Intermission: Freak Like Me Pt.1

Hughie was a streaking blur in the night. Over hundreds of miles he had traveled from Wallace, back unto the mainland where his nose became his guide.

His mission was simple: track down the Black Rabbit and the Mad-Dog. A task not even remotely simple in practice.

Hughie darted through the woods of Massachusetts, crossing hundreds of miles in ten to twenty minutes. The trees whipped and some were uprooted as the screech of his speed cracked with each leap, bound and stride through the woods.

He knew what the others thought of him: they all thought he was nearly as crazy as Vulcan… that he didn’t give two hot shits about his master being crumpled like a deck chair by a psychotic Superior with daddy issues. But in that much they were sorely mistaken.

Hughie’s foot snagged on a root; he felt it tear at the intense force but nonetheless, he found himself losing his balance. He fell across the wooded earth and he lost himself. But as he collided with a tree sending him into a splinter-ridden spin, his feet planted deep into the soil.

He stopped almost instantly, and as he stood covered in mud and branches the air boomed as the force of his movement caught up with him.

In a vast explosion, the soil was shorn from the ground, trees uprooted and shaved clean, the wind whipping and howling before settling back into its original rhythm.

Huginn stood there, gazing out into the great trenches and ruin of his sudden stop and gazed down in horror. His fresh Jordans were utterly ruined.

Clutching his blonde head, he dug his fingers into his short undercut as he yowled “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKING CUNT! CUNT CUNT CUNT…” He yelled cunt for some time, jumping up and down, stomping the dirt, blowing small craters into the woods. He lamented his Jordans, painstakingly acquired with his pocket money.

His fist punched through solid oak, and he contemplated his hand, wrought red with bloody splinters. He hissed, sucking on the multiple bleeding cuts as it slowly began to regenerate. “Bad boo-boo, real bad. Fuck’s sake.”

All he could think about was the battle. How he and Moonie failed to protect him, how he had failed him, the only friend he’d ever had. Charlie.

He’d been following the scent for hours; luckily it seemed that Remhilde and Artorias were not far off and even more luckily, travelling together. Hughie had no idea what they were doing outside the city, but he did know that they were far too heavy-handed to have missed the Gravestone falling.

The scent was leading back towards Wallace after all. It was he who had to warn them, catch them before someone else might… after all, all bets were off during the Festival. No one else could have gone. Hughie was the fastest; at the rate those two Slayers moved, he was the only one who could keep up with them.

But the battle continued to haunt him. It rang in his mind so loudly that Hughie began to lose balance again. Not just on his feet but deep in the twisted confines of his mind. The tick in his mind arose from its usual low drone until it became loud and fierce, plucking away at his senses. Flashes punched into his hippocampus, a long black table cold and surgical, a cruel grin on the face of a silver-faced man as he lowered his mask and of course, the Tick-Tock. Hughie was lost in the ticking, spinning out of control, falling into a clockwise pit of bad memories.

With a trembling hand, Huginn felt himself snag the silver stopwatch, dragging it across his cheek and pressing it into his ear. As the stopwatch steadied him, grounding him, the ticking in his mind subsided and the moonlit woods came back into focus.

Hughie took off again, the pressure of his sprint whistling behind him.

He barely managed to close a mile. Like a soaring jet snatched up by a giant, Hughie was suddenly wrenched by the neck out of his sprint.

Tensing up, his hands, like blades, cut into the shadowy figure which had grasped him. But his claws were simply batted away.

As the sweeping force of his movement began to flood in, another figure, wrought in gleaming black scales, spun in a powerful spin kick which cracked like a whip.

Hughie had to screw up his eyes as the screaming wave of his aftershock met with the roaring impact of the figure's kick. The two slammed into one another… before dissipating quickly, cancelling each other out.

The Scaled figure approached Hughie, still held by the neck. It was the cold, cutting grasp… of the Black Rabbit, her cartoonish mask staring into him.

“Ah… One of Charlie's little pets, how quaint.” Remhilde whispered, before relaxing her grip and letting him fall to the ground.

He gritted his fangs as the talon marks from Hilde’s bladed gauntlets slowly began to close. “Yup, nice to see you too, Rabbit.”

“Woah-ho, he’s a fast one. Your recklessness would see this forest leveled.” The other figure was without doubt, Lord Shuck, the Mad-Dog, the infamous Ashen Judge, Charlie's not so old grandfather. Hughie was hesitant to even be a little sarcastic with this one.

He’d heard the stories, but to see the legendary Dog-helmed Descendant butcher in his full regalia, it was beyond terrifying.

“Right, yeah my bad. Probably got a little bit carried away there… Sir… sorry,” Hughie admitted.

Remhilde scoffed, her tone dripping with disgust as she turned away from him. It seemed that she was still cold towards Vampires, even after Diana’s commands.

But much to Huginn’s surprise, the thick combat gloves of the Mad-Dog reached down, pulling Hughie to his feet and dusting off his dusty hoodie.

With a subtle turning of his neck, the jagged jaws of Artorias’ dog-Helm split open, revealing his handsome features, those of a man in his thirties with Charlie’s golden eyes. Strange, Hughie could have sworn he’d aged a little.

“You are one of the Raven Twins, are you not? Leader of

Charlie's Loyalists.” Artorias asked cordially.

Hughie scratched his head “Technically… yeah, Moonie is more the leader type, but uh… sure.”

Artorias glanced at the path of bent trees and sundered dirt that Hughie had left behind. The Blonde Vampire flinched a little as the Mad-Dog closed the distance, looking deep into his Grey eyes with clinically sharp pale golden orbs.

“Yes, you are a unique one, aren’t you? A Mystar, right? But you’re a lot stronger than you look to move like that, keeping up with us is no small feat for a blooded.”

Hughie had never been so unnerved by a compliment before. “What, me? Nah, I’m nothing special, just quick on my feet is all, hehe.”

Artorias tilted his head, flashing a subtle smile.

“Dispense with the niceties, old man, and get to the part where you tell us why you're following us around like some mongrel pup.” Remhilde had removed her mask as well. She truly was beautiful - all pink lips and onyx black hair, in a mature way of course - Hughie was no spring chicken himself. However, her usual roaring red rage-filled face was a little paler than usual. Her perfect posture was declined into a slight slouch, she had dark-ringed sockets which intensified her malicious golden gaze and every breath from her was a dreadful smoker’s wheeze.

Hughie scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to put it. More accurately, he was unsure of how to put it without getting his head ripped off by the god damn Black Rabbit.

“Funny you should mention, Mongrel Dogs…”

Remhilde hardened, her body stiffening as she marched towards Hughie. “The hell are you talking about? Why are you here!?”

Hughie recoiled slightly as she grasped his hoodie strings with her gleaming silver hand.

“Why are-you-here? I said, speak!” She demanded again.

Huginn winced, the hallowed shine of her silver fist disturbing him. He’d already had his fill of Holy silver for one night.

But Artorias came to his aid, shoving Remhilde off of him and pushing her back as she defied her father’s force. “Enough, Remus. Just in case that isn’t clear, it means: stand down.”

“Are you kidding me? That pissant leech is keeping something from us. Quit your stalling and tell us what’s happened, you son of a bitch!” The black rabbit cried.

“He can't tell us what he knows if you're trying to peel his skin off, girl!” The Mad Dog pointed out.

Hughie merely stood there, a tiny chibi version of himself, dwarfed by the fury of the legendary Vampire Slayer whose rage was directed towards him.

But Huginn’s turmoil was dashed when Remhilde suddenly curled into herself, a pair of sharp coughs burst from her lips alongside flecks of blood. Her knees buckled under her.

He and Artorias both swooped in, catching her as she momentarily lost consciousness.

“…the fuck off me!” Remhilde wheezed in vain.

Artorias Drake sighed long and hard. “Thank you, Son. Help me sit her up.”

They did just that, leaning her against the trunk of a wilted oak as she struggled to draw breath.

The old man saw the shocked look on Hughie's face at seeing the Rabbit in such a poor state.

“You’re wondering where we’ve been, I’d bet?” Artorias asked knowingly as he drew several corked vials from his belt, pondering which would best recover his daughter.

Huginn nodded. “I’ve seen her overexert herself before but this… she’s all floppy!”

“We have been running for a day and a night at full throttle. She did relatively well, considering her condition. Only started having trouble breathing halfway on the swim across the Atlantic. It’s an old wound but one she wears well.”

Hughie blinked in surprise. “The sitch back home is pretty fucked if I’m honest, Mr Drake. If you’d hold off on kicking my head off its hinges for any potential disrespect, just what were you two doing out here?”

Artorias let his daughter rest against the oak, dipping down into a squat. He fed Remhilde one of his alchemical brews. She took it reluctantly, still staring daggers at Hughie. Artorias rolled his eyes as he caught his own breath. “I’m no mister, young man, and neither do I share my idiot of a daughter's malice for your kind. Just call me Pops. And to answer your question…” He looked at Huginn, his eyes tired and filled with a kind of muted shame.

“We picked up a trail on the Crimson Strigga…”

“V-Valerica?” Hughie paused. “I got told she vanished from the city again after Charlie cracked?”

“Yes, I too was under that impression. But seemingly, she has been returning periodically to Wallace for reasons we know not. I’ve read those damnable Nox’s notes from before this whole shebang started, if Chip thinks he’s got it in him, sure, but this is getting out of hand. I never imagined that it would be this bad. Look, whatever she is planning to do, her pattern of travel suggests that she is collecting something. And if she is anything like the legends suggest then, whatever it is, it isn’t going to be good for any of us.

Now I have this deep feeling in my guts, the same feeling I got when I was just a little tyke, that everything that’s happened, from the murder of my son…” He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“Damn, really hit him harder than he lets on, huh?”

“…to these coordinated attacks on you and Charlie’s clan. All are connected. Through her.”

“So you tried following her!? Fucking hell you two have got a pair on you. Again, please do not burst me like a balloon on this, but - You do know what she is, right? She’s the fucking Knight of Flesh, not just a Knight of the High Council, but probably the most powerful being who freely walks this planet. She could have peeled you both like a pair of fucking bananas! And all for what, information?” Hughie pointed out.

Artorias smiled again; it was strange how they all had that same smile, just in different hues. His was knowing, slightly sarcastic.

“Nothing gets past you, eh? Well, yes, information was the excuse we told ourselves I’m sure. Let me tell you something, just between us? She’s got too much pride to ever say it aloud.” Artorias butted his thumb at his daughter, who, with her head hunched, huffing and puffing, forcing her lungs to inflate, weakly pressed her hand against her father’s arm.

“…we just wanted to take a crack at her. We are not afraid to die, Huginn; death in service to mankind is our calling and of course… That ancient bitch has it coming,” Artorias growled, flexing his tightly gloved fist.

Sometimes Hughie forgot just what Valerica had taken from them. How fierce and, frankly, insane was every person whose name was Drake. It was only natural for them to want her dead, even at the cost of their own lives.

Huginn swallowed his fear and apprehension. Steeling himself.

“The Mansion was attacked,” he started.

Artorias fixed his eyes on Hughie; Remhilde lifted her head. Sharing that same grim look.

“They all came at us at once. The Wiccan, the Wolves, the Moores, even those bloody Bible Bashers - Anyway, the point is: Charlie… he’s hurt, Pops, like worse than I’ve ever seen. We had to warn you…”

The Black Rabbit trembled, like a mother trembles when news of her son having an accident reaches her. A shaken vigor burst through her. “Chip… No… No, not this - Not again. He's - T-There’s more, isn’t there? A-Spit it out,” Remhilde forced the words out.

They had an inkling, Huginn could tell just by their looks.

“The Gravestone has fallen… the Grand Inquisitor of the High Court himself put it there. He declared for an Invocation of Conquest.”

Artorias was up on his feet instantaneously. “We need to get the fuck out of here, right now!”

Hughie jolted, spinning up to his feet and following the Mad-Dog in his march.

“But Sir-“

“Stop calling me sir and listen!” Artorias said, grasping Hughie's shoulder. “If what you say is true, then all bets are off. The Law which protects Wallace is moot, and that means the Powers That Be aren’t protecting us anymore. We are all doomed if we stay spread apart. We need to get back to the mansion now, and you better keep up, boy.”

Hughie nodded resolutely. “You say that like I would have just stayed here - Bloody hell, slow down, mate!”

Artorias’ march was halted yet again, and as he turned his face melted into a devilish grin, his eye leapt between Hughie and the still-kneeling Remhilde. “Oh but you’ll wish you had,” he said.

The Raven scratched his head for a moment, before it settled in. The lightbulb flashed in his brain and a wave of terror overcame him.

“NO, NO NO - ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT. YOU WANT ME TO-” Hughie was all the more disturbed, as Artorias’ Iron Jaws slammed shut. The golden glow of his eyes was magnified, filled with a ferocity hitherto unfelt in all of Huginn's many years. With a casual salute, he cut into the air. God, how that man moved, like a silently streaking beast - he vanished into the woods with nothing but the crackling crimson sparks which trailed his afterimage.

A silver grip dug into Hughie’s shoulder. In a complete shock of the senses, Remhilde, the Black Rabbit, Dead-slayer, Reaper of the Vampires, was throwing herself into his arms.

She grunted, her beautiful features made shallow and pale by the difficulty drawing breath.

“Get us to Charlie. Hugo - or whatever the fuck your name is,” she growled, tucking herself in his arms so that he had to carry her.

Although her arms were armoured in terrifying silver blades, her bodysuit was thin and flexible; she had a supple, round rear which felt soft in his hands along with the long black silk of her hooded cloak-

A silver fist closed on his throat, constricting, burning. “Now!” she demanded.

The Rabbit cupped her face, lurching into a hoarse cough. Hughie smelt the blood coating her silver fingers before he saw it.

Like a shell bursting free from its barrel, Huginn shot off into the woods.

Hughie ran as fast as he could through the woods. But never had he been so careful. Remhilde, she sat perfectly balanced in his arms, her haunting cartoon bunny mask shimmering as it protected her from the intense trek.

Artorias was a phantom, one Hughie chased as if in vain. It was a struggle not to crash into a hill or a creek, or anything in general.

“Fuck me! Stop dicking around!” Remhilde’s voice shouted over the noise of the wind. Hughie was confused, if only for a moment.

“You might play aloof but we all know how capable you are; that’s why I hate you fucking people. You’re all liars and frauds. Quit acting like you can’t balance out and keep up. Who are you trying to impress!?” Remhilde yelled.

Hughie’s brow tingled as his eyes locked onto the only solid afterimage of the Ashen Judge. Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock spun the hands in his mind. He was beginning to feel it again, the promising surge - the thing which had kept him and his sister on this earth, always just a call away if he ever needed it.

Whipped by Remhilde’s scolding and standing at the end of his own limits, Huginn found his focus.

He didn’t quite understand at first what was happening. He’d gone from stumbling and bounding like a sickly puppy to his legs just seeming to… take over?

Like a spinning top twirling on a length of twine, Hughie darted and hurtled through the woods with pristine grace. His balance was so immaculate that he bounced from tree to tree, no longer relying on just the dirt to carry his swift step. Remhilde remained lying in his arms, barely even knocked an inch off kilter as Huginn ran faster and moved more perfectly than he had in his entire undeath.

Not a speck of dust was unsettled by his feet and nary a tree was even chipped by his blurring dash.

Gently, the ticking seconds rolled on at the precipice of his mind and for a moment he was completely bereft of thought-

Charlie screaming, the mansion burning, the scent of dead blood and ash in the air stabbed into his mind.

His foot was snatched up by a stray rock and a surge of panic filled him as he felt himself tip, destined to collide with a hill bank.

But the silver hand stretched out, curving with the momentum and springing against Hughie’s sundered velocity. Like a reflexive cartwheel, Remhilde turned with him, the sudden spin allowing the blonde vampire to flip back into his sly sprint.

As if nothing had ever happened, Hughie collected his footing and vanished back into the woods, Remhilde flipping him a silver-taloned bird as he scoffed.

In sparks of scarlet, Artorias blurred in and out of view. He appeared galloping on all fours like a greyhound, surpassing Hughie’s understanding of speed or control.

“Hey, you’re not half-bad, Kid!” Artorias howled over the screaming bolts which enshrouded him.

“Mate, it’s gonna be my 77th birthday in three months!” Hughie cried, but Remhilde elbowed him in the stomach. He felt his guts churn, only just managing to keep on his feet.

“Pay attention!” She grunted.

Like ghosts, Hughie and Artorias haunted the woods, little more than the quiet gale which disturbed the moss and dead leaves. Over a tall ravine they both leapt high into the air. The full moon urged him onwards, painting the woodland in a sinister silver.

“AMERICUH - FUCK YEAAAAAAAAAAH!”

This exhilaration, he had forgotten how it felt. How it validated every harsh moment of his life, all of it was for this.

They had crossed past Worcester, Old Boston was just to the east… or what was left of it. Only a couple more miles and they could all cross Old Scituate and-

Huginn was knocked into a blur, sent into a spinning collision with hard, cold dirt. He had lost track of Remhilde, cupping his bloody nose as his C1 vertebra clicked back into place. “Argh, could have brought me dinner before fucking my face OUGH!” His nose snapped into its socket.

Cupping the slowly closing gashes all over his flesh, Hughie looked around while lamenting the loss of his fresh fit. “Uh… Rabbit? Miss Raaabbbbiiit? Remhilde? Please be around here somewhere. The Old man will bite my pecker off if you die on meeeeeee… Shitting hell, man.”

A silver claw snatched at his hood, making him jolt and then choke as Remhilde pulled herself up on it.

She nudged him again, damn near breaking his ribs. “Stop that, you don’t even breathe, you troglodyte,” Remhilde growled.

Hughie straightened out, helping her stand. “Oh yeah… right.”

The two of them stayed tucked in the upturned underbrush, scanning the dark woods. Artorias was nowhere to be seen. Falling leaves danced through the dense woods, gnarled roots rose and fell, parting the soil in great welts like mossy dunes of some forgotten desert.

There was a chill in the air in the anticipatory silence… and then came the voice.

“Little rabbit. Come out to playyyyyyyyyayyyy!”

Hughie’s blood ran cold as the slightly unhinged - but distinctly Irish tone called out.

“Moores.” Remhilde snarled through grinding teeth. It seemed as if she would march off into the darkness, crippled and wheezing as she was… Hughie knew that his own reaction was harebrained and impulsive, but that didn’t mean that he regretted it any less.

With a snatching hand, he caught her shoulder, meaning to pull her back, warn her off fighting in her weakened state. Yet, like a pretzel, his own arm was caught and brutally twisted by the wrist as Hilde forced him down into a tight hold.

He hissed in pain, confused and discombobulated as she pushed him down into the dirt with her foot on his head as her gooseneck wrist lock tightened, sending a roaring, shooting pain into his entire arm.

“Now don’t we feel stupid mmm? Now, in my old age, I am easily startled, so we will refrain from touching Aunt Hilde without permission again, won't we, Hugo? Or perhaps… you could consider an eternity with only one arm?” She hissed.

Hughie manically slapped the earth currently pushing into his left ear and nostril. “NOPE-NOPE-NOPE-NOPE UNCLE-UNCLE-UNCLE-UNCLE FUCK JUST LET IT GO JESUS!”

She smiled to herself maliciously, only then did she let him go. Launching back up to his feet like some shitty ninja from a 90s kung fu movie, he raised his taloned hands as if to chop any potential foes to death.

“Enemies nearby, I shall use the kung-pao chicken fist, passed down from student to master for seventeen generations!!!” he exclaimed... a lot more quietly than he planned.

Remhilde folded her arms. “You’re not even gonna acknowledge that I just planted you in the dirt like a daffodil, are you?”

Hughie waved his legendary Kung Pao Fist at her, whispering Bruce Lee’s signature high-pitched squeal before peeking at Remhilde. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

Rolling her eyes, she snatched him by the hood and violently dragged him out of the crater. “You don’t get the glory of being felled by the enemy, not until you get us back to the Mansion. You got that bird boy?”

They both paused as the Slayer winced, clutching her chest and trying to catch her breath.

“...Are you sure this is a good idea, Rabbit?” Hughie asked. She looked at him then, her expression floating between finality and irritation with a soft-serve heap of exhaustion. “Fine, bloody hell… fine I get it. Just, what’s the P.O.A? Shuck’s gone God knows where, you’re about three seconds away from keeling over into your grave, I’m a solid three out of ten when it comes to fighting Superiors with terrifying luck powers-”

“Ahhh, so that’s it, is it? You saw what the Big Bad Morrigan can do huh? Did it make you piss your pants scared? God, how I would have paid to see you snivel like a tiny piglet waiting for slaughter.”

She was so mean. Just so mean. Hughie had no idea why he liked her.

“Or not, considering what you’d see happen to your nephew, explicitly, specifically.”

It was like a chill crept up her spine. A shroud of bleakness overcame her. Hughie frowned as this was not his intention, but it often felt like she forced his hand, just like she forced Diana’s.

“Hellooo, I can hear youuuu. Come out, come on-come on, please come out. We have a lovely surprise for yoouuu. Come out and craic, no harm to be done - God’s honest truth I don’t mind telling ya!” The unpleasant shrill of the Irish tone called again. Hughie thought to himself, he had heard all of them speak during the battle. Whoever this chick was, she wasn’t any of those. Regardless, Remhilde was right, the scent was there, all arousal and bloodlust - it was the Moores, no doubt about it.

“Some of them should still be badly injured,” Hughie whispered.

Remhilde raised her dark streak of a brow. “You sure about that?”

He smiled darkly. “They tried to bushwhack us, but we gave it back with interest. Even with blood…”

“Such terrible wounds require time to regenerate.” Nodding, she knocked his shoulder again; this time he was sure his collarbone nearly dislodged. “Come on then, and don’t slouch - this will require those balls you like to keep tucked under your chin there.”

“Hey, are you sure about this? Sure you’re… still up for it, I mean?” He couldn’t have put it any more tactfully. He couldn’t safeguard her if the Rabbit killed him first, and then even if he did manage to escape without her, Lord Shuck would stomp him into a fine paste anyway.

“Just shut the fuck up will you. Yeah, I got a little moxie left in me yet. They may have delayed Pops, but he won’t be far behind. Just pay attention - Hey!” She clicked in his face, making him flinch. Damn, he was sure that there was a sparrowhawk nested over there. “Pay attention, dickhead. Or you’ll get us both killed.”

He licked his cold lips, his claws gliding across the stubbled undercut on each side of his blonde head. “Riiiight, attention, I can do that.” With a sharp claw did he click his fingers, as the flesh split and the blood flowed, he smeared it across his cheek. “M’halia.” His green mask flooded into being, the sharp beak obscuring his tight jaw as he followed the Rabbit deeper into the woods.

Together they moved through the misty wood. One might expect the usual sound of crickets or distant cars on a highway or… something, but instead there was only an unnatural silence. Huginn’s mask was special, Rudy herself had made it, long ago when Max was still kicking.

The Runes on the crimson lenses magnified his already supernatural vision. It guided his attention, amplifying that which was of interest… or a threat. There were no signs of them, all the more disturbing.

But forget all of that! This crazy bitch was moving right into the open. Marching through the brush while clutching her side, unwavering despite the very extreme danger flying directly at her.

Hughie began to shiver; there was an ire in these woods, a vampiric presence so sinister that it felt like marching into the lion’s den capped by the yawning maw of the groaning trees, sentinels in the darkness.

As they came upon a clearing, a place meant to be a relief from the rampant brambles and thorns… the presence climaxed.

Within this moonlit grove, shrouded in mist, stood a woman with a luscious mane of vibrant yellow hair.

Hughie had seen a lot of vampires in his time, from all over the god-damned place… but this woman was something else. Her pale skin was bare for all the world to see, covered in deep green paint which swirled from her respectable bust down to the caps of her knees. A gleaming ring of engraved gold entwined each of her arms and thighs.

She wore a long, slightly tattered plaid tartan skirt, which in its sorry state did little to hide her bare legs and feet… Hughie tried his best to keep his eyes from her peachy ass but hey - he was just a man.

Her top half was also bereft of clothing, though her mane of golden curls, splayed wildly, covered her form like a cloak of polished bronze feathers.

With four-inch nails, sharp as a barber's razor, she hunched by a tall sentinel, digging and cutting away at the roots and crunching them together… a pile of strange figurines organised at her… somehow clean, bare feet.

Remhilde paused only for a moment at the lip of the grove lit by the slowly waning moon. Huginn paused at her back as well, itching to tap her, whisper, do ANYTHING to get her attention. They didn't have to do it like this, they could still slip away into the night and try to escape but…

Why couldn't he get what Artorias said out of his head; why couldn't he just desert these lunatics and book it back to Charlie's side - WHERE HE BELONGED.

He found his hand stinging as it sizzled. It had grasped at Remhilde's silver-clad shoulder. The white rabbit mask slowly turned to gaze at him, the eyes filled with fury.

“We'll die.” It was all he could muster himself to say.

She hesitated but pointed at him, restraining herself from knocking him again. “As if we were ever alive. You of all people should know that. Flutter back to your master if you wish.” And then she marched into the center of the grove.

Yeah… he wasn’t falling for that bullshit; he'd vanish off into the trees, cross the bridge back into the city - and he was marching into the grove, because of course.

Painfully aware that if his sweat glands worked, they'd currently be pouring, he emerged ahead of Remhilde, who hummed quietly to herself as her cloaked form stayed tucked in his shadow.

“Oh thank the lord, I thought you'd never come out!” The blonde-haired vampire twisted up into a stand, revealing her masked face. It was long, equine, a little rough and endlessly haunting, that of a screaming horse. But with an excited flick of her wrist, her mask vanished into a puff of red.

Her smile was huge, haunting and stark white. Her face looked nothing like Hughie thought it would. Her plump cheeks, soft nose, and large burning eyes gave all the air of innocence and grace, a real rural beauty… then again, a violent splatter of dark green warpaint cast her already glowing eyes into a pit of shadow.

Her face contorted into an unnerving display of absolute joy. As if approaching a friend at the park, she sauntered over, dress and hair transforming her movements into a manic shroud of swaying.

At once, Huginn was quickly on guard, his own eyes flooding with a gleaming red, claws brandished, ready to strike and kill.

But the Girl lifted her hands in surrender. “Ooop, no no no, none of that now. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Maybe we should chat a bit before anyone makes a rash decision?” A fairy-like laugh tumbled out of her as she pranced perhaps a car-length from him and Remhilde.

Remhilde did not speak, but slapped Hughie's side, the pain ringing through his waist and launching him into a jumble of words. “STOPYOUVIOLATEDTHELAWPAY THE COURTAFINEORSERVE YOUR SENTENCEYOUR STOLENGOODSAREFORFEIT”

The Golden Girl tilted her head like a curious puppy; Remhilde’s talons tightly scraped together.

“My, you are a lively one, aren’t you? And look at that mask! Waaaaaait don't tell me, DON'T TELL ME!”

Huginn jolted.

The Golden Girl stifled a giggle as she continued, “You are one of those Raven Twins I've heard so much about. Former servant of Corvus the Usurper, now servant of the Purest Dark Sun, sired by the legendary Lord Urantus himself! Huginn, yes! Huginn! That's right, that's the one!” she squeaked with joy, sending a chill down his spine.

Although… “Even she remembers my name.”

“No one will after I bury you in an unmarked grave, Fuckin’ Bird.”

“Oh… oh my.” The Golden Girl's fangs erupted, her constantly smouldering red orbs dancing as she shrilled in delight. Like a little girl with pigtails, jumping with joy at the sight of a new pony, she stomped at a worrying speed on her root-crafted miniatures, mincing them into dust.

“IT REALLY IS THE BLACK RABBIT RIGHT THERE, RIGHT!? RIGHT!???” she screamed. Whipping her wild head rapidly between Hughie’s shoulders so she could take a look at Remhilde, she cooed to herself in a manner most unsettling. “Miss Rabbit, I am a huge and, Lord, I mean HUGE fan! I can hardly believe it’s really you, she who slaughtered the entire Corphus Clan in a single night, she who hunted down and dispatched the mighty Vampire Lady Lamia of Greece, oh-hoho and how could I forget, she who cut down ten score of the house of Quinn, women and children included, only to brutally maul our beloved Seorsia when she tried to avenge them - YOU!”

She pointed a taloned finger at Hilde who remained tightly tucked in Hughie’s shadow.

“YOU ARE A REAL PIECE OF WORK, A REAL AND WORTHY OPPONENT!!! Buíochas le Dia! This really is my lucky day!!!”

Hughie saw how amped up she was getting. There was something very off with this girl, and even more haunting was how familiar that strange feeling from her was.

Regardless, she was clearly extremely dangerous and more than a little crazy. If Remhilde wasn’t going to make any moves, maybe he could de-escalate? He just had to really lean into the crazy.

“Yeah hehe, YEAH, SHE'S A FUCKING LEGEND, RIGHT HERE IN THE FLESH. QUICK ASK FOR AN AUTOGRAPH!!!” he cried in a similarly manic tone.

The Golden Girl slapped her painted cheeks. “WAIT SERIOUSLY, YOU THINK SHE WOULD ACTUALLY GIVE ME ONE!?”

Hughie swung in at the Golden Girl's side; she smelt of wet dirt and pine needles. “HELL YEAH, WE ARE REAL CLOSE SO IT'S ALMOST GUARANTEED YOU'LL GET ONE!”

The Golden Girl ground her teeth at Hughie, her crimson eyes splitting wide as she damn near drooled with delight. “OOOOH BOY, FINALLY SOMEONE WHO GETS ME, MY NAME IS EPONA!”

“MINE'S HUGINN!”

“AYE I KNOW WE ALREADY ESTABLISHED THAT EARLIER!?”

“YOU'RE A GENIUS EPONA!!” he roared.

“YOU WANNA BE FRIENDS!?”

“ALREADY ARE!”

“THE BESTIEST OF BEST FRIENDS!?”

“OH GURL WE BFFS NOW!”

“LET'S BOTH TEAR OUT HER ENTRAILS AND FEAST UPON THEM LIKE JACKALS IN THE DESERT HAHAHAAA!!!” the Celtic Vampire, Epona, exclaimed, punching up at the air.

Hughie lowered the hands which once joined Epona in celebration, his teeth hissing as he cringed. “Oh… right, yeah maybe we should… do… not that?” he said.

Amongst the complex web of emotions which spilt from the Blonde Savage, unprecedented turmoil and confusion seemed to dominate this visage of this crazy bitch.

“W-What!? B-but I thought… no, no no no, the tearing of innards is mandatory, new best friend,” Epona growled as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “How about I rip off the ears of the little rabbit, parade her flaccid corpse through the street and then you and I can go shoot some pool, come on buddy whaddya-say!?” She made both of her thumbs and index fingers into guns and playfully shot at Hughie, who held back a sneer as he feigned a half-hearted gunshot to the chest.

“Look, Epona… I completely understand the whole Montague/Capulet thing you and the Drakes’ have going on - honestly, SLAY gurl - but maaaayyybe, and this is purely hypothetical, in this one instance we could recognise that this is a very distinct calm before the storm moment, where we should all head back to home base, lick our wounds and-” Hughie was interrupted as Epona suddenly got right up into his face. A strange rural cutie pie was before him… but not now; now she was a pale streak of painted white, like a blade with a gold mane, her face contorted into a banshee’s silent scream.

Hilde tensed as she emerged from Hughie’s shadow, preparing to strike. He outstretched his arm and shook his head. If they fought now and Hilde got caught up in it, with her injuries… she’d almost surely die.

“I’ll have a craic with Rabbit first, Bestie. She is dying, weak. Epona of the Rolling Shires’ glory shall not be tainted by her pathetic stain. And it’s such a silly little shame, isn’t it? Auntie Seorsia made such assurances of her strength…” Epona muttered in a hiss which seemed to echo with the woods around them. Only further did she transform. Her body quaked with an otherworldly aura, her presence in this place of wood and soil was domineering beyond measure.

As the leaves began to quake and Hughie drew back, Remhilde’s silver talons gleamed as they reflected the moonlight, and another voice pierced into the haunting scene.

“Cut that shit out, Nona!” The depth of the woman’s voice was akin to a battering ram. It swept the ghostly ire of Epona away; this same wave of authority was what brought Epona to her knees.

Like an obedient pup, she buried her head into the earth, bowing low as a figure emerged from the shadows.

She wore the same tank top and torn jeans, both badly stained with patches of dark blood. Her red hair was tied up now, but that fucking mask, featureless and tightly drawn across her face, remained, obscuring her gaze.

At least it did, for as Lady Morrigan strode into the grove, she cast her mask aside in a flicker of blood. Hughie didn’t know what was worse: the mask... or the penetrating gaze of her silver eyes, like a pair of stainless steel knives, dissected Hughie down to his twisted core and was filled with disappointment and dissatisfaction.

Morrigan stood over Epona, a titaness in comparison to the dark nymph prostrated by her boots.

“Nona, what did I tell you about talking with strangers?” Morrigan spoke, utterly bemused.

Epona quaked. “I-I was gonna carry out your command, Auntie Morri-”

“You were going to kill the Rabbit first. The exact opposite of my command. Why do you vex me, Nona? Have I not kept my promise? Have you not seen what atrocities have happened within this very fucking hour?” she spoke, seething with fury.

Hughie was petrified; Remhilde stayed suspiciously silent.

Epona suddenly burst out. “I-I deserve to do more than just see her, I need her guts, Auntie, I need to slither in them like a little leech, staining the clean white bath with her blood. I deserved it; I DESERVE IT. DID I NOT THRUST MYSELF UPON YOUR DARK SUN AT YOUR COMMAND, DID I NOT CLASH WITH HIM TO YOUR DELIGHT!?-”

Hughie could barely track Morrigan’s movements; one moment Epona was whining, the next the Morrigan held her by the face. He was appalled to see… tears in the Morrigan’s eyes. “Aye, you did fight Nox, and you were nearly burned to cinders in the process; if not for Angus, you would already be dead. I love you, Nona, you are my blood. But you will carry out my will, and in the end, you will get what it is you deserve.”

“Go raibh míle maith agat, Aintín. I… I love you too; I will never stray from your will again,” Epona squeaked softly.

It was then that the Red Queen fixed her gaze upon Remhilde and only Remhilde. “Goodness me. Would you look at this?” Morrigan said, walking slowly towards them.

Hughie was swept into a massive panic as the Lady of the Moores came right at them, as if to shake their hands.

“Stop, that’s quite enough of this,” Remhilde growled, pushing Hughie aside very suddenly. She arose from her stance and strode tall on deft feet as if her lungs weren't about to collapse.

The blonde vampire wasn’t sure if he could even deal with tonight, like at all.

“Are you out of your wabbit-seasoned mind!?” he roared, but she waved him off without a word.

All he could do was sit and watch as the Black Rabbit and Morrigan of the Moores came face to face under the moonlight. There was a silence for a short time, but both shared the same look as they gazed upon one another: Lost your DS at the playground and remembered it 20 years later sadness.

“I hadn’t thought to see you here.” Morrigan was the first to speak.

Remhilde stayed silent, a wave of grief shrouding her tired face.

“After I tore up your boy, I was surprised not to find you at the Mansion, but skulking around out here. Gone out on one of your hunting trips, right?” Her voice was so cordial, but buried deep-deep down beneath was a radiant and terrible malice.

“Pft. You trying to get a rise out of me, old friend? Well, it’s good to know that your stupid hasn’t worn off over the decades. Charlie isn’t like one of your victims that you can just tear up, you can hurt him all you want, he will never stop hunting you. That’s why I don’t care if I die here, because I’ll have died giving you the ultimate go-fuck-yourself, Charlie will avenge us, all of us. You are more dead than you could possibly imagine.” Hilde’s smile was a hideous insult, in and of itself.

Seorsia licked her lips, her glare becoming overwhelming.

“Cut the shit, Aunt Hilde, let’s get the fuck out of heeeeere!!!” Hughie thought - no - prayed to himself. The blood god? ANYBODY!

“You won’t die today, Fuckin’ Rabbit, I won’t send you to meet your sweetheart daughter yet. No, it seems my plans for you shall be moved ahead of schedule. You people and this shitheap of a town, it’s nothing more than a monument to your own worthlessness. Well, the powers that be can’t protect you now. You shall soon know blood, you shall soon know death.

“Nona, kill the Raven, bring the Rabbit unharmed if at all possible. You hold the reins now, do not disappoint me.” Lady Morrigan commanded. She stopped just before vanishing into the woods. “I look forward to our continued reunion, Rabbit, I have so much to tell you.”

And like a ghost exorcised from this mortal plane, the Morrigan disappeared.