It was but a moment before the two voices came into view. Stepping down a set of stone stairs, was Micah Wallace. Fatigued and tired, he was leaning the weight of his body across the shoulders of a much bulkier figure wreathed in the matte-black armour they had all come to recognise so well. Still their features were shielded from view by a mask and hood that clouded all from view. Their body was agitated. Being carelessly rough with Micah who did not seem to mind at all. Some strength had returned to his steps and he held a sickeningly triumphant grin upon his face.

The Hunter led Micah over to a table and desk chair, where he upended Micah's weight onto the squeaky chair landing with an "oof".

"Oh come on. What's got you all in a tizzy for? This is what you wanted wasn't it? The big family purpose and all that?" Micah drawled, spinning on the chair to watch the Hunter approach the work table.

"Is it because that whole idea is just a weak excuse to play monster hunters? Or is it because of the magic? Because honestly; it is a lot more efficient than swinging that sword of yours around. Being grumpy about a pointless code of honour will get you nowhere."

The Hunter remained silent as he passed just below where Alaric was perched. Clinging to the wall he could feel his fangs slink into place as he gripped tighter into the stone. The Hunter had picked up the handgun that lay atop the cool surface. Seemingly beginning to inspect it lightly, and it suddenly dawned on Alaric that he had the weapons pair currently tucked into his waistband, causing his chest to sink.

Rhys and Marshal held their breath. Able to peek through the decorative slats in the armoire, which thankfully seemed to hide them from view enough while still enabling them to look out. Marshal didn't think his heart could beat so loudly. It took all his willpower to keep his breathing under control as he watched with fearful eyes, only somewhat comforted by the iron-like grip Rhys had on his hand. They were both clasped together and squeezing as hard as each could, until the knuckles were white, and the fingers red.

"Wait." Micah started, causing the Hunter to pause whatever he was doing, although Micah was very aware that he had not put the gun down. "I get it. It's because of the fish isn't it? That's why you're angry." There was an obvious tension that froze at the Hunter's shoulders. The muscles of their back strained against the armour and cloth of his clothing. Squeezing the leather that wrapped his hands. "Oh that is just precious!" Micah laughed, dramatically clutching at his stomach as he leaned back in the chair with his feet off the floor.

"Shut. Up." The Hunter commanded. His, evidently masculine, voice more of a jaw-clenched growl than eloquent speech.

"Oh cheer up, mate!" Micah replied, relaxing with a mischievous grin "What's the saying? There's plenty more fish in the sea?"

Micah's howls of cackling laughter were cut short as in one rapid movement, the Hunter had thrown down his hood and spun on his heels to face him with white hot anger.

"I loved him!" The tortured face of Mark was revealed. The sky-blue of his eyes burning with fury through the watery surface that caused them to glisten and prickle at the sides.

Before Marshal could stop himself, and before Rhys could clamp a hand over his mouth, Marshal let out an anguished cry; and with all the instinct of a warrior trained to kill at the smallest sign of a threat: Mark flicked the gun towards the armoire letting out a shot that rattled into the vintage wood.

Marshal's head snapped wickedly to the side, painting the back of the armoire and the glittering weapons with a spray of blood, and coating Rhys with its splash. His body immediately went limp, and in shock Rhys clasped onto him as tight as he could. Sending them both tumbling out of the armoire and onto the cobbled stone.

And it was as he looked into the lifeless eyes of Marshal. His body still so heavy in Rhys' arms: that all hell broke loose.

Micah was on his feet in an instant, his lips already rapidly moving as he began to call forth a spell. But his face dropped in horror as there came a thunderous, guttural, howl from within an aisle of bookshelves.

The sound of claws scraping against stone met his ears next, as he turned to look at a behemoth of muscle and fur bounding towards him with slovenly jaws and eyes that burned like bonfires. Astride its back was Lilly, with her fingers curled tightly into the fur of the great wolf's shoulder blades and squeezing with her thighs to hold on.

As the wolf pounced: Lilly leaped from its back as it carried Micah up a floor with the cacophonous crack of sundered bookshelves and paper.

Her feet hit the floor hard as she hurried over to Rhys, knees dropping in the steadily growing pool of blood as she put her hand to her mouth with a slight whimper.

"Please." Rhys whispered for that was all his body had strength to do. Anything else and he would have screamed. Clutching Marshals head close to his chest; his fingers entangled themselves tightly into the sticky blonde strands. A great weight split its way through the centre of his chest, with an ache so powerful he thought it might split him in two. "Please." He begged, as his eyes ignited with that an emerald fire that billowed smoke across his brow.

Mark had not moved. He stood wide eyed, in shock and numb; the hand that clutched the weapon shaking, and it was only when the sound of it clattering to the floor caught his ears that he regained some form of focus.

He tried his best to force his eyes away from the limp body of Marshal, catching sight of his slackened jaw as it was held close to his friends chest, and took a fearful step backwards. He took another. Then another. Each one seemed to awaken a spark of guilt within him that threatened an inferno when his back hit something cold and hard.

Shakily, Mark turned his head to see what had intercepted his retreat, but before it could complete its rotation: his face met the back of a hand. It sent him careening along the floor, his training kicking in like instinct; and with the grace of a gymnast, he twisted his body and righted himself.

It was Alaric. Stepping towards him with a grim slowness that seemed to grow with each creeping shadow of the room.

Alaric's fangs flicked in their full prominence into his mouth, as he let out a hiss that shook Mark to his very bones before he snarled and leaped.

There was no time for thought. No time for regret. The only thing that was running through Mark's system right now was survive. He pounced to meet Alaric. Springing forward, at the last moment he tucked himself small, ducking underneath Alaric's outstretched fist, and pulled himself into a roll.

A fast hand reached for the short sword at his belt, which extended into its length with a flick, but when he raised his gaze to meet his foe once more; Alaric was already upon him. Alaric gripped him by the straps of his armour, lifting him high with unsettling ease, and launched him towards the metal work top.

Mark collided with the surface, back first, which gave a screeching groan of protesting metal as it dented inward and tumbled over. Sending him clattering among the various knick-knacks and unfinished gadgets.

Micah pumped his legs, pushing himself backwards from the beast who's frame blocked all of the light from behind them.

Alice gave a low growl that rumbled through the stones. Her fingers brushing lightly against a bookshelf and a set of books, where her claws sliced through them with all the resistance of running your fingers through still water.

"You took her from me." The wolf growled with vocal chords not meant for human speech. It only shook Micah further when his back met the cool stone of a wall.

"Easy now. We can talk about this." Micah reasoned with an uneasy and nervous smile. His breath caught in his throat as his heart beat furiously against his rib cage, and in the venomous yellow of those candlelight eyes that stalked towards him on heavy paws: all he saw was his death.

That was when the high pitched trill erupted throughout the reliquary. Mark pulled himself up from behind the toppled work surface, thankful that his armour had taken most of the impact and wielding the same smooth ball with the red button he had used from his encounter earlier.

Alaric immediately dropped to his knees in agony, clutching at his ears as he did all he could to block out the sound that felt like it was trying to bore through his skull at the temples.

Micah smiled, as Alice gave a pained whine, clawing at her snout as her ears folded tight against her skull. He stood, using his hand against the wall to push himself up, and hissing slightly at the pain in his ribs. Micah inspected the deep wounds that Alice had slashed across his cheek and jaw with his fingertips. Only grimacing slightly when they came back red.

With a victorious smirk, he stepped over the mess of books and broken wood. Giving a swift kick to the writhing wolf. It did nothing as his foot uselessly bounced off the muscle, but it gave him a small flutter of satisfaction.

Lilly shook Rhys at the shoulder.

"Rhys!" She shouted, watching as Mark stepped from around the table and began slowly making his way to the incapacitated Alaric.

But what could Rhys do? He tried and tried, with all his might, to bring Marshal back. To heal him. But nothing was happening. What good was he? Where did it all go so wrong?

Lilly's voice seemed to fade into an echo as Rhys felt a numbing hollowness block everything else. He looked to Marshal, now hung loosely in his arms. His skin already having lost its colour. Rhys had never felt something so heavy as the now cold body he gripped on to. Was this what it was to drown?

Absentmindedly, as if watching from outside of himself, he watched as Lilly pushed away from him and began sprinting towards Mark. Something other than numb, poisonously streaked through Rhys when Mark came into his consciousness. Hate. Failure. Rage.

Rhys looked at the preening Micah who, despite being bloodied, grinned madly as he leaned over the hand rail from the floor above, before looking back to Lilly who helpless charged at Mark.

In a very brief movement, Mark had upended Lilly heavily onto her back. She recovered quickly, throwing herself at him with a cry as she clutched her arm around his neck and held onto his back for dear life.

Mark threw his head backwards, catching Lilly on the nose, immediately sending her vision into a spin. And in that moment of confusion, he gripped the arm around his neck and pulled with a twist of his hips. Lilly was once again, slammed to the floor.

"Fuck you!" Lilly screeched, just barely audible over the noise. Mark looked at her sadly. Which caused the hate to spike dangerously within Rhys. How Dare he be sad.

But Lilly didn't give up, as she sprang to her feet and swung a lazy fist towards Mark's face. He caught it in the meat of his palm. Gripping her wrist, he twisted, his superior strength causing Lilly to follow it with the motion. With an errant scrabble of her flying hand as she was thrown to the ground once again, she caught Mark across the jaw with the thickness of her nails.

Mark hissed in pain as he rubbed at the spot, and Rhys felt something.

It was strange. Like a presence that had always been there but he hadn't taken notice of until now. It made him want to search the inside of his coat pocket. Which he soon found his fingers doing, until they proffered a small daisy. It had seen better days. Its petals were slightly yellowed and cracked. The leaves hung limply. Its stem dehydrated. But it was something.

Rhys breathed heavily. Anger swelling within his chest as his eyes ignited once more. He gripped the flower tightly as the rage coursed through his arm, and with an anguished roar the small plant erupted outwards in a flurry of whip-like vines.

They snaked their way towards Mark, ensnaring him by the wrist of his sword hand. They shot out towards Micah, who in a bid to run away, tripped over his own feet, which he then found gripped tightly by plant matter at the ankle.

The vines squeezed like a ravenous serpent. Micah shrieked in pain as his ankle was crushed and immediately began to ooze blood through the dark green tendrils.

Mark was a little too fast for that, he dropped the sword from his hand, catching it with the other and swiping through the appendage that held him bound. Tumbling to the floor. He darted to the left, then the right. Dodging the onslaught of attacks as he sprinted his way towards Rhys.

But Mark was caught off guard by a swell of vines that hammered into his torso and tossed him backwards. He landed on his feet, swatting at the attacks and knocking them to the side. He kicked off one of the writhing vines, lining up a shot with his crossbow. But before his finger could squeeze the trigger, another vine slammed into his side. Pressing him against the far wall.

Mark grimaced in pain. He pushed against the vine, just about managing to get enough room to put his sword between them and quickly saw through, dropping him to the ground. Rolling away from another attack, Mark slid and vaulted.

He closed the gap with a dancers agility. No matter how violently Rhys gestured, Mark was too slippery. Mark flipped upwards, cutting through an assault of plant matter as he broke into a spin. Landing heavily and just narrowly missing Rhys' follow up attack.

Mark ran. Pumping his rapidly tiring legs, skidding under a vine, he righted himself. With an outstretched arm he lunged forward with his sword.

There he stood. Standing over the corpse of his lover. The corpse he had made. Staring deep into the eyes of Marshal's childhood best friend. With a blade that was now firmly embedded into said best friends torso.

Rhys' eyes flickered. The light slowly snuffing itself out as the vines began to rapidly decay and mulch onto the floor. Blood coughed out from his throat and dripped down his lips, his chin. Splattering Mark across the cheeks with a few errant drops.

It was like all the strength that was in Rhys' body was being funnelled out where the sword pierced his abdomen. His knees began to weaken, causing him to fall. Despite his heart pounding rapidly, he had trouble breathing. Like his lungs were too tired to go on, and in some way he felt like he agreed with them.

"Hey asshole!" Lilly called out, triumphantly holding the small, noise ball in her hand. "Game over." And she pushed the button instantly bringing silence to the room.

Micah's eyes opened from where they were squeezed shut in pain, they immediately widened upon seeing the slobbering snout of a snarling wolf looking down at him, with a great deal too many teeth that were far too big. His scream was cut short.

Alaric was on Mark immediately, shoving him aside and away from Rhys, where he tumbled into a bookshelf with a crash.

Alaric followed, slipping underneath an arcing swing of a shortsword, he ducked again as Mark's attacks started to grow fatigued. Confidence swelled within him as he caught Mark with a blow to his solar plexus, knocking the wind from his lungs, before catching him on the cheek with another fist.

Pain spiked in his side, as Mark jammed a small blade into Alaric's side, pulling it towards him with all his might as it split Alaric open at the waist line. Alaric stopped the blade before it could be pulled any further, thrusting his hand outwards, he snatched Mark by the jaw and hoisted him upwards with the strength of one arm.

Alaric looked at Mark with a complete look of utter disgust. A look of hurt.

Mark was tired. His end rapidly coming, he strained to turn his eyes to look over at the body of Marshal. Pain racked his body, and he felt himself give up in that moment. And Alaric was only too happy to oblige. Without a moments more hesitation, Alaric clamped his jaws down on Mark's neck. Splitting him wide and drinking deep.

A/N: Boy it took me a long time to update. I hope I didn't disappoint you with the wait!
Be honest, did you like what you read? Did you see who the hunter was before it was revealed here?

And as always: Thanks for reading!