VIII

VIII

Infropellium expectavit co meum et mizellium," the choirboys sang.

The opening hymn was lovely. The presiding priest swung a censer as he walked down the aisle. A line of religious officials in hooded habits entered after him. To accommodate to the size of the church, only a limited number of powerful authorities attended—the choirboys, a few guards, and the religious officials already filled up the underground chapel of Saint Mark.

"Et satin qi simul mecham contristartel concertim micsivi invini," the priest said.

While the priest recited, the pope ascended the stairs to the altar and lowered his hooded head. After a brief silence, the coffin with the holy body of Saint Mark was placed on top of the altar.

Once that was complete, the bishop of Venice read the Holy Scripture. "Lord have mercy; Christ have mercy. We live in the shadow of death and ask for forgiveness. God have mercy on us ... Amen."

The pope stood and was escorted down the steps by one of the priests. Normally, the Eucharist would happen next, but not for this Mass. It was rumored that the pope hated giving the Sacrament and had once fainted from anxiety during the ritual. In the peculiar silence, the young pope moved toward the door.

"Alessandro XVIII, three hundred ninety-ninth Pope of the Vatican—I came to see you!" a voice roared.The voice belonged to a small boy.

The crowd focused their attention on one of the choirboys who had risen to his feet.

From underneath his ornate smock, he produced an axe. "I am Endre—Count of Zagrev! You are but a lowly ape that dares to oppose me! I shall have your head!" he screamed.

The pope's guards were the best soldiers in the world. They all drew guns and on the assailant, but their human brains could not catch up to a Methuselah's speed. The count went into haste mode, jumped over the astonished crowd, and brought the axe down onto the motionless pope.

KLANGI

Endre s axe ricocheted off the helpless victim and he went flying into a stained glass window. His face was covered with mosaic glass. He sneered in disgust.

"You're not the pope!" he screamed.

The pope's hood fell back. A woman with ivory hair held a thick saber above her head.

The count, recognizing her brass-colored eyes, gaped. "Astharoshe Asran! How?" Endre squealed.

"Endre Kourza, in the name of the Father, the Son, and Holy Spirit, you are under arrest for four counts of murder," said the bishop ofVenice.The bishop, or rather, the man impersonating him, pushed thick glasses up his nose.

"Resistance is futile. Surrender!" Asthe yelled.

"How did you find me so quickly?! Where is the real pope?" Endre demanded.

Abel cleared his throat and held up a finger as if he were about to lecture an unruly student. "We found a memo inside Marco Colleoni's safe. You took his daughter hostage, so he faked the authentication of Saint Mark's holy body for her return. Once we discovered that, we sent the pope home. The Mass was canceled. The priests here are all members of AX Agency. I strongly suggest that you drop your weapon and surrender, 'Abel said.

"A relative found the memo when they were sorting through the family will," Asthe continued. "If you hadn't killed so excessively, we would have never known. But your bloodlust was your downfall. You cannot get away this time."

The priests pulled rifles from under their robes. In eerie unison, they cocked their weapons.

Endre snickered, then laughed. "Surrender?! I don't think so, little girl."

Asthe grabbed Abel. "Duck!"

The count's axe landed right where Abel's head had been. "You want a piece of me, Astharoshe? Come and get it!" Endre screamed.

The old vampire snatched up one of the choirboys and took cover. Asthe chased after him.

"Protect the children!" Abel yelled to the AX agents.

Endre jumped on top of the fake remains and hit a secret switch on the base of the altar. The pedestal, weighing almost a ton, fell through a trapdoor that led to a secret chamber beneath the underground chapel. It fell several yards into an Armageddon tunnel — an escape route designed to hide people when Armageddon came — and Endre rode atop the coffin with the choirboy in his grasp.

"You're not getting away!" Asthe shouted.

The tunnel, lined with reflective paint, glowed an eerie white. The shadows of the Methuselah running through the white space in haste mode were too blurry for the naked human eye.

Asthe gained slight ground. "It's over, Endre!" she yelled. She struck her sword at the boyish vampire's back, aiming to avoid the child in his arms.

KLANG!

"What?" Asthe said, befuddled.

Before the sword could reach her foe, it was deflected. Eight silver orbs were orbiting the vampire as he fled.

"Aegis shield!" she lamented.

"Drop your weapon, Duchess of Odessa!" Pointing his sharp fingernails at the now-unconscious boy's throat, Endre turned around and dropped out of haste mode. "This is the second time, Astharoshe. No, if I count the time I slaughtered your partner, that would make it three times, right? If you want to spare the boy's life, throw down your sword," he said.

Rage burned deep inside her. She was almost blinded by it; the faces of the dead echoed in her mind's eye. It didn't take long for Asthe to make the decision to drop her sword.

"How dare you interrupt me during my finest hour?You will pay for that," Endre growled. He picked the sword up off the stone floor, and then licked sharp blade. "This wasn't my only plan, little girl. It was merely the most direct method. Still, the pope will die— eventually. I've made arrangements for that already." He cackled.

"If you're talking about the tide gate, others have taken care of that. This city will not drown." She smiled.

"Hah! So you knew about that too!"he exclaimed, impressed. "Well, well; I guess I underestimated a little girl like you. But it ends here. The punishment for interfering with my grand schemes is quite severe, Astharoshe." He glowered.

"Endre, you're wrong on two counts. First, it doesn't end here, but you're too stupid to know it," she hissed. "And your grand scheme? It's crap, you perverted freak. You should stop boasting about ideas you can't make real!"

It had been a long time since anyone had dared to speak to Endre that way. After all, he was vampire nobility. Criminally insane vampire nobility. "What did you say to me?" he stammered.

Asthe continued to lambaste him. "You're such an insolent coward and so full of crap. On top of that, you kill the Terran for fun, like a barbarian, but you pretend to be a sophisticated aristocrat. You're not cultured. You're a hillbilly on a power trip. You perverted freak; how can your little brain come up with grand schemes? Don't make me laugh. I'm embarrassed to even talk to trash like you," Asthe said.

His angelic face went white for a moment, then reddened, and finally turned blue. .

"You little bitch!" Endre screamed.

The silver aegis orbs clanked to the ground. The old vampire raised his sword. "What do you know? I'm different! I'm not like the others! They didn't accept me! That's why I—!" he bellowed and then stopped short, embarrassed.

He aimed straight at Asthe's heart and then launched himself forward. "Die, bitch!"

The echo of gunfire throughout the tunnel wasn't that loud, but the bullets were enough in number to drop the boyish vampire in mid-flight.

Endre's body bent like a boomerang; first he slammed against the wall, then bounced along the floor. Grabbing his stomach, the count squirmed and shook. A silver bullet—a weapon all Methuselah despise—had burrowed through his abdomen and lodged into his spine.

"Terran ...! You fooled me!" Endre yelled at the silver-haired priest standing behind Asthe.

"I didn't think he'd fall for such a lame trick," Asthe said as she collected the aegis orbs on the ground.

The one problem with that defense system was that the protective shield prevented the user from attacking. It was a fatal flaw. "Good job, Father."

Abel was panting. He rested his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. "You made me sweat a little.You guys were way ahead of me," he joked. "And we might have discussed our plan beforehand. I'm not such a good marksman, you know."

His facial expression was so funny that Asthe cracked up. "Well, I was really worried about you, partner!"

"There you go again, saying 'partner' whenever it suits you." Abel paused, then blinked adorably. "Hey! This is the first time I've seen you laugh, Asthe. You're so beautiful." He'd just blurted it out; it sounded so sincere, almost worshipful.

"Idiot," she replied, unable to hide her blush.

Mission accomplished. She just had to take Endre back to her homeland. She could finally leave this damned country. Everyone in the Empire would embrace her as she returned in triumph.

But ...

"Thank you for everything, Abel," she said softly.

"You're welcome." He bowed, looking as goofy as ever.

Asthe squinted at him. She probably wouldn't ever see him again. As a Terran, he would probably live for only another fifty years. Asthe studied him intently so as to remember his face. For Asthe — who would live at least three hundred more years — fifty years was nothing. Even if she stepped into the Outers' world again later, she probably wouldn't recognize his aged face.

"Please remember me," she requested. "I won't remember any faces of the lowly and feeble Terran. That's why you need to call out for me, next time we meet, okay? One day, when the Empire takes over the world, I'll hire you to remove fleas from my cat or something."

"I look forward to that," Abel said, his eyes twinkling. He smiled as he reached for her. He stroked his thumb over her fingers, and then brought the back of her delicate hand up to his lips for a chaste kiss.