Fitz

A lone vampire exists in the ruins of his species' society; he fights and rails against the values of what few vampires remain in the world, carving out his own name, and claiming his own destiny.

Oh how he loved the thrill of an uneven fight. As the shadows spilled behind him to cover the walls of the circular space, as he smiled at the figures that moved to intercept his way, he couldn’t understand for the life of him the appeal for the many that ambushed the one. Where was the appeal of knowing you would win easily? To be tested, to be challenged, to have to use every wile and skill to preserve your life...therein lay the glory of a battle.

                With the full moon casting its bright and ghostly glow over the scene, the night was in its own way as clear as the day. Here, away from the gleam of the city in the dark seclusion of the quiet road running like a black ribbon in a green velvet sea of tall grass that swayed and murmured gently in the slight breeze that swept over the flat-land. In this eerie setting, a single figure strolled carelessly down the road, paying the whispering sea of grass and silent surroundings no heed. He was seemingly lost in his own world as he walked towards the city that was as yet only just suggested by the moonlight on the horizon.

                This man was tall and slender, his body loose and relaxed and his hands buried deep into the pockets of his denim jacket against the chilly air, his arms swinging gently with the motion of his body as he walked. He was simply dressed, a jacket over a plain green t-shirt, blue jeans and new walking boots that made little sound over the tarmac glistening from that days’ rain. Despite his solitude and the almost sentient quiet of the space around him, he seemed ultimately at ease and cheerful, a slight jaunt in his step as he hummed tunelessly to himself.

                A sharp rustle from the grass to his right jerked him to a halt, and he peered into the swaying green wall that seemed almost white beneath the moon.

                He'd stopped humming, and he took a cautious step towards the source of the sound; eyes made almost black by the moonlight swept the curtain of grass before him.

                He realised that the occasional growls and chirps of the night-creatures around him had stopped. He looked around, his eyes scanning carefully over the grasslands for any sign of movement other than the ripples caused by the breeze. Nothing.

                After a few minutes, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket and slowly, cautiously, turned around and continued walking. The casual ease of his body language had been replaced by a tight disquiet now, his shoulders hunched over as he walked that little bit faster. Another crunch sounded, to his right again, only this time it was much closer than before, and the proximity made him jump in fright, stumbling round to face where he thought the sound had come from. His eyes were wide and frightened now; his breath came in faster and faster gasps as he backed away as far as the width of the road would let him.

                "Who's there?" he found the courage to call, scanning the still blank expanse of grass for any sign of...anything, really. More rustling, crunching as dirt shifted and protested beneath a heavy weight. Eventually, through the darkness, his eyes picked out an enormous shadow moving amongst the tall grass fronds towards him. It was like an inkblot...it moved with the slow and deadly surety of a hunting dog, but the size was much closer to that of a grizzly bear. But...there were no bears in the area, none at all.

                He frowned slightly, too confused to be frightened; yet as the creature moved closer and finally prowled free from the concealment of the grass...his eyes widened in disbelief and horror...no... No, that could not be.

                The moonlight swept across thick fur as black as night, yellow eyes glared from above a muzzle of sharp, glistening white teeth that were bared into a vicious, glaringly white snarl. Yet no sound escaped from the monstrosity that advanced upon him with deadly intensity in those vicious eyes.

                He gasped in ragged fear, stumbling backward in terror, only to fall and land hard on his backside, his hands slamming onto the damp tarmac. No! This couldn’t happen! This had to be impossible, didn’t it? The beast before him seemed all too real. It threw back its head and let out a bone chilling howl of victory before it readied itself to pounce with a look of pure predatory savagery fixed upon its prey.

                Tarmac splintered and scattered like gravel, ripped away by the beast's claws as it launched itself at the stunned figure lying before it. The last image he would ever see was the creature set against the large, round, glowing orb illuminating the sky. A full moon. A shadow blotted it from sight, filling his vision with fur and teeth and razor sharp claws ready to tear him into pieces. One word passed through his mind just a second before he would feel those claws tearing into his body, tearing his life away. Werewolf.

                Anyone watching would have been in for quite a shock at what happened next. At one moment, the scene was of a giant wolf arcing through the air towards a helpless human being who lay paralysed with fear as he watched death come towards him.

                The scene changed in an instant; at the next moment, the beast was flying backwards, propelled by a violent and decisive one armed push...from its apparently helpless human prey.

                The helpless human being, whose face had just a moment before been awash with terror and disbelief and was now hardened in triumph and contempt. His cool blue eyes watched the werewolf with dispassionate calm, his hand still outstretched whilst the other propped him up on the road surface.

                                This particular helpless human being was not so helpless...neither was he so human.

By the time the werewolf hit the ground, bouncing hard across the tarmac before slamming to a stop with an almost deafening thump, the 'man' had risen to a predatory crouch, the hovering, ready posture of a lion about to pounce. His lips pulled back into a feral snarl to reveal gleaming teeth, all perfectly straight and even…apart from the two long, sharp canines whose tips hovered upon the humming lower lip.

                The vampire shifted, his muscles rolling like those of a hunting cat as the stunned werewolf struggled to its feet, shaking its massive head as it did so. Its eyes focused upon the creature that patiently waited for the wolf's recovery with a soft, sure smirk.

                A heart-stopping snarl rumbled from the werewolf's chest, escaping from between its bared teeth and buzzing the air between it and vampire as they both began to circle each other. The vampire was calm, his eyes keen and bright with the same arrogance and certainty that infused his every movement. Every step was carefully placed, the vampire gracefully walking sideways so he remained facing the werewolf who kept its head low, yet mimicked the same movement. Neither would accept turning side-on towards their enemy.

                Then, the werewolf seemed to almost...smile. At least, that's how it seemed to the vampire, who immediately extended his senses to their surroundings as the change in his opponent's demeanour alerted him to possible danger. Usually, killing a werewolf was little or no trouble to him; they were big, yes, but slow and undeniably mortal in just how breakable they were.

                Yet, as more dark shapes appeared through the grass to either side of him, as both he and the first werewolf stopped at the arrival of at least ten more that emerged out onto the tarmac...the vampire was forced to admit that this particular hunting trip was going to be a little more complicated than he'd thought.

                He shifted his body into a defensive position that accommodated the newcomers as they surrounded him in a prowling circle. The werewolves constantly moved, pacing around their completely still quarry. The vampire had sunk back into a crouch, his legs coiled and ready to spring, one arm resting so lightly upon the ground that his fingertips barely brushed the road surface, and the other arm pulled back and held ready at head height. His eyes flickered around, counting his attackers; there was indeed twelve of them...s**t. Not that he was afraid of defeat; even twelve werewolves posed only a problem rather than any real threat. If anything, they presented a juicy challenge to the experienced fighter. Then again, he decided that perhaps he should curb his arrogance a little, lest he end up laughing on the other side of his face after a werewolf clawed it open.

                The beasts stopped circling him, shifting their body language again into something more deadly as they slowly began to advance, closing in on their apparently doomed quarry. But this vampire had seemed doomed by a werewolf only minutes before, and he had more than one trick up his sleeve.

                They attacked him first from behind, as he'd predicted; werewolves were hardly the brightest foes to go up against. Whilst his attention was apparently fixed on the creatures before him, those behind leaped forwards hoping that he'd turn to face their attack and leave himself vulnerable to those opposite. What silly mongrels these dogs were.

                He swept backwards without needing to look; the werewolves behind would mirror the attack formation of those in front. Symmetry did not pay off in this particular instance. His coiled legs released and he arced his body backwards. His feet remained planted on the road as his entire form curved back, his fingertips brushing the road surface just as the werewolves who'd sprung their attack sailed over him, three of them, their paws skidding uselessly over the wet ground. They awkwardly tried to turn whilst their momentum still carried them forwards, their bodies twisting and tumbling over themselves as they crashed into the werewolves who leaped from the front. That temporarily took care of at least six of them, all before the vampire had even completed his back-flip.

                As his legs rose into the air, his body balanced upon his fingers, another beast leaped from its position in the circle to his right. The vampire gracefully twisted his body around, his front facing the charging werewolf which he briefly saw upside-down before he pushed off the ground, flipped in mid-air and neatly landed upon the creature's shoulders.

                He was sat upon the beast for barely a millisecond.  His knees gripped its neck hard, and he violently propelled himself off the wolf's body, sharply twisting his hips in an almost circular motion as he sailed over himself in mid-air. The vampire had barely been a blur, though the ugly crack that sounded as the werewolf's neck was snapped was all too palpable. The creature fell to the ground with a horrific death-rattle shuddering from its crushed throat before it laid still, its eyes staring blankly into the night.

                As though in slow-motion, his vision entirely unimpaired by the speed at which he was moving, the vampire took stock of the scene as he swivelled high up in the air so his head was pointing downwards. One werewolf lay dead; those he'd off-footed had recovered and were now pelting towards where he'd end up landing. There was no structure to their attack anymore; they were simply a pack of mindless, rabid dogs that fast needed to be put down.

                 There were three werewolves at the forefront of the charging pack of six before him as he landed. As soon as his feet touched the ground, the vampire held out his hand, arm straight, fingers rigid and curled slightly inwards as the forerunning werewolf ran straight into it. The combined strength of the steel-set, unyielding bicep and its own powerful speed crushed the wolf's windpipe and snapped its neck instantly.

                The move, though deadly, had been a clumsy one by the vampire's standards; but he hadn't had much time to act as the dogs were getting far too close to him. The perils of being mobbed, he knew.

                He was forced to use the freshly dead body of the werewolf gripped in his right hand as a ram when another oncoming werewolf just a step behind its dead companion came too close to its killer.

                The werewolf was forced backwards from its pounce at the vampire, and it sailed backwards through the air over the heads of its still-charging pack. The vampire yanked backwards, curling his fingers so they tore into the throat of the dead-werewolf he still held. His hand sunk through the soft flesh until it hit what he'd been looking for. He curled his fist around it, and kicked the dead body away from him, ripping out the spine as he did so.

                The body momentarily made the remaining five werewolves to his right stumble, so he could turn to address the group of five to his left that had drawn too near.

                He whipped around and snapped his new weapon like a whip at the foremost werewolf of the left-pack, its jaws wide and ready to tear his throat open as it pounced. The beast thought it had caught the vampire off-guard but was soon proved wrong as the tip of the spine pierced its eye.

                Without stopping, the vampire whipped the spine at the feet of the four remaining left-wolves as they took the place of their severely distracted comrade. The white object snaked through the air, tangling round the feet of the leading wolf and bringing it crashing to the ground with the others stumbling over and around it.

                The vampire sighed heavily. Barely twenty seconds had passed and he'd only killed two of the fuckers and maimed one. It was time to stop playing.

                He turned and threw his fist into the open mouth of a werewolf to his right as another seemed to take a different tactic and charged at him from behind. He winced as he watched his own hand explode from the werewolf's head as shards of bone and globules of brain matter scattered outwards. Ugh. Now his right hand was covered in goo!

                Three dead. Nine to go. Four to his left. Four to his right and one behind. The werewolf with the missing eye had mostly recovered, although it hung back along with the others of the left pack as they assessed their next form of attack. What a foolish move; it gave him time to work.

                He jumped again, flipping through the air to land behind the attacking right-pack just before they reached him. The werewolf that had charged him from behind now learned the instability and savagery of its own race as it found itself in the way of four, incensed and apoplectic dogs. They'd ripped their comrade to shreds before they realised it wasn't the vampire they had been aiming for. He allowed himself a derogatory smirk; at least the werewolves were starting to do his job for him.

                The vampire didn’t allow the werewolves time to adjust as they began to turn from the bloodied heap of flesh that had once been their pack-mate. He jumped again, spinning quickly in mid-air and cracking his foot around the head of one werewolf from the four to his left (well, his right now) that had seemingly recovered its wits to attack him.

                It didn’t recover for very long though; the force and power of the vampire's kick twisted the werewolf's head around so sharply that its neck snapped. Seven to go.

                The creature fell, dead, and the fate of the remaining three of the group was sealed when they stumbled over its prone body. Four in front of him. Three attacking from his right.

                As predatory and inhumanly graceful as the vampire had been up until that point he was never less human than he was at that moment. His legs bent like as he landed in precisely the same position he'd jumped from, and he propelled himself like a missile towards the four wolves before him, leaving the three others behind in his wake.

                His outstretched hand with steel fingers and razor sharp fingernails pierced beneath the soft chin of the nearest werewolf as it leaped through the air to meet him. Once again, making sure that the trajectory of his hand wasn't too high, the vampire grabbed hold of the werewolf's spine as he carried on forwards like an arrow shot from a bow.

                The left hand meanwhile punched straight through the rib cage of the next werewolf because it had tried to pull up short during its attacking leap at the brutal death of its comrade, leaving its vulnerable underside exposed. The vampire curled his hand around the still-beating heart and squeezed it into a bloody pulp.

                He curved as he landed, rolling and keeping the two dead wolves with him as his spine rolled neatly over the tarmac and smoothly directed him back onto his feet. He lifted the two enormous bodies like oversized gloves, one on each hand and he walked forwards to meet the remaining two beasts in front. Five to go.

                The three behind were still charging; it would be a good three seconds before they reached him. Plenty of time.

                He slammed his right werewolf into one attacker, and in a move of astonishing gymnastics brought his left foot up to meet the side of the huge beast's head as it flew into its companion. It was a testament to the power of the blow, the vampire's kick and the beast's momentum that his foot crack straight through the thick skull (not that it didn’t hurt his toes). The beast fell to the ground across the other's path and didn’t rise again.

                The vampire used the dead body held in his right hand again, twisting to follow the momentum of his left foot as he slammed the body into the remaining werewolf of this particular grouping. He didn’t like to use the same move twice but there were still three slavering beasts running at him from behind after all.

                As the creature fell onto its back, the vampire allowed himself to fall with it. He finally extracted his fist from the chest cavity of his left-werewolf-glove, heart still clutched within. He cracked his knee hard into the living wolf's diaphragm as it landed and punched hard with his left hand, straight into the chest cavity. He left a second unbeating heart there.

                Right! Only three more to go!

                He ripped his right hand free of his make-shift battering ram, bringing the spine with him as he did so. As he turned, he realised that the wolf near-upon him was the one whose eye he'd claimed with the same move before. Ah well, consistency was an important commodity in the world.       This time, he whipped the spine into the remaining eye, straight through with unerring accuracy and into the brain.

                As the beast fell and one of the last two tripped over it, the vampire strode forward, wielding the spinal whip so it wrapped around the wolf's neck as he walked to meet the last attack of the other.

                He yanked on the spine as he passed by, the second werewolf just centimetres away from ripping his face off. His left hand emerged from behind his back, holding the splintered end of a rib which he then rammed upwards, through the chin, mouth and into the brain of the wolf as the spine tore through the throat of the other. The vampire barely withdrew his left hand back in time to prevent the wolf, still propelled by its jump despite being dead, from yanking his arm painfully back as it flew past to land hard upon the ground. Silence fell.

                The entire fight had taken perhaps a minute, and at its conclusion a panting, blood-covered vampire stood the victor, dropping the spinal column to the ground and stretching to crack his back as he surveyed his handiwork. Those beasts had actually thought they'd caught him unawares and entirely at their mercy; he snorted and shook his head, wiping his still-blood and brain encrusted hand on his jeans with a disgusted look. He always forgot how sticky the stuff was. Still, twelve dogs dead in a minute wasn't a bad night's work!

                As the bodies began to softly hiss, the vampire watched dispassionately as the hulking forms of muscle, hair and stench began to shrink, the hair sucking back and the bones cracking from each one as they transformed. Soon, twelve naked human bodies lay strewn around him on the road. Well, eleven really; one was so savaged that it was still hard to tell what it had once been. As he carefully surveyed each dead body, a stab of annoyance began to grow; these things had actually, really thought they could better him? Well, Cedric Fitzgerald, better known as Fitz, would send them all a clear message of just how wrong they'd been.

                By the time he'd finished, Fitz was dangerously close to being caught out in sunlight as dawn began to break over the area. His skin was already getting uncomfortably hot as his blue eyes caught the worrying sliver of yellow light just beginning to peek over the horizon. S**t; he wouldn’t make it back to the city in time...which meant he had only one place to go. He thought he'd rather stay out here and get fried.

                But, even as the thought crossed his mind he turned and flitted away at an inhuman speed to escape the rising sun.

                The city sat below the looming shadow of a mountain, the human population having moved farther away from it over the centuries due to the unique pressures of creatures that also called the mountain their home. After a while, as the morning started to become almost unbearably bright, Fitz changed from the road and cut across the fields towards the rather ominous-looking mountain and away from the city. He could tell by the ever increasing burning sensation on the back of his neck that even reaching the refuge would be a close call...ah well, it had been worth it. Even now he smiled to remember what he'd left behind; not many vampires could boast of what he'd done this night. In fact...Fitz thought he was really the only one left.

                Left over as an ancient remnant of the human community who'd lived much deeper into the mountain was a disused cemetery which was on the verge of being declared a historical site. The oldest of graves here was at least four-hundred years young; most were large, elaborate tombs whose iron wrought doors had stood fused shut for much longer. The occasional gravestone stood drunkenly in the soft, grassy ground, but mostly this graveyard had been used for the most prestigious and rich families of their time. The black, iron fence that surrounded it was near-horizontal and took little effort to leap over as Fitz flew between the tombs and over the squishy ground with evermore urgency as the sunshine became ever brighter. He was seconds away from catching fire, he could feel it.

                Deeper into the cemetery was where the oldest graves and tombs could be found; this section was so old that it had been almost entirely claimed back by nature. A thick canopy of trees that cast the entire area into deep shadow provided Fitz with some relief as he picked his way through grass almost as tall as he was. The tombs here had once stood much taller, carved and proud stone houses for the dead had now sunk so much and were so overgrown that many were hidden from the eye. Unless of course one knew where to look. Right in the very far corner of the graveyard stood what looked like a mound of ivy and vines that tangled around and up to an ancient oak tree that hung over it like a mother hovering over a nest of eggs. Even as morning established itself into blinding sunshine and twittering birds, Fitz paused at this mound of ivy and took a second to look back at the world he was leaving behind. He so rarely got to glimpse the day; it was a novelty to see the world illuminated in such a way, even if it did sting his eyes. But, he was not a creature of the daylight hours, so such images would only ever remain the barest of glances to him, distant and unreachable. He quickly bent down and swept aside a carpet of ivy to reveal a worn, damp stone staircase leading down into darkness; a darkness that filled Fitz with irritation and dread even now.            He hated coming here, but would not be able to simply sit on the stairs without someone knowing he was there and coming up to find him. They always wanted to find him. Well, today was their lucky day! Ready or not...here he came.

                After a pause of peering into the gloom, Fitz sighed heavily (undoubtedly his first of many) and ducked down past the ivy layer and down the steps. He carried on down, stone walls rising around him as he descended further; there weren't many of these steps, the already depressed entrance to this tomb had boasted just a handful of them before it had almost completely been swallowed into the earth. Water trickled down the grey stone, feeding the patches of green moss and strands of ivy that crept across the walls. At the bottom of these steps stood a heavy stone door with decorated iron panels of ivy, wolves and strange creatures and symbols that the human observer wouldn’t have understood. As a vampire though, these symbols made Fitz huff slightly in bitter distaste as he studied them; the values of the old times, long since forgotten by his race. They didn’t deserve to have these honoured symbols adorning their front door any longer. This tomb was one of the lesser known entrances to the long hidden catacombs that were dug into the mountain; even if a particularly curious human found it they would never be able to open doors without some kind of heavy-duty missile. It had even been forgotten by the vampires who'd brought it into existence, but then many things had been lost in more recent years.

                Fitz regarded the door with a great degree of reluctance before he looked to his left and the overhanging curtain of vines and ivy that dangled from the ground above. He swept it aside to reveal a square of depression in the rock, significant due to its orangey-red colour in contrast to the surrounding dark grey. Keeping the ivy aside with one hand, Fitz briefly put his other thumb into his mouth, pricking the pad with one of his sharp teeth before wiping a red smear over the orange stone. Dropping the ivy, Fitz turned back in time to see the door slowly and almost painfully creak open, a poof of dust coughing outwards as the stale, damp air escaped and hit him in the face. He stepped back with a grimace of disgust; he hadn't even stepped inside yet and already it felt like a clammy, damp sheen had attached itself to his skin. He felt more unclean than he had when simply covered in werewolf effluence.

                With yet another world-weary sigh, the vampire stepped through the doors into the blackness beyond, and stood at the top of a second set of stairs that led ever deeper underground. Fitz's hypersensitive hearing picked up the rustling of worms within the packed earth around him as he began to descend, the skittering of a mole of two pushing through the dirt a few metres away...and the faint whispers awaiting him below. He concentrated on those whispers that itched at his ears and caressed his brain; they were alert, speculating and fearful...so they knew it was him then. He smiled, enjoying the smell of fear that strengthened with the more stairs he descended; finally, his feet hit the bottom at the beginning of a narrow corridor hewn through the dirt. The cleaner, wider and more pleasant walkways and rooms made from stone were much further in, drilled into the mountain itself. These corridors still snaked through earth, and consequently reeked of damp and dirt; whatever technology had been used to dig the tunnel was more complicated that it would first appear. Despite having no perceivable supports, this tunnel and others like it had never caved in or even threatened to collapse in Fitz's far-reaching memory. As he pushed further, towards the source of the mutters and faint thrill in the air caused by the presence of creatures moving up ahead, the pitch darkness did nothing to hamper his senses. He was nocturnal after all, and could see better in the dark than he could in daylight. After a few miles of walking, the tunnel shrunk slightly, becoming lower so Fitz had to stoop down for the last few steps before he emerged into a much wider, cleaner and more brightly lit one carved out of stone. He lightly skipped down the three stairs from the dirt tunnel, his feet barely making a sound as he jumped down onto the stone, paved floor. Soft lights gleamed dimly above at the higher ceiling; again, where they got their electricity from Fitz had never bothered to ask. A black cable linked the orange orbs, but otherwise the source of their power remained a mystery he paid little attention to as he carried on his way. Now, as doorways to adjacent rooms began to open up in the surrounding walls, he began to encounter others of his kind.

                This was what his once proud and noble race had been reduced to, shadows hiding underground in a bizarre parody of what they had once been. It was why Fitz hated coming down here, and had spent the past four-hundred years avoiding doing so; the decadence, over-indulgence and cowardice of these preening pricks never failed to infuriate him. He spotted them hovering a safe distance away in the doorways and rooms they socialised in, and spared them barely a glance as he moved past. Elaborate hairstyles, embroidered, silken clothing that consisted of long sweeping coats, high collars and cravats, long-nailed fingers holding delicately made wine glasses sipped from by reddened lips and powered faces...and that was just the men. Fitz blamed the media portrayal of vampires over the decades; every vampire he saw here looked like a ridiculous parody of a vampire, and the stench of stale powder and flowery perfume hanging in the air was more sickening to him than the damp smell. These morons would crumble away into nothing if someone breathed on them too hard. Any who were brave enough to draw within a few feet of him were repelled by a disgusted, murderous glare (as well as the stench of congealing blood) that had them all shrinking back in fear. All Fitz wanted was to find an abandoned room in this seemingly never-ending maze and stay hidden there until the sun went down. However, he knew from his actions that night that he'd have to put up with an attack of bureaucracy first.

                Once, even before Fitz's time, in the old days the vampire race had had three kings at all times, who would reside in the great halls of the catacombs and lead their people into battle whenever necessary. Vampires had been a race of fighters back then, a culture that Fitz had only seen the dying days of when he'd been turned. He still remembered the tales of bloodshed and battle the old ones had enjoyed in the Great Hall the few times they'd gather (vampires weren't the most sociable race). But, the few times they did meet it would be a glorious celebration of skill and death and honour, a boast of conquests made and an acknowledgement of respect. Respect...the word held no meaning here any longer; the most effete, posturing idiot could hold respect in this place now. How Fitz longed for the days when such vampires would have been taught their place by their betters.

                Suddenly, the stone tunnel opened out into a circular space; only barely longer than Fitz in circumference, the circle spawned five other narrower corridors that led off to various corners of the catacombs. But straight ahead sat a huge, ornately carved and frankly over-the-top pair of stone doors. Sitting on high above them were four demon-like gargoyles that gripped the stone archway as they loomed over anyone who stood before the doors...how appropriate considering who resided beyond. Fitz didn’t stop to be intimidated by their image, instead he slammed straight through the doors, throwing them open wide into the huge council chambers where the four Elders sat waiting for him. The Elders...pale imitations of what the Kings had once been; as their title suggested they were the oldest members of the vampire race (the oldest known ones, anyway), and so they were given a degree of influence and status. An undeserved status, in Fitz's opinion.

                The chamber doors opened up into an initially long, narrow room dominated by a stone table that ran almost its entire length. Beyond that, through a doorway, was the bigger Room of Audience where these officious pricks would sit on their makeshift thrones and listen to any disputes that looked for their mediation and guidance. Even before the four robed figures turned to face him, Fitz rolled his eyes in exasperation at their very presence as he stopped before the table and looked expectantly at them with no small degree of mockery in his expression. Rather anachronistically considering the Gothic architecture, the Elders had been gathered around an impressively large HD television upon which a news programme was broadcasting. Fitz got a good look at it as the Elders turned around, and he smiled to see the familiar road-scene he'd left just a few hours before; this time it was cordoned off by police-tape and any horrors were concealed within a large white tent shown over the reporter's shoulder as he spoke into the camera.

'...initial reports from witnesses suggest that a burning pile of human bodies were found in the middle of the road in the early hours of this morning...'

Fitz smirked,

"They're not quite as ignorant as they seem, are they?" he asked the four decidedly unimpressed vampires facing him. His grin only widened to see their displeasure; Cain, black-haired and the shortest of them, stocky and powerfully built; Titus, the oldest of them all, his vivid blue eyes slightly clouded over and his skin lily-white with age; Redburn, most obviously not his real name considering his bright ginger hair and the gruesome burn-scar that spread over half of his features. But Fitz's very favourite had to be Vincent, the most aggressive, bureaucratic and overly-dramatic one of them all; there was truly nothing Fitz enjoyed more than seeing the green-eyed, willow-thin vampire Elder get more and more wound up the longer they spoke for. Already he could see Vincent shifting around and brimming with fury, crossing his arms and trying to make himself look as stern as possible.

                But, perhaps the vehemence of the Elders' remonstration of him was hindered somewhat by the foul stench of werewolf blood and gore that still covered the vampire's skin and clothing. Fitz didn’t mind himself; anything that kept other people away was fine by him and he'd smelt much worse in the past. As Vincent puffed up, Fitz watched his nose wrinkle up in disgust and he took a step back, the crux of his anger stopped in its wake by the smell.

"This was entirely unacceptable, Fitzgerald!" he spat, his expression morphing into one of ugly rage,

"On the contrary, I think I was too easy on them" Fitz said lightly,

"It was a foolish loss of your temper, Cedric" Titus interjected gently before Vincent could snarl out his reply; as the oldest of all, Titus held slightly more of Fitz's respect than the rest of the Elders did. In other circumstances, he thought he may even have considered the ancient vampire a friend, but those days were long passed. Still...he called Fitz 'Cedric', a name he held no love for and the use of it made him wince slightly.

"They mobbed me" he said testily "I didn’t lose my temper, I simply put it away momentarily for safe-keeping"

"You risked exposure of our species, Fitz" Redburn said calmly, his pale eyes never blinking and not a single facial muscle twitching as he coldly regarded the vampire before him. Fitz stared calmly back; he was not fooled by Redburn's relative quietness in comparison to his more vocal and overtly aggressive fellows. Out of them all, even Titus, Fitz would pick Redburn as the most dangerous opponent in a fight; his savagery and lack of mercy remained legendary even in these weak times.

"Hardly" he said derisively "Unless the werewolf myth is equated with bonfires of bodies appearing in the night, the message wasn't for the humans to interpret."

"You still hunt the wolves as ardently as you did when first turned" Vincent had started pacing now, and it was all Fitz could do to keep the smile off his face...he wondered how much it would take to get the Elder to start waving his arms around in anger.

"How would you know what I was when I was turned to this life, Vincent?" Fitz asked mockingly, watching the other vampire's features 'flush' with anger. Age was an important commodity amongst their species, despite their monopoly of time. The fact that Fitz held more year than he did annoyed Vincent to no end. 

"Besides, someone has to fight the good fight" he added coldly; his words stopping Vincent's energised pacing. A pause of silence dropped like a stone into water.

                Fitz took the ensuing silent stares as permission to leave, and he gave in return a deep, mocking bow, sweeping his body low before looking up at them with a derisive expression.

"My lords" he said curtly before he turned and strode towards the door. Before he left, Fitz turned and spared Titus a last glance and the elder met his gaze with saddened blue eyes; even in this short encounter Fitz could tell that his old friend had changed...and not for the better. The last time Fitz had been here, trapped in the catacombs by the heat of the sun, Titus had been his last hope for the better days of his race. The last Elder to actually respect and keep to the old ways, who held the same discontent for the way their world was now that Fitz had...but Titus it seemed in the past sixty years had joined the dark side. Fitz could see the look of wan defeat and complacency in those vivid blue eyes of the vampire who'd once promised him vengeance against the creatures that had destroyed his human life, so many years ago.

                He wanted nothing more than to leave this place, only slightly less than willing to run out into the sunlight and burn away into ash. It clung to his skin and coated the inside of his nostrils, the smell of powder and perfume and dust and deadened decadence, posers, primpers, pretending they lived a free life when they were truly imprisoned down here. Well, not him; Cedric Fitzgerald would die before he'd be imprisoned anywhere...and he had a feeling that that's what it would come when the next night fell.

                Miles upon miles of tunnels and rooms hewn out of the rock stretched into the mountain, so far that Fitz was surprised the thing hadn't collapsed in on itself. The oldest of them were, surprisingly, the farthest it; those at the heart of the mountain were the ancient halls where the Kings had once sat. They held Fitz's only hope of finding something enjoyable in this dead and dying rabbit warren.

                He walked for hours, passing straight by the heated pools with the perfumed water where people lounged for hours on end drinking 'wine' and laughing about their nightly exploits...which in Fitz's opinion amounted to nothing. He stank to the high heavens, but enjoyed watching the disgusted expressions appear on the faces he passed by; it at least guaranteed that no-one would be willing to follow him. Fitz's reputation preceded him and did most of the work anyway. Tunnels narrowed, shortened into something barely bigger than a rabbit-tunnel, widened out into huge sweeping hallways one could drive a tank through before weaving and narrowing again. Some boasted carvings of various gargoyles and angels peering down from the heights above, others were simply roughly chipped walls and uneven floors. The rooms he passed had been empty for centuries past, the spiders of the mountain having long since claimed them. Some rooms were so infested with web that the doorways looked like a solid white wall with the occasional many-legged shadow passing by, visible to Fitz's hyper-sensitive eyes. Brave as he was, no-one could pay him enough to enter such a room; it was best to let the spiders be.

                Finally, he reached what had once been known colloquially as 'the barracks'; the original tunnels and rooms of the vampire base, called such because they were simply an expanse of corridors and simple rooms with shelves carved into the rock to sleep on. The vampires of old had only ever required the basics of survival, there had been none of the luxuries the race seemed dependent upon now. How weak they'd become. Already Fitz felt more at home here, and mourned that these days had passed by the time he'd been turned, already ancient, already near-forgotten. He ran his fingers over the ancient walls as he passed, feeling the years upon years of wine, blood and laughter soaked into them, almost feeling the ghosts of those vampires passing him by. Vampires were immortal, but the warrior-culture of old hadn't produced a long survival-rate; honour always had a price to pay. He took a deep breath and smiled at the utter lack of flowery scents; just rock and stale air...perhaps a hint of spider-web and dead rat; Fitz imagined he could smell the remnants of the old ones. By all accounts they had been a smelly bunch, but he could hardly judge that when he stank of rotting werewolf brains.

                The temperature of the air dropped as Fitz stepped down into an enormous, cavernous hall. He closed his eyes to revel in the freshness of the room, taking a deep breath and unable to help the smile that spread across his face. The Hall of Blood was beautifully stone crafted walls that swept and curved upwards into a massive dome, the long benches themselves cut from the rock with the biggest of them once used to house the food and drink consumed when the vampires of old had gathered to dine here. Vampires had never been a particularly social race, but every year they'd gathered here for games, feasting and the telling of great tales, catching up with friends and foes alike. This Hall had held all of them, with the three thrones of the Great Kings sat high, presiding above them majestic and strong. Even without their owners, those thrones still seemed to emanate a kind of stoicism and surety...as though they were simply waiting for the kings to return; wasn't everyone? Abraham, Nemesis, Baronicus...the Great Kings who'd ruled for thousands of years, waged a thousand battles, sired an entire race of vampires and given them a legacy to be proud of. What Fitz would give to stand in their presence, just for a moment, a second to remind himself of what he fought for...because he saw no evidence of that in his race now. He gazed up at the three thrones, his legs slowly and reverently climbing the stairs up to them before he found himself face to face with the prestigious relics, simply carved yet no less beautiful for it. As far as Fitz knew, no vampire had dared to sit upon any of the thrones since the destruction of the last king, not that there was a myth of a curse upon them or anything. They just gave out a clear impression that no-one else was worthy to claim them, not even the vampire Elders had tried; the days of the kings were long past, and even the apathetic miscreants of the race today wouldn’t tolerate a greater level of leadership.

                Fitz wasn't sure if he approved of that trait or not, perhaps at heart he was proud of the thread of anarchy that still existed amongst his people.

                He'd been hiding for only a few hours, sitting at one of the benches, when he became aware of someone coming his way. He snarled softly under his breath, obviously his reputation coupled with his smell hadn't been enough to keep everyone away. Why was there always one who'd disregard his utter misanthropy and invade his quiet time? Letting out a deep sigh, Fitz let his head slam down onto the stone surface, burying his fingers into his hair and cursing the Earth as he listened to the footsteps draw closer. From the sound and smell that was drifting over to him, the intruder was female, long-haired, wearing the typical leathery clothing popular with the 'hard-core' clique of his race. At least she wasn't a powdered, perfumed wedding cake. But still, she was just as unwelcome nonetheless.

                The person moved cautiously as she entered the room, as though she actually expected him to not have noticed her a relatively long time ago. She wore high-heeled boots; he imagined them to be high, perhaps to the knee or, considering the vampiric tendency towards the extreme, thigh-length. Her 'trousers' were certainly skin-tight; they didn’t rustle at all when she walked and Fitz could only hear the slightest slip of them against her as she moved. Her top didn’t have sleeves, most likely a corset; it didn’t move independently of her as loose clothing would have. She wore nail-polish, the sharp scent was subtle but undeniable to his nose. He sat there with his forehead resting against the bench, waiting.

                Her breath caught in her throat, she approached very slowly, placing her footsteps carefully before her as she approached the apparently clueless vampire. Fitz simply held still, keeping his breathing steady and unconcerned as she approached. Any...second...now.

                Her fingertips only got the chance to just brush against Fitz's shoulder before he moved, lightning-fast, whipping round to grab her wrist and haul her over his shoulder. She was flat on her back upon the bench-top, winded, with Fitz pinning her down in less than a second. He crouched over her, one knee pressing hard into her sternum, one hand enclosed around her throat whilst the other was poised to strike if she made the wrong move against him. The calmness of his expression, the surety that he could kill her in a second, and the stillness of him as he waited for her reaction amazed her. It even took the adrenaline a second to catch up to what had happened and flood her system.

"I... I meant you no harm!" she gasped, and he titled his head slightly at her words, amusement bleeding slightly into his expression.

"That is belied by the fact that you were trying to sneak up on me" he pointed out, the casual tone of his deep voice telling her that he was entirely in control of the situation. She was at his mercy.

"I wasn't sneaking" she tried to shake her head as much as she could within his grip on her throat "I thought you were unaware of my presence and..." she paused and swallowed nervously, aware that he was squeezing her throat hard enough to let her know that he was allowing her the freedom to do so. He waited patiently through her silence for a minute before he arched an eyebrow;

"And?" he prompted, his knee pressing slightly harder into her sternum. Damn, she was going to have so many bruises tomorrow; even vampires bruised.

"I know who you are" she stammered more than said, her green, kohl-lined eyes wide as she looked helplessly up at him. His eyes narrowed and she watched him ponder her words before his vivid blue eyes bore down into hers;

"You think you know who I am" he corrected, and he sat back, his hand releasing her throat and his knee leaving her chest as he straightened. In a flash, he was standing before her on the other side of the bench as she sat up, rubbing her throat and squeezing her fist to test the wrist he'd swung her by. Nothing was broken, which she suspected was entirely intentional. She regarded him even more warily than she had before; she hadn't been sure of him when she'd followed him but he'd more than proved his reputation true in just a few short moments.

                Covered in normal, civilian clothes, denim jacket, green cotton t-shirt and jeans that were themselves covered in sour smelling, dark red blood and bits of something she didn’t really want to think about it; Cedric Fitzgerald didn’t look like the legend she knew him to be. She'd imagined a battle-hardened warrior encased in worn leather and various weapons concealed in different places.

                As though he read her thoughts as he watched her assessment of him, Fitz smiled and said;

"These aren't my usual clothes, though I don’t wear anything much more fancy" he looked down and plucked as his blood-stiffened denim jacket.

"Then why?" she looked at him critically "Necessity?"

"Hunting clothes" Fitz corrected, sounding slightly insulted and protective of his clothing choice as he peeled a piece of skull from his t-shirt and flicked it away.

"Oh..." she looked down at the darkening patch on her right wrist, clear upon her pale skin;

"What are you doing here?" Fitz's irritated question made her look up again,

"I'm Samantha" she said brightly, briefly thinking about extending her hand for him to shake but reconsidering as she remembered what had happened last time she'd stretched it out towards him. His extremely unfriendly expression dimmed her smile somewhat;

"I didn’t ask who you are. I asked what you are doing here" he repeated, his voice steely and his expression cold as he crossed his arms and stared her down.

"I was curious" she shrugged,

"I guessed as much. What do you want?"

"You are Fitz" she stated,

"Thank you so much, I'd entirely forgotten. What do you want?" his sarcasm was contrasted by the complete lack of impatience as he repeated his question for the second time.

"I...I wanted to talk to you, a real vampire! A warrior! People here don’t even know the meaning of either word!" Samantha's face became more alive, more animated as she spoke "I wanted to talk to a vampire whose company I can be proud to share."

                Well, he'd been right. Skin tight trousers that were made of some kind of PVC (probably the glue...or was that PVA?), knee-height s**t-kicker boots and a tight corset that allowed durability and movement. Fitz could tell that she'd tried to dress like a fighter, the fighter she thought he was...well she was right in that regard. He could also tell that she was young in the vampiric sense of the term; as a human she'd been in her mid-twenties when changed, but from her skin and the pure freshness from her as she scooted back to fall onto the seat at the bench and looked in awe at him told Fitz that she hadn't been changed very long-ago. She was beautiful, of course; vampires, particularly the females, were usually only ever changed because they had some kind of beauty. This one, Samantha, had long, straight, auburn hair that almost reached her narrow waist, startling green eyes and innocent, open features. Still a benign beauty though, one could get quite apathetic towards looks when most of your race were good-looking. Fitz himself wasn't that much of an example of physical attractiveness; his own features were unconventionally startlingly handsome, sharp and strong yet holding a strange kind of beauty. He had the kind of face that a person could stare at for hours, and not in the sense of the elephant-man.

                Ugh, she'd sat down...and was looking at him like a librarian looked at a particularly enthralling book. Both things meant that she wasn't going away any time soon; usually Fitz would have successfully scared her away but he'd been surprised by her opinions. Pleasantly surprised; he'd thought that nothing of his race's old values remained, but in this particular girl...it seemed she held some remnant of them. Alright, he was slightly curious about her, but that did not mean that he was pleased by her company.

                So, with a defeated sigh and a distinctly annoyed expression, Fitz sat down opposite her and internally winced at how...happy she looked. He mirrored her pose, leaning forwards, hands folded before him upon the bench as he steadily met her gaze. Of course, she broke first because she was the only one who wanted to talk.

"So...what, what's it like up there?" she asked, gesturing upwards to indicate the surface, and Fitz's eyes lifted up to glance at the ceiling too.

"Lighter" he shrugged "Fresh. Beautiful. Free." He looked at Samantha, noting her slight sadness and the frown that tinted her brow "You don’t like it here" he stated. It wasn't a question. She shook her head slightly, still looking mournfully up at the ceiling as though she was hoping to see the outside world through it. Which would have been unfortunate as it was just about the middle of the day and they both would've been incinerated. But still, it was the thought that counted.

"Have you ever been up there?" he finally asked with an internal sigh; if she was going to stay here then he may as well have an actual conversation with her. He thought of his previous peaceful silence with a slightly wistful expression that was similar to Samantha's as she replied;

"Only when I was human."

"Something difficultly remembered" Fitz pointed out softly, studying her as she lowered her gaze to meet his.

"More difficult for you, I would imagine" she matched his tone and smiled slightly as his eyes narrowed and a thoughtful expression appeared on his face.

"How old are you?" he asked,

"Twen..."

"Vampire years" he interrupted her sharply, ignoring her responding playful smile;

"Eighty-years give or take." Damn, she wasn't even a century old.

"You must have been one of the last to be recruited then" he mused quietly, his eyes focused away from her and somewhere off into the dark corners of the room;

"I've never met anyone younger" Samantha agreed. This time, she was the one who studied him carefully whilst his attention was drifted off elsewhere, "Your age..."

"Somewhere between...f**k it, I don’t know; I was changed just after the Norman Conquest" he sighed and exasperatedly rubbed his forehead. Was she ever really going to leave? Was she actually going to stay here for the rest of the day? When was sundown? About nine hours away...perhaps he could convince her to stake him before then.

                "Titus says a vampire only forgets his age when he can't be bothered to remember what it is." Samantha recited, her pale skin almost flushing at the look Fitz threw her way.

"Bully for Titus and his great wisdom" he said sardonically, sighing and closing his eyes like he was trying his best to shut her out or pretend that she wasn't there. Just as she was considering breaking the silence, Fitz spoke;

"Nine-hundred and forty-two years" he said finally, opening his eyes and sitting up "Give or take" he smiled triumphantly as Samantha's eyes widened.

"Then you...you are more than old enough to be an Elder!" she exclaimed, so excited that she missed Fitz's smile fading off into a dark, tight expression, "You are older than Vincent and Cain! Why did you never take your place among them? Did they never offer? Your years give you more than enough right to be an Elder and they would have no power to protest..."

                "I would have every tooth pulled out and my eyes gouged out before being condemned to burning alive for the rest of eternity before I'd ever join the ranks of those compliant, traitorous, defeated, pathetic excuses of the vampire name." Fitz's flat, deadly voice stated fact and brooked no argument as he cut through Samantha's babbling and silenced her with the seriousness of his expression. His hatred of the Elders was clear in his words, the tone with which he spoke them and the look upon his face. Suddenly, the impression of being in the presence of a very capable, very dangerous predator returned to Samantha and she reminded herself never to provoke or turn her back on him...metaphorically and literally speaking. She wisely questioned him no further on the subject, which she quickly changed;

"Your name would be strange for those times, then" she said, her voice carefully light as she withstood his burning gaze "Cedric is Saxon where Fitzgerald is clearly a Norman-French surname. Was it an effort by your parents to combine the two cultures? A Norman father and a Saxon mother? That happened with the daughters of wealthy Saxon landowners..."

"If I told you my age in vampire years, then I was changed only four years after the Norman Conquest of England" Fitz quietly pointed out "You must think more carefully than you do now." He sighed, then surprised her with a sudden and impish smile "So I joined the winning side and changed my name to show my allegiance; it was all about survival back then" he grinned when she failed to hide her disapproval of his confession.

"Life seems so very important when you're human, doesn’t it?"

                "But...the Saxons were your people"

"Saxons were an invading force just as the Normans were, as the Celts were before that. Right to rule was claimed by battle and victory; in my mind the Norman's rule was just as legitimate as the Saxon one before it." Fitz paused and frowned slightly, his mind over nine-hundred years into the past "Did you know there's no such thing as a French werewolf? Entirely Germanic in origin...well, I suspect their origins stretch much further back than that but that was the area they were based in...brought over to England with the Saxon conquest. Just as patriotic and brutally opined as they are now...they didn’t look kindly upon 'blood traitors'. What a joke in the end, they weren't even human, I don’t know why they were so concerned with the politics of it all."

"Legend says..." Samantha paused, unsure whether this subject topic was any better than the last one to anger him "That they murdered your family, your human one."

"I certainly don’t have any vampire family to speak of" Fitz quipped briefly, his expression quickly becoming thoughtful again "Yes..." he said slowly "After four years they invaded my castle, ripped apart my wife and five children and nearly killed me too. I managed to make it outside...and there I ran into Titus. He fought off the werewolves single-handedly, so powerful, so impressive. I remember sitting there upon the grass, the full moon casting its light down, covered in my children's blood, watching this great figure tear apart the creatures who'd ended my human life. After the last of them had fled, Titus stood before me and he made me an offer; 'Join the vampire race and take your revenge upon that which has wounded you so badly.'" he quoted gently "My life already lay in ruins, I was more than happy to take the last step towards ending it and forging a new one. So I burned the castle and began my new existence; I joined the war against the wolves."

"But..."

"And still I fight" Fitz stopped Samantha's speech more with his eyes than his words "No war is over until the last warrior gives in" he sighed heavily "That day is far in the future."

"The Elders...the books say that the war is over"

"Not if I have anything to do with it, kiddo."

                To give her credit, once Samantha relaxed she became quite talkative...very, very talkative. It didn’t even seem to bother her that at some point during the next few hours Fitz had slammed his head upon the bench and hadn't resurfaced. Whether he'd knocked himself out or not didn’t seem to matter.

                Unfortunately, he hadn't knocked himself out and had subsequently learned what it was like to live in the catacombs without actually having done so. As if he'd wanted to learn more about a place that was most definitely God-forsaken. Apparently, Samantha had scoured every history book available in the catacombs, and Fitz featured in at least 65% of them! He felt so validated to have found a fan; he just wished she could be the absent kind that sent the occasional letter of admiration. Not that he had a permanent address. Gambling was the predominant pastime along with shagging and a kind of fighting that sounded a lot like dancing around and flapping your hands at your opponent. Honestly, if she hated the company of the other vampires so much the catacombs were more than vast enough for her to go off on her own and never see them again. She could live like a rat or a mole, only an entirely anti-social one, problem solved. What time was it? 19:00 hours...sundown was in about two hours...hell he could push it to one and a half if he was willing to put up with oven temperatures. Had it truly been seven hours? How time flew during extreme psychological torture.

                "...But anyway it's so wonderful to actually talk to someone who was there during the wars rather than just reading about them from a book! What was it like, being a soldier back then?" Samantha's voice directed entirely at him for the first time in hours lifted Fitz from his internal musings and his head from the bench-table, admittedly only enough so he could stare incredulously at her.

"It was..." he shrugged and seemed to search the bench-top for an answer "Simple" he decided "Kill werewolves. Don't kill vampires. Don't get killed. The end. A straightforward existence." He rested his head back upon the table,

"It sounds...peaceful" Samantha said confusedly,

"In a way" Fitz's slightly muffled voice emerged from his concealed face "A life with purpose, no matter what it is, has its own form of peace."

"You still live that life?" she sounded wistful again, and this time he could perfectly picture the expression on her face without having to look up at her.

"Yes, out there."

"It must be difficult for you to come back here then."

"More than you could ever believe."

"Could I?..." Samantha started, paused and Fitz could practically hear her internal struggling "Could I come with you when you leave?"

"No."

"Oh." Her disappointment was palpable, and Fitz heard her slump, despondent.

"If you want to leave then leave, survive on your own or not. I will not carry you or protect you out there." he lifted his head to look at her, into her sad green eyes,

"I don’t know how"

"Neither did half of the vampires who live on the surface. Most of them do die, but there are a few who learn to be more deadly than the foes who hunt for them."

                With a sigh, Fitz rose to his feet and looked down at his temporary companion with a slight smile and a relieved sigh.

"Speaking of fighting being a more peaceful existence, I think it's time for me to leave" he strode off towards the exit, hearing Samantha get up and turn behind him,

"They won't let you leave!" she called after him.

"Then they can kill me..." he turned around to look at her "Well..." he amended "They can try" then, with a brilliant smile that almost lit up the silent room, he was gone.

                Fitz smiled as the Elders spread out around the circular space. Every corridor entrance, every other inch of the room crowded with vampires ready and waiting to attack. A solid black, perfumed wall barring his way out. He was surrounded, outnumbered, overpowered.

"We cannot let you continue, Fitz" Titus said softly, moving forwards "You will violate the peace treaty and war will begin again."

"You mean our terms of surrender? All those years ago" Fitz corrected, his eyes alight with a savage enjoyment "I signed no treaty and I do not fear the werewolves' retribution for my actions."

"Stay here, surrender now and you can live in peace without fear of death or pain, as we do." Titus urged,

"Ah" Fitz sighed softly against the humming air "Let me just get this right...You're offering me either certain death or a chance to live?" he fixed Titus's blue eyes with his own. Then, a wide, bright smile banished away Fitz's pondering expression.

                "Well, that gives me an easy choice, doesn’t it?"

 

 Oh how he loved the thrill of an uneven fight. As the shadows spilled behind him to cover the walls of the circular space he smiled at the figures that moved to intercept his way. He couldn’t understand for the life of him the appeal for the many that ambushed the one. Where was the appeal of knowing you would win easily? To be tested, to be challenged, to have to use every wile and skill to preserve your life...therein lay the glory of a battle.