Author's note: Well, after writing so many characters for Underworld this week, my muse finally returned to Lucian. And wrote a darker, quite angst ficlet. My muse has been in such a mood for angst, which is probably why she's doing ficlets, not Covenant as it is happy. And she doesn't want to write chapters at the moment anyway. Moving on, hope ya'll enjoy and please review!
Disclaimer: I do not own Lucian, Pierce, Raze, Viktor, Sonja, or anybody else in this, ok? They all belong to Danny McBride, Kevin Grevioux, Len Wiseman, and Sony. No copyright infringement intended. Please do not sue. Savvy?
WHERE IT ALL BEGAN
It was pouring rain as the pack entered the supposedly abandoned building now owned by Ziodex Industries. The patter against the windows echoed as they walked up the stairs, lagging behind the man who was obviously the leader of the rough looking bunch.
Strange that such a seemingly small, dignified looking man would be their leader, but gray, stormy eyes set in a grim face framed by long, dark hair and a thick dark beard showed that intelligence was his main strength. But his unassuming frame was carried with a regal bearing that hinted at a vicious ferocity no being with sense would want to be the target of.
If intelligence was his main strength, it was clear why the other men watched him with hesitancy, making certain they did not provoke his wrath.
Tonight, he was in an unpredictable mood, a very rare mood. It unnerved the group and worried the large, African man who had dared to be the closest to the leader. All of them wondered why the brooding male was so tense and edgy at the moment, for there were no threats to them for miles.
That was what the problem was.
Lucian wanted a threat. He wanted to rip a vampire's throat from its neck, he wanted to make a few Death Dealers choke on their own blood, to feed stuff their hearts down each other's mouths. It was a blood moon tonight in his eyes.
He was home. He was back to the land that made his blood boil and his heart race as a familiar, burning rage began to break through his calm exterior usually kept so in place none of his men ever could tell if he was angry or pleased, or just numb.
But now, they were not even sure he was aware of their presence, and they decided best not to approach him. They had witnessed this mood rarely, but those periods were well remembered. He had never hurt them. There had been no need.
The growl and dilated eyes were all they needed.
The pack knew there was something driving Lucian, something none of them had. It was personal for all of them, most had lost someone dear to the vampires. For those who hadn't, they had mourned for their fellow lycans that had suffered loss. But it was different for Lucian.
Lucian. The first leader of the lycans clan since their enslavement. Supposedly dead since 1409, six centuries ago. The only lycan whose name itself made even Death Dealers tense up, perhaps tremble ever so slightly. He was a living legend and a walking ghost.
And his kind's only hope of defeating the vampires for good, their only hope of ever achieving true freedom.
The vampires still feared and despised him, even though they believed he was dead. The lycans loved him, followed him with utter loyalty. And humans, if they ever got the pleasure, knew not to mess with him.
Right now, not a soul that possessed sanity would do that.
Lucian stopped when they reached the top floor of the damp, deserted building and without turning, gave his men their orders, voice crisp, curt, and cold. He did not pay them any attention when they broke up, each going to separate parts, taking what they needed, destroying what they did not. He walked towards a window, breaking it easily with his gloved hand.
Pierce, who had paused before heading off to carry out his own part, turned at the sound of shattering glass, but all he saw was Lucian's boots as the alpha climbed out and up, swiftly tossing himself over the edge of the building onto the roof.
The rain seemed to fall heavier on him, his drying hair once again thoroughly soaked as he stared out at the Budapest skyline, at the angry clouds above his head that were as threatening as the alpha lycan's eyes. Not a sign of the sun in the sky, in fact it was almost dark enough to be night. But Lucian knew that the bright globe was there, waiting behind the clouds that offered only an illusion of protection from the UV rays.
He had seen many vampires burn on cloudy, stormy days. He had seen their bodies smoke even as rain fell on them, the water unable to squelch the scolding heat that turned their muscles and organs and flesh to ash. He had kicked what little was left of them, scattering the dust in the wind and on the muddy ground.
It had never brought much satisfaction to him. He was losing even that. Everything was numbing, every part of him, every fiber was losing its ability to feel anything anymore. Give him a few more years, probably no more than a decade or two, and he would not even feel his hatred. All that would drive him would be his need to see Viktor pay, and to make certain his species was free at last. And the longing to finally have his peace.
His pack was right. There was something else driving him, something stronger and deeper in his soul that what the others had ever known. It was beyond personal for him.
It was a need. A craving. It was this numbness that drove him to end this raging conflict, this fierce yearning to see Viktor's house crumble, as well as the other Elders, and their wretched Council. And it was the promise of finally seeing his pack be able to survive without him, the desperate hope that perhaps he could finally find his love again.
Lucian stared out, eyes unseeing. He was not quite home yet. Home was approximately an hour away from here, if he remembered correctly. Ordoghaz. The place he had been born in, the place he had been raised in, the place most of him had dead in. But in truth, that was only a mockery of a home.
Ignoring the drops of water falling into his eyes, Lucian stared up, stared up as if he were looking at Heaven, doing something he had seen the humans do before. He wondered if it did exist, if some sort of afterlife did exist on some plane, some level.
Because that was his home. That was where his true home was now. He wanted to find again so desperately.
He wanted to make those that took it away from him pay. He wanted to see their blood soak the dark, ominous room in which his home had been destroyed. Wanted to paint its walls with their fluids, to hang their remains along the ceiling, wanted to see nothing but crimson stain the floor.
That familiar fire, always fueled so strongly when he was so close to Ordoghaz, was almost uncontrollable. His body was tense, his breath heavy, his claws starting to form. He knew he eyes had begun to change, but he hardly cared.
He still could feel some things. He could still feel loss. He could still feel sorrow. He could still feel hatred, and loathing, and the thirst for revenge that now made his pulse sing in his ears. He could still feel the sharp sting in his heart that was the only good thing he felt anymore.
Walking steadily to the edge, Lucian looked down, seeing the pack was outside, done and waiting for their leader yet again. Carelessly, he stepped to the edge, his eyes peering around one last time. He remembered seeing humans throw themselves from rooftops.
He wondered if he would even feel sore after an hour should he land on his back if he jumped. He wondered, would his head hit the pavement at just the right angle, smashing his brains to irreparable mush. He mulled over these thoughts with a strange detachment, unconcerned and almost clinical.
Without any worries, he leapt, feeling the momentary sense of freedom as he fall through the air, plummeting to the concrete below. He landed without barely a bend of the knee, leading his pack away from the house as flames began to engulf it and flicker outside the windows.
Not one word came from his mouth, or from anyone behind him.
The vampires would think this was just some local thuggish group of raunchy lycans, a random attack with no motive but to cause their kind an annoyance.
They would never suspect it had a bigger purpose. They would never suspect their own weapons would help Lucian's pack to put an end to a few Death Dealers' lives. They would never suspect their greatest enemy had been behind the attack.
They did not suspect that the very virus that had taken hold of the common ancestor would be the undoing of the three Elders.
They would never suspect that it would all end where it had begun.