“He came into the formal hall … the walls still battle scarred, the stones still streaked with blood and gore: but he was proud - entering like a Prince to a formal indoctrination … instead of the face of his own possible demise. You would have been proud: the way he held himself, the level of his eyes and the way he met - without flinching - the assembled … those individuals that were slated for his beating. He couldn’t even retract his wings yet - the muscles still new and blistered from the change, but you couldn’t tell from his noble bearing the pain he suffered or the battle wounds that still puckered his limbs.”

She merely listened with silent control, as his tale progressed … nodding faintly in acquiescence even though her heart thundered like a kettledrum in the confines of her breast. He spoke of how the newest of the breed came forth with calm reserve: facing with aplomb those chosen for this test of his measure. He noted how she winced when he listed the names for her … her fears coming to affirmation in those staid hollow words. “I was there, as the representative of the Blood Angels … being one of the oldest, it was my place: and I could not ignore a directive from the Ductus Rector. Beside me stood Xander … third born and heir of the Barovian throne, called forth by his mother for this endeavor. And then, aside his brother … stood the eldest of the Destructors; Tavares Vonzarovich - more than grim in his manner as he faced the man that had come for the rites of challenge.”

Her physical wince was like a dagger to the core, but he didn’t let her discomfort alter his rendition: she had the right to know how it came about … what had happened and what her chylde had faced: not only as the Ductus but also as the woman that came to care for him as one of her own. “Iliessa called down the verdict of the Order, giving him his summons and his sentencing: offering him death by a blood hunt … or the chance to make claim to the blood he’d stolen and repair the damages caused by his rash action. He faced the Tribunal and pronounced his intention: to suffer the Valupus and deal with its ramifications as it was meted … meeting the possibility of death head on and with nobility.”

His story spilled out then easily, with few pauses and a bit of depth to his voice: perhaps it was pride, perhaps a measure of concern. But either expression, or any remorse, was lost to the woman as she buried the anguish in her soul and listened … intently … to the hell that had been played out earlier that day. Leaving Gabriel broken, bleeding, and on the verge of death. “He stripped of his clothes: leaving himself in nothing but a pair of leather breeches and the newly birthed wings … lying against his pallid back like spun nightfall against his skin. His chin rose high as he balled his fists against his hips, peeling back his upper lip in a dark daring sneer as the first of us - Xander - came to make the initial strike. The Prince gave no warning, no hesitation, as that meaty fist balled and snapped forth like a bullwhip: connecting with a brutal crunch to Gabriel's jaw line. I saw his head snap back with the blow, the immediate reddening of the skin, as the flesh swelled up purple … countered only with a huff of grunted breath and finishing with Gabriel spitting a gout of blood to the white marbled flooring.

“Next it was my task to bear, taking turns as is the directive: my own hand moving like a sledgehammer to his midsection and hearing the solid ‘whoosh’ of breath as the air was struck from his lungs … his torso bending over to accommodate the anguish in his belly. I followed through with an upper cut to the chin … his head rearing back with the force, as I heard another set of popping snaps: his eyes rolling back slightly but keeping open - though the focus was depleted.

Connor’s voice lowered, the magnitude of the next series not lost on him … as he pronounced the Heir’s own attack: actually pausing with a low tremor to his tone as he continued the verbal description of the brutality that followed. “Once I’d taken my stance back in wait, Tavares came near: but he began his assault with a series of verbal barbs … circling the neonate with feral precision. I believe he wanted Gabriel to recover slightly from the first of the attacks: wanting him to feel his own hand with a stark, painful clarity. He mocked him … calling him a ‘boy’ and a ‘child’ … telling he could never hope to handle the power that was in the passion of an Angel: humiliating him with the knowledge of your previous intimate relationship. Promising him that he was merely a distraction before he took back what was rightfully his.

“I could see Gabriel responding to the taunts: bristling as his eyes went a darkened jade green… his fangs baring beneath the blood stained lips - though he spoke not a word in defense.” Connor looked to Jadis then, his voice dropping darkly once more as he stretched forth a hand to aid in the tending she so lovingly bestowed upon the object of their conversation: as he spoke the words that she feared deep in the bosom of her soul. “This thing is not done between them: I could see it in their eyes. This is merely the prelude to the final confrontation … like a warm up of the future meet. Neither shall rest until the other is completely vanquished and supremacy is established.

“The Heir struck then … grasping Gabriel by the temples of his hair and cracking the solid thick skull of his own brow sharp into the bridge of the initiate’s nose: spewing blood like a fount from the now broken and swelling appendage … before drawing up his knee sharp into the man’s groin, grinning wolfishly at the anguished breath that Gabriel spilled as his body bent double to cover from that staggering blow. But Tavares was not done: no - he was on a quest … as though none of us stood there but he and his enemy: meshing his long broad fingers into the spill of the rouge’s ebon head and sweeping his foot to knock him down to the cup of his knees. Repeatedly striking - over and over - his face into the marble of the tiles beneath.

“We had to pull him off Gabriel bodily - Xander and I together - Tavares still calling torments and taunts upon his head: as the neonate lied there near unconscious on the stones of the blood smeared slabs beneath his fallen body. I felt as though it were done, awaiting Iliessa’s call: but that summons never came … so we were forced a second round: moving forth as Xander lifted him from the ground with a brace of his nape … planting a knee firmly in his stomach with the effort before lashing his elbow up towards the bleeding broken gums of the split lips of him.”

He paused, letting the green around Jadis’ mouth settle … actually touching her hand in a comforting gesture before taking the quivering sponge from her lax finger tips: moving with a grace belittled by his massive girth as he took over the medicinal treatment of his own - now - brethren. “I delivered a series of short drives to his rib cage, hearing the snap of bone with an audible tenor as several of the spikes broke and splintered in his chest cavity: his breathing turning garbled and wet. His milky eyes were vacant, unfocused - I must admit that I was amazed he even remained awake: though lucidity had long since left the battered frame.

“But my punishment was kindness compared to the return of the Prince: this time going forth into combat without pause or vocalization … as he grasped his left arm and twisted it into an obscene angle - all of us hearing the rending of bone as Gabriel gave one of few screams to the trial. Tavares seemed pleased by the response, as he held to that shattered limb and swung ‘round with his massive boot heel: pummeling that already caved in section of chest and ribs … with the intent to puncture and bleed his quickly failing body. Once the initiate landed again with a sodden bloody smack to the ground, he brought his metal tipped toe twice more into the abused core of his manhood - before driving his boot into the femur of his foreleg with a stomp: eliciting another satisfying scream as the limb twisted up and the white pike of bone pierced through the heavily bruised tissue matter. Once more we were forced to haul him back from the near corpse like body of his adversary, as his rage seemed to no know control or bounds.”

She jerked and moved aside - hiding her face with the motion: but Connor had seen the tears - blood pink and unfettered - on her cheeks … as she swallowed the dictation in choked silence. Seeing each blow, feeling each measure, as though it were her own Valupus she were staggering beneath … and not that of her chyldes. His massive head dropped - and shook faintly: looking to the swathing of the man that was once nearly that … and now so much more: carefully finishing the work that Jadis was no longer capable of doing on her own. Taking count of each wound, each laceration with the clinical observation of one long hardened by battle scars: broken limb, broken arm, broken ribs with a punctured lung and spleen, shattered nasal structure and severe facial damage, inflated abdominal cavity and bruised and battered groin. All of which would have killed a lesser man … a lesser being … but, surprisingly the once and former mortal was living: though barely.

That thought brought him back to the tale as he preceded, his words a velvet blanket of rich baritone as he progressed: finishing the retelling with his even, stoic tone. “Finally, Iliessa called us … halting the strike as Gabriel lie near final demise. I feared Tavares would continue, for the black rage in his features was obvious - even through the ice of veneer he attempted to hide it behind. But stilled he stood, as her heeled boots struck staccato against the tiles in a death like knell: each tapping clip like a fading heart beat as she rose … firebrand and flame … over the vanquished figure.” His narration paused, stopped … and stuttered slowly back to life: choosing with care his words as he reiterated the brutal venom that the Ductus Rector had unveiled upon the neonate: telling him that he knew no pain, until this night - and that pain would now, and forever, be a constant factor of his existence. That the Fates are infinite in their justice and her grasping hand far reaching.

Instead he merely went to describe the final passage of the ceremony: as he and Xander were entrusted to lift the shell of a male from the blood slick tiles and bring him … unconscious and unaware … to the parapet of the turret. From there, Iliessa spoke the lasting benediction of their kind with a sort of thinly kept pleasure in her tone … instructing the men to lift the broken and bespattered body from the ledge: and toss him the massive fall to the earth where there he would live … or die … as the whims of fortune would choose. Casting to him the plight of the Angels as she intoned hollowly; “Be careful what you wish for … Gabriel Duinn … Blood Angel of the Sixth Generation: For the Fates might hear you and answer your call."

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