“If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”
—Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
 
 
 
 
 
. . .
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
He has never felt a presence like this in his entire life before, not in front of a den of his starving kin, not when he was turned and not even at the face of the vampires’ King…
 
But he recognizes it almost instantly, some sort of deep-seated knowledge already wired into his very being. That this was something older than any sort of instinct and far more encompassing than the ever-present thirst, the never-ending hunger he would obtain as a vampire, even more than the maddening need to gorge himself in blood is absolutely nothing compared to this.
 
Because this…
 
This is the very thing that has sown fear in the hearts and mind of the first, living men that walked upon this realm. Fear, being the oldest and strongest emotion of mankind. And the fear of not knowing anything was the very first fear known to man.
 
And with good reason too.
 
Humans had labeled these feeling as such, even until now, as though they have any inkling of an idea of that which they speak of… but it's so much more than that. For one will only know the true meaning of fear once they found themselves staring at the face of death.
 
At the abyss.
 
This feeling cannot possibly hope to be captured in a single word… for no word in this world can because it doesn't need it, in the same way the darkness was something to be instinctively afraid of, the same way even hapless children would know.
 
The same way ocean was deep and dangerous before any tongues were made and it will be so even after everything was all gone and forgotten.
 
A hand suddenly reached out to him, and despite himself, he couldn’t quite stop himself from flinching a bit as it landed on his cheek. He had expected to be hurt but the hand was gentle and cold against him. Quiet and pale.
 
“You… are not him. Are you?”
 
Every sense in his body was telling… screaming at him that if he chose his words poorly now, he was going to die. For real.
 
“No…” he managed to say.
 
She laughs, softly, under her breath.
 
And it’s not a mirthful laugh. It’s pained and scornful, unsettling enough to make him almost squirm in her grasp.
 
“I thought so,” she says, “That would have been cruel.”
 
“I…”
 
Abruptly, she let go.
 
“Start talking,” she demanded.
 
Something like hysteria, maybe it was relief upon being released or finally heard. Possibly madness even because he found himself blurting out unthinkingly: “Oh… so now you want to listen?!”
 
The darkness seemed to pulse as though with a life of its own around her, as though reacting to the still-simmering rage and he instinctively cowered back in fear. The goddess of shadows must have noticed (because of course she did), her expression odd but still frightening when she informed him: “The only reason I will be doing so is that you claim for us having a common enemy… or have you lied about that?”
 
“No!”
 
“Then, start talking. Don’t make me ask again.”
 
He nods, almost stupidly, “Right. And the enemy of an enemy is a–”
 
“We are not friends,” she hissed.
 
He quickly raised his hands up in surrender, stumbling back a bit when the enraged goddess suddenly took a threatening step forward, “O-Okay, okay! I WAS JUST QUOTING, DAMN IT!”
 
Thankfully, she stopped as well.
 
Her expression was decidedly cold but her entire countenance practically screams impatience, discomfort, and outrage all at once in his presence as she crossed her arms again… which is, okay, fair enough. Apparently, seeing the replica of your long-lost dead parent is upsetting instead of being a cause of joy.
 
Who would have thought?
 
“…are you really testing my patience?” she prompted at his prolonged (awkward, still a bit petrified) silence, the shadows fading a bit, a hint of annoyance now seeping in her tone.
 
“Look, I understand it must have been quite a shock for you to see me with this appearance,” he began, deliberately not looking at her in the eye now. Because no shit, he did kind of just gone overboard with the theatrics.
 
“Understatement,” she said, flatly.
 
He winced at the comment, gesturing to himself, “But I really do look mostly like this before I was turned… minus the hairstyle, the eyes, and the fangs, of course. Long story short: I was human. I was kidnapped. The King pushed me in on this to catch you off-guard, to take advantage of your… feelings most likely.” 
 
I was meant to betray you, goes unsaid.
 
“I see,” she says, nodding along, as a slim sword manifested from the darkness by her side. “So, I suppose if I kill you now…”
 
A chill ran down his spine.
 
She must have sensed his terror at the casual dismissal on his life because she informed him: “Death is a fine reward for what you just went through. It is only unjust for you to live through the end.”
 
“But my name is Markian Shade!” he protests, before she goes through with that, “I’m not… I’m not your dad. I don’t want to be him, and I don’t really want to do what the King had in mind for me, either. I just want to be free again!”
 
She doesn’t say anything.
 
“I am not your enemy. I want to help.” he continued, past shaking lips. “That’s why I came here… I was looking for you, to guide you to him. Don’t you want to see him dead, too? After all he’s done to you?”
 
Her eyes narrowed.
 
But she still did not say anything.
 
Only silence met him in response, something that made him frown in confusion, in panic. A part of him was expecting her to try kill him despite whatever he says. Or maybe to start crying about her dead daddy. Certainly not... nothing.
 
“A-are you going to help me or n-?” Markian froze, nearly biting his tongue, when his eyes locked onto the werewolf now looming behind the goddess of shadows.
 
The werewolf. The half-shifter.
 
Proserpina’s infamous mate.
 
Just recently, the King of vampires had targeted Alastor’s twin brother and pack, only to fail due to Proserpina’s intervention.
 
This hadn’t gone unpunished. 
 
And Markian knows instantly he had to bring them both to the King, especially since both of them are right here… they had also seen his face. The werewolf might follow him too if the goddess never came back. The King would also be most pleased if Markian succeeds. He will definitely allow Markian to be free once all was said and done.
 
As his eyes flickered between Proserpina and the werewolf glaring at him behind the goddess, Markian instantly knew that she would never let her mate come along.
 
Goddess or not, she seemed fond of the werewolf. 
 
Still.
 
Maybe he could use that affection to his advantage.
 
“Your mate,” he nodded at the half-turned werewolf behind her, who growls lowly in warning. “The king knows about him, you know. He’s going to send his lackeys after that one, just like what he did with your little brother. I’m sure he’s stronger, maybe, but... he won’t be safe here forever you know,” Markian informed Proserpina, solemnly. “Not until Roman is dead.”
 
Proserpina’s eyes narrowed.
 
“You’re a vampire but you’re not on their side? I don’t buy it.” the werewolf growled, not even bothering to hide his suspicion. “Vampires can’t be trusted, Winters…”
 
Markian deadpanned at the stupid mutt. “What? Just because I’m a vampire I’m automatically bad? How are you any different than me? If anything, you look scarier right now. I mean, dude, you look like a fucking abomination.”
 
“Who the fuck is Roman again?” the werewolf questioned further, eyes narrowing as he glanced at the goddess of shadows, ignoring the insult. 
 
Proserpina held his hand, her gaze softening when she looked up at her werewolf. Markian had to look away at how soft and affection her stare was. He almost felt like an intruder. “Don’t worry about it, Alastor. I will take care of it.”
 
Alastor scowls. “Hell no. I’m going with you.”
 
The goddess of shadows sighs at his stubbornness but suddenly pointed Thanatos at Markian’s face, making him yelp and stumble back, raising his hands as a sign of surrender.
 
“Let me be clear: I don’t trust you for a second. But you are going to lead me straight to Roman, and I’m killing that bastard. However, if you are leading me into a trap, well… I will send you to hell myself,” she stated, “And not even that face of yours will save you from me. Understood?”