Chapter XIX

Lost Cause

T his Breaking News report was currently being broadcasted across the entire United Kingdom, and Demiesius had been one of the first to be notified about the issue arising because of it. With New Age technology and human curiosity for the dreadful, morbid atrocities of the world, it was no surprise that an incident like the one that'd taken place last night was causing a stir.

Blurred upon the television screen before Demiesius sat the image of a man seated at the base of a brick wall, skull obliterated as blood and brain matter was plastered against the surface above it. He hardly heard a word of what the reporter was saying, but the following footage and still shots were enough to determine how this narrative would play out.

Displayed after the discovered corpse was the likeness of Jeremiah entering the alley. The image was in perfect quality, and his facial features were zoomed in on. Anyone who knew Jeremiah's face well could point out who he was, and his hair would always be enough to spot him in a crowd.

Having watched Jeremiah enter the alley alongside a young woman, and then be joined a moment later by two additional men, every second of the brawl that ensued was captured on footage, and despite the obvious aggressive approach of the men who'd surrounded Jeremiah, the focus of the story remained on the outcome.

A Monster Lurking in the Shadows of London!

What a headline.

And it reeled in terror and curiosity, even more so as the images captured of Jeremiah showed him in two staggering forms: one being his usual human visage, the other being his true nature.

Given the corpse of the man had been called in to authorities, the portrayal of Jeremiah's involvement with the death could be strewn every which way that led further from the truth.

If there was anything Demiesius knew about his son, it was that he was bottom line good, and the elder refused to believe whatever struggle was occurring in his son could change that fact.

"I don't know how to feel about the situation," a voice said from the television, and as Demiesius attention returned, a teenage girl stood wearing a cafe uniform.

"This young man is a killer on the loose, and he was so near to your workplace," the reporter said. "Yet you think there' s more to it? Can you explain?"

"I don't know," she struggled. "Maybe the footage is warped. I spoke to him an hour before the body was found, and he was so kind. He'd come in from time to time and was so normal. I just think there's something missing to the story going around now. Evil can be masked but everyone has a light in their eyes, and his light was too kind to make him capable of murder. At least, that's what I think."

When yet another image of Jeremiah was shown along with a recap of the alleged story, Demiesius looked away from the screen when an object was sent flying toward it from his left. A solid porcelain centerpiece had been plucked from the coffee table behind him, and the television screen burst before completely toppling to the floor.

"They're targeting our son!" Hamilton practically roared in his husband's wake. "I don't care if Jeremiah laid his hands on that man; he would never do something like this without reason. They approached him. They hunted him!"

"There needn't be a reason for mortal death in the eyes of the Public," Demiesius stated. "Although the general public can grapple with the thought of killing in self-defense, you know just as well as I that this fabrication portrays Jeremiah to be a murderer."

"Our son is not a senseless murderer," Hamilton harped on. He wanted to shove aside the idea that Jeremiah would strip a guiltless human being of their life, but Demiesius was right, and he of all people understood the Public would not settle for any death caused by the hand of an immortal regardless of the reason.

Recalling his years under the organization that seemed so distant now, Hamilton remembered a great many of the missions he'd been on; whether it was a solo run or they had him stationed alongside another determined soul, the vampires once tasked under his name all came with intention. You weren't allowed to be an immortal and kill a human being regardless of the reason; it wasn't their place, and Hamilton understood Demiesius was correct in his declaration.

There was one reason an immortal could be exonerated of a crime as such. If a slayer took it upon themselves to hunt for sport, determined to kill any vampire they could get their hands on, then yes, the slayer would be stripped of their role in the organization and punished accordingly if they weren't killed first.

These times, however, were different, and Hamilton carried every doubt on his shoulders that the Public would ever truly reprimand their own.

Convinced more than ever that a target was being placed on Jeremiah's back, Demiesius' thoughts were swallowed up by everything else currently hounding his son, and his fears of what it all could lead to. Jeremiah's active pain receptors, fluctuating anger, distant psyche, and now this grim scene left by his hand for the world to find; this might be an issue centered within England at the moment, but the world is much more connected now than at any other point in history. One curious assembly could take discoveries once heavily monitored and bring them to light.

Myths were all fun and games until truth was shed upon them. The fear would follow and fear caused people to make rash decisions.

"I don't care what he did to that man," Hamilton said, breaking Demiesius out of his concentration. "What are we going to do, Demi? This can't go on, and I won't stand for anyone else putting their hands on Jeremiah. I will—."

"You will do nothing," Demiesius' voice carried from his lips in a temperature never once used with Hamilton.

It was as if the elder's tongue was dipped in molten lava, and the waves of heat rising from his being caused a quiver to slink down Hamilton's spine. He could never fear his husband, but this anger was quiet and true.

"I lost you once," Demiesius said. "I will not have you step before the Public again. You will remain here." He turned for the archway of the room, and Hamilton swore he could see licks of the elder's mastering wafting from his shoulders like streams of black mist, the wrath steeping through him making it impossible to fully control the ability.

"You'd have me stay like some confined househusband?" Hamilton asked, fists squeezing so tightly his nails pierced his palms. "I gained your initial interest through my previous accolades, held your heart all these years and had your children, but all I've come to be is a shadow to the world? He is my son, too."

As Demiesius stood in the archway, his frustrations went unvoiced, but his level of tension grew exponentially. It wasn't that he had no interest in listening to what his husband had to say, but there were too many different entities vying for his attention, and this desire it seemed Hamilton was aiming to grasp sat lowest on his list of importance. At least for right now.

"I will never forget one of the first things you ever said to me," Hamilton carried on. "You spoke as if you did not exist in my world, like we existed on two completely different planes. This underworld that's been kept secret from the majority of the human race; I was born into it. I've never been afraid of the wrath of an immortal, and I'll never be afraid of the likes of the human race, but what I am afraid of is what confidence they will gain when the target they've put on Jeremiah's back grows bigger. I don't want to see that happen."

When it seemed Demiesius would say nothing more and leave him with yet more silence, Hamilton huffed and stormed for his husband, this vexation pulling like twine in his veins beginning to itch and burn. He felt as though his concerns were being slighted, and he refused to allow the elder to disappear from sight without acknowledging him.

"I won't be ignored," Hamilton insisted, taking hold of Demiesius' forearm.

In the instant Hamilton's fingers wrapped around the elder's arm, a hefty flush of terror shuddered through him from head to toe, an insidious mass of black overwhelming his nerves and outer senses. Every hair upon his body streamed an electric vibration the longer he touched Demiesius. While contact lasted but a second, the severity of the elder's temper came through in droves.

Hamilton snatched his hand away and jumped back, putting three full meters of space between them. When Demiesius turned his head and their eyes met, Hamilton gawked into his husband's pensive, blacked out stare. "You will remain here," he declared again.

Although the command sounded far less provoked this time around, Demiesius' anger wasn't for Hamilton; that much was true, but as Hamilton's worries for Jeremiah endured, he knew the elder was about to travel with his fury, and he at least hoped something more would be done to stop whatever foolishness the Public was attempting to bring to the surface.

They would regret it.

Hamilton just wished he could be there to witness it.

***

Gatherings. That's all Demiesius had ever called his important times away. Whether he met with coven leaders from around the world, singular or otherwise, or made arrangements to speak with various representatives of the human race in their respective countries, nothing in the past several years was ever deemed important enough to take him away from home for too long.

Conflicts between coven leaders weren't of any interest to him, what investments he'd made were handled by others in his name, and messages were often provided to him separately to ensure he was at least up to date on occurrences happening across the globe. The only reason Demiesius had gotten involved with the matter of Min-jae's father's disappearance, was for Choi Ha-yoon recognizing Min-jae's dhampir origins, and she assumed Demiesius would be the right one to inform given he was the only elder with dhampir children.

Given the events of late, Demiesius now wished he'd pushed the dilemma onto Bethania, Eros, or Nabadias.

There was doubt that things wouldn't have gotten to this point somehow. Being able to unearth the existence of this effective serum from Saengsacho was the only thing worth this current trouble, but Demiesius would give anything to go back to do more himself, to be the one to discover it and begin the destruction of it on his own.

This is my fault, Demiesius heard the perpetual regret ringing from all directions. If he hadn't thought to rely on Jeremiah, hadn't allowed his son to push on after the first instance, he wouldn't be lying wounded yet again.

Wounded by a pitifully worthless and repulsive, arrogant maggot!

The moment Demiesius' mastering dispersed, a windowless chamber opened up before him. The walls were a dark emerald, floors brown and hardwood, massive screens were hung at the head, and in the center of the room sat a lengthy rectangular table. This was a place he hadn't visited since Gabriel was born: The Chamber of the Directors of Humanity; an unmarked room in the center of Downtown London.

It was where discussions were held after the fallout between the elders and the Slayer Public, where he'd gone after Hamilton's "death", Minerva's death. With the pact having failed between the elder's and the Public, this was where frustrations from opposite ends could be argued without leading to bloody action.

After Minerva's death, it was the men and women in this room that ultimately decided to shut down the House responsible for hunting her.

Now, Demiesius thought as each worry-brimmed eye looked upon him, far more would be done to snuff out the arrogance of the Public, and he almost hoped there would be a refusal that touched his ear, for they would be made to comply whether they wanted to or not.

"Brother," a silvery voice called from over Demiesius' shoulder, Nabadias both composed and eager to lay eyes on his equal. "How's the wife?"

Demiesius' turned; glare shadowed by darkness before looking upon his fellow elders. Dressed formally in a deep red ensemble, Nabadias' black, shoulder-length hair was tied at the nape of his neck, not a stray in sight, and he stood tall ahead of the table seating the five main heads of England's Directors. To his left was Bethania, leaving Eros as the only one absent from them.

"Right," Nabadias smiled as his banter was ignored. "On to more pressing matters."

The moment he opened his mouth to state everyone's known reason for being there, a lofty door opened across the room. In filtered two men and a young woman from a facility known as House Tall. They were expected company as they were the House most local to the area, and it was expected they had ties to whoever the slayers had been that met Jeremiah in that back alley.

Demiesius followed them with his eyes, noting their air of confidence in the men and shakiness of the young woman. Her eyes were on the massive projected image of the CCTV of Jeremiah's encounter, and when Demiesius looked to the screen as well, her likeness to the woman portrayed caused his aura to ignite.

"Relax, Brother," Bethania tried, needing only to feel the complexities of his character to know he was at his limit.

"Alright," Nabadias began when the members of the Public decided to remain standing at a distance. "We all know why we're here. This new millennium has made things complicated. Cameras are everywhere these nights, and surely it was only a matter of time before the truth of our kind came about. There are whispers now but given the rather gruesome state the unfortunate soul was left in, everyone tuning in to their televisions knows such a death could not be caused by the, dare I say ‘lacking', strength of a mortal."

"That is not the sole reason as to why we are here," a voice carried over Nabadias, a man of the Public, and he directed a finger toward Demiesius. "Our comrade was murdered at the hands of this blood-fiend's son. If they are to follow what protocol is necessary for killers of the innocent, surely he will be treated no differently and be punished for what he's done."

In a second, Nabadias stood before the man who spoke over him, causing the trio of slayers to start and flinch away. "Do yourself a favor," Nabadias smiled cheerily, "And never interrupt me again."

"Besides," Bethania added, tucking her hands into the pockets of her pantsuit. "No one in this room is stupid enough to believe your ploy. That location was stalked for days until Jeremiah was finally spotted."

"And you know this how?" the Public man demanded.

Bethania narrowed her eyes on the man and smiled. Night had fallen an hour ago, leaving her enough time to make a trip to a small, favored cafe. While her method may have left the young barista a bit delirious, it wasn't impossible to extract the memory of a mortal before sending them on their way.

Nearing the table of Directors, Bethania touched a button that switched the image on the screen, showing a picture of the girl who'd spoken of Jeremiah and his kindness. "Straight from the horse's mouth is always best," she said. "Enough lollygagging. Your flimsy organization has uncovered knowledge of a floral extract that brings ease to the task of harming creatures like my brother's son. You all know. We know you know. Give up this effort being made to harass Jeremiah and obtain it, and perhaps your roots will remain grounded."

"Perhaps, they will not," Demiesius interjected, not caring for the looks of absurdity directed his way when the following words left him. "From this night on, the entirety of the Slayer Public will disband, and any refusal put forth will be dealt with by any means necessary."

Nabadias' eyes sparkled at the demand. "Oh, what a grand idea! I wish Eros were here to vote. All in favor, say aye."

Unsurprisingly, no others said anything aside from Bethania surely thinking it.

"You're mad if you think the entirety of the Public will fall under the order of a vampire," the only slayer with a voice said. He was a rough-looking man, appeared strong, but their outer appearances could look however they wanted, and they still wouldn't compare to the slayers of the past; the ones whose journey into the Public started with tragedy. Not these blind, egocentric recruitments.

They merely walked the world with knowledge of vampiric existence and nothing more.

"The Public was raised under my order," Demiesius said, balling his fists to hide the twitch of his fingers. His claws were elongated, and he was itching to rip this man open just to see the light in his eyes fade. "The history of your little organization starts with me, and while it is a shame that fact is unknown to you all, that changes nothing. Disband and live. Refuse and die."

A winded breath escaped one of the five Directors, a man fifty-five years of age, and his graying hair seemed to grow even grayer from the stress eating away at him. The tension in this room was unsettling, and he could hardly take being surrounded by it anymore. He pressed on .

"Listen," the man said, "Elder Demiesius, that is a rather lofty demand. The world is vast and though I understand your anger for this quandary, all ten factions of the Humanities have refused this order in the past. Long before I was ever born, for whatever reason, you brought a similar request forward that was ultimately denied, and I am afraid we will have to deny it yet again. The decisions made by these Public members were rash and will not go unreprimanded, but—."

Gasps erupted when Demiesius vanished, and with him the most vocal of the three slayers. A stillness sat in the room, and when ten seconds were up, Demiesius appeared again as the streams of his mastering washed off his body.

"You may collect him if you wish," Demiesius said, the coldness in his eyes and voice coming through clearly. The only altered detail upon him was the splash of blood tarnishing the front of his shirt. "His corpse sits impaled within the gallery of Castle Bane."

"Elder Demiesius, you must understand we—."

For a second time, Demiesius disappeared, this time with the second man in attendance with the young woman, and when the elder appeared again, lines of blood spatter were streaked across his face. "They complement each other now," Demiesius said, and when more hesitation remained, his eyes fell onto the remaining young woman who'd stalked Jeremiah in the first place.

She dropped to her knees and ducked down, curling into a ball as if that would save her. "I'll leave!" she shouted. "Please, don't kill me! I only joined because my father did. I'll leave, I swear! He's not even alive anymore."

The man of the Humanities breathed a defeated sigh, surely seeing himself as another casualty if things progressed this way. "How would you see to it that the world is cleansed of Public influence?" he inquired. "Just as many of your covens relocated to remain undocumented after conflicts arose, most Public Houses are untraceable to you."

"To your understanding," Bethania said. "You really think we would live in a world where our enemies can hide so easily in the shadows? We have always kept tabs on every House with a following and have the location of every Headquarters since the fiasco one of their own started long ago. No matter where they attempt to hide, we know where they are. The shadows belong to us."

Although agreement was all around, mostly due to the fear of joining whatever arrangement Demiesius created within Castle Bane, discussions on how to implement an order as such were in place. While very much an organization with ties to ancient history, the Slayer Public was not as vast. With more ties to the European region, Houses were far less widespread in other parts of the world.

North America had bases in heavier populated areas, just as South America, Africa, and Australia, while Asia had the least given vampire influence touched down in the East far later than other places.

In the end, after several hours of preparations, the Humanities agreed to move forward with demands as soon as possible. It would be a process that took time, and Bethania and Nabadias promised to see to it that no slip-ups occurred as this disbandment took place. On top of that, assurances were made that vampires would continue to monitor their own world, but there was a worry brought forth that Demiesius blatantly disregarded .

"What is to be done about this death caused by your son's hand?"

Demiesius rose from the center table and glanced over his shoulder, spotting the young woman who'd remained in the chamber. She was seated against the far wall hugging her knees to her chest, and she'd been in and out of sleep.

"Are you suggesting he be punished for what he's done?" Demiesius asked. "When my son recovers from this, he will go on about his life as though this never occurred. With how hectic the news cycles are, I am sure interest on the matter will dwindle by next week. You mortals have killed far more of your own throughout time than my people ever have."

Nearing the young woman, Demiesius lowered himself to her level, and she came awake as if his nearness roused her from sleep. She gasped and tried to push away, but the wall up against her left her trapped.

"Elder Demiesius," a voice of the Humanities called, nervous as Nabadias looked upon him like it would be best if he remained quiet. He stilled his tongue.

As the young woman squirmed in terror, Demiesius latched a hand onto her face, extended nails digging near to her temporal lobes. With this Invasive Procedure, he extracted her unremarkable life story. In doing so, more recent events shed light on the fact that nothing of the Pyrenean had transferred from Saengsacho yet.

The man responsible for injecting Jeremiah with it had kept the substance under lock and key, having demanded an impossible sum of money that was not provided. As it turned out, the only information he'd given was that Jeremiah had been successfully dosed, and the young woman's ‘confirmation' task had been to confirm if the substance truly weakened a dhampir's potential.

They would never know it did.

Pulling out of her mind, Demiesius looked upon her as blood trailed from her eyes, and her body trembled from the unbearable discomfort of the mental invasion. "Please," she begged. "I was only following orders."

With all eyes on Demiesius as he stood, he allowed the young woman to stand as well, and he raised a hand to touch her face. Bethania and Nabadias looked upon him in bewilderment, his gesture looking rather intimate, but the second they spotted the swirls of black rising from his fingertips, they knew the last thing he was going to grant her was mercy.

The blood vessels in the young woman's face began to turn jet black and suddenly it was hard to breathe. The lines trailed down her neck and up her cheeks, surfacing against the white of her eyes, and she gripped her throat as struggling attempts for air caused her to shake.

Dropping to her knees, the moment the woman hit the floor, her eyes burst from her skull, and her body toppled as a lake of blood formed around her head.

Demiesius met each troubled stare of the Humanities looking his way. Any additional warning wasn't needed to explain what would happen if the orders of this gathering weren't carried out. The imagined condition of the absent bodies and this one lain before them was enough to get things moving. The Slayer Public was done for.

***

Standing in the doorway of Jeremiah's bedroom, Hamilton's shadow stretched against the floor, and his heart could hardly take looking upon his son in this comatose state. Yet again, the shock of suffering from this pain Jeremiah had endured stripped his consciousness away, and Hamilton feared yet another week would go by like the last until he opened his eyes again.

The only solace Hamilton could find in this picture before him was in seeing Jeremiah was not alone. At Jeremiah's bedside, Min-jae sat near to him, fingers passing gingerly through his hair as the minutes went by. The Korean dhampir had arrived with Jeremiah in his embrace, and it seemed he refused to leave until a more promising sign was shown that Jeremiah would awaken again.

"I'm sure your parents are worried for you," Hamilton said from the doorway. "You don't want to return to them for a moment?"

Min-jae looked toward the blond vampire, able to see traces of Jeremiah in Hamilton's face. Their cheeks were the same, the subtle sharpness of their eyes, but Jeremiah's structure leaned more toward his father's. "Should I leave?" he asked. "I must be intruding."

"No, not at all," Hamilton entered further and stood nearer to him. "I only assume your parents may wonder where you are. If anything, I'm sure Jeremiah will be more than happy to see you when he wakes up."

"I would hope so."

"Min-jae," Hamilton said then, "May I ask your relationship to my son? I don't mean to pry. He doesn't speak on it, but things have been difficult for him over the years. It seems he's come to enjoy you. "

"I…" Min-jae chewed his lip in thought, taking Jeremiah's hand, and he turned it over in his. The curved lifeline carved into Jeremiah's palm was long, and Min-jae passed his fingers over it. "I also hope for that. I also enjoy him." He brought Jeremiah's hand to his cheek and closed his eyes, taking in the warmth coming off on him, and he praised it as if doing so would make it stick.

"I don't mean to say this just for being his dad," Hamilton added. "But…"

The words fell from his lips and dwindled to the floor. It wasn't because Hamilton didn't know what to say, or was afraid to say anything at all, but the manner Min-jae gazed upon Jeremiah spoke more than what words anyone could put together, and Min-jae was already looking at Jeremiah in the way Hamilton hoped.

Min-jae's eyes were sweet pools of dark amber, tender, and they shone over Jeremiah as though he was put together piece by piece from the stars.

"Never mind it," Hamilton said. "You are more than welcome to stay however long you like."

Shutting the bedroom door behind him, Hamilton ventured through the castle to check on his youngest boys. With it being around that time Dominick usually arrived to begin lessons with them, the boys were gathered together in a large central study. They hardly looked present given Jeremiah's known condition upstairs, and while Hamilton had suggested they take this time to push lessons aside, they all agreed to stay on track.

Without disturbing them, Hamilton started away from the study only to stop midway down the corridor. Familiar auras entered the castle and he waited to be joined .

Hamilton couldn't hide the woe draped over his shoulders as he watched Dominick, Lucius, and Cedric come into view. The twins were able to decipher the trouble in Hamilton, but they'd learned through the years not to probe too hard into other people's personal business, and they saved what questions sat with them for later.

When Lucius and Cedric moved by and entered the study, Dominick stopped before Hamilton and observed how his lower eyelids began to brim red.

Everyone in his household weren't basic television watchers, but he'd caught wind of a few whispers while out earlier in the night with his husband. The thrilled and curious murmurs spoke of a strange death in the London area, how grisly it'd been, and when Dominick's own curiosity led him to scan recent headlines and images included in the report, seeing that Jeremiah was the culprit had stunned him.

Setting his bag of study material aside, Dominick drew nearer to Hamilton. Before his arms could open completely, Hamilton forced his tears back and rushed into the offered hold.

Dominick had initiated the embrace, but that didn't stop the minor surprise in him at how tightly Hamilton embraced him; this man he knew envisioned him more like an additional son regardless of their lack of shared blood.

"I don't understand why all of this is happening to him," Hamilton said, voice breaking. "It's like everything keeps getting worse. I'm so scared for him, Dominick."

The blood child would have given any comfort he could come up with, but as he rubbed a subtle hand down Hamilton's back, Demiesius joined them there in the corridor.

Dominick was nowhere near surprised to see the elder had apparently sent a message all his own to whoever deserved to collect it. The spatter of blood across his father's face fumed from him like sweet iron perfume. It told a story of death in scent alone.

The intensity Demiesius had left with wasn't completely gone now, but it was not so immense in this moment, and Hamilton took the opportunity to find shelter in his husband's embrace.

As Demiesius placed a light touch against Hamilton's hair, he also passed a consoling impression into his husband. It was an apology and affirmation he hoped would be strong enough to hold what equal frustrations they were feeling together.

"Is there anything I can do, Father?" Dominick asked.

The elder met the eyes of who could be considered his oldest child. Rage. Sorrow. Tension. Those were the three sentiments sitting in the foreground of the elder's gaze, but what Dominick noted to be the most prominent was also the quietest.

Madness was taking over this colossal, bloodthirsty being.