“There, how’s that?” Derrek asked, having just draped a blanket over Emmett in the bed of the truck.

“Much better,” Emmett struggled to say. “Thank you, Herr Snowe, and you, Herr … I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name, sir.”

“It’s Jeffrey,” Jeffrey said, “Jeffrey Reynolds.”

Emmett smiled. “Thank you, Herr Reynolds.”

“Are you going to be alright?” Derrek asked, looking around, making sure there weren’t any threats around them.

“I’ll be fine. Please, go help the others.”

Derrek nodded and headed for the hotel, before stopping and turning back. He reached behind him and retrieved his pistol, which he had been keeping tucked in his belt after Frostbyte left. He held it by the barrel and handed it grip-first to Emmett.

“If anyone comes through, do your best to keep quiet. If they find you, don’t stop shooting.”

Emmett gave a forced smile as he felt the weight of the gun in his hand, then looked back up to Derrek and silently nodded as he and Jeffrey left him, going around the hotel toward the side entrance. Almost as soon as they turned the corner around the building, there was a roar of gunfire, causing them to stop dead in their tracks and press themselves against the wall. They listened for a few seconds but heard nothing.

“Do you think Discord’s all right?” Jeffrey whispered.

“If I were to guess,” Derrek replied, “he’s playing dead right now to lure them into a false sense of security. He’ll be up and fighting soon.”

They waited for a few more seconds and listened as the gunfire resumed, less roaring than the first bout and slowly getting quieter as the seconds passed.

“See?” Derrek said. “Sounds like he’s taking them out one by one. We should get moving.”

Jeffrey nodded and followed Derrek’s lead he ran alongside the wall, making haste toward the bay door. As they made their approach, they saw it had been forced open and nearly destroyed.

“That doesn’t bode well,” Jeffrey quietly said.

“Come on,” Derrek said as he climbed the raised concrete. He reached his hand down and helped Jeffrey up.

“Why are these doors so high up?” Jeffrey asked. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to be ground level?”

“It’s so the trucks can pull right up and unload directly into the building. How do you not know that?”

Jeffrey shrugged. “Dunno. Guess I never really thought about it.”

“Well, now’s a good time to stop thinking about it,” Derrek said as he held his hand up, signaling for silence. He closed his eyes and listened intently, ignoring the gunfire, and heard faint voices from ahead. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he knew there were at least five.

“Get your gun out,” he said as he drew his sword, holding the scabbard in his off hand. He lowered his body, keeping a wide frame as he moved silently past the boxes that stacked high in the room they found themselves in. Jeffrey followed suit, surprised at how Derrek took charge and led the way and proud of the man he was becoming.

They proceeded through the room and found themselves in a lavish kitchen, expensive-looking utensils and pristine pots and pans hung from the racks that lined the rows upon rows of top-of-the-line equipment, from stoves to wood-burning smokers. They made their way across the room, deftly gliding atop the laminated floor until they reached the server window, which they slowly peeked over.

They saw the dining hall, the doors to the lobby, barred and presumably locked, the tables and chairs randomly strewn about, clearing a circle in the center of the room, where they saw the poachers. There were six standing in a circle, three of them facing inward at what Derrek guessed to be about a dozen bound and gagged hostages, including Victor, the rest keeping watch around the room. One of the poachers looked over by the server window, but the men ducked down before they could be seen.

“Stay here,” Derrek mouthed. “I’m going to flank them. Keep me covered.”

Jeffrey considered protesting, but he could tell by the look in Derrek’s eyes that he could handle it, so he nodded in agreement and turned off his gun’s safety.

Derrek snuck back to the kitchen line, sheathed his sword, and grabbed three of the sharpest knives he could find, then slowly opened the door beside the window. It had no knob and swung both inward and outward, allowing the servers to move through it quickly, and also allowing him to pass through it with no noise. He crept his way behind several overturned tables as he listened to what the poachers were saying.

“What do you think’s going on in there?” one asked.

“The fangs probably called for reinforcements. And by the sounds of it, they’re putting up a hell of a fight,” said a second, who had his gun trained at Victor’s head.

“Even if they win the fight,” a third chimed in. “We will have truly won the war if we can take out Müller.”

“And what if we die?” the first asked. “What will all this be worth then, if we can’t live to see a world rid of them?”

The third paused, then put down his rifle, laying it on the ground. He walked over to the first and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him in close.

“Our deaths mean nothing, but their deaths mean everything, or did you forget the oath you took when you joined?”

The first man stammered for several seconds until he finally found some words to say.

“I … no, I remember.”

“Then repeat it, young hunter.”

“I—”

“Repeat it!”

The first man was terrified beyond words and continued to stammer until the third let go of his collar, dropping him to the ground. Now lording over him, the third proceeded to speak.

“‘I swear, with heart and soul, with body and mind, with blood and steel, to defend humanity from the darkness they fear. I swear to give all I have and all I am worth to the pursuit of purity. And if I am unable to kill my prey, I swear to die by their hand, and I hope others will avenge my sacrifice.’”

The poachers all stared at the man on the floor as the third reached a hand down to him.

“Are you prepared to die, young hunter?”

The man on the floor summoned all the courage he had and accepted the hand, pulling himself to his feet. Still holding onto his hand, he replied, “Yes, I am prepared to die.”

The third smiled. “Good. As am I.”

In a flash, the third man plunged a knife into the first’s neck, sending blood gushing out onto his own face as the rest of the poachers watched, barely reacting to the violent act unfurling in front of them.

The first was doing all he could to fight off the man who held the knife as he continued to push further, twisting it slowly, and he quickly lost his strength. After mere seconds of this, the man’s eyes glazed over, and he stopped fighting back, falling limp to the ground as the third ripped the knife from his throat.

“Coward,” he said, spitting blood onto the lifeless body.

The entire time, Derrek had been watching, growing furious. He expected the way they treated the fangs, but to see how they treated their own, it made his blood boil.

Before the third could retrieve his rifle, Derrek sprung into action, throwing one knife after another, plunging them into the skulls of the remaining two who were pointing their guns at the hostages, as well as the one facing in his direction, as Jeffrey gunned down the remaining armed poacher, leaving only the one covered in blood, who frantically looked around at his fallen comrades, then dropped his knife and jumped for his rifle, only to find Derrek standing on it, his sword pointed toward the man.

“Stand down,” he said as the man slowly reached away from the rifle, standing to his feet, staring Derrek down.

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“Hands up, dipshit,” Jeffrey said, his gun raised as he burst through the door, to which the man begrudgingly complied, staring quizzically at Derrek.

“The one with the reaper’s touch,” he coldly said. “I should have known you’d be a problem.”

“Shut up,” Derrek said, cutting Victor free, then moving on to the rest of the hostages.

Victor removed his gag and caught his breath, then said to Derrek, “I owe you an apology. I didn’t think you would actually help us. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Just help me get everyone untied.”

“You can’t stop us,” the man said. “The damage is already done.”

“I told you to shut up!” Derrek said, approaching him. As soon as he was within arm’s reach of the man, however, he produced another knife, which he tried to thrust into Derrek’s neck. Derrek caught his arm, however, and slowly crushed his wrist, causing him to scream out in agony before producing yet another knife and attempting to stab him in the stomach, leaving a shallow wound as Jeffrey reacted, unloading three rounds into his back, causing him to fall to the ground, dead.

“Damn it,” Derrek said, clutching his wound, dropping to the floor. He pulled his hand away to assess the damage and found it to be little more than a flesh wound.

Jeffrey opened his leg and pulled out some gauze and bandaging. “Pull up your shirt. There’s still work to do.”

Derrek nodded and pulled up his shirt, allowing Jeffrey to apply the gauze and wrap the bandage around his abdomen, securing it with a bobby pin. He and Victor helped him to his feet, and Derrek took it from there as the fangs looked at Jeffrey with suspicion.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “This is Jeffrey. He’s a friend, and he wants to help.”

Victor looked him over with his arms crossed, particularly at his leg, but after a few seconds, he dropped his guard. “If you’re a friend of Herr Snowe, you’re a friend of mine. Thank you for your help.”

“Hey, no worries. I’m just doing what any decent person should,” Jeffrey said. He turned to Derrek, who he saw was pulling up a chair. “What’re you doing? We don’t have the time for a breather.”

“Could you just give me a second?” Derrek said, exasperated as he slumped into the chair, nearly hyperventilating. “it’s just … I’ve never killed anyone before. I just need a second.”

Jeffrey considered pulling him to his feet, as his commanding officer had once before when he was in the same situation, but he realized he had been seeing Derrek as his superior, taking his orders, following his lead. Yet he was still that affected by taking a life. He had forgotten this was not the life he was accustomed to. He walked over and put his hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve got a few minutes. Could a couple of y’all help me get that door open?”

“Sure,” one of them said, heading to the door alongside Jeffrey, followed by three of the other hostages.

Derrek buried his face in his trembling hands, his heart racing as he tried to steady his breathing. He barely noticed when Victor approached him.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “Clear your mind and take deep breaths.”

Derrek followed his advice and closed his eyes, putting every thought out of his head, and slowed his breath. He felt a wave of calm wash over him. He stayed in this mindset for half a minute, until he felt better. He then opened his eyes to find Victor kneeling in front of him.

“Better?”

“Much better. Thank you.”

“No problem. I remember the first time I took a life. Even for a fang, it’s a powerful thing. If I can give you any consolation, you saved a lot of lives by killing those men. You did the right thing.”

Derrek put on a smile, which quickly faded. “Thank you, Victor. It means a lot.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said as he stood up. “There is still much to do. Last I saw, they had Frau Müller, Sana, and Emmett on the roof. We have to save them.”

“Emmett’s fine,” Derrek said. “He fell from the roof, but he’s fine now.”

Victor was surprised for a moment but relieved to hear that. He turned toward the door. “That’s good to hear. We should go, the door needs—”

He froze dead in his tracks for several seconds, apparently in deep concentration.

“What is it?” Derrek asked.

“The gunfire,” Victor replied after a brief moment, “it stopped.”

Derrek then noticed it too and realized it had stopped almost a minute earlier. He jumped to his feet and, alongside Victor, ran over to Jeffrey and began to help clear the door. They were soon done, and he stepped forward and slowly opened it.

Through the slowly growing crack, he saw a scene of absolute horror. Nearly every surface was drenched with blood. The floor was littered with severed heads, some cleanly cut and some seemingly ripped off, some with chunks of torso still attached. And in the center of it all, a large pile of corpses and severed limbs stood almost five feet tall where the fireplace once stood. The door was completely open by that point, and Derrek, as well as everyone behind him, were struck with the stench of blood. Even though they were fangs, it was too much for most of them, save for Victor, who didn’t react at all.

Approaching the pile, Derrek saw Discord, completely dry, dragging a pair of bodies from behind the front desk.

“Oh, hey guys,” he said, still dragging the bodies toward the pile, “glad you could make it—even if the party has died down a bit.”

“Jesus …” Jeffrey muttered, looking around at the carnage as he followed Derrek to the pile.

“Don’t you think this was a bit over the top?” Derrek asked.

“This is the exact same thing they did to the fangs,” Discord said as he effortlessly flung the bodies onto the pile. “I thought they deserved a taste of their own medicine.”

“I agree,” Victor said, “but you may have been a bit extreme.”

“You think so?” Discord said as he picked up one of the heads. “Take a look at this and tell me if you still do.”

He tossed the head to Victor, who reluctantly caught it, turning it so he could look at its face. The eyelids hung half-open as the eyes themselves stared lifelessly into the distance while the jaw remained limp.

“What’s the point of this?” he asked as Discord walked to his side.

Without saying a word, Discord grabbed the head by the jaw and moved it slightly, causing a set of razor-sharp teeth to fill its mouth, as well as causing Victor to drop it.

“Why would you do that?” Victor yelled into Discord’s face.

“To prove a point. It’s like half of what I do.”

“What point? That my fellow fang was slaughtered? I knew this. We all knew this!”

Discord rolled his eyes and picked the head up by the hair, holding it toward Victor.

“Tell me his name.”

“What?”

“You’ve been here for a long time, and I know you know the names of all the fangs that live here. Tell me his name.”

“I …”

Victor trailed off as he racked his brain, trying to remember the name belonging to the head Discord held. After a few seconds of silence, he finally said, “I don’t know.”

“Exactly. This head belonged to one of the poachers,” Discord said as he tossed the head over his shoulder.

Victor and Derrek stood in stunned silence as the other fangs murmured among themselves and Jeffrey looked around, thoroughly confused.

“What does this mean?” Derrek finally asked.

“It means these rat bastards,” Discord said as he kicked a nearby corpse, “are working with the Black Hand. You’d think they all wouldn’t be so gung-ho about it, but the enemy of my enemy, right?”

Taking another look around, Derrek saw several of the severed limbs had long claws in place of fingers, and in many of the lifeless bloodshot eyes, he saw a bright yellow tint instead of the expected shades of blue, brown, or green.

“How could anyone turn against their own like this?” he asked as his stomach churned. “I knew they hated the White Hand, but how could they team up with the very people dedicated to wiping them out?”

“It was personal,” Discord said as he approached another body and began dragging it toward the pile.

“You seem pretty sure of that,” Jeffrey chimed in, still assessing the bloodshed. “What do you think could’ve pissed them off enough to work with the fangs?”

“Not them, it’s the Black Hand’s vendetta we’re paying for.”

Victor came to a realization. “You don’t think—”

But he was cut off by Discord as he tossed the next body into the pile. “Yep, Alistair. Nobody else would come at the Schadenfreude, not like this.”

Victor, as well as the other fangs, began squirming and talking amongst themselves, clearly afraid.

“This might be a dumb question,” Jeffrey asked, “but who the hell is that?”

Victor, still terrified, turned to him. “Frau Müller’s brother. But I thought he was dead? How could he be here?”

Discord sighed. “Mila insisted I let her decide his fate. I wanted to kill him, but she couldn’t bring herself to let it happen, so she had him banished and marked up as dead. Look where that got us.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Victor said as he leaned against a column just to stay standing. “Why would she lie about this to us? All these years, and he’s still breathing?”

“Looks like it,” Discord said, dragging yet another body to the pile. “But you know her, always wanting to give people another chance.”

Victor was suddenly filled with energy. “He must be on the roof with her! We have to stop him!”

“You got that right,” Discord said, putting his hands on his hips, facing the group. “Havok, you, Jeffy, and Vick head for the roof, and whatever you do, don’t get too close to that pale creep. As for the rest of you, head for the parking lot and find Emmett. He’s armed, so make sure you make yourself known.”

The hostages headed for the entrance while Victor and Jeffrey went for the elevator and Derrek stood, wondering how Discord knew Emmett had his sidearm. He quickly shook it off, however, and stepped toward him.

“What about you?” he asked. “It sounds to me like we could really use you with what we’re heading into.”

Discord shook his head. “I still gotta sweep the rooms, make sure I didn’t miss any poachers. I’ll catch up.”

Derrek could see, even through Discord’s constant grin, that he was bothered about what was happening around him. With all the courage he could muster, he put on a grin of his own and reached out with a fist. “Just don’t waste too much time on the minibars.”

Discord laughed, then met Derrek’s fist with his own. From a standing start, he leaped to the first balcony, breaking down door after door as he searched them with lightning speed. Derrek did his best to hold up his grin, but it faded shortly before he reached Jeffrey and Victor as the elevator made its ascent.