This is an original AU. I am tired of the normal cliché beginnings and decided to mix things up. This Harry is wholly different from canonical Harry due to different war endings. So if you are expecting canon Harry, at least character wise, you should kindly look elsewhere. This story isn't for you.'

A Tale of Two Wizards

His request had been granted. Now, the only thing left was to fulfil the end of his bargain, and destroy Salem. A pity that was forgone the moment he laid eyes on the queen [MOD Harry]

The roaring mansion fire burned high into the night, licking at the dark sky like serpents twining through black velvet. Smoke wafted through the misty darkness, pungent with the scent of death and vengeance.

The sight and smell should have brought joy to Harry.

But it didn't.

Nothing could ever bring joy to him again. Not even the death of his archenemies and his cronies.

Nothing.

The bitter agony that welled inside him was crippling. Debilitating. It was more than even he could bear and that thought was almost enough to make him laugh…

Or curse.

Indeed, he cursed from the excruciating weight of his pain. One by one, he had lost every human being on Earth who had ever meant anything to him.

All of them.

His parents, struck down by a mad man in his pursuit for power and supremacy.

Sirus, his godfather, was the third to go, taken down by a spell due to his own recklessness. He fell through the veil that hid the realm of death, never to be seen again.

Remus was ambushed by an enemy who had caught him off-guard. Wounded and in physical agony, Harry had held his uncle in his arms while he died from his injuries.

"Guard my wife and son, pup," Remus had whispered before his death.

Harry had promised. But only a few weeks after that, he'd found Tonks raped and murdered by their enemies, her body desecrated and left for the animals to prey upon. His nephew, Teddy, nowhere to be seen. Presumed dead.

Less than a full year later, he'd cradled his girlfriend, Ginny, to his chest as she too, drew her last breath and left him all alone, forever bereft of her gentle, soothing touch.

She had been his world.

His heart.

His very soul.

Without her, he had no longer wished to live.

With his spirit as broken as his heart, he had placed her lifeless arms in a grave by the Great Lake where they had shared many a moment alone or with friends.

Then, he'd done as he had been taught by his precious people.

He had survived to end Voldemort's reign.

Laying aside his grief as best as he could, he had lived only for that endgame, finding solace only in the fact that he still had his two best friends with him along for the journey.

As the savior of magical Britain, he had spilled enough blood to fill the raging sea and had taken countless wounds on his own flesh for his people. He had led the Order to glory against the death eaters, and dark creatures under the dark lord's control, who had sought to conquer them. With most of his family dead, he had given his people everything he had. His loyalty. His love. His body as a weapon.

He had thought the war would end with no more bloodshed from his side, then in one heartbeat, Voldemort had taken the last people on this Earth he had loved.

Ron and Hermione.

His cherished friends, so dear were they to him that they became his family. Ron, fiery red-haired. Though lazy and with an appetite for three, he had an unparalleled strategic mind. Useful for the times they had found themselves stuck in situations where brute force weren't applicable. And Hermione, brown-haired with bossy hazel eyes. Forever the bookworm. They were so young. So kind. So giving.

To satisfy one man's selfish ambition, his best friends were slain before his eyes while he lay tied down, unable to stop them.

They'd died calling out for him to help them.

Their horrified screams still rang in his ears.

After their execution, the dark lord had turned on him and ended his life as well. But Harry's death had brought no relief to him. He had felt only guilt. Guilt and a need to right the wrongs done to those he considered family.

That vengeful need had transcended everything, even death itself.

"Damn you all!" Harry roared at the burning building, coming out of his reverie.

"Humans are damned, not by the words of others, but by the individual's own words and deeds."

Harry turned sharply at the voice behind him to see a man clothed all in green, dark enough to be mistaken for black. Cresting the small rise, this man was unlike any he'd seen before.

The night wind swirled around the figure, billowing out his finely woven cloak as he walked with a large, twisted warrior's staff held in his left hand. The dark, ancient oak wood was carved with symbols, the top decorated with pulsating shards embedded in it.

Moonlight danced upon hair that was an unearthly jet-black, which the man wore in three long braids. His silvery, shimmering eyes seemed to swirl like phantom mists.

Those glowing eyes were eerie and haunting.

Standing at barely an average man's height, Harry had always had to look up at someone but he had not met any man not of giant blood this tall for this stranger seemed the length of a tree. It wasn't until the man drew nearer that Harry realized he was only a few inches taller and not as ancient as he'd first seemed. Indeed, his face was that of a perfect youth who stood on the precious threshold between adolescence and maturity.

Until one looked closer. There in the stranger's eyes lay the wisdom of the ages. This was no teenager, but a warrior who had battled hard and seen much.

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

"I have been regarded by many names, but you can refer to me as Ozma." he said in a strange accent that spoke Harry's British tongue flawlessly. "I was sent by the Gods of Light and Darkness to train you for your new life."

Harry had been told by Death to expect this being, who had been alive since the age of the gods. One of the chosen few who were able to elude Death's sight, at least for a while. In other for him to be allowed access to another world, he was to fulfill a task for the gods in charge. This was part of the requirements, a way for him to be acclimatized to the planet, aptly named Remnant. It wouldn't do for him to go there handicapped. "And what will you teach me, wizard?"

"I will teach you to slay the Beasts that prey upon hapless humans. I will teach you how to hide during the day so that the rays of the sun don't kill you. I will show you how to speak without revealing your fangs to the humans, and all else you need to know to survive."

To be the master of Death was to walk alongside the primordial being. And no other creature could live that long save for the vampires. At least that was the closest comparable creature to what he was. Secretly, he feared he may show forth other freakish characteristics, as his relatives would so lovingly put, that differed from those of vampires.

Harry laughed bitterly as blinding pain swept through him once more. He ached and he hurt so much that he could scarcely breathe. All he wanted was peace.

And his family.

But they were gone.

Without them, he no longer wished to survive at all. No, he couldn't live with this weight in his heart. This Earth was his home no more.

He looked to Ozma. "Tell me, wizard, is there any spell you have that can take this agony from me?"

Ozma gave him a hard stare.

"I can show you how to bury that pain so deep inside you that it will prick you no more. But be warned that nothing is ever given freely and nothing lasts forever. One day something will come along to make you feel again, and with it, it will bring the pain of the ages upon you. All you have hidden will come out, and it could destroy not only you, but anyone near you."

Harry ignored that last part. All he wanted for now was one day when his heart wasn't broken. One moment free of his torment. He was willing to pay any cost for it.

"Are you sure I will feel nothing?"

Ozma nodded. "Like stated earlier, everything you need to survive in the new world I can teach you. But only if you listen."

"Then teach me well, wizard. Teach me well for I listen."

PRESENT DAY, VALE

When Blake first awoke in the darkness that was her prison cell, she was brave, fearless and still had enough fight in her to question the rules. But after her third beating by the White Fang Lieutenant, she'd learned to hold her tongue while in his presence. After her first taste of torture, she learned obedience.

She remembered the past where things wasn't like this. Where Adam, although just as deadly, was driven with a passion that burnt like no other. But overtime, those flames had tempered into cold steel. Turning a once good man into an unforgiving monster hell bent on making the world burn for her minorities' transgressions.

The sound of a distant door slamming snapped her mind back to the present. The sounds of shuffling and a body been dragged signified another poor soul being taken to be Adam's new plaything. At least for this night alone.

A sudden wave of fear and unease made her vomit what little was left in her stomach. The person she once loved was truly gone. In his place, someone unrecognizable resided.

She raised her hand towards them as if by that one action alone she could protect the next victim, and stop what was about to happen. But she couldn't even get past her cell door. She counted the steps as the Lieutenant dragged the victim up the stairs through another door; mentally tracing the intricate path they would take until they came to a metallic door that once opened, would let out a smell of iron, sulfur, blood, and death. She knew from experience that a table waited behind that door, with cold iron shackles and various other weapons of torture placed at the edge of it.

When the sound of the door at the top of the stairs closed, the pain in her chest exploded because she was holding her breath. She cried in relief that she wasn't going to be tortured and abused again, that she survived one more day. She dropped her head to the floor and let the grief pour out of her body in loud aching sobs, as she realized in shame that she was happy someone else was chosen in her place.

It was not a lie to say that Adam had been angry at the perceived betrayal of him and his kind, and had, since her capture, proceeded to show just how angry he was every opportunity he got. In many ways, leaving her a broken and sobbing mess.

So though a part of her felt shame, a larger part felt immense happiness.

. . .

Blake awoke later to the familiar sound of a tin plate being shoved through the food slot in the bottom of the door, and bolted upright in fear and anticipation. Hungrily, she snatched the small lifesaving plate of food and dragged it far from the door to the farthest corner of her cell. There, her only possessions — as meagre as they were —lay, a tattered blanket and straw.

She hung her head in shame as she remembered the previous event. She knew that most victims weren't strong enough to survive the torture. Few were. She was one of the lucky ones, if you considered being tortured and raped on a regular basis and survive being lucky. Over time she had gotten used to it.

Seeing a passing guard, she stopped him and asked what had happened to the victim.

"Don't worry about your friend," the guard spoke slowly, cruelly. "Ilia has outlived her usefulness to the White Fang. She was sorely lacking in the departments we wanted and so was discarded. Adam though, wasn't pleased you weren't the one brought to him last night."

He peered at her under the flap and went on. "He was quite angry and took it out on the poor girl. I guess you could say, in a way, that it was your fault."

"You lie!" she yelled uselessly at the locked cell door.

"Do I?" the guard's voice crept through. "You will learn soon enough. You may even see firsthand what's left of her when the boss sends for you tonight. And make no delusions; he will send for you tonight." His mocking laughter faded in sync with his footsteps, leaving Blake alone with her thoughts once more.

Normally those words would turn her into a terrified bundle of nerves. But she was too shocked by what had just happened to another person, all in Adam's mad quest of revenge, to even think of being afraid.

She knew better than to get emotionally attached to the other prisoners. She had learned her lesson after her first cellmate. But this was her childhood friend; someone who had decided to escape the Fang with her. Someone who got caught due to Blake's own recklessness and shortsightedness. She closed herself off after that as numerous people came and went. None of them were as strong as her, or had a drive to escape as much as her. A loud, droning noise filled her ears and she placed her hands over them to make it stop. Then she realized, she was making the noise and it was only getting louder with her pain.

"Control yourself," a deep male voice barked from down the hall. "You can't fall all to pieces down here if you want to live."

The noise just became higher pitched with hiccups as she tried to control the sound.

"Ilia… dead," Blake stuttered out. "It's my fault, if I were stronger, I could have, I should have..."

"Hush," Tukson from across the hall whispered. "There's nothing you could have done. You should be happy it wasn't you. If you don't quiet down and stop talking they'll hear you, and then they will come back." A week ago his brother never returned to his cell after a night with Adam. The Bull Faunus never took kindly to traitors and sadly, that outcome was expected. She had not heard him utter a word since, withdrawing into his own pain. It being expected wasn't enough to dull the pain of losing a loved one though.

"It doesn't matter," spoke the first voice, "Let them come."

It was a voice she didn't recognize, so she assumed this must be the new prisoner they brought in a few days ago, and it was the first time he's been coherent enough to speak.

"Who are you?" Blake asked.

"No one," he muttered.

"If we are going to die down here I would at least like to know your name," she pleaded into the echoing halls.

"Harry."

"I'm Blake," she said with a small smile. "Why are you here? Why were you drugged for so long? Are you someone important?" The questions came sputtering out.

"Someone important?" he made a snort. "No. They've kept me drugged because they know that I will eventually kill them all."

"Can you do it? Can you break out and take us with you?" The desperation rang in her voice.

A long silence followed, and she prayed that Harry was planning an escape. She didn't expect his painful answer. "No."

Blake felt tears of disappointment burn at her eyes but she wiped them away with the back of her dirty hand. Feeling her world crumble around her once again as her hopes were dashed.

"I could if I were stronger but I cannot seem to summon my aura," Tukson interrupted sadly. "I can barely make a flame as small as my pinkie since they brought me here… wherever we are?"

"Hell!" Blake said.

Harry snorted gruffly.

"It's the drugs," she whispered. "It somehow keeps us from accessing our aura or semblance. Just enough to keep us alive. Barely."

"If only my brother was still here," Tukson whined. "He would know what to do." A moment of silence followed before Tukson became talkative again. "Why are we here? Oh, yeah… because we are humans and traitors to the cause."

The silence that followed the sarcastic remark was deafening. She started to wind her dark hair around her finger, something she tended to do out of habit when she was nervous or frustrated. Fingering her bow was out of the question as that was the first thing to go once Adam had his claws on her. The second was...

She shivered.

Just then a loud pounding sound came from the cell down the hall. It sounded like Harry was throwing himself against the door, and then he would intersperse it with pounding his plate against the lock.

"You aren't going to open the lock with that plate," Blake remarked dryly.

"Don't need too, just need to get their attention," Harry grunted between throws.

"What!" Tukson hissed. "You can't be serious. You want them to come?" His voice changed to a higher pitch as his nervous laughter got the better of him. "He wants them to come down here? Th-they are gonna be mad, they're gonna b-b-beat us."

"Please don't!" her body started to shake at the thought of the beatings they would receive for breaking the rules. She could handle the pain. She wouldn't be able to handle Adam's ministrations again. "I don't want to go back into that room." Now her voice was quavering. "I can't take it anymore." Hoping her pleas didn't fall on deaf ears, she pressed her body against the cold door and prayed.

The noise stopped for an instant as if he heard her, and then picked up again with a desperate fervor. He interspersed the banging of the plate with kicking, pounding and yelling. She pressed her back to the cell door, slid down to the floor and resigned herself to the painful punishment that would be doled out to all of them equally.

"What's going on?" the Lieutenant yelled as he opened the door followed by three guards. The armed men rushed to the cell and gathered around Harry's door.

"Over here, you moron! I have information that your boss wants!" Harry had immediately directed the Fang Lieutenant attention onto himself, instead of Tukson and her.

The Lieutenant halted suspiciously outside Harry's cell door. "What is the information that you have for him, and is it valuable?" he asked.

"Oh, it's life changing alright."

The lieutenant cocked his head in anticipation. "What is it that you want me to know?"

"I thought it imperative that your boss knows," Harry paused for effect, "That you are a slimy, no-good, rotten toad. A bastard son of a flea-ridden donkey."

"Quiet!" the Fang Lieutenant hissed.

"You can't even think for yourself. You must like the taste of dirt because you grovel so much to Taurus."

"Shut up!" the Fang Lieutenant pounded on the door. "Or you'll be sorry! I'll make you wish you'd never been born!"

"I'm already sorry. I'm sorry that I'm subjected to seeing you everyday. Do you think it isn't apparent that you wear that mask to hide your bloody, ugly mug? You know only a dog or a mother could love that face. No, I'm wrong. Your mother must be a dog to love the likes of you," Harry taunted.

That did it. The Lieutenant with his thick gloved-fingers grabbed the keys from his belt and shoved the lock into the door. The other guards grabbed their clubs, and entered one by one into the cell.

She ducked to the floor and lifted the metal flap to try and see what was going on. But all she saw was the dust cloud made from the scuffling of their feet. She heard fighting and grunting and hoped Harry was the one dealing the punches.

Finally, the fighting stopped, the dust settled, and she saw the White Fang Lieutenant emerge from the cell with a victorious air about him. Following behind him were two of the guards dragging Harry between them by his forearms. The third guard trailed behind.

Harry was dead or unconscious. His long, dark hair covered most of his face except for an emerald headband around his forehead. His body was on the short side, lean and well-muscled, if a bit thin. His dirty and torn clothes marked him for either a hired sword or a mercenary. In his current weakened condition, it was suicide to try and take on all of the men at once.

"Let's give him a couple of torture session," the Lieutenant roared angrily.

"But we're not supposed to enter the boss's chamber when the he's not there," a nervous guard spoke up.

"Shut up, you idiot. No one will know but us, and believe me, this one needs another lesson in obedience," a second guard intervened.

As they drew closer to her cell, unease began to well up in her breast. She closed her eyes for a moment and almost missed Harry spring to life.

Harry, who she had thought was unconscious or worse, moved in a flash and grabbed the knife from the guard's belt. He thrust the blade upwards into the guard's throat, sinking it in to the hilt. Pulling it out, the guard released Harry's arm and fell to the ground choking, his life ebbing away.

Before the guard even hit the ground, Harry had gained his footing and slashed at the man holding his other arm, slicing in a downward arc and forcing the other guard to release him.

The rear guard rushed him while swinging his short sword at Harry. The difference in the two blade sizes made Harry look like he was playing with a toy.

Harry jumped back, missing the swing of the short sword, as he adjusted the weight of his confiscated knife in his hand. When the sword swung at him again, Harry ducked and took the brunt force of the sword handle on his shoulder. Wrapping his hand around the rear guard's arm, he swung the handle of the knife into the man's temple, knocking him unconscious.

The White Fang Lieutenant screamed obscenities at the last guard, "Grab him, you fool! What are you doing? Hit him! Don't let him up!" all the while keeping a safe distance.

But Harry was bleeding from his shoulder wound, and was still outnumbered two to one and tiring quickly. The second guard, also bleeding from a slash on his arm, carefully stalked Harry; trying to push him back towards his opened cell. He pulled out a knife from his boot and picked up the dead guard's knife. There was no way Harry could take out the guard with two knives unless he threw his dagger, giving up his only weapon.

She didn't want Harry to die even if they had just met a few minutes ago. "Do something!" she yelled at Tukson.

"I'll try," Tukson answered.

Tukson reached his hand under the grate and grabbed at the uniform of the guard. A flash of light appeared, and the guard's clothes caught on fire. He screamed in panic dropping both knives to bat at his burning uniform. Harry used this opportunity to rush the burning guard and elbow him in the throat. The guard sputtered, and dropped to his knees. Harry punched him in the face knocking him out cold. As soon as the guard lost consciousness, the flames about him disappeared.

A small squeal escaped the Lieutenant and he froze with fright, as he realized he was the only one left to face the deadly Harry. The Fang Lieutenant turned to run up the stairs as Harry threw the dagger. The silver blade sunk into the larger man's back and he fell over with a grunt and slid down the stairs, coming to a halt on the bottom step.

Harry ran over and retrieved the keys from the Lieutenant's still body and ran to Tukson's cell. He quickly unlocked the door and a wide-eyed Tukson emerged, shaking. "Did you see that? I did it. I helped," he sputtered.

"Thanks!" Harry quickly shot out to Tukson, "but you have to get out of here and quick."

Tukson wasted no time and shot up the stairs and down the corridor towards freedom.

Harry unlocked Blake's cell. As the door swung open she could see his face close up for the first time, and her heart fluttered with apprehension. Here was someone who wasn't afraid to die. A fierce look came from stormy emerald eyes that were partially obscured by long dark hair. Harry's hard mouth was set in a firm line as he studied her. He looked beyond Blake into the darkness of her cell searching for an ambush or possibly another prisoner. Harry looked older than her by a few years, but was striking and fierce looking at the same time. Here was a man bred to be a warrior.

She knew what he would find looking at her, a girl barely the age of an adult. Even though her height easily towered over him, his mere presence eclipsed hers. Her hair hung dark and limp down her back and her purple eyes looked sickly surrounded by a swollen face and bruises. His look was grim and determined as he reached for her arm, and then stopped, his hand inches away.

"Come on," he growled, curling his fingers into a fist at his side.

She ignored his gruff demeanor. After all, she didn't know him and he did rescue her. She tried to stand, but was only able to take a few steps and then stumble into the door. She was weak from malnourishment and so her movements were awkward and unbalanced.

Harry inhaled his breath as if he was holding it and stepped back not bothering to assist her. "Get going," he snapped.

The tone of his voice made Blake stiffen in resistance. She squared her shoulders and ordered him about. "Well, then move out of the doorway."

Harry moved to the side, letting her pass before he reached for a dust-lamp from a wall. He entered each of the opened cells and gathered all of the blankets, clothes and straw into a corner to make kindling. Once done, he set them ablaze. He deftly stepped over the dead and unconscious guards and moved to the hall.

The fire would burn hot, but sadly with the base made off metal, so it would burn out quickly enough. By that logic, that made what Harry was doing pointless. So was there some plan in all the madness?

She stood watching him work until she had a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, and she moved as fast as her feet would take her up the stairs and out the first door. Not bothering to notice that the stairs were empty of a body that was previously there, she hurried down the corridor to where the passageway split. To her left, she could smell the air of freedom, but to her right down the other dark corridor, stood the metal door of the chamber and possibly Ilia. She started to take steps away from potential freedom when Harry loomed up behind her.

"No, leave it well alone. Get out of here!" he yelled, as he dragged the still form of an unconscious guard after him. The other guard must not have survived.

"But Ilia could be down there!"

"You get outside. I'll go look for her." He propped the guard against the wall and ran towards the chamber.

Nodding her head in assent, Blake silently made her way down the opposite passageway, realizing that she wasn't eager in the least to travel the other one.

She followed the dark passageway by feeling the wall with her hand, wishing that she had thought to grab a dust-lamp. The iron beams became sparse and the ceiling started to slant lower and lower, until she had to duck in other to transverse the path. The gloomy darkness of the passageway seemed to go on forever till it came to an abrupt end, and she encountered a wall of iron.

Feeling a moment of panic, she felt around in the darkness, for a door or handle, anything to help her escape. Something rough brushed against her face and she squeaked in surprise. Touching the object, she found it to be a rope that dangled from the ceiling. Following the rope up with her hands she found that it was attached to a trapdoor in the ceiling. She pushed the metallic door and it barely moved an inch. She was so weak it took her three tries to push it open. But she still had to pull herself out of the tunnel. She could smell a specific scent, the smell so pungent it stung her eyes making them water as she desperately tried to lift her own bodyweight out of the trapdoor.

"Come on!" she cried aloud. She scratched the ground for purchase trying to find any handhold to assist her. Finally finding one, she dragged her chest across the dirt floor bruising her ribs in the process.

Blake wasn't sure what she was expecting when she emerged, but she wasn't expecting a stable. The trapdoor was carefully hidden in the back stall under straw. The whole White Fang base was housed and camouflaged by the stable. The smell of the horses would definitely cover the smell of the prison, torture and death.

Standing to her feet, she brushed her dirt caked hands on her shirt and looked around for a means of faster escape. At least significantly faster than her legs. She glanced back down into the trapdoor, looking for signs of Harry or Ilia. But the passageway was empty except for the dim glow of flames?

She shook her head. Now wasn't the time to be curious.

There were eight wooden stalls in the stable, seven were empty. She knew Adam wasn't here because the Lieutenant had said so and she hadn't seen any of Selena's inner circle. Where were they? Somewhere close? Or did they build a stable out in the middle of nowhere for this purpose. No, she thought to herself, there had to be another building close by. She wasn't sure but didn't think the prison seemed big enough to house all the guards and Fang members in the area. If that was the case, that meant they would soon notice the commotion and soon be upon them.

Two horses were still stabled and the signs that a third was here not too long ago. Tukson was smart enough to grab a mount. The two horses were starting to panic as more noise were heard through the trapdoor.

Running to the wall, she grabbed the bridle from a hook and tried to put the bay's tack on. Her hands were shaking so much that she kept fumbling with the cinch. Once finished, she reached for the roan's bridle. She knew she wasn't going to have time for saddles, she was tiring quickly and didn't have the strength to hoist the saddles onto the horse's backs, when she slipped on something warm and wet.

Looking down, she saw that she had stepped in a small pool of blood. Horror and shock froze her, and the jerking of the horses pulled her attention back to the dire situation. They seemed to be saying, Ignore the blood, get out of here. NOW!

She struggled to keep both horses under control as she led them out of the stable into the darkening night. The crackling fire and the pungent smell of smoke were getting closer, and making the horses panic. The sound of a rushing river caught her ear and she half pulled, half sweet-talked the horses towards the water away from the fire. But, thankfully, once they caught sight of the water, they dragged her the rest of the way. Looking over her shoulder towards the stable, she prayed that Harry would hurry up and get out of there.

Reaching the river bed Blake dropped to her knees and leaned down to wash the dirt from her hands. Cupping her hands, she drank the water down in huge gulps, the coldness making her empty stomach cramp in pain. But her stomach pain was soon an afterthought as she felt the cool prick of a knife at her throat.

She froze in fear, hands to her side, still kneeling by the riverbed; the rocks digging into her knees painfully. Too scared to turn her head, she followed the blade of a knife with her eyes to the White Fang Lieutenant's shaking body. He was angry, bloody and sputtering in rage.

"You little traitor, he's going to hold me responsible!" the Lieutenant grabbed her around the throat with his free hand and began to squeeze. His voice became cold, hard. "But you are the one who's going to pay, just like the other traitor!"

Her mind flashed to the drops of blood she saw in the stable and she made the connection to Tukson. The Lieutenant had killed him!

Wildly, she clawed at his huge hands trying to pry them from around her neck, but to no avail. Dropping one hand she frantically dug her fingers into the dirt; looking for anything that could be used as a weapon, when her fingers wrapped around a small rock.

White specks danced before her eyes and she knew she was running out of time. In a final act of desperation, she summoned as much aura as she could dare, imbuing it in the rock and swung it at his head and the Lieutenant yelled, dropping the knife into the river.

Gasping for breath she scrambled to her feet, her hands reaching for her bruised throat. It ached and she had trouble swallowing and catching her breath. She had just turned to look for the Fang Lieutenant when a large branch came out of the darkness connecting with her head. White blinding pain filled her conscience. Spinning with the force of the blow she fell backwards into the fast moving river. The coldness made her gasp for breath and water filled her mouth making her choke. Blake was able to glimpse the starry night turning bright with orange fire before her world turned pitch black.

Oddly enough, her last thoughts weren't on her chances of survival. They were centered on her enigmatic savior, Harry. Who was he?

Updates would be on a bi-weekly basis, depending on whether or not real life butts in.

For reference purposes, although Harry isn't exactly a vampire, he does bear enough similarities to the Undead. So much so that it will be hard to differentiate between them. Therefore, his abilities are based on Count Dracula, the titular character of Bram Stoker's 1897 gothic horror novel, Dracula, just with some few minor changes. What those are remain to be seen.