Underworld: Evolution Part 14

In his hand, Corvinus held the second half of the key, the one he had extracted from Viktor's rib cage. Facing his father's back, Marcus could not see the key. Corvinus prayed he never would.

"You are unwelcome in my presence," Corvinus said sternly.

He turned to face his son, but the vital key was no longer in evidence. To his slight surprise, he saw that Marcus looked like the son he remembered, not the hybrid abomination described by Selene. His beard and hair were the same reddish tint they had always been. A leather overcoat was draped over his bare shoulders, concealing his wings. Corvinus recognized his son's cruel, sardonic smile. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or dismayed by Marcus's deceptively human appearance.

"Ah, the predictable heart that never thaws," his son said mockingly. He placed his hand atop his chest, as though wounded to the core. "Pity it beats within such a fool. The eldest of the immortals, yet you've made no attempt to seize your destiny."

The ancient broadsword rested on the desk between them. The carved G.o.ddess upon the wall was the sole witness to their reunion. In hopes of sparing their lives, Corvinus had ordered the s.h.i.+p's staff and guards to evacuate the vessel. What transpired now was between him and Marcus alone.

As it was always meant to be.

"We are oddities of nature, you and I. Nothing more." He leveled a disapproving gaze upon his son.

"This is a world for humanity."

Marcus sneered at him. "And that petty sentiment explains why you rejected your sons? Why you stood by for over half a millennium as William suffered alone in darkness?" Contempt registered in his voice.

"No Father. I have no respect for your pitiful excuse." He stepped forward ominously, circling around the desk. "Viktor's key. Where is it?"

"Whatever plan you have for William is futile." Corvinus did not quail in the face of his son's advance. "You cannot control your brother."

Lord knows I tried, he thought sadly, before William's bloodl.u.s.t grew beyond all control.

"I am stronger now," Marcus replied, "and our bond is greater than you have ever wanted to acknowledge."

The same old delusion, Corvinus mused. Marcus had never been able to recognize the truth about his beloved twin. "You're wrong. Soon you will be drowning in lycans...just like before."

Marcus shook his head. "Not lycans, Father, or vampires. A new race, created in the image of their maker...their new G.o.d. Me."

Fervor burned in his eyes, and Corvinus realized that his son had truly gone mad.

"And a true G.o.d...has no father."

Corvinus reached for his sword, but he had waited too long...perhaps intentionally. Marcus's wings unfurled, the unnatural sight causing Corvinus's eyes to widen in amazement. A demonic pinion snapped outward, knocking the older man against the starboard wall. A spear-tipped talon pierced his shoulder, pinning him to the solid steel bulkhead.

Immortal blood flowed from his injured shoulder, but Corvinus had survived worse in his time. He grunted in pain, but refused to beg for his life, not even when he saw Marcus lift the heavy broadsword with one hand. He was still Alexander Corvinus, and he would not give Marcus the satisfaction of seeing his father tremble in fear.

My death is long overdue, he thought. Let me face it with dignity.

There was nothing dignified about the hate-filled expression on Marcus's face as he slowly drove the point of the sword through his father's chest. Despite his resolve, Corvinus could not help gasping out loud as the double-edged blade sliced through his body inch by excruciating inch. The sword cut through bone and tissue alike.

Was I truly too slow to defend myself, Corvinus wondered, or was it that I simply could not bring myself to slay my son-not even to save my own life?

He suspected the latter.

Marcus thrust the entire length of the blade into his father, all the way up to the hilt. Only then did he withdraw his left wing from his victim's shoulder. Coughing up blood, Corvinus slumped against the steel bulkhead, held up by the broadsword alone. As he writhed upon the blade, his son reached into his wool coat and began searching Corvinus's pockets.

Forgive me, Viktor, Corvinus thought in despair. The deceased Elder had been a liar and a hypocrite, but at least he had understood the importance of keeping William locked away from the world. You hid it better than I.

Marcus's eyes lit up with malevolent glee. Grinning evilly at his father, he plucked the key from an inside pocket. Corvinus's dying heart sank at the sight; he had no doubt that, despite Selene's best efforts, Marcus had already obtained the pendant and the location of William's hidden prison. Now his insane son had it all...and all of humanity was in danger.

"You will fail," Corvinus said, looking into his son's eyes.

But Marcus wasn't quite done with him yet. Tucking the key into the pocket of his overcoat, he turned to face his father once more. It was time to deliver the coup de grace.

The talons of both wings sprang forward, converging on the old man's heart.

Whirring blades sliced through the air as the helicopter touched down on the s.h.i.+p's landing pad. Peering from the c.o.c.kpit, Samuel could have told at once that they had a situation on their hands, even if they hadn't already received an emergency distress signal from the Sancta Helena. Dead guards littered the deck, along with blood and empty sh.e.l.ls. A gaping hole had been torn in the dock alongside the s.h.i.+p, while the broken skylight testified that even the sanct.i.ty of Macaro's private office had been violated.

The Sancta Helena had obviously come under attack. Samuel feared that he and his men had arrived too late. Was the Old Man still alive?

Rifles and machine guns ready, the Cleaners piled out of the copter and raced toward the ops center. They found the corridors of the s.h.i.+p strangely deserted, which suggested that most of the crew and staff had managed to escape the a.s.sault. Samuel dared to hope that Macaro might be among the survivors, but in his heart he knew otherwise. Their commander was definitely one who would want to go down with his s.h.i.+p.

Leading the way, Samuel rushed through the abandoned ops center and up the stairs to the palatial suite. A quick glance confirmed the worst: Macaro sat slumped against one wall, barely breathing. A bright red streak upon the steel bulkhead testified to how the Old Man had slid onto the floor. A bloodstained broadsword rested on the polished wooden planks a few feet away, its grisly work accomplished. Scanning the office, Samuel spotted the inert body of another Cleaner sprawled atop the mahogany desk. Colin Langely, he believed, although the corpse's mutilated face threw some doubt on the matter.

"Look sharp!" he ordered his team. Searching the office, they quickly determined that the enemy was no longer present. Then, and only then, did Samuel hurry to see to Macaro. A look of horror transformed the soldier's usually impa.s.sive features as he registered the full extent of his commander's injuries. Gaping wounds perforated Macaro's chest, many of them pa.s.sing all the way through the man's body. A crimson froth bubbled up from his punctured lungs. Blood pooled beneath him, seeping through the cracks in the hardwood floor. His face was drawn and pale. Pain showed in his ageless gray eyes.

Samuel was one of the few operatives Macaro had trusted with the secret of his true ident.i.ty. The Cleaner realized that any other man would already be dead by now; only Macaro's immortal nature had kept him alive so far.

But for how much longer?

Samuel found it hard to believe that even Alexander Corvinus could survive such grievous wounds. Urgently, he called for a first-aid kit and started applying pressure to the worst of the sucking chest wounds. If he could just stop the bleeding, maybe there was still a chance to save him!

Macaro waved him away. "No," he insisted. "The time has come, my friend." Gasping for breath, he hurriedly explained the nature of the threat posed by Marcus. "Find the girl." He coughed up blood.

"Bring her to me."

Beneath the pier, Selene tried hopelessly to revive Michael. Her blood had saved him once before; perhaps it could do so again? She squeezed her hand, forcing the blood to stream from her wounded palm onto the gaping wounds in Michael's chest, which nevertheless stubbornly refused to heal. In desperation, she pressed her bleeding palm to his lips. Drink, she pleaded with him silently. Drink, please.

His lips were cold to her touch. His mouth did not welcome the blood.

It was no use. Michael was past saving.

Hunched over his body, she cradled his head with one arm. Only days ago, she recalled, Michael had tended her own wounds beneath a similar pier, after he'd rescued her from a sinking car. Perhaps he would have been better off letting her die; in the end, she had brought him nothing but a violent death.

Fresh tears streaked her face as she wept openly. It was all too much. She had lost everything, including any last hope for happiness. She felt as though her own future had died with Michael.

Caught up in her grief, she didn't even hear the Cleaners coming down the steps until their flashlight beams cut through the darkness below the dock. A hand landed on her shoulder and she spun around violently, knocking the hand away. She sprang to her feet and raised her gun.

The leader of the Cleaners stepped back and raised his hands to signal that he didn't want a fight. "No, wait." Behind him, his men lowered their weapons. Selene held her fire, but kept her gun ready. As far as she knew, Corvinus's soldiers were not her enemy, but she wasn't about to take any chances.

"Well?" she demanded hoa.r.s.ely. Her throat ached from sobbing.

"My name is Samuel," the lead Cleaner identified himself. "If you want Marcus, you'll need Alexander's help."

Marcus! The Elder's name inspired a burst of volcanic rage. Selene realized that she still had one thing left to live for: stopping Marcus and avenging Michael's death. But to destroy the hybrid Elder she would need all the a.s.sistance she could get.

She nodded, then glanced down at Michael.

"We're not leaving him here."

The opulent suite had changed little since Selene had last seen it, aside from the bloodstains on the wall and the gore-covered sword lying upon the floor. She found Corvinus propped up against one wall, surrounded by his own immortal blood. A museum-quality medieval dagger rested upon his lap.

She could tell at glance that he was at death's door. His face had taken on a grayish cast and he was breathing with great difficulty. Her mind reeled at the very idea of the near-mythical Alexander Corvinus succ.u.mbing to death at last, but now was not the time to dwell on the historic significance of the moment. According to Samuel, the ancient warlord had only a short time left to live. They had to make it count.

"Did he get the pendant?" he gasped.

Selene remembered Marcus wrenching his prize away from Michael. "Yes."

"He is too powerful for you alone," Corvinus said, unsurprised by her admission.

It took her a moment to realize what he had in mind. Her gaze darted at the waiting dagger.

"You're the only one older than he is," she protested, "the only one stronger. You could have killed him yourself."

Corvinus shook his head. "No matter what he has become...he is my son."

"Well, he's not mine."

He nodded grimly. "You are the last hope left," he told her. Selene wondered if he had even tried to defend himself. "There is only one way to defeat him." Picking up the dagger, he drew the tip of the blade across his wrist. A crimson line seeped up from beneath his skin. "Quickly now, before there is no more legacy left in my veins."

Selene recalled offering her own wrist to Michael only one night ago. Her heart ached at the realization that her sacrifice had only kept her lover alive for another twenty-four hours or so. She hoped that Corvinus's blood would not be similarly wasted.

She knelt beside the dying immortal and lifted his wrist to her lips. His blood touched her tongue and an unexpected shock rushed through her body. Her brown eyes instantly flashed to a luminous blue. Corvinus's blood, the font from which both the lycan and vampire races had been born, possessed a dynamic energy like nothing she had ever tasted before. Already she felt its powers coursing through her veins.

Startled, and more than a little frightened, she drew back her lips. Her eyes stared anxiously into his. She spoke in a whisper: "What will I become?"

Corvinus lifted his wrist toward her mouth. His voice, when he answered her, was suffused with a near-religious fervor.

"The Future."

What does he mean? She contemplated his bleeding wrist, uneasy about the momentous step she was about to take. Even without knowing the full consequences of the act, she knew that she faced a crucial turning point that would change her immortal existence forever. After this, nothing would ever be the same. She hesitated briefly, then realized she had no choice. Marcus had to be stopped, and this was the only way she could become strong enough to oppose him. Also, if she was completely honest with herself, the lure of Corvinus's potent blood was just too intoxicating to resist.

Opening her mouth wide, she sank her fangs deeply into the immortal's wrist. An electric thrill raced through her quivering flesh as she hungrily gulped down the potent elixir flowing through the old man's veins. Her body convulsed in sync with Corvinus's fading pulse. Her own heart pounded like the hooves of medieval warhorses. Blue fire blazed in her eyes as the blood of the First merged with her own. For the first time since Michael's death, she felt alive once more.

Is this what Michael felt, when my bite made him a hybrid?

Finally, she could drink no more. She tore her mouth away from the old man's wrist. To her surprise, she saw contentment on his face, even though his end was near. He gazed up at her with an enigmatic smile upon his lips, as though he knew something both sublime and wonderful: What she would become. What worlds she would bridge.

"Go now," he told her.

The console lit up as the helicopter pilot flipped the switches. The aircraft's powerful turboshaft engine whined to life. The rotary blades spun into motion.

Selene settled into her seat aboard the chopper. Her lips still tingled from coming into contact with Corvinus's blood, but now she thirsted only for vengeance. Her face was a mask of icy determination. Her eyes glittered coldly.

I'm coming for you, Marcus, she thought. Before this night was over, either she or the murderous Elder would be dead. And, if fortune was kind, William would still be locked away for all eternity. I have to end this madness, once and for all.

The alternative was unimaginable.

The Lynx's pilot calmly went through his takeoff procedure. Selene was impressed by the smooth professionalism of the Cleaners, who reminded her favorably of the Death Dealers. Besides Samuel, who was riding shotgun beside the pilot, their strike team consisted of the pilot, a gunner, and four additional commandos. The armed soldiers sat beside her in stony silence, seemingly committed to carrying out Corvinus's final orders. She was struck by the loyalty the ancient warlord commanded even as he lay dying.

Michael's corpse, sealed up in a body bag, rested beside her. Selene could not bring herself to leave his body behind and fully intended to give him a decent burial, provided she survived her final confrontation with Marcus. It was the least she could do for him, after all he had meant to her. She unzipped the bag, and her throat tightened at the sight of his lifeless body, with its cold, clammy skin and gaping wounds. Dried blood was crusted over his punctured chest. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Had it really been less than a day since they had made love?

She choked back a sob. The time for weeping was over.

She had a mission to fulfill.

Nearby, the gunner swung his fifty-caliber machine gun into position. He unlatched the safety and racked the slide back. Selene was glad to see that the copter was ready for an aerial attack. She wondered if even Marcus would willingly take on an armed helicopter.

Welcome to the twenty-first century, she thought.

The rotors engaged fully and the chopper lifted off from the deck. It banked sharply, leaving the Sancta Helena behind.

Selene didn't look back.

Alexander Corvinus sat behind his desk in the blood-spattered office. Samuel and his men had carted the body of the unfortunate guard away, but broken gla.s.s was still scattered all over the desktop. The cold of winter invaded the suite through the splintered skylight. Through the open ceiling, he watched the helicopter carry Selene and his men away.

G.o.dspeed, he thought. The future depends on you now.

He was alone now. Samuel had a.s.sured him that no other living soul remained aboard the Sancta Helena. This was as it should be; it was almost time to perform one final cleanup operation. He reached into the pocket of his coat and extracted one of the explosive disks he had removed from the weapons cabinet earlier. Ultimately, he had lacked the will to use the destructive device against Marcus, but it could still serve a useful purpose.

A coughing fit racked his body and he hacked up a gobbet of clotted blood. He was almost surprised there was any blood left in him after satisfying Selene's thirst. He felt like a hollowed-out sh.e.l.l, dried-up and ready to blow away in the wind. He wheezed painfully, every breath an ordeal. A numbing chill swept over his body. Darkness encroached on his vision.

So this is dying, he thought. It was a peculiar sensation, after sixteen centuries of immortality. "We owe G.o.d a death," the Bard had written centuries ago. If so, Corvinus thought, my payment is long past due. He turned to look at the elegant face of the ma.s.sive carving behind him. The Muse's divine countenance was modeled on that of Helena, his long-dead wife and the mother of his children. He was grateful that she did not live to see the monsters their sons had become. At long last, Helena, we shall be reunited once more.

He depressed the disk, activating it. The miniature holes opened in its side, releasing the concentrated gas fumes into the air. The acrid smell of the accelerant offended his nostrils. He tossed the disk into an open crate filled with over twenty identical devices. Understanding his purpose, Samuel had been good enough to fetch the crate before departing with Selene.

That should do quite nicely, he thought.

The original disk automatically split in half, exposing the contacts inside.

Corvinus closed his eyes for the last time.

A spark of blue electricity arced between the contacts....

A gigantic fireball tore the Sancta Helena apart. The devastating explosion shook the waterfront. Jagged shards of flaming shrapnel spiraled into the night. Churning black smoke billowed up from the sinking wreckage.

Selene heard the blast even over the noise of the chopper. The shock wave sent a shudder through the Lynx, but the helicopter kept on flying. A muscle twitched beneath Samuel's face, but that was the only sign of emotion displayed by the stoic Cleaner. "Oh, man," one of the younger soldiers whispered, before a glare from his leader shut him up.

So much for Alexander Corvinus, she realized. Sixteen hundred years of life had come to an end, perhaps many centuries too late. Better he should have died of the plague in the first place. Selene didn't know how to react to the first immortal's death. Too many cataclysmic events in too short a time had left her numb.

Alexander. Viktor. Amelia. Lucian. All the giants of the past lived no more. Now only Marcus and William remained.

But not for much longer, she vowed.