, but the smile faded when he saw Alexander's concentrated look. "What's wrong?"

"Alucard, how do you suppose some terrorists got their hands on a brand-spanking-new Russian T-90 command tank? Or those two Tunguskas? You can't just find those on the Black Market."

"Think this is a little bigger than it looks?"

"Little? No, this is way bigger than it looks."

Swords

2007-12-23T04:31:32Z

Alexander Ivanovich

Alucard Krichov

Yuri Trotski

Arman Bolshevik

Boris Deminsk

Yolin Crushchev

Zero Mostel

Tevye Goldlan

Maria Karnilova

Kalin Sondheim

Olan Hammerstein

Data File 01

2007-12-21T10:51:07Z

=/+\+/+\+/+\=

Restricted Access File. Please use correct password.

**********

Correct password entered. Access: Granted.

Please choose a selection:

[ Our History ]

The Organization

Our Mission

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=========

Four hundred and six years ago, our leader, Brigadier General Alexander Ivanovich, exiled heir to the Russian throne, left the vampire covens. He did not leave alone. His men, an exiled combination of Elite Guard and Regular Russian Army soldiers, and a regiment of the Covens' Death Dealers, followed his lead, and headed east.

The journey was not easy. Many hardships were to be had. Burning sand, driving snow, battering winds, and all other acts of Nature's agression stood in their path. Challenging them. Daring them. Taunting them. Yet, they did not give up. They persevered. They fought. They conquered. They built what surrounds The Organization today. They founded an empire that spans over four hundred years of human history.

And they did it right under every nation's nose.

Today, The Organization stands on its own, a world superpower only rivaled by the United States, Russia, and China in terms of military, economic, and technologic capabilities. However, existing as a stand alone company, The Organization has no borders, and operates in virtually every country on the planet.

[ Back ]

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=========

Please choose a selection:

Our History

[ The Organization ]

Our Mission

Loading...

=========

In and of itself , The Organization is "only" a company. The truth however, is that it is a world superpower with no borders. Officially, The Organization is known as the Multi-Naional Relief Organization, or MNRO for short. The MNRO aids countries when disaster strikes, be they natural or man made, and also acts like a quick-response UN Peacekeeping Taskforce. That, however, is only a facade.

Unofficially, The Organization is an international company that does everything from gun running to full military action. It is backed by multiple countries, including, but not limited to, the United States, Russia, China, Great Britain, Germany, France, and Japan. Currently, the United States is the largest backer and is utilizing the military capabilities of The Organization to aid in the "War on Terror".

The United States and Russia have provided many weapons of war to The Organization, including:

Small Arms,

Armored Vehicles,

Recon Vehicles,

Mobile Missile Launching Platforms,

Combat Aircraft,

Standoff-Capable Naval Vessels,

And Dependable Transportation to ANY Hotzone on the Planet.

[ Back ]

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=========

Please choose a selection:

Our History

The Organization

[ Our Mission ]

Loading...

=========

Our mission, as always, is unchanged. The Lycans are our primary enemy, and are to be eliminated with extreme prejudice. The weapons of war provided to us by our international backers are to be not only used for the initial intent of our backers, but also to stomp out any and all existence of our wretched cousins.

The World changes.

The War evolves.

Technology advances.

The Mission, and the Soldiers, stay the same.

The Lycans are the Plague.

We, are the cure.

The Covens, are obsolete.

X+X+X+X+X+X

This Is Why I Fight

2007-12-21T10:49:36Z

=/+\+/+\+/+\= 【Trans-Siberian Orchestra】Christmas Eve Sarejevo

=December 24th, 1596=

"What are you still doing up Isirdra?" Ah my little sister, she was always so cute. Smart and strong-willed too. "You know that Santa won't come until you're fast asleep." I chuckled. Of course it was I that put the presents under the tree, but why spoil it for her?

"So why do you get to stay up then?" Isirdra argued, pouting, with her hands on her hips. Lord, for a little kid, she was a stubborn one. I chuckled. I couldn't help it.

"Because Mr. Clause wants me to make sure you get to bed. It's a deal he and I made while mother was pregnant with you." I smirked. I wasn't the mean older brother that most kids think of today, but that's not to say that I wasn't cocky. I still am.

"Oh yeah? Well if he only comes around on Christmas Eve, and kids have to be asleep, how'd he make a deal with you? Huh? Answer that." Ooo, she had a good point. Think quick, I had to.

"He woke me up. I stayed out here like you always do. But he woke me up because he knew mother was going to have another child. He told me that if I made sure that my little sibling was in bed, I could stay up on Christmas Eve and talk to him as he set the presents out." Isirdra pouted again.

"Not fair." She crossed her arms, and looked toward the fireplace and under the tree. "I hope mother has another kid so I can stay up too." Oh God, hoped mom didn't. Because if she did, it would ruin things. All the things I'd told Isirdra would immediately blown wide open as blatant lies. She'd never speak to me again if she'd found out I'd lied to her like that.

"Now come on, off to bed Izzy." I smiled, putting my hand on her back and trying to scoot her toward the stairs. I always liked playing this little game. It was fun. But this time was special.

"Oh, come on Exander. Please? Just a little longer? Come on..." She begged and pleaded.

"No. Up to bed." I said it firmly. I put my foot down. I... didn't really mean it. Looking back on it now, I'm sure she thought I was being mean about it. Chris was to her, what celebrities are today.

"But, please, please please please? I can hide! I just want to see him."

"No. Isirdra, we've been over this before. You can't-." But, before I could finish, there was a rapping on the roof. It sounded like hooves...

"Is that...?" Isirdra began. The question was obvious. And it was quickly answered when the sounds of someone climbing down the chimney were heard. In about a moment, the answer was definite as a portly man in red stepped from the chimney with a sack. Yes, the palace's chimney was huge. "Santa... Santa!"

"Hmm? What?" Santa was dumbfounded. The truth was that the man was just a portly palace guard, but he'd agreed quickly when I told him I wanted to do something special for my sister, and I'd gone over the story I'd rehersed. "Alexander, have you forgotten our deal?"

"No... I was trying to get her to bed, but she wouldn't go."

"Alexander, I'm afraid that this simply won't do. We had a deal... You broke it. I'm sorry, but-."

"Oh no! Please Mr. Clause, don't punish Exander. I just wanted to stay up to see you. I'm sorry. I'll go to bed, just please don't punish my big brother." I couldn't help it. My eyes actually teared up a bit, and i had to wipe them. Yes, it may sound funny to some that the son of the Tsar, and a future vampire, would tear up because of his little sister, but, hey... It was my little sis...

"Well, I don't know... Will you promise me that you won't tell anyone you met me? I can't have every child expecting to meet me you know. I'd never get to drop all of the presents..."

"Yes! Of course, I promise!"

"Alright then, head on up to bed while your brother and I put out these presents, okay?" He smiled, the fake beard moving with his expression.

"Alright!" and she was off. A moment later, her door closed, and the man and I chuckle to ourselves.

I sighed. "Thank you. I think we both just made a little girl very happy."

"You're welcome," he chuckled. "she deserves to be happy. She is but a child, and all children deserve happiness, especially during the holiday season."

"I couldn't agree more." I smiled. "So, how did you make the sounds?"

"I'll never tell." The man laughed. "But 'ere's a 'int for you: sea turtles mate, sea turtles."

I still don't get it...

=December 24th, 1996. London, England=

"I really still don't get it." Shaking my head, I put the last of my eight silver nitrate bullets into the revolver in my hands, and smirked. Walking around the corner near the top of the magnificent bell tower known as Big Ben, I span the chamber of the revolver, and snapped it into place with a flick of my wrist. Raising the revolver, I aimed at the four lycans ahead of me. "Merry Christmas. Now come and get your presents."

I pulled the trigger and kept pulling...

I didn't bother to aim for the head...

Favorite Music

2007-12-19T02:40:15Z

The Camp: Part Three

2007-12-18T22:44:26Z

The Camp: Part Three

The cabin was dark, doors & windows shut, shades drawn. Exander was on his “bed”. He’d taken apart the other beds some days ago when the cabin became empty, save for him. He was startled awake though when he was grabbed from his bed by five guards and taken outside.

Exander began to thrash around, the guards tried to hold him tight, but he got loose and kicked one guard in the face, and then another in the back of the head. The other guards dropped him and he scrambled to his feet, punching one guard, and round-housing another.

He was about to bash another guard’s face in with his fist, but stopped abruptly with his fist a mere inch from the guard’s face. He’d heard one click, followed by many others, and he knew the sound all too well: cocking machineguns. He looked around, not very surprised to see that he was surrounded, or that the guards all had their MP-40s and rifles pointed at him, or that the tower machineguns were trained on him.

“Shit.” Exander sighed. “Uh… Hello there.” He gave a nervous smile. “So, where were we going?”

The guards on either side of him grabbed him roughly by the arms, and began to shove him toward the doctor’s “medical facility”.

“Hey, hey! Why so rough, huh?”

+ + + + + + +

“So, when will these tests begin Galanten?” Stout asked as he looked about the lab. Strange machines were everywhere. Everything from medical equipment to Tesla coils were present. It looked like a mad scientist’s laboratory.

“Momentarily Sir. We just need-.” Galanten began as the guards and Exander entered. The guards picked up Exander, slammed him onto a metal table, and strapped his wrists and ankles with chain to the table, spread eagle. “Ah, there our subject is. Right on time.” Galanten looked to the guards. “You’re dismissed.” And with a wave of his hand, the guards left.

“Well, well, Ivanovich… Let’s see what you are.” Stout smirked; Exander glared at him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Grobel watched as the guards took Exander into the laboratory. He looked back and forth and then headed to the armory. He walked up to the guards, showed his pass, and entered as the door was opened for him.

Thankfully he was the only one inside, and thus had all the time and privacy he needed to accomplish his task. Walking through the armory, Grobel kept his head on a constant swivel, looking for an indicator of any company he may have missed. There was none.

Moving quickly he went to the far wall that held confiscated weapons. He quickly spotted what he was looking for: a revolver, a shotgun, and some grenades. He also spotted the ammunition for the weapons. He loaded both guns, noting that the bullets were silver, and holstered the revolver in the gun belt that was with the weapons. Now that he’d found the weapons though, he needed to figure out a way to get them out.

He looked around, pondering how to go about it. Looking over various racks, he spotted something, and a plan began to form. It was a cold weather jacket that he saw.

Grabbing the jacket, he strapped the gun belt on and put the shotgun over his shoulder on its sling before putting on the jacket. He took a few grenades and put them in the inside pockets of the jacket before buttoning it up and putting more ammunition into the outside pockets.

Picking up an MP-40, a KAR-98, and a Lugar, along with some ammunition, Grobel made his way out of the armory, the guards shutting the door behind him; silently wondering why Grobel wore the coat. It wasn’t all that cold.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“Now Captain Ivanovich, would you be so kind as to tell me,” Stout began, and then slammed his hands down on the metal table next to Exander’s head. “Why you were sent here?!” Was it the Russians?” he stood straight once more and began to circle the table. “Or was it the covens?” he stopped. “Tell me!”

“Go to hell you filthy lycan!” Exander snapped back at Stout, and for it Galanten sent an electric pulse through him. Exander spasmed, his main body lurching upward, and with a shout he collapsed.

“That should teach you some manners.” Galanten smirked.

Stout grinned. “So, you are of the Covens?” He chuckled. “Why did they send you here?”

Now Exander chuckled. “They didn’t.”

Stout quirked a brow. “They didn’t? Then who did?”

“Wasn’t those aristocratic has-beens, that’s all I’ll say.”

“I don’t quite think I like that answer.” Stout said with a nod to Galanten, and another jolt was sent through Exander. “Now, answer my question, please.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell you. It was your mother. She sent me to tell you to go fuck yourself!” Exander shouted, laughing.

“Galanten, perform your tests, and then send him to the chambers. I will be waiting in my office. Come see me once you’re done.” Stout said, and left the lab

“I’m going to have fun with this.” Galanten smirked evilly cranking up the voltage on his machine.

“Go to hell.” Exander scoffed, and Galanten threw the switch, jolting him with the machine’s full power. Lightning jumped from the tesla coil and bounced around the lab.

These “tests” were not going to be comfortable…

Leaving The Covens

2007-12-18T10:49:41Z

1602

...

"Damn it all to hell." Alexander sighed, laying on his bed and glancing around his chambers. Banners of all sorts hung from the walls. The banner of Viktor's Coven, Alexander's Division Banner, and a few flags were hung haphazardly on the walls. Lamps, an antique desk, chairs, a table, nightstand... The average things one would expect to find.

Alexander sat up and crossed his legs indian style. He sighed, looking out the window at the falling snow, and shook his head. "This is all wrong." Grrrr... "I should be retaking my rightful place on the throne, not stuck here!" Exasperated, 'Exander flopped backwards on his bed, his head hitting the pillow, making it puff up and then flatten out.

It had been four years. Four effing years! Yet, Viktor had not even begun to attempt to fulfill his promise to Exander. He'd done nothing. Not. One. Thing. He'd sworn up and down, promised Exander, that he would help Exander get his throne back from his uncle, but he hadn't, even though it could have already been done. And it didn't look like he ever intended to.

"Bastard." Exander cursed as a knock sounded at the door. He sighed, glancing to the door as another series of knocks sounded. "Who is it?"

"Me."

"Who's 'me'?" Oh, Exander knew who it was. He knew the voice well. A Death Dealer he'd met three years ago.

"You know damn good and well who it is. So can I come in or what?"

Exander laughed. "Yeah, come on in Alucard." He got up from the bed as the door opened, and met his friend halfway through the room, clapping a hand on Alucard's shoulder. "I trust your hunt went well?"

Alucard shrugged. "Not bad I suppose, but could have gone better. No casualties though, so that's good."

Exander smiled. "So why did you come to talk to me?"

"Well Exander... Are you feeling well?"

"What do you mean?" Exander quipped a brow.

"You haven't been on a hunt in a week. Your men are worried."

His men. Yes, they would always be Alexander's men. Not Viktor's, Exander's. Exander knew it. The Death Dealers knew it. The Council members knew it. But Viktor... No, Viktor ignored it. To him, The Russian Elites and the Death Dealers were no different. It irked Viktor that the Russian troops always went to Exander to confirm Viktor's orders.

"Oh!" Exander laughed. "No, friend, I am just fine. I have been thinking."

Now Alucard laughed. "You can do that?"

"Hey!"

"I am joking."

Exander rolled his eyes.

"Seriously though, what have you been thinking about?"

"I've been thinking about leaving the Coven."

"LEAVING?!"

"Yes. Viktor... He's a lunatic, and a liar." Exander pointed to his head.

"Have you spoken about this to anyone else?"

"I haven't left this room in a week. Who would I talk to?"

"But why leave? Amelia is next in line to be awoken. I personally think she's far better than Viktor, though that's not saying much." Both of them laughed at that. "So, what are we going to do?"

"We? Since when has this been we?"

"Since you just told me."

Exander smiled. "Alright then, Viktor is going by train to Ördögház. I am to follow the next day. I'll gather my men, and you can get together whatever Death Dealers are willing to follow you. Then we can grab whatever supplies our wagons can carry, grab our horses, and get the hell out here. What do you think?"

"Sounds good."

...
...
...

The day before Amelia was to be awoken, Viktor went by train to Ördögház, I gathered my men, Alucard gathered a regiment of Death Dealers that were discontented with Viktor, and we all headed East with all the supplies on all the wagons that all of our horses could pull. By the time that my train would have been arriving at Ördögház, we were already days away, and had left no trail to follow.

Den Destruction

2007-12-18T08:00:06Z

"Alucard, what's the chopper's ETA?"

"Five minutes."

"Damn."

More UV bullets whizzed past them, smacking into the wall opposite them. Alexander had thought that this would be easy. The reports showed that this den had taken heavy losses. Most of the ones in western Russia had. This one was especially low though, or so they had thought.

"How do you get me into these situations, Exander?"

"Whatever do you mean Alucard?" Alexander laughed as he stuck his arm around the corner, firing his revolver twice, and ducking back into safety as another burst flew towards their position.

Alucard roled his eyes. "You know perfectly well what I mean." He chuckled. "These situations. The ones that there's no hope of getting out of, and yet somehow we do."

"Ah, these situations." Alexander smirked, reloading and holstering his revolver, and taking the AK-47 from his shoulder. "Would you believe, that the Covens are still using pistols as their primary weapons?"

Alucard shrugged. "Indeed. I would believe it. They never have brought a large amount of firepower to bare. Makes me glad that we left the Covens all those years ago. But why did we plant our spies? Why care what happens to them? It's not as if Viktor ever intended to keep his word to you."

"Maybe." Alexander chambered a round into the AK. "But that doesn't mean that the other Elders were as bad as him. I have wondered what Amelia and Marcus were like."

"Probably little better." Alucard said with a roll of his eyes. Elders. Phah! Elders his right fang! Stuck up aristocrats with too much power was more like it. "But why do you care about them at all?"

"I suppose... I'm really not sure." Alexander tilted his head as more UV bullets impacted the corner. They were getting closer. "We do owe the Covens our immortality." Alexander was not about to say that they owed Viktor anything though. "I think it's time to get out of here. What say you?"

"I agree. So, are we going out with our guns blazing?" Alucard asked with a smirk, drawing his two Desert Eagles, and flicking off the safeties.

"Sure, why not? Haven't done that in a while." Alexander returned the smirk. "On three." Alucard nodded in agreement. "One... Two.. Two and a half... THREE!!"

Bolting around the corner, Alexander brought the AK up, firing in bursts. Every time he pulled the trigger three thirty caliber silver nitrate rounds flew forth, and a lycan hit the floor, dead. Alucard was firing his Desert Eagles, two shots for a kill. UV bullets flew all around them.

Alexander had to agree. Bad guys were horrible shots.

That, or had very, very little training. Which for lycans, was highly likely.

"Let's get out of here before any of them decide to change!" Alexander said, and he and Alucard bolted for the stairwell up and out of the underground facility, and back to the surface where their radio would work again. As they ran up the metal stairs, Alexander chucked a couple concussion grenades down behind them. Seeing that, Alucard decided that leaping from floor to floor would be faster than running up the stairs, and began to do so, followed quickly by Alexander.

They soon reached the surface floor, the grenades going off behind them and the stairs dropping, sealing the only remaining exit of the underground structure as they ran outside. The Blackhawk was just arriving, and hovered just off the ground as the snow fell around them. The door was opened and they quickly scambled inside, shutting the door. The Blackhawk climbed higher and began to move away at a good speed, at least one hundred nots, as Alexander pulled out his radio.

"Claymore, Claymore, this is Sab One. Sab Two and myself are aboard Eagle One, and are away. You have permission to launch. I repeat, you have permission to launch."

The radio crackled a couple times, then cleared. "Affirmative. Claymore, launching now."

"Roger."

Alucard and Alexander moved to the window and looked out. In the distance they could make out a black dot with a trail of white smoke climbing rapidly. A missile. Specially designed.

It went up, above the clouds, and then began to come straight down toward the facility. It took less than three seconds for the missile to reach the ground from the altitude it had reached, but the explosion wasn't immediate. The missile slammed down through the levels until it reached the plethora of explosive charges that had been set, and were connected to other charges throughout the entire facility.

The missile went off as planned, detonating the cache's worth of detonation charges in the bottom, along with stores of ammunition. That also began a chain reaction as the other charges throughout the facility detonated. The whole place went up in one big, cumilative, bang. The only thing left was a smoldering crater that was to be filled with debris, and erased by the fast falling snow.

Alexander smirked to himself. "Let's see the Covens do that." He laughed. "No Death Dealer has ever had, nor shall one ever have, this much fun. God I'm glad we left."

Alucard let out a sigh. It was finally over. "Take us home, boys."

The Camp: Part Two

2007-12-08T18:45:01Z

The Camp: Part Two

The sky was darker today, almost as dark as night. And… it was raining. Exander did not especially dislike the rain, but saw no sense in getting soaked just to pluck on a wire all day long.

So instead, he sat in the doorway of his formerly cramped quarters. He had been sharing this cabin with about forty others. Now he only shared it with twenty. The door was open, and Exander looked to the outside world. The world beyond the fence.

His thoughts drifted back to his childhood in Russia. His childhood home however, was not the same Russia that he was fighting for in this war. That Russia had faded away with the years. No, that Russia had been grand. It had been his home. It would have been his Empire to rule as well, had it not been for his Uncle.

That Russia, was Imperial Russia.

Exander had been the son of Fyodor Ivanovich, the Russian Tsar. People called his father the “Bell Ringer” for his somewhat uncommon tendency to request to ring the bells of any church he visited. He was a religious man, a good man, and a good father. He had died too soon.

His thought drifted to his mother. A beautiful woman, with creamy skin, rosy cheeks, gentle hazel eyes, and mid length hair the color of redwood. She was the gentlest woman any child could ask for, but she was not afraid to punish her children like so many parents are today. She was gentle, fair, forgiving, and when it was called for, she was strict.

But then his thoughts went to how she died. The Lycans had killed her. His anger suddenly flashed, his eyes glowing a royal blue, his fangs lengthening. He wanted so bad to strike at something. Someone. It was true, the pack of Lycans that had killed her, he had slain, but that didn’t matter. She was already dead.

And then his thoughts went to the person he’d been closest to. His younger sister. He’d promised her that he’d always be there for her, and he’d let her down. He hadn’t been there when she needed him most. He hadn’t been there to save her from the Lycans that had attacked her and his mother. He’d failed her.

The glow of his eyes faded, and his fangs retreated back to their normal length as he let out a sigh. He’d broken his promise to her. Worse even, he wasn’t even there when she died. He never got to say goodbye to her, or she to him. That is why he’d sworn to kill the Lycans. To hunt them; to slaughter them; to exterminate them. It was his calling.

He would never forget the events that led him here. The events that led him to Viktor, and the Covens. Which in turn led him to this place. This camp, and the mission he had been given. It had been a while though since he left the Covens behind. Good riddance.

Exander halted his wandering mind however, when someone caught his eye. It was a German officer; one that seemed out of place for he wore no SS insignia. He was just a regular officer for all Exander could tell, and for whatever strange reason, he was standing in the pouring rain. His uniform, cap, and boots were all probably already ruined – soaked through by the torrential downpour. Yet, he didn’t seem to care, or even notice actually. He just stood there, looking into the sky, and letting it pour on him.

For whatever reason, Exander felt pity for the man. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t as simple as the war. The war may have been part of it, but it was not as simple as just saying that the war was the problem. Exander came to a decision fairly quickly, and whistled to catch the man’s attention. The man stirred, and looked at Exander, who motioned for him to come over, and he did.

“So who are you?” Exander asked, the slight remains of his Russian accent shining through, coating his words like a laminator.

“Hans Von Grobel,” Grobel quipped a brow. “And you are…?”

“Friends call me Exander.” Exander gave a half-hearted smirk. “Captain, Russian Infantry. You?”

“Lieutenant, German Armor.” Grobel rolled his eyes. “What’s left of it anyway.”

Exander chuckled. Poor guy probably just came from the front. He’d seen a few T-34s in action, and knew how bad the Germans had it. “Well, good to meet you. Circumstances could be better, but you make due with what you’re dealt, right?” Exander extended his hand to shake, and they did.

“I suppose.” Grobel shrugged. “This war would be going much smoother for me though if…” He gave a quick look around. No guards near. “If we had someone that was competent in command of Germany. Without Rommel, we’ve lost. I’m sure of that.”

“You could be shot for saying something like that. You know that, right?”

“So long as none of these SS pricks hear me, I’ll be fine. The rest of my unit feels the same way.” Grobel shook his head. “Hitler taking power was the worst thing that could have happened to us.”

“So you’re against the war then?” Exander quipped a brow. That was strange.

“Oh, no. I’m not against the war in and of itself, but the way it’s being run is idiotic. These camps…” Grobel sighed. “These camps are part of the reason we’re losing. They soak up needed supplies, and give nothing in return. Not to mention that the practices that go on here disgust me.”

Exander’s mind began to work as he pulled out a cigarette that he’d stolen earlier from one of the guards. “Got a light?”

Grobel smirked. “Maybe.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a box of matches. Sliding out the paper tray he grabbed a match, struck it, and lit Exander’s cigarette. He coughed from the smoke though.

“You alright?” Exander asked, taking another puff.

“Yes. That’s just my body’s way of telling me that I need one too.” Grobel smiled and pulled out his own cigarette, lit it, and then tossed the match out into the rain, watching it quickly die before looking back to Exander, who was chuckling. “What?”

“Don’t you think it strange, that we’re getting along so well? It’s as if we’re not even enemies.” Exander took another drag on his cigarette, and blew the smoke out, trying to make rings, but doing a poor job of it.

“Meh,” Grobel took a drag on his cigarette and blew it out in rings, earning a questioning look from Exander as Grobel smirked. “Not really. You see, “we” are both civilized humans. They,” he took another drag on his cig, looked in the direction of the Commandant’s office, and blew the smoke out as he glared at it, “Well they’re no better than some mangy undomesticated mutts.” He looked back to Exander.

“My sentiments exactly, Grobel. They aren’t like us. You and I are the type of men that “should” be making decisions.” Exander and Grobel both looked at each-other, and then at the office.

“Looks like we agree with one another.” Grobel sighed and looked back to Exander. “But what could we do? What voice do we have?”

“What voice do we have?” Exander side-glanced at Grobel. “We have all the voice we need, if we could get our hands on a radio.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before I tell you, would you be willing to help me?”

Grobel looked to the office, and glared at it. The corner of his lip twitched as he looked from it, around the camp, and back to Exander with a smirk and a nod. “Yes.”

The Camp: Part One

2007-12-07T06:02:15Z

The Camp: Part One

The office was well lit; decorated with propaganda posters, awards, pictures, paintings, a WW1 helmet, an officer’s saber, and, of course, a swastika. It was the only place in the camp that truly spoke of the existence of any type of civilization. Even the barracks the guards lived in were somewhat shabby.

In the room were five chairs and a desk for discussions. Currently the Commandant of the camp sat on the opposite side of the other four. His name was Heinrich Stout, and he was a firm believer in the “Final Victory” that Hitler spoke of in his drug-induced, hypnotic speeches. The men opposite him were Hans Von Grobel –a tank platoon commander-, Masnetch Galanten –the camp’s “doctor”-, the camp’s executioner, and an off duty tower guard.

Stout’s elder-like eyes scanned the four men that sat before him. All of them were valuable tools in achieving Hitler’s dream, and Nazi glory. Yet, it was doubtful that once the war was over they would be sparred from these very camps themselves. It was a dark, unspoken thought that Stout enjoyed –the old man was twisted.

“Why have you all come to speak with me today?” Stout asked, his sharp eyes gazing at them.

“I have a report from the front, Herr Commandant.” Grobel began, “The Russians will be here in a matter of days. A T-34 division just pummeled us at the front, and is making its way here.”

“And?” Stout half rolled his eyes. “There is an SS division not far from here, on their way to stop those T-34s. The Russians will be dispatched easily.”

“With all due respect, Sir, those “soldiers” have hardly even basic training. The Russians are well trained, well supplied, well armed, and quickly reinforced. That SS division doesn’t stand a chance!”

“And why do you say this? What facts can you testify for?” Stout glared.

“I can testify for everything I’ve just said. I just came from the front. The Russians wiped out half of a Panzer division in less than an hour. Including more than half of my tank platoon. I know how strong they are. I’ve also seen how the SS operates. Simply, it doesn’t.” Grobel said defiantly.

“We shall see in the days to come.”

“The days to come will see us all dead!” Grobel shouted as he stood and slammed his hands on the desk, his chair falling backward. “The camp must be abandoned!”

“Take him out of here!” Stout ordered, two guards next to the door grabbed Grobel by the arms, and then threw him outside onto the ground, slamming the door shut and locking it as they laughed. Stout then looked to Galanten. “So what do you have to say?”

“I have noticed a particular prisoner in this camp. One that I believe may interest the Fuhrer’s scientists.” Galanten smiled, a glint to his eyes as his mustache curled. “I would like to conduct some tests to confirm my theory.”

“Tests you say?” Stout folded his hands. “Which prisoner?”

“Ivanovich.” Galanten stroked he bearded chin. “He has been here four months, with the same rations and work as the others, yet shows no sign of physical deterioration.”

“Do you believe that such research could aid the cause?” Stout asked, his simple question seeming code-like.

“I believe “our” cause could be aided greatly.” Galanten replied in a similar fashion.

“Then you have my permission to run whatever tests you deem appropriate.” Stout said, shifting his gaze to the executioner. “And you?”

“It might prove beneficial to the doctor’s research if we sent him into the chambers. If he survives, then we have yet another reason for the research. Though, it would take place after the doctor’s initial tests, of course.”

“I believe that’s an excellent idea.” Galanten agreed. “Would show us exactly what we’re dealing with.”

“Agreed.” Stout finalized as he turned his gaze to the guard. “And you?”

“I have concerns regarding the same man.” The guard spoke. “He’s a troublemaker. He needs to be put down.”

“Well if he dies in the chambers, we won’t have to worry about him anymore, will we?” The executioner smirked, and looked back to Stout.

“Sergeant,” Stout addressed the guard, “If you don’t mind?” he pointed to the door.

“Oh, of course.” The guard stood, the door was opened, and he left with the door being shut behind him.

“So, have we confirmed that Ivanovich is indeed of the Covens?” Stout asked.

“Not yet. Blood testing should confirm whether or not he is though.” Galanten said, looking to the executioner.

“And either way we’ll send him through the chambers. If he survives that, we simply execute him another way.” The executioner smirked.

“Once the tests are complete, send a blood sample to Lucian. Then get rid of him” Stout grinned devilishly and looked between the two as they nodded in unison.

They had their secrets, just as Exander did…

The Camp: Introduction

2007-12-07T05:50:18Z

The Camp: Introduction

The sky was dark, the sun blocked out by a dark grey cloud. -A cloud of human ash. The furnaces were fired, the flames flaring around the bodies of the poor souls executed in the camp, consuming them as a dragon feasting on a knight.

The Germans had been executing many more in this camp, as of late. The Russians were on their way, and the Nazis had begun enacting their “Final Solution”.

Very few of the camp’s occupants dared venture outside, and if they did, they held bits of cloth over their noses and mouths to avoid inhaling their former comrades. Only one young man dared breathe normally and unrestricted.

-A young Russian soldier, by the name of Alexander Ivanovich.

Exander, as his friends knew him, was no more than average looking for a Russian soldier. He had brown hair that was cut short, brown eyes, and slightly pale skin. He wore a cold weather uniform, an officer’s cap, and stovetop boots. His height of nearly six feet and weight of nearly 180 pounds had not changed, in the four months he’d been in the camp. Something the guards thought to be somewhat curious.

Exander currently stood midway between two watchtowers, the tops of his boots snug against the kill wire. He looked down at his boot encased feet, noting the wire and the three yards of open ground beyond it. The high fence, topped with barbed wire, that was three yards ahead of him was all that stood between the prisoners and freedom.

Well, the fence…and the guards…and the machineguns in the watchtowers… But yes, that was all that was between them and a relative amount of freedom.

His head tilted forward, Exander glanced from the corners of his eyes at the watchtowers – first the one on his left, then the one to his right. The guards looked at him, brows furrowed, their suspicions about them. The machine-gunner in the tower to his right readied his Mg-42, and aimed at him, as if daring him to make a move. The secondary guard in the tower to his left loaded a round into the chamber of his bolt action rifle, and a guard patrolling the exterior of the fence stopped and did the same.

Exander smirked, raised his head, looked between the towers and all the guards, and laughed to himself, then laughed aloud, slapped his forehead with his right hand, and plopped down on the ash covered ground. The guard outside the fence quipped a brow, rolled his eyes, shook his head, and went back to his patrol route.

The rifleman in the tower to Exander’s left relaxed, went back to looking out over the camp, and then not seeing any other potential problems looked back out toward the woods. The machine-gunner in the tower on the right relaxed a bit as well, but kept a close eye on Exander. The gunner had an itchy trigger finger, and had been taken off the front lines six months ago.

Exander could feel the gunner’s eyes on him as he sat in front of the wire, legs crossed Indian-style. Exander glanced up at the gunner, a dissatisfied huff passing across his lips. The gunner glared at him, and Exander rolled his eyes, focusing back on the wire in front of him. He plucked the wire, and indeed, it was wound tight, the entire length vibrating from one single pluck. It stopped vibrating, and he plucked it again. There was nothing much more to do, except wait for his turn in the chambers.