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It was easy. He had expected resistance, such as he'd found with his own blade, but instead, the Spear seemed to cut through the Crusnik like butter. He almost stumbled forward with the suddenness of it but managed to keep hold of his balance, gloved hand never letting go of the Spear, even while the creature he had skewered with it thrashed about and beat its wings in his face. He held on, and almost as quickly as it had started, it was finished.

The light was blinding, and he shielded his eyes with his free hand, the flames that had engulfed it before now sputtering out. He felt the weight on the Spear slide free, and he lowered his hand, watching as the Crusniks body turned into nothing but a pile of ash.

The task was completed. He just wished he had managed to find it sooner so that fewer vampires would have suffered and died at its hands.

He unsummoned the Spear at the exact moment that he heard clapping, and his head snapped to attention, seeking out its source. There, on the rock, he saw her.

He didn't know her, and his narrowed gaze became wary. It was like being in Lilith's garden all over again, where yet again he felt like he was being tested, and he did not like it.

"Sorry to disappoint you." He said with a sneer, words a deep growl. "I take it this was you, then?" He gestured toward the pile of ash on the ground.

He had always known that someone had to have created the Crusnik, but now he had a face to go with it. A new enemy of vampires, apparently.

"Who are you?" He asked, putting enough of her words together to know that this had been a setup from the start. She was a Goddess, that much seemed obvious at least, but there were so many, and Grendel had no patience for their politics and maneuvering.

The more he had to listen to her, the more annoyed he got. Her laughter grated on his nerves and her flippant attitude toward what she had done made him want to wrap his hands around her throat and throttle her.

Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. He started walking towards her, jaw set, stopping when he neared the base of the rock that she stood on.

'Lord of the Night.'

He ground his teeth together. Pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling into place. The more he traced this adventure back to its beginning, however, the more he didn't like the implications of it.

He was now questioning everything and a cold pit of dread began to settle deep in his stomach. From the very beginning, it had been Ravnos that had set him on this path. Had he been in on it, too?

Liars and thieves. The Disciple had said it himself, more than once.

A numb feeling was beginning to spread through him, and he forced it down, burying it under something stronger.

Anger. Annoyance. The beginnings of rage.

"Brood?" He said, mockingly, wholly unimpressed with her theatrics. "Like, the emotion? Or a bunch of fuzzy little chicks?" He locked eyes with hers.

"And why, exactly, did you decide to come after my domain?"

She was bored. Her boredom had dictated that vampire lives were expendable. He might not have been their God originally, but he was the only one they had now. He had tasked himself with looking after them, with being better than his Father, and almost immediately he had felt like he was failing them.

And it was just because she was bored. He couldn’t hide the anger that glowed in his eyes, a deep red pulsating behind a film of black. She was already treading on thin ice, her words landing like insults, saying all of the things he had heard before, all the things that, allegedly, made him weak.

And then she mentioned his love for a mortal, and those doubts came flaring back. How did she know? Had she been watching him? He had done his best, to hide the visits, to put up guards, to shield himself from view (mostly as a precaution, in case Caine should happen to awaken).

“And you…had something to do with that too?” He asked, a slow question, one he was afraid to know the answer to.

A sense of relief came with what she had to say, knowing that what he and Ravnos shared was not just another trick that led him here. However, her next words made him growl, and he took another threatening step forward.

Ravnos couldn’t just die. He was older than the God himself. He could, however, be killed, and Grendel didn’t like that she brought it up at all. She was a threat, to him, to all vampires, and now…now she was a threat to his happiness as well.

As if feeding on his anger and fear, the Spear spoke to him. It told him that he had the power, at his fingertips, to stop her, here and now.

She wouldn’t be able to harm him, or anyone, if she was out of the picture.

“Well.” He growled, feeling like he’d had about enough of her. “Nice chat. Now how about you go and ******** yourself. You sound like you could use it.”

In the next second, he teleported, for all intents and purposes wanting her to think he had left.

In the next, he was hovering in the air in front of her Spear of Destiny in hand, and he lunged toward her, intent on stabbing it straight through her chest, just as he had to the Crusnik.

He didn't really care whether the blow landed or not. All he really wanted was for her to realize he didn't like being ******** with, and to make her think twice about doing it again. The voice in his head was so loud it made him wince, and he closed his eyes in reflex, so that when he materialized in front of her, he didn't see, not at first.

Not until it was too late.

The Spear had slid into flesh with ease, and its whispers, elated. But it was not the glowing red eyes of Brood that stared back at him in shock. Instead, it was the all too familiar, dark, and so often mischievous gaze of the one to whom he had professed his love. Those eyes that he thought about, every day, those that drew him in and held him, that reflected back the happiness that he hadn't known he could even feel.

"No." He whispered, his voice thick, the word barely clawing its way free. "No, Dracian, I..." His voice trembled and broke. Something in his chest felt frozen, so cold that it burned. For some reason, his hand was still locked on the now glowing Spear, but all he wanted to do was to wrench it free, to hold him, to tell him he was sorry and that everything was going to be fine. He would take him on that trip he wanted. He would do anything he wanted.

Ravnos reached for him, even managed to brush fingers over his hand, but then the moment stilled and seemed to stop completely.

Grendel couldn't fix this. It was too late.

Light exploded in the room, so bright that it washed away everything else, and the God gasped, feeling as if something had been wrenched away from him. An indescribable pain tore through him at that moment, an icy burn that lit fire to every nerve in his body, threatening to rip him apart.

The spear clattered to the floor, and the God slumped down on his knees, his head bowed, and his body trembling.

He was alone.