Klaus had no idea when he had fallen asleep on the drive, but he sure as hell knew when he woke back up. The driver had slammed on the breaks and an elbow as cold as death had ground uncomfortably into the bruises forming on his back. What he assumed to be several minutes later, given his addled state, the trunk was pulled open and two sets of hands again grabbed him.

While the grip hurt, all Klaus could think about was how similar the hunk of crap car that had carried him here bore such a striking resemblance to the one that had almost hit him early that evening. Or was it yesterday now? Idly Klaus wondered what had happened to the man that saved him. Nausea from the pain forced the stranger from his mind.

The rain was still coming down, but now the frigid cool of the droplets felt good on his skin. Eyes closed, he soaked in the feeling. He wasn’t able to enjoy the sensation for long, however, as almost before he knew it the rain stopped coming down as his captors brought him inside a warehouse of some sort. Heavy machinery, slightly gone to rust, stood in silence along both walls stretching into the distance. A large factory then. One of the abandoned ones if the rust was to be believed.

Klaus felt himself being set down into a metal chair, one far less comfortable than the one he had been sitting in the office back at the clinic. A hand smacked him fully back into some rude semblance of awareness. Standing over him was Albrecht, though this time he had that now almost familiar smirk back on his face. Behind him, Klaus could just make out the other two Blood Eagles stuffing Dr. Halter into an empty steel drum. They weren’t being too gentle about it, and Klaus clearly heard the sound of an arm breaking before the rest of the corpse was pushed inside. Albrecht followed the direction of his gaze.

“Ah, yes, we talked it over and felt that this would be the best way to cover up our meeting tonight.” Klaus gestured over at the steel drum, which Anselm and Christoph were using rags to wipe away their fingerprints from the outside. “Anger, over what we leave it to the police to determine, drove you to kill der gute Doktor and attempt to hide his body in a nearby abandoned factory,” his eyes came back to Klaus. “Tragically, before you could leave, you had an accident and died yourself.”

“How…how are you…going to make that stick?” Klaus gasped in pain, then nodded down at his purpling arms and the bloody rags that had previously been clothes. “Clearly…I did not… do this to myself.”

“I agree,” Albrecht said, looking down at Klaus distastefully. “I did, perhaps, let my anger have a bit too much free rein in the clinic.” He turned back to his fellow Blood Eagles. “Luckily I already have an idea on how to cover up those wounds of yours. Anselm, Christoph? Bring the barrels of scrap over here.”

The two Blood Eagles nodded in sync and stepped over behind one of the rusted monstrosities to lift small barrels loaded with jagged metal and other pieces of scrap. While not sure what was happening, Klaus knew that he was quickly coming on his last opportunity to get out of here alive. His eyes darted around the floor near his feet, and then from there to the nearby walls, looking for something, anything that he could use to escape.

“Go on, have a look around,” Albrecht said, voice filled with cruel delight. He gestured at the factory around them. “It’s going to be the last place you ever see, might as well enjoy it, mein Dummkopf. Here. Let me help you get a better view.”

Before Klaus could offer a response, the Blood Eagle kicked him high in the chest, sending Klaus flying backward to slide down a ramp he hadn’t seen. He hit hard, but so badly was he hurt from the earlier beating that only a slightly louder groan escaped him. Sliding to a halt, he rolled over on his side.

Once the room stopped spinning, he looked back up the ramp at Albrecht. Anselm and Christoph now stood at his side, barrels raised high. Even through eyes blurry with tears and pain, Klaus could see how rusty and jagged the metal was. As one they both raised their barrels high, but Christoph was the first to throw. Halfway down the ramp, it bounced, metal shards and shavings flying everywhere. It had been a hard toss, and while some went sliding across the floor, a good amount only slammed to a halt as it pieced into his flesh.

Agony worse than he had ever felt before rushed through him from every cut and gash in his already abused body. Thoughts scattered at the pain. Hope for survival and escape gave way to determination that he would breathe just one more breath, then one more after that.

He blinked away the blood running down his face, the one small scrape of sanity not roaring at the pain and injustice absently noted how the second barrel had not yet come flying in his direction.

Klaus fixed his gaze back up towards his tormentors, and likely his upcoming death, only to be surprised down to his core. That was when he saw something he had not expected to see.

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A man in a familiar, heavy trenchcoat stood tall between the three Blood Eagles and Klaus’ own fallen form at the bottom of the ramp. More startling than the stranger who had saved him from being hit by the car earlier was the fact that he stood now with a sword embedded deep in the chest of Anselm, who had dropped his own barrel full of scrap to the floor. Barely did that fact sink in before his savior thrust out his other hand, a long knife firmly in his grip, to dart like lighting for the face of Christoph. A loud crack rang out as the blade vanished between the eyes of the Blood Eagle to become lodged in his skull.

Adrenaline at witnessing such an unexpected, one-sided fight roars through Klaus to the point he can now focus more fully through the pain to witness his savior deftly weaving aside from the blow of a makeshift club wielded by Albrecht. Stepping back, the man wielding the sword and long knife pulled his weapons free, letting the bodies of Klaus’ would-be executioners fall to the ground.

With an inarticulate scream of rage, Albrecht raises his metal spar high one more time, only for his opponent to dart in close, faster than he might react. The sword swings down, almost delicately removing the hand that holds the club. A second slash by the long knife took the Blood Eagle’s left leg at the knee. As Albrecht fell backward, screaming in pain, a final thrust down with the sword took his falling body high in the chest. A sure heart strike if there ever was one.

It was the most beautiful, the most violent thing Klaus had ever seen.

The pain came flooding back, adrenaline only able to do so much in the face of so many wounds. The cold was beginning to set in, the vast room around him beginning to fade into vague shapes and shadows. One of those shapes moves with a speed that, even dying on the floor, Klaus has a hard time believing.

Rough hands set blades beside his body as the killer of the Blood Eagles reached out to lift Klaus’ head from the floor. Klaus’ vision continued to darker as he felt a glass vial press to his lips.

“Drink.”

That simple word uttered in the tone of command demanded that Klaus not give in to the darkness. Before he knew it, Klaus was gulping down the contents of the vial. A warmth descended down his throat to settle briefly in his chest. It then quickly made its way down his limbs, an itching sensation bumbling up behind it.

“This is going to hurt, boy,” his savior spoke again, one of his hands coming to rest on a large piece of metal that had pierced Klaus’ side, “but it’s necessary if you want to live.”

He yanked the scrap metal free.

The pain of the shard coming out was almost as bad as it had been going in, but to Klaus’ renewed surprise the itching rose to meet it and the wound began to visibly close in front of his eyes. What in the hell was happening here?

After several more bouts of gutwrenching pain, the majority of the large pieces of scrap that had pierced his body were pulled free. The itching sensation had begun to fade, however, and the wounds were visibly closing slower. Before Klaus could say a word, another vial was pressed to his lips and he greedily gulped the contents.

The next several minutes passed quickly, and almost before he knew it the itching had faded with the last pieces of metal pulled free from his body. The wounds that covered him from head to toe were closed, already scars, and though he was still covered in blood, Klaus felt remarkable considering what he had just been through. But what the hell was going on?!

Healing potions? Such things of magic were only in legends or modern games. There was no way they could exist in the real world. Except, apparently they did. He shifted on the ground, but while he felt sore and tired, the pain itself was gone.

Klaus’ breaths came in shallow gasps as he fought off a rising tide of panic. He had questions for the man who had saved him, but given everything that had happened to him, now was probably not the best time for the answers. Several deep breaths and turning his focus on the cold concrete under him was enough to push the panic down. For now at least.

“Thank you,” Klaus said at last, looking up at the face of his savior. “But who are you? Why are you here, and what the hell just happened?”

“All good questions. But first—” the man’s hand darted down to smack Klaus full across the face. If he hadn’t already been sure he was near fully recovered, that blow would have set his worries to rest. His ears were ringing, but that was all that he felt. “You, Klaus, are a fucking idiot.”

Klaus winced, the words hurting more than the blow.

“I was…I was taken hostage,” Klaus began, his voice trembling as the events of the past day really sank in. “By the Blood Eagles. They found out about me from my boss, Dr. Halter, and they used me to access his practice’s accounts for the information they contained. There’s a war between gangs…”

His hands shook as he mentally recounted the whole ordeal, the memories clawing deep into his mind. “They tortured me… for hours,” he continued, his voice growing hoarse with emotion. “And then… they tried to dispose of me here…”

The man’s harsh features softened, true sympathy crossing his features. “I’m sorry, Klaus.” He bowed his head. “I’m thankful I was able to get here in time.”

Klaus wiped the tears from his face, then looked up at the man again. “Thank you for saving me. But, who are you, and why have we met before now? You were the one who saved me from being hit by the car, right?”

“I am, but I hadn’t planned for that. But that is not important at the moment. What is important, is that there is a lot you need to know,” the man responded. He stood upright, flicking his blades sending the remaining blood on them across the floor, leaving his weapons pristine. Returning them to the sheaths previously hidden under his trenchcoat, he continued. “But you are ignorant of much, so there is only so much I can share with you right now,” he pulled himself up to his full height. “I am Franz Moritz, an Imperatoria Venator. In your language, an Imperial Hunter. You, Klaus, are who I have been hunting for. I have been tracking you for quite some time, across a distance I am not sure you’d be able to truly comprehend.”