"Hey buddy, move out!" came the gruff voice.
Kyle felt himself being kicked, then nudged with a baton.
He opened his eyes.
He was lying on a cold, hard surface, but had no idea where. Sunlight was creeping over the horizon, and it burned his eyes and skin.
"Hey buddy, did you hear me? I said move it!" the cop yelled.
Kyle opened his eyes fully now, and realized he'd been lying on marble. On the cold, marble steps of City Hall. He was outside, at daybreak, lying sprawled out, like a bum. He looked up and saw two uniformed policeman standing over him, poking and prodding him with their batons, smiling at each other.
Kyle tried to remember what happened, how he'd got here. He remembered reporting to Rexius. Then being grabbed, being tied down. Then, the acid. He reached up and felt one side of his face, and it felt normal. Then he reached up and felt the other - and the pain came flooding back. He could feel the contours, the horrible scars, the disfiguration. They had branded him with Ioric acid. A punishment reserved for traitors. He, Kyle, the man who had been loyal to his coven for thousands of years. For one small mistake. It was unthinkable.
Kyle felt the pain welling up on the side of his face, and rage began to well within him.
"Want to bring him in?" one cop asked the other.
"Nah. Too much paperwork. Let's spare ourselves the aggravation and take care of it ourselves."
One of the cops raised his baton, preparing to bring it down hard.
"Hold him up," he said to the other.
One cop roughly grabbed Kyle by the arm and yanked him to his feet. As he did, the other side of Kyle's face was revealed, and the cops could see the horrible scarring and disfiguration. They both recoiled at the site.
"Holy shit," one cop said. "What the hell is that?"
Rage flooded Kyle, and before the cops could react, he snapped to it, grabbing each, with a single hand, by the chest, and raising each high above his head. They were big men, but Kyle was bigger - much bigger - and much, much stronger. He raised each higher and higher, and before they could react, he pulled them back and then brought them together, smashing into each other.
They both collapsed to the steps, and Kyle stepped up and stomped on their heads, killing each of them.
Kyle's rage continued to well. His own people. They had cast him out like a nobody, like a nothing. After all he had done for them. After he had unleashed the war. All for a small mistake. For that stupid girl. Caitlin. He would make her pay.
But first, he would make his own people pay. No one treated him like that. No one. They might have exiled him, but he didn't have to accept it. After all, there were still vampires loyal to him. He could be the leader of the coven himself.
As he stood there, quaking with rage, it struck him. A plan. A way to get his revenge. A way to take back control. A way to become supreme leader himself.
He thought of the sword. If he had it, if he could find it before they did, he would have the power. Not them. Then he could come back and destroy them. At least those who had betrayed him. Those who'd been loyal, he'd take in as soldiers.
Yes, there would be bloodshed unlike any they had ever seen. And when he finished taking back control, he'd turn to the humans and finish the war himself. The plague would have done its damage by then, and he, Kyle would be in charge. With that sword, he could rule New York. Then all the councils, and all the covens across the world, would have to answer to him.
Yes, he liked the plan. But if he wanted that sword, he'd have to find that girl. Caitlin. And to find her, he would need help. That Russian boy. The singer. The one she turned. The one who still had her scent in his veins.
Yes. A plan was coming to him.
Kyle turned and ran up the steps of City Hall, tearing off the iron locks with one hand as he kicked in the door. The early morning lobby was empty, and he sprinted across the corridor. He reached the far end, pulled back a hidden latch, and a wall opened up. He hurried down the stone staircase, and into the blackness.
Kyle ran full speed, knowing that he could find himself up against an army, but also knowing that they would never expect him to attack by himself. He also knew that they were preoccupied with the war, and that if he hurried, he might be able to get in just long enough to get what he needed. Especially at daybreak, when many of them were settling in for sleep.
Kyle reached the lower levels and ran with all his speed down the hall, until he found the huge door he was looking for. There was only one guard standing outside it, as he suspected - a young and weaker vampire, only hundreds of years old. Before he could react, Kyle had already struck him cleanly across the jaw, knocking him out cold.
Kyle put his shoulder to the door and knocked it in. He crossed the room, and there he was. That Russian boy. Chained to the wall, hands outstretched, mouth gagged, eyes open wide with fear and terror. They'd had him in there for days, and by now, this boy had been utterly broken. Kyle ran across the room, not wasting time, and tore off his hand and foot chains. The boy reached up and pulled off the duct tape from his mouth and began shouting.
"Who are you? Why am I here? Where are you taking me? Why did - "
Kyle reached up and backhanded him with enough strength to knock him out. Then he slung him over his shoulder and carried him out the room, chains dragging.
He sprinted with him through the empty corridor and up the staircase, and before he knew it, he was out the door, through City Hall, and into the daylight. He ran for all he was worth, and was pleased to realize that no one was following him.
He relaxed a bit, as he ran. He had what he needed. This boy, with Caitlin's blood still in his veins, could lead him right to her. And where she was, the sword would follow.
He smiled. It was only a matter of time. Soon he would have the sword.
