Never forget who thou are. For it will be who you remain until you come before me.

Book of Earoni 1423:34

Lars drank deeply and willingly, the primal urges within him rejoicing at the taste of warm blood coating his parched throat and sliding down his esophagus. In a stark contrast, his thoughts focused on the revulsion of needing to feed in such a way. Lars's mind fought to force his body to gag, wanting to expel the viscous fluid. But his body's cravings overrode the urge.

He had long foregone this ritual in an attempt to hold on to the last shreds of his humanity.

Consuming Cassandra's life force with eager greediness, Lars felt as though he was loosing himself. But the powerful energies linked to forces beyond the mortal realm insisted he continue. With the Blood Bond they shared, he'd always skirted around the edges of the true strength within her. Now he realized exactly what he had been missing out on all these years. And he wondered if, had he known, could he have resisted?

Surging blood touched by the hands of gods pounded through Lars's veins. Fangs imbedded in Cassandra's neck pumped renewed and long dormant vitality into him, reminding the Blood Lord of how he once freely fed in such a manner he had since deemed as abominable.

The young woman unresponsive and hanging limp in his arms was already dead. But, despite that, blood remained to be drawn from within her. Lars had to be certain to consume every last drop.

If he failed to do so, she would share in his curse and soon rise from the grave, seeking to feed upon the living as he did now. Her dying wish was for that not to happen. And he, wanting to never set more like himself loose upon the world and so cursed, would fulfill it.

Even as he remembered how Cassandra once inquired of him about the possibility of her sharing his curse.

While Lars finished his appalling task, he dared not look away from Carmon Dagarth. The elder Blood Lord recovered from his wounds at an astonishing rate, rising just as Lars withdrew the last drop of blood.

Dagarth's face was a grotesque mask of reformed bone and muscle. The eye on the damaged side of his face sat bulging in its socket and awaited fresh skin to slowly creep back over it. Still, the expression upon the visage was unmistakable in its furor.

Cassandra had wounded him, preventing him from claiming her soul as he had all the others. Her refusal to allow Dagarth to take her allowed Lars the opportunity to steal Cassandra's power from him. Having fed last upon the young woman and removed the final ounce of blood from her, Lars claimed her strength as his, and his alone.

While all blood had strength to grant to the one devouring it, the last drop was the most powerful of all. It was the one that sealed the strength of one's essence to the Blood Lord who consumed it. As that most precious drop flowed into him, Lars's strength approached its peak.

He was thankful for Cassandra's sacrifice, knowing without it, he stood no chance of winning the pending conflict. But even so he discarded her body without any hint of care as he kept his singular focus on the man he would have to confront.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" Dagarth chuckled at Lars. The blood on the former priest's mouth was a telltale sign of his deed. "To feed the way we were meant to? Tell me you don't revel in the might you now have at your disposal."

"Unlike you, I do not take joy in the killing of others," Lars said. "You always did. It was sport to you. And I will end that cycle here and now. For it has gone on too long. We are the last of our kind. And after today, there will be none."

"Then let us end this." Unconcerned with not being fully healed, Carmon Dagarth transported himself into the shadows and merged with them.

The elder Blood Lord burst out of the darkness and upon Lars, who reacted as claws vied for his throat. Finding speed and strength enough to hold both of the deadly hands at bay, Lars grappled with Dagarth in a battle between unholy foes.

Dagarth grinned a fanged smile as Lars struggled, but successfully maintained a precarious separation that prevented the tender flesh of his neck from being torn. That glint of glee at engaging in battle though quickly drooped and faded as Lars repeatedly denied Lord Dagarth a swift victory.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Lars snapped as he stared into eyes mirroring the same red haze as his own. Only more sinister.

He sensed the pull of Dagarth's stare as the elder vampire attempted to use his powers of persuasion innate in all Blood Lords to see if he could gain control of his former minion once more. But Lars's will was too strong for such tactics to take hold.

"The blood of that woman will not save you," Dagarth spat in defiance. "She is but one compared to the many I have turned and consumed and draw strength from. Even though I tasted the divinity upon her blood, considering who I have taken? The power I have at my disposal? No. It will not help you."

"Too many have died," Lars rebuffed as the talons seeking his throat inched closer. They shook against the counter force he applied. Allowing his body to come into its full strength, Lars's skin was once again pink and not pale as ash. "I will not allow her to have died in vain."

"There's that foolish nobility again. A stupid sentiment, really. One that makes you weak." Dagarth strained to press his claws in for a fatal strike, but failed. "One that will cost you."

Inching the deadly claws back, Lars refused to concede ground. "I was never the weak one. If anything, I was the stronger of us both. You could have never lived as I did. Fighting the urge to feed? Having to kill people just to save them? It would have driven you mad."

Laughter erupted out of Dagarth in response. "For a long time, many professed that I am indeed mad. Perhaps today is the day we find out if such is true?" Ending their unyielding tug of war, Dagarth wrenched away and pulled back. Ripping from Lars's grasp, he contemplated how to emerge from this battle victorious after his brute force assault failed to bear fruit. "I do admit, you are stronger than I thought you would be from just one feeding."

"One soul, alone and right, can withstand an assault from all the forces of darkness."

"Still you quote scripture? After all that has befallen you? And they call me mad?" With that cutting ridicule, the elder Blood Lord drifted into the shadows again. He did not depart, only remained hidden.

"There was a time when you were interested in the scripture," Lars reminded Dagarth. "Thinking it might save you as well. That's why you first sought me out. Do you remember?"

Lars tuned his senses to movements of the darkness swirling around the chamber filled with the remnants of the otaur statues and dead bodies. Even though Dagarth remained invisible, he was not unseen. Every shift in the shadows was clear in Lars's mind's eye.

"And then I learned the fallacy of it all," Dagarth's voice came from multiple places as each word was spoken. "There are gods, yes. But none of them are good. They treat us as children treat their toys. At least until we grow strong enough to resist their wills."

"And yet, like a scared child, you hide." Lars calmly recovered the silversteel blade Cassandra had received from her sister. And once more it seared the flesh of his palm as he held it. "Obviously you fear you are not strong enough."

The taunt performed its desired effect. Dagarth hurled himself out of hiding for a renewed and furious assault that put Lars back on his heals. "You want to see my strength?" Carmon Dagarth roared. "Here it is."

Although never landing a blow, Lars held him off with swipes of the magically infused weapon, wielding it and employing a new tactic to this battle. And having seen what the weapon was capable of. He endured the pain holding it caused—wishing it would understand he was its ally and not an enemy.

A low, spinning swipe for Dagarth's knees passed through foul air as his former master was gone before it landed. Rolling, Lars avoided a clawed strike from behind that followed a split second later. Jamming the blade upward, seeking to pierce the tip through Dagarth's jaw and skull.

The counter was without success, his foe was gone before the strike landed.

Reappearing atop a pile a rubble, Dagarth stared down at Lars. "Must we keep doing this?"

"Not if you are willing to give up. And let me kill you."

"Ha! That's not my point. Obviously, with our abilities as Blood Lords, we are evenly matched. But I have other powers at my disposal. Thanks to the seer and the fallen angel." Lord Dagarth put his hand out before him, as though attempting to grasp Lars at a distance as he had done previously.

Lars winced, waiting for the force he anticipated to be applied, but such did not come.

Dagarth considered his fingers, and the lack of results, with mystery. He tried again. And again there was nothing.

"Problems?" Lars asked, realizing that Dagarth's attempts at manifesting the invisible powers he garnered from the now deceased seer were not proving successful. When an answer was not given, he stated his own theory. "The seer's resisting you. Isn't she?"

"It's not possible." Bearing down, Dagarth attempted to force the power to come forth. "She's mine to command!"

*I'm no one's to control.* Reane's disembodied voice echoed around the two combatants, drawing attempts from both to find the source. But to no avail. *While you may have taken my blood, you have not tamed my spirit.*

Forming out of nothingness, a transparent white mist swirled. It congealed into a vaporous representation of the woman whose corporeal body laid drained of blood not that far away. A perfect, if not eerie, likeness.

"This is not the way things work." Disbelief crashed around the elder Blood Lord upon recognizing her ghostly face. "I took you."

*It may not be the way things work for most. But I am not like most.* Reane, purely essence and without a body, once more entangled Carmon Dagarth in invisible bonds. Like a tightly wound mummy, he stood there, bound and trapped. *Now, let's try this again. Shall we?*

Like before, he struggled against the cage she placed him in. But unlike before, his protest was real and not merely play acting. Reane sensed the true furor behind his attempts—something that was sorely lacking previously.

"How is it you are stronger now than before?" Dagarth demanded to know.

*Being freed from the constraints of my body, and the fear of my death, has liberated me to focus in a way that I could never have hoped to before now.* Reane cast her corpse a mournful glance. While what she said was true, the loss of her physical form meant that she would never again experience so many things that she desired to. And each of those things, Anthony's touch in particular, pained her. *As much as I would love to chat, my time here is unfortunately limited. I cannot remain indefinitely. Now, there is someone else who I need to free as well. Just to warn you though, this might hurt a bit.*

Diverting some of her focus, as much as she dared, Reane delved deep into the Blood Lord's being—following the connection they still had. Every one of his thoughts, cruel and vain, were like whips upon her as she descended into the core of his vileness. Along the way, she touched each of the souls bonded to Carmon Dagarth. They cried out to her, desiring their freedom and knowing she could provide it.

Reane wanted to liberate them all, but that would take too much time. And energy. Forcing herself to ignore the pleas laced with pure terror at their fate, Reane continued deeper until she found the one she sought.

Encapsulating it in her own thoughts, grasping it with a spectral hand, Reane yanked that soul away from the Blood Lord. The force applied by the seer was enough to wrench free the misty vapors of another while Dagarth's body heaved and refused to let go while attempting to hang on. In the end, however, the will of the seer combined with that of the soul of the fallen angel was stronger.

Freed from his control, the luminous form of Lady Noranda hovered on angelic wings that had long ago been taken from her. But were now restored to her spirit.

Shaken and rocked by the loss, Carmon Dagarth was forced to behold the majestic black-haired being of light who stared back as though judging him. "I defeated each of you before," he crowed. "And I can do it again."

"Each of us alone," Lady Noranda reminded him. "But not together."

Unwilling to concede that allegation, Dagarth's rage inflamed. The insinuation that his might was being challenged allowed the elder Blood Lord to shred the phantom seer's bonds in a surge of pent up sinister strength.

Lady Noranda called forth a beam of pure light. Striking him, the energy charred the Blood Lord's skin to black as though it were rays from the sun itself. He wilted, trying to shield himself from the force with his arms. Unwilling to relent, the pungent scent of burning flesh consumed the chamber. Skin and hair and muscle reformed nearly as fast as it was being burned away, Dagarth putting up a grand defiance against the assault.

With the force of his own will, he tried to draw the angelic being back into him and subdue her once more.

Noranda faltered for a moment, nearly pulled back in, but fought to maintain her independence, knowing that if he succeeded in reclaiming her, his power would grow once more. To prevent his attempts, she was forced to cease her own attack and concentrate on not being returned to a status of slave to the Blood Lord.

Her spirit drifted towards him. The pull was strong—their bond not entirely broken. It was merely strained.

Reane attempted to bind him once more, but Carmon Dagarth shrugged it off as he leaped and tackled the angel from the air. *We have to work together,* the seer warned them all. *Only united can we defeat him.*

Lars charged in, brandishing the silversteel blade scorching his own palm as surely as it would Lord Dagarth. A swipe of the mystical weapon nearly landing forced their common foe to release Noranda, retreat, and vanish into the shadows.

*We must eliminate his advantage,* Reane called to Noranda. *The shadows. Can you illuminate the room?*

"Yes." Like a morning sun, the angel ascended towards the ceiling, bathing the entire room in a light and banishing all but a few minor areas of darkness. "But like you, my time here is short. I am already being pulled away from this world. And where I am going, I will not be able to help."

Carmon Dagarth materialized as his refuge was stolen from him, and the last bits of darkness faded. Scorching in the light cast by Noranda, he sought to escape back up the stairway and into the only remaining night available.

Lars understood his motivation and moved to seal off his escape, the light tingling his skin, but otherwise causing no lasting harm. "Leaving?" Placing himself between Dagarth and the exit, Lars was defiant. "Here I thought we were going to finish our feud."

Enraged by pain and frustration, Dagarth plowed forward, seeking that which Lars was keeping from him. With back-to-back strikes against his haggard and panicked foe, Lord Hedric removed first Dagarth's right arm above the elbow, and his right leg below the knee.

Off balance and without support, Dagarth howled and toppled while his body struggled to reform the lost limbs much more slowly than before. "It's not too late, Lars!" he cried out in desperation. "Join me, and we can arise victorious!"

Lars frowned. "I don't want to be victorious," he admitted. "I just want to be human again."

The spirit of Lady Noranda fading, the shadows threatening to return, with a decisive downward stroke, Lars severed Dagarth's head. He watched as the Blood Lord's entire body turned to ash. But what particularly held his attention was the red glow of life in the elder Blood Lord's eyes. One that defiantly remained long after the rest of the body had disintegrated and was the last part of the ancient evil to fade.