Cyrus stared as Lee rushed to hide Dawn away in the storage room. It wasn’t until Sasha’s bulk blocked his sight of the stairwell that he turned and looked at his friend.

“Give it to me straight, bud, did I have one too many drinks?” He checked the bottle in his hand for comedic effect.

Cal, however, was still speechless and gave no response. Poor kid. Wait, no, he wasn’t gobsmacked by Lee’s sudden display of composure. He was pissed.

“Alright, listen to me, Cal, ol’ pal o’ mine. I’m sure this is nothing but a coincidence. It was probably just a bunch of young mages that just blew a paycheck on new robes and decided to strut around a bit—”

“Strutting around on nearby rooftops?” Cal snapped back.

“Maybe they’re particularly vain,” Cyrus shrugged. “Purple in broad daylight is certainly a bold fashion statement.”

“This time I’m taking at least one alive,” growled Cal, ignoring his quips.

It was unlike Cal to be so high-strung; that first attack must have been an ugly scene. Cyrus patted him on the back. “Let me do some talking first, see if I can’t get some answers before the fists start flying. I’d prefer not to trash this place if we can avoid it.”

Cal reluctantly nodded, and then deflated with a long sigh. “Sorry to get you caught up in this mess. First Dawn, then you guys…”

“Eh, cest la vee or whatever the hell the French call it. Shit happens. Here, let’s hide you behind the counter. Maybe if they don’t see you they’ll go somewhere else.”

“Fat chance,” muttered Cal as he ducked under the bar. “They just so happen to stumble past this random bar? No way they aren’t already sure that I’m here.”

“Eh,” Cyrus shrugged, “worth a shot.” He strode over toward the kitchen, where Sasha still still loomed, plugging the doorway as Lee had suggested. “Alright Aleks, play dumb, business as usual, nothing is amiss, ok?”

Sasha grunted in acknowledgement.

“Perfect,” Cyrus beamed at him. “Oh, one more thing: I might need to borrow this,” he said as he plucked the lighter out of Sasha’s pocket and palmed it.

Sasha grunted in irritation.

“Hopefully won’t need it. Go pretend to do the dishes or something, you look suspicious as hell standing here.”

Sasha grunted in amusement before disappearing into the kitchen.

Cyrus returned to the counter and began polishing a glass, as any good bartender ought to be found. Now all that was left to do was to wait.

The wait, it turned out, lasted all of a minute or so. A thick grey smokescreen coalesced before the storefront, blotting out the sun, and Cyrus couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. His upholstery was safe, and those poor fuckers were in for the surprise of a lifetime. The front door opened silently, with nary a jingle, and thick, grey fog crept forward through his bar, encroaching ever further towards the counter. He discreetly nudged Cal with his foot in warning while simultaneously ditching the lighter behind the napkins. It was showtime.

He plastered on his most insincere smile and greeted the approaching silhouettes in the oncoming mist. “Why, hello! I’m afraid The Bog’s closed at this bell. Seeing as you’re here after hours, I take it you aren’t here for the mimosas, so how can I help you?”

The oncoming figures, now close enough to almost be visible, came to a sudden dead stop with the same eerie synchronicity that Cal had mentioned. They seemed to be… conferring amongst themselves? Thrown off by his attitude, most likely. Cyrus hoped that these bastards were as dull as the ones that made the mistake of cock-blocking Cal.

Their deliberations finished as suddenly as they started, and the group advanced forward once more. Although only one dark-robed kin stepped forward out of the smokescreen, Cyrus counted around a dozen more behind the leader.

“We do… apologize for the unusual nature of our entry. Travelling this late into the day warrants certain… precautions. I’m sure you understand,” said the man with a very pointed—and pointy—smile. The expression didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes, or any other part of his face, for that matter. A smile stiff as a corpse, as Ma liked to call it. This one was trouble.

Cyrus feigned a sympathetic nod as he continued polishing his glass. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cal angrily flipping them off through the counter.

“You see, we thought we saw a friend of ours come in here just a moment ago,” the man continued. “We’ve been looking for him for quite a while now, and even if it was just a trick of the light, we had to be sure. Any help you could provide to help us reunite would be dearly appreciated.”

Cal rolled his eyes dramatically under the table and Cyrus suppressed a snicker. For something cooked up on the spot, their story wasn’t all too bad, gaping holes aside.

He sighed a dramatic customer service sigh. “I understand how it is. Good friends are hard to come by. Unfortunately, I’m not sure what I can do for you besides wishing you luck on your search. As you can see, we’re very much closed right now, and the only other person still here is the cook. You might have better luck if you come in during business hours. We open first bell, on the bell, and we close at ninth. You’re more than welcome to come in and ask around.”

The robed man stared back blankly for a long second before he spoke again. “Ah. Due to our… schedule, we will be moving on shortly. It would be preferable to find him as soon as possible. W—”

“On a schedule!” he interrupted. “Why, I understand completely. As a bartender, I see and hear a thing or two. If you give me a name and description, I can ask around in your stead, should you be otherwise indisposed.”

Cyrus watched carefully as the leader of the group once again froze up for a moment, blatantly fabricating answers as he went. The audacity was actually quite impressive; his finesse, less so. It was frankly disconcerting to hear the silver-tongued charisma of a seasoned charlatan accompanied by none of the usual sleazy mannerisms. He simply opened his mouth and regurgitated his act. Cyrus was rather reminded of a record player.

“Our friend is an Asian man, about this tall,” he said after finally unfreezing. He raised his hand to a wildly inaccurate approximation of Cal’s height. Unless, of course, it wasn’t Cal’s height.

Under the table, Cal was looking up from where he was crouched with curiosity written all over his face. Cyrus covered up his downward glance and slight head shake by pretending to inspect the glass in his hand. After a suitably awkward pause, he looked back up at the leader.

“You’re looking for… an Asian? Anything else? Got a name? Wang? Jang? Something?” Without giving the robed man any time to conjure up more bullshit, he pressed on. “This ain’t no Chinatown around here, but I reckon there’s enough folks around here with a bit of Asian in them. How much are we talking? Half? Quarter? If we go lower then I can think of a few.” Just to press the advantage a little more, Cyrus tossed on another question. “What are you looking for, exactly? If he’s human or kin, then you might be in the right place, but if he’s a beast or something then you’re shit out of luck.”

The barrage of questions seemed to leave the poor guy utterly baffled, and several seconds of awkward silence followed, broken only by the squeaking of the glass Cyrus was still polishing. That bought him a moment to think. They were after Lee, that much was certain, but they didn’t seem to know who he was, only what he looked like. Was it because he had spotted them?

Just as the man looked like he was about to respond, Cyrus cut him off again. “Tell you what, We got enough regulars here that I can probably get the word out in a day or two. If you’re looking for one Asian man then I reckon I can get a few tips pretty quick. The drinks really loosen lips, yaknow?”

That really seemed to strike a nerve. “No! No, I’m sure there’s no need for that. No need to bother that many people, yes? This matter is rather… private.”

Cyrus gave him a skeptical look.

After freezing for another moment, the leader put on another unconvincing display, sighing dramatically. “Alright, alright, you got me. To tell you the truth, we’re not remarkably familiar with our ‘friend,’ per se. We just need to talk to him about some… business, if you catch my drift.”

“I don’t,” Cyrus replied blandly.

“We like to consider ourselves ‘asset recovery’ specialists.”

Cyrus almost laughed out loud at the clumsy excuse. Children caught with their hands in the cookie jar told more convincing stories. Under the table, Cal swirled his finger next to his head. Loony.

Instead of bursting into laughter, he raised an eyebrow at the man. “Debt collectors?”

“You can certainly think of it that way. I’m sure it would be very embarrassing for word of this to get out, so we ask for your discretion. This is also why we would very much prefer to have a look around for ourselves.”

“Look for yourselves,” shrugged Cyrus, “there’s nothing to see. Hell, there’s only one other person in this place. SASHA! GET OUT HERE!”

Seconds later, the kitchen door banged open as Sasha lumbered out, with a pot and scrubber in his hands. “Smoke? Is on fire?” he asked with an unusually thick accent, looking around like an oaf.

Ignoring Sasha’s impeccable imitation of idiocy and Cal’s amused grin from under the counter, Cyrus looked back at the robed man and gestured at the massive mountain of meat standing at the end of the bar. “There you have it. Does he look like your short Asian debtor?”

The “debt collector” hesitated, uncertain of how to react to the new development. So amusing was his visible confusion and gaping, vacant expression that Cyrus couldn’t help but let slip the tiniest of smirks. Almost instantly, the man snapped out of his reverie and narrowed his eyes at Cyrus. “You know something,” he accused venomously.

Whoops. The jig was up.

“Woah th—”

“Enough of this farce,” said the robed man in a toneless voice, and Cyrus shivered. No trace of his prior personas remained. No more beleaguered traveller, no more concerned friend, no more slimy debt collector; he was like a mannequin stripped of accessories. Featureless.

Cal was right, these creepy fuckers had to go.

The rest of the dark silhouettes in the fog advanced at some unspoken command. “You shall suffice,” droned the boss creep.

Looks like they wanted him now. Well, he was going to make them work for it.

Just as a pair of robed intruders began to step out of the fog and a particularly ornery Cal was about to burst out from under his counter, Cyrus upended a bin of spare rags and aprons, sending fabric fluttering everywhere. A robed hand shot through, grabbing at where he was, but it was too late. He was already dashing into the fog.

As soon as he entered the mist, it immediately became obvious that this was no ordinary smokescreen. Not a single sound passed through, filling the entire fogbank with an eerie silence. So that was why it never dissipated. Those bastards brought some kind of magical cover with them expecting a fight. Ensorcelled fog or not, however, it was fog all the same. Cyrus felt his strength surge as his shackles were broken once again and the world slowed around him.

Taking a deep breath, he laughed aloud silently. Dissolved in the mists, He felt whole once more. Looking through the thick fog as though it wasn’t there, Cyrus watched in amusement as the robed creeps all froze for a moment, collectively befuddled by how Cal had appeared in his place. Cal, in turn, was taking in the chaotic scene before him and getting his bearings, looking for someone to punch. Sasha stood off to the side, momentarily forgotten by all. There was no better opportunity than the present.

Now that he could finally see them clearly, Cyrus took a moment to survey the gang of robed vampires. Behind the leader stood, by his count, ten others, arranged in an asymmetric formation. Two of them caught his eye in particular: one of the intruders was closely guarded in the back ranks, and another one was prowling off to the side sneakily next to the booths. As both Cal and the gang sprang into motion, Cyrus made his way over to the one in the back, who was flanked by one large brute and two others. Anyone worth guarding was clearly valuable. Or dangerous.

As the group of robed figures surged towards Cal, a momentary gap appeared between the brute and the VIP, just large enough for him to make his move. Cyrus lunged forward, wrapping his arms around his target’s head and pulling as hard as he could, intent on dragging the bastard as far away from the cluster of bodyguards as possible before they noticed.

Instead, He tore her head clean off.

Well, shit.

Cyrus watched helplessly as one of the two mooks ran forward into the falling body, stumbling to a startled stop and dropping into a defensive stance. No point in letting that one alert anyone else. He tossed the head at the wary bodyguard and charged forward, sliding low along the ground. Predictably, the bodyguard looked up sharply at the head sailing towards him, oblivious to Cyrus’ approach until it was too late. There was no need to worry about noise with the silencing smokescreen in place, so He smashed the nearest table into him, doing his best not to send too many splinters towards the others.

Two.

In spite of the silencing smoke, the other bodyguard stopped on his tracks and whipped around the instant his counterpart was reduced to a bloody smear on the ground. Cyrus furiously cursed whatever magic they were using to coordinate. This was going to be a pain in the ass.

As the other bodyguard advanced towards his fallen comrade’s position, Cyrus threw Himself forward, tackling the robed intruder. Pinning His victim to the ground, trading blow for blow, He couldn’t suppress the giddy laugh that bubbled forth. Just one at first, then another, and another, until he was cackling with every strike He landed. It felt good to be free again. Every crunch beneath His knuckles. Every desperate, flailing attempt to hurt Him. The soft resistance of blows passing harmlessly through His body. The sensation of vitae pooling under them as He pummeled the life out of the undeserving fool.

Exquisite.

With the second bodyguard also reduced to a fine pulp, He sat back and admired the scene around Him. Cal was a whirlwind of chaos, smashing robed attackers as the leader tried to coordinate an “asset recovery.” He chortled at His own joke, enjoying the freedom that absolute silence afforded Him. The battle between Cal and the attackers raged on, and He spotted the leader weaving into the fray and triumphantly placing his hand on Cal, only to jump back, alarmed and perplexed, when Cal retaliated with a vicious swing. Whatever he tried didn’t seem to work. In response, one attacker suddenly lurched around to carry out some new order, peeling off from the failing attack on Cal and lunging towards Sasha. He licked His lips. This would be fun to watch.

He stood, keeping His eyes on the scene unfolding before Him even as He stalked over to the robed intruder who was skulking through the fog, searching the fight for an opening. An assassin, He decided, and a piss poor one to have squandered so many opportunities. He stood behind the unskilled assassin and watched the fighting unfold.

Sasha swatted furiously at the robed attacker jumping towards him, who ducked under his swing with a burst of unmistakably vampiric speed. Strong as he was in this form, Sasha was still unable to react to the vampire suddenly in his face, and He watched as the assassin viciously bit Sasha in the neck.

Curiously, Sasha’s knees buckled and he collapsed forward onto the attacker, choking out rattled breaths heavily. That was rather unusual. As was the strange blackness spreading around the bite on his neck.

Cal let out a cry of alarm at the sight, but was intercepted by one of the brutes and grabbed by the other as soon as he tried to disengage, while the leader directed the remaining attackers to pile on. For a brief moment, He lost sight of Cal, who was buried beneath the small mound of vampires mobbing him.

Whatever noxious toxin Sasha had been envenomed by, it certainly wasn’t enough to keep him down. Just as he released a low, rumbling growl from his ruined throat, dripping with that foul black ichor, the prowling assassin finally made his move, leaping towards Sasha to finish him off once and for all. Or rather, he would have. Sighing at the display of utter incompetence, He reached out and snagged the assassin’s ankle, pulling him back into the mists. Faintly, He registered the leader suddenly turning in His direction, but He had already tightened His grip with both hands and smashed the assassin against the sharp corner of a booth divider, killing him and—more importantly—staining His seats.

That brief moment of distraction bought enough time for Cal to send one of the brutes flying into the smoke and some of the mooks off towards the opposite wall, prompting the leader to quickly refocus back on him, but He could already see that the brief lapse in concentration would prove to be fatal. In the smoke, the din of battle was no more than a muffled afterthought, but even He could tell that Sasha’s steady growl, now a thunderous roar, was quickly becoming earth-shakingly loud. He stood there, absently holding the limp remains of the once-assassin by the ankle, and watched with unbridled glee as Sasha’s form steadily warped and cracked and grew. Within mere moments, the portly chef was replaced with a gargantuan, furious brown bear. Between the rippling layers of muscle, the bloodshot eyes, the sickly black ichor and dark red blood dripping from his wounded neck, and the dribbling froth around his bared fangs, he looked positively demonic.

As Sasha rose, heedless of the blood pouring out of him, the vampire beneath him tried to scramble away. With a furious roar, he struck, biting his assailant and violently shaking his head. In mere moments, all that remained of the venomous vampire was the mangled mess between his jaws. He roared again in fury at the leader, whose attention was now split between the massive, angry bear and the rapidly failing attempt to hold down Cal.

Watching the spectacle, He could not resist the urge to applaud the magnificent display. It must have been almost a century since He had last witnessed such beautiful violence. Finding his hands occupied, He hurled the assassin’s corpse towards the leader and watched as it sailed in a beautiful arc before striking true. Unexpectedly, the sudden blow seemed to actually stagger the robed vampire. With his focus disrupted, the well-coordinated attackers mobbing Cal briefly faltered, and he took advantage of the momentary pause to send another assailant flying, this time towards Sasha, who lunged forward and began mauling his new target.

Too late did He notice the leader shake himself off and turn to look at Him, mouth moving to issue a command aloud.

And then suddenly, the fog was gone.

The world sped up and Cyrus felt himself once more. His body. His flesh and bone. His fetters. Faintly, he registered movement around him, but was too busy reeling from the shock of the sudden transformation. It wasn’t until Sasha crashed into the brute behind him, shattering a storefront window, that he snapped out of it.

These bastards were wrecking his bar.

“CAL!” he shouted. “COVER ME!”

Cal, dependable as ever, responded by picking up one of the robed attackers by the forearm and—having apparently abandoned his resolution to take captives—slammed them down over the bar counter, before throwing the limp, twitching body towards the leader, forcing him to deftly evade once more.

Behind Cyrus, Sasha was savagely wrestling against the brute that had been thrown into the smokescreen earlier, and was steadily trading body parts in a bloody battle of attrition. In just the span of a brief glance, Cyrus saw Sasha lose and regrow an eye, part of his jaw, several claws, and countless layers of fat and fur. His adversary’s wounds healed too, but it took no more than a glance to see that the fight was a foregone conclusion. Without a proper blood meal, few kin could hope to out-heal a beast like Aleksandr.

With his back covered and his path mostly clear, Cyrus sprinted for the bar counter. So much for not using his last resort. And to think that he had hoped his upholstery would be saf—

“DUCK!”

Abandoning his puppets, the leader suddenly leapt at Cyrus with an outstretched hand, and it was only thanks to Cal’s timely warning that Cyrus managed to drop flat on the ground, skidding forward along the floor. He wasn’t sure what that touch could do and he wasn’t keen to find out. Scrambling up, Cyrus whirled around behind the bar and grabbed the lighter with one hand, flicking it alight and dropping it. With his other hand, he scooped a row of bottles off of the liquor shelf and smashed them onto the ground, right into the flame.

The floor beneath him erupted into a raging inferno, and Cyrus shot one last shit-eating grin at the leader before a torrential deluge poured down from the sprinklers overhead. Through the din, he heard Cal swear and Sasha roar, but He didn’t care.

The world slowed down once more as His bonds washed away, but this time He wasted not a moment. The water, and therefore His time, was limited, and there was no telling how long this would take. No more games. These intruders would die.

To his credit, the leader immediately understood what He had done, casting his attention upwards to try and find the source of water. Unfortunately, He had no interest in seeing His fire suppression system damaged too, and charged forward with a barstool in hand. Swing after swing, blow after blow, He smashed nearby furniture into the leader from every open angle He could find, careful to never make contact with the leader. It took surprisingly little furniture to bludgeon him to death. It was a little disappointing, almost.

Looking around, He saw that chair’s impact rippling out through the ranks. The brute fighting Sasha suddenly stumbled, losing the grace and speed he fought with only moments ago, and was immediately mutilated for his blunder. The remainder of the attackers around Cal suddenly slipped out of sync with one another, and already He counted fewer than moments ago. Deprived of sight, Cal was swinging about wildly, only managing to hit the one foe he had a solid grip on. That could be rectified. In a few quick steps, He was behind one of the disoriented intruders, who He grabbed with a mighty bear hug.

“Here!” He shouted at Cal.

Cal’s head snapped around in His direction and seemed to see the hazy outline of the furiously thrashing attacker in His vice grip. Like lightning, Cal lashed out with a kick that almost knocked the wind out of Him, even through the body of his actual target.

What the fuck was his dad feeding him?

There would be time for that later. He dropped the corpse in his arms and grabbed another dazed intruder, whose feeble struggles felt more like death throes. Seeing Cal brutally dispatch the attacker he was hanging on to and another unfortunate one that blindly stumbled into him, He suddenly realized that there were no more intruders remaining. “That’s the last of ‘em! Leave this one alive!”

Through the spray of water, He could see Cal’s tense stance relax slightly. “Turn off this fucking rain! I can’t see shit!” Cal shouted back.

Fair enough.

Dragging His captive along, He beelined for the shutoff valve in the kitchen. With a mighty groan and grinding screech, the water slowed, and then reluctantly stopped.

Everything was silent, save for the echoing drip of water.

Cyrus laughed.