Narrative: Anton Falls WHO: Sorin Antonescu, Neculai Antonescu, Barclay Grisholt, Ashton Hartley, Andrei Dantura, Leon Vincent, Mickey Torres, Cressida Hallowfen WHEN: End of Summer WHERE: Near Brașov, Romania NPCs: Mr. Farrowe’s Crew, Demetrius the Wizard, assorted Anton refugee NPCs
The end was near. Everything was going according to plan and Sorin was feeling sure of their victory over Anton Castle. It had taken weeks to coordinate with all of his supernatural friends and allies for their hostile takeover of the prison that had been Sorin’s home for most of his life. First, Demetrius had Sorin bring Neculai out of the mirror. The wizard seemed to know something about Neculai that Sorin didn’t, and all it took was a whispered word in the doppelganger's ear for Neculai to agree to help them, his face drained of all color.
Sorin didn’t ask what was said, but his mouth went dry. All that mattered was that now they had the way in. Neculai knew where Anton was and how to make it appear. Sorin was shocked to learn that Neculai’s magic was the key to holding the illusion that hid an entire castle in plain sight. When the group arrived in the rocky mountains of Romania and stood in what appeared to be a deserted cliff, Neculai stepped forward and raised both hands, speaking the words that unlocked the illusion.
He had then turned to those gathered and bowed his head. “It’s done. Send me back.”
Sorin’s heart was racing and as much as he wanted to get started, knowing that alarms would be sounding inside the castle at their arrival - Ashton in dragon form was hard to miss - he took the time to approach his second self and clasped him behind the neck, pulling him into an embrace. “You did your part, Neculai. You are free.”
And then Sorin and the others - his small army of witches, vampires, djinn, dragon - turned to free the captive children inside. Sorin’s most fearsome summonings were brought forth, one after the other. The Hydra, the drake, the abominable snowman, the titan made of rock, the Tarot Deck, they all came forth from the tattoos on the summoner’s skin and the cards that hung around his neck. The Black Dog led the charge across the long bridge and Ashton, the black dragon named Celebrimbor, roared his challenge from the sky. The sound echoed for miles.
Inside the castle, pandemonium broke out.
Sorin overlooked the final moments of the battle from the highest battlements. The end was near. The last group of Anton refugees were being led out of their locked rooms and across the courtyard by Mickey, protected by Andrei and Leon on either side. Sorin allowed himself to smile. Soon, he thought, he would be joining Dana’s family in the peaceful nymph forest and this day and his terrible past in this castle would only be a memory.
The ground trembled as Ashton’s blast of fire took out a row of vehicles the scientists and priests were trying to use to escape. Sorin turned to Barclay who was making his way up the battlement steps, and nodded with bright triumph in his clear eyes. “We are doing it!” he called. “We are freeing them. We--” Sorin stopped and his eyes widened. From his chest a dark red spot started to spread.
“Sorin, Son of Anton.” A man stepped out of the tall turret behind the summoner. A gun was in his hand, recently fired. “You may have freed them, but you’ve sealed your own doom by returning here.”
The many heads of the Hydra screamed as it was torn from reality by Sorin’s broken concentration. As the summoner bled, one by one, his conjurations began to fall.
“I should have killed you when I first had the chance.” As Sorin dropped to his knees, catching himself with one arm and the other hand over his heart, the leader of the castle operation’s quest to rid the world of magic, Anton himself, stepped closer and raised the gun to Sorin’s head.
The wind whispered across Sorin’s cheek, ruffling his hair and drying the tears that spilled from his eyes. The world was fading around him. Before Anton could pull the trigger again, the sound of claws scraping on stone came up behind him and the Black Dog pounced. Glowing red eyes and white teeth flashed as he landed on the man and bit deeply into his neck, tearing away flesh.
Anton choked on his own blood with terror in his eyes. The Black Dog returned to its master with a heart-rending whimper. He licked Sorin’s face. Sorin reached out and gave the dog of legend a pat, then fell onto his side. The Black Dog howled. Then, carefully, Sorin’s first and last summoning laid down beside its master and went still.
***
Barclay was running up the stairs, seeing the exhilaration on Sorin’s face and shouting to warn him that they were not out of the woods yet. The distance was too great, however, and, just as Sorin disappeared behind the pillar, Barclay saw the shock on his face and he heard the gunshot.
He started sprinting, nearly tripping over one step and cursing himself for not investing in cardio. It were the sounds he would remember, that anguished, terrible cry of a dog who sounded beyond bereft. Beyond hope.
When Barclay finally made it to the highest battlement, he was too late. Barclay stopped by Sorin (the body) and the dog and tried not to see how still they were. He fell to his knees, shouting “Sorin?” He shook the summoner, trying to get him to move, before logic took over.
He felt for a pulse as he blinked away the tears. “Sorin?” Less hopeful this time, more plaintive. He focused and placed his hand on that terrible red stain and focused. His eyes went green and he concentrated on healing, on pulling Sorin through for as long as he could, until somebody came to help him.
He could feel it. The magic just vanished. It was not finding anything to hold on.
He was not too late. He was not too late.
“Leon! Ms. Hallowfen!”
His words sounded futile, blowing away in the wind.
***
Andrei felt it. He knew Sorin intimately and had fed from him. There was a connection between, a bond. It was not as intense as the bond between Andrei and his fangling, but it was there. And when Sorin was shot? Andrei could feel it. And his first instinct was to protect.
“Sorin,” he growled, before bolting and leaving Mickey, Leon and the Anton-survivors behind.
He was on top of the battlements in record time. He saw the guy there bleeding out - perhaps already dead - besides Barclay and Sorin and he saw the gun in the guy’s hand. Within an instant, Andrei had separated the guy’s head from his body.
His anger barely contained, Andrei rose to his feet, entirely unsure of what to do. He balled his hands into fists. He could not feel Sorin. “Fix him,” he growled at Barclay.
“I- I can’t, I…” Barclay stammered, breathing deeply. His hand radiated a green glow, but it seemed to have no effect.
***
The only one calling her Ms. Hallowfen had to be a former student and Cressida recognized Barclay's voice. Without a familiar, Cressida had to spend more time during the summer preparing spells to use and relying on those than what she could channel directly. Something about the tone put her on edge and made the hair on the back of her neck rise. The roar of the hydra was noticeably absent.
She was in action immediately and racing to where the shout had come from. Cressida arrived to see every teacher's nightmare. The last time a student in her care died, he came back as a vampire. Now his sire was standing nearby and no doubt Leon would arrive soon enough. Barclay, always so assured, attempted to fix something that Cressida could see in an instant could not be fixed. She took strides forward and placed a hand on Barclay's shoulder.
"Let me look at him," she said. Cressida still wanted to believe Sorin was alive but maybe she was doing this because she had to know for herself the boy died and to give the final word this. She knew enough medical knowledge to be able to tell if the boy still had a chance. She also knew enough healing to get him stable if there stood even the most minute of a chance he could get through this.
She kneeled down on the ground, felt his pulse and his breath and then observed the red stain upon his chest. Blood. There was already too much of it today. Her brow furrowed and she did well in remaining calm, though inside she was a fury to match the likes of Ms. Menides on a bad day. Sorin had not been a Hydra, but he'd been a student of hers, and he had such a bright and promising future.
Had.
Plucking a rock from her pouch, she pressed her hands Sorin's rapidly cooling chest. She couldn't help but think he'd once been so full of life. Such determination . . .
The charm confirmed what his vitals already said.
"He's gone," she said and looked up at Barclay and then at Andrei. She'd heard his command to fix the summoner, but now he asked for a task in magic that would not give him the results he sought.
"There's nothing we can do," she said now firmly to Andrei. Her hand reached out to place on Barclay's shoulder, her attention returning to him. She couldn't think of anything to say, and past Barclay she noted the presence of one of Rafe's associates who had joined them. Cressida whispered, "Stay with the body. I'll arrange for—" she motioned to Sorin's paling figure. She couldn't say it. Not yet. The grief was so close now she knew it would remove the strength that someone needed here.
This was meant to be a moment of happiness shared with the young man who believed it was possible. War demands sacrifice of everyone, and sometimes it demands more than anyone is prepared to lose. She would suggest a hero's pyre if they would permit it. It was a little old fashioned, but few today would ever deserve such an honor. Until then, she went to speak to the vampire, delaying the sorrow for now.