Dark Sins, Part 3: Allegreto

by Lady Scarlet-Une

Interlude

The killing was not clean. With a primal yell, Duo slashed through another body and continued
his headlong sprint down the dark tunnel. He could hear the cries of his men all around him, their
sreams echoing off the stone walls and bouncing around him. He cursed as he slipped in a puddle
of blood, but quickly righted himself. This was too important for him to fail at.

Finally, after many curves and fallen bodies, he reached the tall wooden door of the innermost
chamber. Flinging it open, he screamed and rushed inside, only to be met with cold silence. His
eyes made out a dim figure lying atop a marble slab amdist the rubble. Dread slowed his
footsteps, but could not stop him.

"Relena."

With one trembling hand, Duo reached out and gently caressed her cheek. So cold.

"Oh, Relena."

A hand shot up and grabbed his wrist. Relena opened her eyes and smiled.

"Duo," she purred, the name a wicked caress on her lips. Duo swallowed convulsively as she
brought his hand to her mouth and daintily licked his palm. " have been waiting for you, Duo. It
has been lonely here." She raised her eyes to his.

"Join me?"

Quick as lightning, her other hand snaked out and grabbed him by the neck. Bringing him down
to eye level, she slit her eyes and smiled. Her eyeteeth extended and glistened in the weak light.

Duo screamed.

*~*~*~*

The sweat poured off his body as he stared around his bed chamber dazedly. The vestiges of
his dream came back to him suddenly. Feeling sick, he ran to the wash basin and wretched up his
dinner. Leaning back against the wall, he slid to the floor and put his head in his hands.

'Just a dream. Just a dream.'

But the feeling of dread would not go away.

***

Chapter 6

The lights in the convent began to die one by one around eight in the evening. As he did every evening,
Father Wilhem systematically checked all the window latches and door locks before retiring to bed. It may
have been a house of God, but religion did not always triumph in the face of greed or everyday evil. However,
unlike all other nights, a faint sound caught his attention just as he was about to bolt the chapel door.
Frowning slightly, he opened the door and peered into the dark night. The slight moaning caught his attention
once more, and he looked into the shadows to his left.

"Father..."

Father Wilhem took a hesitant step. It was late, and who knew what sort of consequences his action would
invite. However, he was a priest, and it was his sworn duty to help the needy. This decided, he stepped out
into the darkness in search of the weak voice.

"My son, are you in need of assistance?" A faint groaning was his reply. Following the sound of the voice, he
rounded the corner and came upon a fallen figure. Kneeling down, he gently turned over the ragged figure
and felt his forehead. It was cold to the touch.

"Please help me," the pale man whispered through dry lips. Helping the man up, Father Wilhem put the
beggar's arm around his shoulder and lead him towards the chapel door.

"Have no fear, brother. I will tend to your wounds. The night is cold, and you are in no condition to
withstand it." They reached the doorway, and Father Wilhem was momentarily taken aback by the man's
reluctance to walk in. Noting the pained look on the beggar's face, Father Wilhem smiled and shook his head.
"No need to feel ashamed, brother. This is a house of God that welcomes all."

An odd smile crossed the man's face and a chill ran down Father Wilhem's spine. His smile faltered, but the
man continued forward before the priest could fully comprehend his doubts. They walked up the center aisle,
Father Wilhem leading the man to the rectory door located towards the right of the dais. The stranger paused
abruptly right in front of the altar.

"Please, Father, I fear that my illness is to severe and that I will not live through the night," he breathed.

"Nonsense -"

The man turned to him and cut him off in mid-sentence. "Pardon my impertinence, sir, but in case my fears
are true, would you please allow me a last favor? A memory to take with me when I journey towards the holy
gates."

Father Wilhem hesitated. Something about this man was exceedingly odd, and his uneasiness had only
grown with each passing moment. However, the beggar did look horribly sick. His skin was pale and clammy,
his eyes were sunken in, and his cheekbones stuck out in pronounced angles. Anxious but duty-bound, Father
Wilhem nodded his head in acquiescence. The man smiled wanly and pointed to the large, gold cross standing
on the altar.

"Would you please allow me to hold that cross, Father?"

Slowly, Father Wilhem helped the man to a seating position on the front pew. He retrieved the cross and
began walking back down the steps of the dais. Each step closer to the sickly stranger increased his sense of
foreboding, but such irrationality made no sense given the logic of the situation. Hesitantly, he handed the
cross to the man and took a step back. The invalid stared at it for a few seconds. He fingered the engraving.

"It's beautiful," he whispered reverently. Father Wilhem offered a weak smile.

"Yes. It's one of the defining symbols of this convent. The Bishop himself bestowed it unto us almost thirty
years ago."

The stranger took several moments to reply, all the while tracing the curlicue patterns on the cross. "Did
you know that, in ancient lore, the main cross of the church was the embodiment of all the holiness found
within the building?"

Father Wilhem's mouth went dry. "I...I did not know of that," he whispered.

"Yes. It is the source of all the church's sanctity. It radiates God, so to speak."

Father Wilhem could feel the sweat bead on his forehead. "Well, yes, but that is simply lore, I am sure. Are
you done with that?" he stammered out. "It is quite valuable and should be placed back on the altar." He
made a motion to take the cross away, but his hand was knocked away. The invalid looked up and stared at
the priest. His eyes were pitch black.

"I'm afraid it is not simply hearsay, Father." Suddenly he did not seem as frail or as sickly as he had been
moments earlier. Father Wilhem stumbled back as the man's eyes seemingly began to glow.

"What in God's name -"

The man stood up, his form no longer hunched and pained. Holding the cross in both hands, he snapped it
in two. The candles around the altar flickered wildly.

"Do you know what else, my good Father?" he sneered, his voice reverberating across the chapel. Father
Wilhem took several steps back before his heels hit the first step of the dais. He fell onto his back and stared
up at the man in fear. "As priest, you are the sole catalyst for this cross. Through you and your position, the
cross manifolds its energy and spreads. Given all this, do you know what happens when both the cross and
the priest are gone, Father?"

"Dear God," Father Wilhem whispered. The man leaned down over the priest's frozen body.

"The church dies."

Father Wilhem screamed as one of the broken cross stems was plunged into his neck. He gurgled and
clutched his throat, only to mercifully die the next moment. Fueled by the force of the beggar's kick, Father
Wilhem's head flew across the room and smacked into the wall. Instantly, the candles flickered out and the
crucifix hanging behind the altar fell and smashed into pieces on the cold tile. The beggar delicately drew one
finger through the pool of blood around the body. He sucked it clean.

Outside the rectory, dark shapes disengaged themselves from the shadow and began to make their way
towards the darkened chapel entrance. The figures pooled into the church and silently waited for their
instructions. The gaunt beggar glanced up from his newfound meal.

"Get the girl. It is important that she remains relatively unharmed." He paused. "The treatment the rest
receive is up to you. Burn the place down afterwards." Turning back around, he reached down and began to
lap up the blood by handfuls.

The silent figures spread throughout the convent, methodically checking each and every room. The first
bedroom revealed a pair of sleeping nuns. The intruder closed the door behind him and gazed down at the
two women. He smiled at one of them. Despite his inhuman state, he was still able to appreciate beauty. He
gave the other figure a cursory glance before cleanly breaking her neck with one hand. Turning back to the
other woman, he sat on the edge of her bed and began to play with her hair. She awoke with a start and
whimpered.

"Shhh," he whispered. "There there."

Sister Meredith finally began to scream when he began to rape her. By the time he got around to killing her,
she had passed out. All in all, the job had been quite pleasant. Her blood was rather tasty as well.

Down the hall, Relena had awoken upon hearing Sister Meredith's cry. Bolting out of bed, she donned her
robe, but hesitated a few steps before her chamber door. Something felt immensely wrong. The door burst
open before she could pinpoint the source of her uneasiness. Two men stood in her doorway.

"What is the meaning of this?" she stuttered. Neither man answered. Instead, one strode forward and
backhanded her across the face. Relena fell to the floor, hitting her head hard against the stone floor. Her last
vision before she completely blacked out was the sight of the two men kneeling beside her.

The convent burned brightly that night.

Chapter 7

The warm light flickered past the cracks in the curtains. Standing outside in the snow, Trowa stared at the
small house once more and did what he always did when faced with this situation: he prayed. All in all, such
behavior was quite odd given the circumstances of his position. The act alone constituted blasphemy. Yet
despite the religious or technical complications, Trowa still closed his eyes and uttered a silent prayer before
entering the house every single time. It was a protective rite. Not for him, though. Personally, he viewed
himself beyond any sort of saving redemption. He would walk through the gates of hell with the rest of his
brethren when his time came. Instead, it was for the occupant of that small, cozy cottage. He prayed for the
preservation of her purity. He prayed for her bright smiles and laughter. Most of all, he prayed for her
protection from both others and him.

Taking a deep breath, he reached for the door knob and entered the house.

Across the room, Hilde Schbeiker looked up from her sewing and smiled. The fact that he came through the
door every visit amused her to no end. She knew what he was capable of. Her smile disappeared as he
wordlessly closed the door and stared at her. Neither one moved.

"Trowa. It has been awhile." She fiddled nervously with her colored sewing threads.

"Yes." Slowly, he began to make his way across the room. Sitting gingerly on the couch beside her, he took
her sewing and placed it on the table. He gently took her hand. "Hilde. I have missed you," he whispered
softly, his gaze not quite meeting her eyes.

Hilde closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she freed her hand from his and put it on his cheek. "Oh
Trowa. How I have missed you," she whispered back fervently. She leaned forward and kissed him on the
lips. Trowa responded to her advance, simultaneously wrapping his arms around her. They laid down onto the
soft cushions.

Outside, a silent figure slowly disengaged itself from the trees near the house. She had taken special pains
in concealing her presence. The extent of this vampyre's power was legendary, eclipsed only by the High
Emperor himself. Needless to say, Trowa would not have taken the idea of being followed too kindly.

Rising into the night, the dark form began to swiftly fly through the air towards the royal castle. The
Mistress would be eager to hear of tonight's events.

*~*~*~*~*~

After the passion, they laid in bed and talked. It had been almost two months since they had last seen each
other. Trowa told her of the recent problems at court, Hilde immediately understanding his frustration through
the slight nuances in his voice. Conversely, Hilde talked of her teaching at the local school and her sadness
over the recent death of her father, the former local minister. Both held each other tightly, each aware of the
time constraint. He would have to leave soon.

"My heart breaks every time you leave."

"Yes. But I cannot exactly stay, can I?" There was an odd note in his voice. "And you cannot go back with
me."

It was more of a question than a statement, a reiteration of a familiar argument. Both knew that such a
thing would never be possible. Despite her love for him, Hilde had been raised under God and was determined
to stay with him. God would forgive her her love, but he would never forgive the complete concession of her
soul. She would never become a vampire and he could never be anything but.

"No, I cannot."

And so they laid in bed and held each other, watching the minutes disappear. Finally, Trowa released her
and stood up.

"When will I see you again?"

He frowned and shook his head. "I do not know. I am sorry for that, but with things being the way they
are..."

"Of course, I understand," she replied, her voice not trembling in the least despite the tears in her eyes.
Bending down, he kissed her one last time and gently brushed the tears aside with his fingertips.

"I will come back to you, Hilde."

She smiled at him tremulously. "I know."

They parted shortly afterwards. Flying through the night, Trowa took the time to clear his head of clinging
emotions. Sentimentality was a sign of weakness. The High Lord needed a clear-headed advisor, not an
incompetent love fool.

Alighting onto the royal library balcony, Trowa stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He sensed
the presence immediately.

"Rough night?"

He turned and looked expressionlessly at the figure in the armchair. "Are not all nights like that for men
such as we?" he replied.

Heero inclined his head in agreement. "Of course, Trowa." They silently looked at each other for several
moments before Heero broke eye contact.

"It would probably be best to go to your quarters now, Trowa. They are some distance away and the sun
will be up soon."

"Of course, my lord. I would suggest the same of you."

"Shortly."

Trowa bowed and exited the room. Heero remained sitting awhile longer, absently fingering the
handkerchief in his pocket. He had been feeling decidedly odd all night. Muttering a small oath, he rose and
began to make his way towards his room. He would check on Relena tomorrow. For now, it was too late in
the night for him to do anything.

The night had felt decidedly odd indeed.

Chapter 8

The cry went up an hour before dawn. The local constable had spotted the flames in the sky moments
before and had immediately ran to obtain assistance. Shortly afterwards, the fire brigade was roused from
their beds. The first bystanders began to mill around the ruined wreckage of the convent an hour later. The
crowd was hushed and ashen, unwilling to break the uneasy silence that the ruins seemed to command. The
quiet was finally broken by a loud piercing scream.

"Anna!"

All eyes turned to a woman, wrapped in a night robe and shawl, as she pushed her way to the front of the
crowd and began wailing.

"Her sister was the Prioress," murmured one bystander somewhere in front of Duo. Duo paid the gossiper
or spectacle no heed. Instead, his eyes were glued to the broken convent.

'I knew there was something wrong. I just knew it,' he thought dully. 'Oh God, Relena.'

"She must have survived!" the bawling woman yelled at one of the constables. The thin man nervously
shook his head.

"I...I do not think there were any survivors at all," he stammered back. The woman spun around and
slapped him across the face.

"You lie!" she yelled. "You idiots, how dare you let this happen! Incompetents!" She broke off and fell to
the street. "Fools." A pale man in a night shirt broke off from the crowd and began to gently coax her away.
Duo watched without comprehension, his mind still reeling in horror from the sight before him and the horrible
sense of loss.

'Relena.'

***

Petrov stared uneasily into the darkness surrounding their small caravan. He had been feeling uneasy
throughout the whole journey. His comrades had merely laughed at him, but Petrov knew something was not
right with the night. Drawing his cloak up around him, he stared at the trees and did his best to restrain his
imagination.

A rustle to his left startled him. Twirling around, he lifted his sword and stared cautiously at the shadows.
"Who goes there?"

A thin figure emerged from the woods. "Tis only me, Petrov."

"Alexi," he breathed in relief. Quickly sheathing his sword, he made his way towards the other man with his
hand outstretched. "Ah, guard duty has been so -" He stopped when he noticed how pale his friend's
expression was. "Alexi?"

"I...I..." A whooshing sound filled the air and Alexi fell down face forward. Upon spying the arrow in the
man's back, Petrov slowly began to back away. "Oh no."

The shadows began to break apart as men swarmed from the forest. Petrov managed one strangled
scream before his body was shot full of arrows.

"Damn." A tall, blond figure strode out of the forest and scowled down at the body at her feet. Swearing,
she viciously kicked its side. "I hope no one heard that."

"Captain? Do we proceed?"

Dorothy Catalonia turned around and sighed. "What other choice do we have, Mitchell?" Turning around,
her eyes narrowed as she stared at the lights of the Russian encampment. "If we are lucky, we may be able
to kill a real vampire tonight instead of these halflings." She nodded curtly. "Let's go."

A quarter of a mile away, Relena awoke for the first time in three days. Sitting up, she groggily surveyed her
prison. She began to panic once the memories of her capture surfaced. Shaking, she crawled across the cabin
towards the door. Upon finding it firmly locked, she swore, flushed and quickly crossed herself in shame, and
then began to viciously pound against the door with her hand.

"Let me out! Let me out!" No response. Sinking against the door, she propped her head up on her knees.
"What now?" she muttered bleakly.

Her question was met with a horrified scream. Her head shot up and she quickly tried to peer through the
thick bars on the window. There was nothing but darkness. Another scream erupted from the quiet, followed
quickly by the sounds of clashing weapons and rebel cries. The light of sudden blazes began to shine through
the window as the wagons around hers began to burn. She began to cough, the smoke from the outside
blazes tearing up her eyes and clogging her throat. Glancing up, her eyes widened and she froze. The far end
of her cabin was on fire.

"Help!" she screamed, madly banging on the wooden door. Her screams were soon drowned out by the
roaring of flames. Falling to the floor, she continued to pound on the door. "Help," she croaked out.

The door suddenly broke open and a pair of hands dragged her out roughly. Relena curled up into a ball on
the ground and coughed till her stomach hurt. A shadow fell over her. She looked up to meet the cool eyes of
a tall blonde.

"Well, well. What do we have here?"

***

It was seduction, pure and simple. Gregory Fordword did not stop to consider the odd circumstances.
Neither did it occur to him that his recent affair might have any connections to his father's position as Defense
Minister on High Lord Yuy's Royal Council. Instead, he lost himself in the seductive spell and flesh of his new
lover.

"Gregory," she breathed, her body writhing beneath his. He upped his tempo, driving into her at a speed
that would have killed any human woman. The woman beneath him just moaned louder. "Gregory." Running
a hand up his body, she cupped the back of his neck and brought it down to her face.

"Suck me."

Instantly, Gregory's eyeteeth extended. Smiling ferociously, he dove for her neck and sank his teeth in.
Their sex became frenzied. Clutching the sheets, his lover began to keen from the pleasurable combination.
Her climax felt sensational and she could not help but smirk in satisfaction as Gregory groaned loudly in
release. He fell on top of her and she gave him the luxury of a few minutes of rest before pushing him off and
reaching for her dress. He turned around and lazily began to peruse her body.

"Why do you never stay, Noin?"

She smiled. "Think of it as part of the mystery, Gregory." Fastening the last catches of her gown, she
straightened her hair and gave him one last look. "Will you meet me tomorrow night, darling?" she purred.

"Of course. Same place?"

"No, not this time. I want something different." She paused thoughtfully. "Meet me in the garden."

Gregory raised an eyebrow. "In public? My dear Noin, how scandalous."

"I know."

With that, she was gone. Gregory laid his head on his pillow and fell asleep with a smile. Damn the
scandal. Damn his father. For her, he would go. And for the pleasure, he would stay.

The full moon cast a bright glow as Gregory strode through the garden in search of Noin the following night.
Catching a movement in the corner of his eye, he turned and saw the swirl of her skirts as she disappeared
behind some hedges. He smiled. The hunt was on.

He followed her through the gardens and into the maze. Her laughter would drift back to him at times,
stirring his blood. Finally, he reached the center of the maze. She stared at him seductively from her reclining
position under the gazebo, her skirts lifted to her knees. She opened her legs in a wordless invitation.
Striding forward eagerly, he reached her and began to undo the buttons on her dress. Suddenly, a chill ran up
his back.

"Someone's here," he hissed. Noin's eyes widened and she quickly drew her skirts down. Standing up,
both looked around warily, Gregory taking a defensive position in front of Noin. Several figures emerged from
the maze seconds afterward, all armed with wooden stakes.

"Do you know who you are dealing with?" Gregory demanded. One man stepped up.

"Yes we do, actually."

Recognizing the face, Gregory started. "Baron Chaikov." All the pieces suddenly fell into place. He whirled
to strike Noin down, but was drawn up short by a sharp wooden stake in the chest. Noin smiled at him cooly
as he fell. Kneeling down next to him, she leaned down and licked a bit of the trickling blood off his chest.

"It is a pity, Gregory. You were quite the devil in bed."

Standing up, she dispassionately stared down at his body for a second before motioning for Chaikov. "You
have an hour before his body begins to disintegrate. Dump it in the woods and leave the evidence as
planned."

"Yes, Mistress."

The body was quickly taken away and soon the garden was quiet.