"Take two psychics and make them speak together, and you'll find wisdom. Put three and you'll find arguments. Put four, and things become childish. So try to imagine two hundred ego-driven ones three hours in the same room. Isn't it nighmarish ? Well that's the council."

-Fares, to an aide before a council session-

-1901, Somewhere in Europe –

"This cannot be allowed to go on, brethren."

Darius was rudely interrupted in his idle rêverie when a gravelly, deep voice boomed across the council chambers. Lowering his head in irritation, he glared accross the vastness of the chamber, at the many ageless faces seated around it in comfortable chairs, and quickly found who it had been. It wasn't a great feat that he did, since the outburst came from the only one who was actually standing up in the room. He wasn't very surprised when he realized who it was, either.

Wolfgang Bison was in full thrust, decked in a perfectly cut outfit which was advantageous to his large, solid frame. His face was all sharp agles, and his eyes - a green so deep they could have been black, were narrowed. He was flushed with his own words and his own importance as he tried to drive a point he had been increasingly impatient with. Darius almost smirked at this. Fifteen centuries of life had made it so that it took much to amuse him, but Bison's rageful antics were always a twisted pleasure for him.

The large psychic struck a finger into the duskwood of the table he was seated in with so force that the ancient one was surprised it didn't go right through. "These felons have been preying on us for centuries, killing our people, putting fear in our hearts. In no age did we mount a full offensive to root out these spiders. I say that it is time!"

"Time for what, lord Bison?" a councilwoman asked.

"To gather ourselves and cleanse this irritant from our skin. To let the underworld know that no one - NO ONE! - May attack psychic kind! To show out powers and crush the enemy!!"

The declaration was welcomed by frowns, and murmurs around the room, with varying degrees of acceptance and enthusiasm. Darius had to give it to Bison - he could make anyone believe in what he said.

"Foolishness."

That is, apart from a few. Completely unsurprised by the soft, firm voice, he turned his attention to one whom he had come to know quite well, although the person herself didn't know it.

Gaspar Merrin, for his part, only sat up straight instead of rising, but his poise was extremely serious. He was a slighter man than Wolfgang Bison, although he nearly had the same height. He was a slender man, with a face of gentle aristocracy, a romantic appearance which made him quite popular with the ladies. However, the gentleness hid the wits of a tiger and the willpower of five lions.

Darius was glad of that. He had chosen July - now Gaspar's wife - because of her intelligence and natural power but also because he knew this man would be a true caring husband and father. He had kept tabs to make certain of his assessments, of course, but his subtle eyes and ears had only told him what he knew would happen : that Gaspar had married July immediately after Darius's deed with her to protect her honor, and had raised Darius's daughter - no, Gaspar and July's daughter, he had no right to call her family - Rose with warmth and love.

He had been happy to hear of the birth of a second child for July - one which he felt healed the last of the sadness she felt at not sharing her first night with the man she loved - and wished them both the best. It was not surprising that, when the argument began to escalate, he was slow to react to it, lost in thoughts of regret, shame and future opportunities.

"You overestimate the Enclave's importance in our lives, lord Bison. True, they are a pestilence at times, but they have been fairly calme ever since they slew Von Zuroch and his son." he coughed in his hand. "Which, to be bluntly honest, wasn't a very evil or despicable act in itself.

Wolfgang gave Gaspar a look of angry triumph. "So you think that a psychic's life shouldn't bew avenged, do you? Exactly what I'd expect from the soft, spineless House Merrin."

The jibe was meant to anger and confuse his opponent in thsi verbal spar, to catch Gaspar off-guard and capitalize on a slip-up. However, the other psychic didn't rise to the bait. He merely rose an eyebrow and continued forging ahead.

"You forget, lord Bison, that Von Zuroch had commited many acts of horrendous cruelty on the lands he controlled and the humans which lived on them. Such acts were bound to attract our enemies. The Enclave only happened to come upon him and his sorry progeny first."

Many murmurs went up at that, heads nodded, and even one 'Aye, true!' went off. Bison saw he was losing this exchange, and pushed back into waters he was more certain of.

"Be it as it may, we cannot simply stand by and let this rotten Enclave dictate our conduit. We should strike while we can!"

"We cannot without Lord Fares' approval, Lord Bison." one councilman reminded the big psychic "And he seems inclined to leave them alone!"

Bison growled deep in his throat - a menacing sounds which betold his displeasure. At length he spoke, and when he did, Darius' expression became quite another than an amused one.

"There are times when we must act on our own. Our need is present. Why not work to insure our future?"

Gaspar seemed actually taken aback by this, Darius noted in the misdst of his increasing irritation over Bison's reckless prideful attitude. It was obvious that he had never considered striking at nay target without the council's approval. Indeed, he might try to find a way around it even there - the head of House Merrin had never liked any sort of bloodshed. To some, it was an endearing quality. Tp other, it made him seem weak-spined.

Bison squarely belongued to that second category, and proved it by giving his rival an air of contempt. He opened his mouth to talk.

"No, lord Bison. You have said more than enough. I will not tolerate any more transgressions here!" Darius cut into the conversation with an edge in his voice. "I am suprised how childish two lords of such powerful houses can act! Indeed, not surprised, appalled."

Gaspar rose and bowed. "I apologize for my words, sir. They were out of the context of this discussion." Darius kept his face blank, but sneered slightly in a mental manner. Obviously, even though it was clear he was moderate and wise, the Lord of House Merrin couldn't help but use his own natural politness as a near-litteral nip on the nose of his old political adversary.

It worked, as well, as Wolfgang Bison spared a vicious glare at the younger psychic. All this, however, the ancient didn't much care for. He went to the problem at hand, only briefly acknowledging Gaspar's gesture.

Wolgang, by all manners and rules of good sense, should have waited for Darius to speak his mind fully before responding but, once again, the hot rage he had had the displeasure of seeing in the Bison bloodline for over a millenia exploded. "The Enclave is an enemy which will have to be dealt with someday!" He exclaimed, probably angry of being reprimanded and losing the debate.

"That is Lord Fares' decision, not yours." Darius warned.

"It should be!" he growled, then his brain caught up at last, and he felt silent in dismay. Suddenly, there were no discussions, no murmurs, nothing but dozens of the most powerful House leaders holding their collective breath as they stared, shocked, at the unthinkable: defiance of the Council of Ancients and the Ancient-Lord Fares.

Darius also looked on in shock. For a moment. Then his power engaged with a swiftness few in the world could manage, his eyes flaring a brilliant white as a tendril of power seized the Bison patriarch and pulled him of the seat he had sunk in effortlessly. Holding him with only a fraction of his power, Darius stepped towards the disgraceful, power-hungry man and wondered why Nyra couldn't have chosen better as a progenitor for the Seeding. In passing, he noted the satisfied glint in Gaspar's eyes - this one would enjoy this moment.

"Lord Bison, you are banned from the council for a period of three months for this act of rebellion against the Council of Ancients." he stated coldly. "Furthermore, you are issued a warning never to question one of Lord Fares' decisions. Be advised that there will be no second warning. Heed now and endure, or speak out and be tried by the Ancient Laws. Am I making myself perfectly understood?"

Held powerless in the grip of a power far greater than his, Wolfgang managed a painful, humiliated nod, and was released at once, slumping to the floor. Darius didn't watch whether the brutish man caught himself or fell in more humiliation - he had had enough of this bickering.

"Gentlemen, this meeting of the council is adjourned. One of us will come again at need." he said, and didn't wait for them to bow before teleporting back to the calm and solitude he preffered. What bickering children! He could only hope his child - he could not help seeing the lavander-haired Rose as his own - would never have to sit in such meetings, but had few illusions.

Dismissing bickering men and annoying politics for a time, Darius went off in search of a drink in order to relax.

"Daddy seems to think highly of this academy, though not too highly of the personal, I wonder… It Can't be that impressiveor appalling ? Can it? He always does exaggerates..."

- Rose Merrin while approaching the gateway-

-1901, Near Marseilles, France-

"I never believed I'd be so scared to go anywhere, Rose Merrin thought, but I've never felt so...so nervous in my whole life!"

She sighed, trudging along as the sun beat on her mercilessly with the vehement heat of August. She knew she had cause to be nervous. She was, after all, going to the most prestigious board of education ever conceived by psychic kind, the Belmeku Psychic College, founded only a century after the Second Council had been formed by Lord Fares. It was said to be an amazing structure dating back from days, as her father said "When art actually meant something."

Of course, she couldn't see it. All she saw was a field of old corn, dry, and wild, with here and there a few threes. She checked the intructions her father had given her. No doubt for it - this was the spot. There was supposed to be a gold-leafed tree here, nearby.

She scanned the place muttering for herself, before finding it - a slender oak with bright yellow foliage, forty or so paces from her. She quickly walked to it, her heart beating a little faster, and looked at the notes again.

"Touch the tree...speak your name with your mind...and wait." she read. She giggled to herself "Sounds simple enough!" She lay a delicate hand on the oak, then closed her eyes, bringing up the mental control need to project her voice outside her body psychically.

Her father had taught her that, and her mother had often helped her practice, which meant it was no effort to do so now. "I am Rose Merrin, daughter of Gaspar and July Merrin. I come to learn." She then opened her eyes. And couldn't help but gasp aloud.

She had expected that powers were present, blinding minds to the truth of what lay in that place, but the difference was still too stunning for her to take all at once. The old, mangled field had disapeared, and in the place of that vast desolation was a low hill surrounded by a small river perhaps thirty pace wide.

She could see trees on the hill in profusion, each plateau heavily forested, pleasant looking. Structures could also be seen - white, sparkling in the sunshine, they dotted the place - all of a different design and volume, but all reminded Rose vividly of Ancient Greece and Rome. It seemed like a haven of tranquility, and she liked it at once.

The space before the tree had become a bridge. Made of marble, it sturdily and magnificiently straddled the river. Her heart leaping a little, she gave a contented laugh and crossed. A living fences of brushes barred any immediate view, but she soon found herself on the other side. The humidity faded as she crossed, and the temperature went from nearly intolerable to pleasant - another power at work it seemed.

The other side was all ordered lawns, with a hill wall on the far side, crossed in the middle by white flagstones. Trees dotted at regular interval, giving shades to wooden benches under them. Rose found herself, despite the descriptions her parents had given of the place, gaping in child-like awe.

It was then that she felt a prickling sensation inside her head, a swift power poking her mind around. Gaspar's unyielding training came to the fore at once, and she took hold of the other mind, her anger cold, and sent power back as if it electricity through a cable. A gasp answered her, not far off, and she turned and took in the fighting stance her father had taught her, ready for defence.

But it wasn't any mean-looking attacker who emerged from the shade of a tree, rubbing his head gingerly, but rather a young man, a bit older than she. He was tall, and extremely athletic, dressed in the white and greyish blue uniform of the College, a golden belt denoting him as an upperclassman.

His face was large, with a huge hard chin, and his eyes - from what she could see - were so pale one could almost think he had no pupils at all. All in all, he was an impressive fellow, powerful from what she'd felt, but not quite that handsome.

Then he smile self-mockingly, and her first impression was forgotten - there was something very winning in that proud, self-deprecating sneer.

"Whoa there!" he said in a deep, pleasant voice, raising large hands "Now there, I don't want to fight! I was just giving you a nudge - my bad." he chuckled "You certainly pack quite a punch there, lady."

"You deserved it." she returned, surprised at how cold she sounded. She flushed, but rather than take offense, he simply laughed outloud.

"HAHAHAHA! I guess I DID, at that!" he crowed "I guess I was just being overly curious, as usual. I didn't mean anything by it, my apologies." he stauntered forward, his good mood apparent, and Rose couldn't help but smile slightly at the antics.

"I suppose no harm was done, sir. Forget it happened."

"What? Me? Forget? Impossible!" he took on a look of mock seriousness, which was so fake she smiled wider "My honor is in jeopardy. Thus, I must repay you with a service." he struck his chin in simili-thought, then winked. "You're new, aren't you?"

"Ah, yes." there was no way to deny that.

"Simply magnificient!" he exclaimed with that winning smile again "Then let me show you around this humble campus and its oh-so unworthy facilities."

She blinked at that. The young man seemed to be wanting to show her around honestly, but Rose had always been taught to beware of those boys who were too showy and nice before you knew them. "Gauge them carefully, Rose." her mother had cautioned, and she did so, scrutinizing the man and what she felt from him.

There was something there, and she felt, somewhere inside him, a darkness covered by the light, an anger. But it wasn't directed at her. Towards her, she saw and felt only amusement and something she knew as positive without truly indentifying. She nodded, bowing her head.

"Thank you. That would be very kind of -" she gasped as the large man took her hand and kissed it, gently. She felt her face grow hotter, and she fough to keep it down.

He grinned at her. "My pleasure...madam?..." he asked

"Oh! Rose...Rose Merrin." she paysed as she saw an inscrutable expression cross his eyes a mere moment. "And you are!"

"How gross of me! Marcellus Bison, at your service, madam !”

She stopped at that, frowning instead of smiling. "I know that name, Bison. My father always talked about a man named...Wolfgang."

Bison nodded, as if completely unsurprised. "He is my esteemed father." he said with a cynical edge to his voice. "And I've heard the name 'Merrin' ranted around our mansion often enough. I've heard of a certain Gaspar Merrin, who always seemed to ridicule my father." a grin crossed his face at Rose's uncomfortable look "Just for that, I think highly of the man. Not many manage to cut my old man's ego down to size and walk away intact !”

Rose didn't know how to react to the ambiguous compliment. The young psychic seemed to say one thing, but his feelings always seemed to contradict him. A complicated man, and a soul in torment. He was keeping the darker parts undrer strict control, but someday, it might well burst out, and what would happen then?

Still, she saw no reason but to respond in a befitting way, no matter how impressive and queer the man might be. "I'm glad you think so, sir. I would be glad if you would show me the college, if its not too much trouble." she said politely

"So formal! I'll have none of it, especially from someone as astonishingly beautiful as you!" he answered promptly, with another wink.

She couldn't help but blush again at the compliement. Although she knew that, by many standards, she was more beautiful than most - her father always said, with a strange relief, that she had inherited all of her mother's looks, besides the extraordinary purple hair, which her parents had never really explained - but to hear it said in such a straightforward fashion took her breath away from a second. She regained control quickly, however. "You're a sharp tongue, sir."

"People say that." he agreed with a smile "Now shall we?"

She smiled gently. "Lead the way, sir."

"Your wishes are my command! Follow me, and call me Marcellus." with that he took hold her arm and started to walk, giving her no real choice in the matter. And as she heard him begin an enthusiastic explanation of the place, she smiled. Maybe that place wouldn't be so frightening after all!

"My mother...was one of the most vain and naive individuals on the planet. She believed that being a psychic and a wealthy one at that gave one every right and protected her from everything. She was a fool, and my father was the one who made her realise it.

I never forgave him for that."

-Everick, to Kale during the first years of Shadowlaw-

-1900, Bern, Switzerland-

Rachelle Langrois had had a busy day. In the morning, visit to the Zurich National Museum, followed by a dinner with several very influential Psychic families, including the Houses of Bison, Morietta and Gallin. Then it had been hectic, with an equitation course, a private linguistic lessson, and, not the least, the amusing but frustrating reading of letters from young psychic men who seemed to always pine for her attention.

There was no way around it: she was bushed.

That was why she had, with a tired tone, taken leave of her parents and decided to retire early for the night. They had found it curious, given her excited nature, but had bade her good night without a fuss. All the better.

Now, dressed in her nightgown, Rachelle reflected on her situation. Six years out of the College, she had yet to find a use for her powers. She had been an average student, with no special qualification. Although her father assured her he had been no better, it struck her ego to be brushed aside when all she wanted was to stand amongst those like Gaspar Merrin, Liana Gonzalez and Wolfgang Bison - people with real power, who were respected and specialized.

She yearned to go higher than the middling House she was from, a family whose patriarch was only a minor member of the Council, without any great influence. She was looked down by the women of the great Houses, and she hated it.

"I wish I could be more than this." she sighed.

'Oh, but you are!' a voice boomed in her mind.

The voice threw her into confusion, as her psychic senses kicked in a flurry, trying to detect a presence. There was someone here! Near this room! And she hadn't felt it! She girded her mind with the most powerful shields she had, and prepared her powers, gathering them from deep inside her soul, ready to unleash them at the first sign of an intruder.

The one who had spoken through her mind didn't even bother trying to hide. Rather, the shadows at the corner of her room coalesced into a being facing her with a smirk. It was a man. Tall, he was dressed in black pants and a grey shirt, hands in his pockets. His eyes were wide and blue, with a single lock of straigh brown hair hanging down in front of him. He didn't seem to radiate great power - in fact he seemed to have quite little of it. She gave a dignified, contemptuous glare.

"Who are you? How dare you come in here?" She hissed. Her tone was cold and promised dire retribution, but he seemed - insanely - to be amused rather than frightned. He rubbed his rounded chin thoughtfully.

"Two different question, and good ones at that." he said in a very soft voice. He closed his eyes with a smile. "I'll start by the second, because its more interesting to the both of us: I dare because I want something. And that something is you, my dear pompous lady.

She felt her anger elevate to new heights at the arrogant tone he took to answer her - as if he was a great lord answering a poor but beloved serveant. She clenched her fists at the insolence. So he thought he could just come in and give demands, eh? They'd see about that. Without warning, she gave him a sound mental slap which turned his head sideways. He stayed there a moment, and she was gratified to see his eyes widen. Didn't think she could do that little trick, did he? Now it was her turn to smirk.

"Good sir, if I were you, I'd consider leaving while you can." she commented mildly.

He still blinked amoment, then chuckled softly, patting the cheek which had been hit in wonder and glee. At last he spoke, and when he did, his tone was so strange that she felt icy threads down her back.

"No, madam. I'm actually considering something else entirely." He gave her a sudden look. "You are mine!"

She didn't know what happened next, but without warning pain exploded in her head, tearing down her best defenses effortlessly. Her eyesight blacked out for a moment, drowned by the wave of mental forces thrown her way. She grasped for her powers to counter this unimaginable strength, but couldn't. She gave a defiant mental shove, full of anger and fear, and lost herself in the void.

The nothingness seemed to last only a second, but when she awoke, the situation had changed. And not for the better. Her eyes opened to find the brown-haired, smirking man looking at her, his eyes shining with twisted thoughts. She saw lust in there, a terrible darkness, but most frightening of all, she saw a lack of soul, a lack of being.

She tried to scream in terror, but found her voice muffled by his hand. It was then that she realized that she was lying on her bed, naked, with a perverse, dark man on top of her. The moment, however, sent her such panic that she found herself unable to move an inch, even though she wanted to trash about and escape. This situation only seemed to amuse the smiring man even more, to deepen the dead darkness she saw in his eyes. She wanted to weep at the sight, to close her eyes, but what remained of her pride would allow neither.

"Yes, that what I like!" he said in that strange, soft voice "Thats what I want! Spirit! And you have it, magnificient woman! Oh, this is going to be perfect!"

"W-w-who are you?" she blurted, hating the quaver in her voice. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then the twisted smile returned.

"I may as well tell you: my name is Halkare."

At the mere mention of the name, something within her mind screamed, and she began to tremble slighlty. Halkare...Halkare, the Shadowalker, the one of the bloodline of Shades, the forgotten branch. The line of Those Who Walked The Shadows had always been madew of few but dangerous individuals, and Halkare was said to be the worst and most powerful yet, having roamed around, killing for money and for the pure joy of it, he was known as a vicious, perverse man of strange tastes and even stranger whims.

And he held her, underneath her naked. Panic began to set in, but she desperately tried fighting it down. He couldn't do anything - her father wouldn't allow it, no? Then she remembered that Halkare seemed to have the backing of House Bison, and her father...her father couldn't win against both forces combineds, even in council. Her teeth began to click together, and this time she didn't fight the wave of terror.

He smiled down at her. "You and I are going to have fun, woman. Much, much fun. And if a child comes out of this, you'll keep it, or I'll be unhappy." his grin formed into a cruel rictus. "And I'll tell you, those who make me unhappy...regret it to the core of their souls!" He snickered at her, then put his hand on her forehead. "Now, lets begin."

And as the jolt of power throbbed past her defenses, Rachelle lost herself inside her mind, hoping never to leave again, hoping to die, hoping this was all a great nightmare.

But she knew it wasn't, and it horrified her beyond endurance.

“That old fool of a father of mine’s gonna lose his marbles one of these days, and I’d simply be unable to live with m’self if I wasn’t the sole cause”

-Marcellus Bison to one of his friends when asked about his father-

1901 – Estate of the house of Bison, outskirt of Munich, Southern German Empire-

He could be sensed throughout the land; the psionic aura of him spreading across the lands, and all strayed from his path. Wolfgang Bison was home. After the most humiliating moment of his political carrier, he was all but ready to strangle someone, and thus his servants eyed him warily as he passed by them.

Silence filled the mansion, aside his footsteps and the gentle rumbling his aura was causing the nearby pictures and furniture. He was supposed to walk out of this one victorious, take a step forward to superiority over the council of elders, but instead he was thrown back harshly and would need to work to rebuild his integrity and status.

“How dare he do this to me?” he mutters angrily to himself, scowling as he pushes the double doors open. His rage could not be contained, his aura volatile, his entire visage like a blazing dynamo, the very air around him bent slightly with the unconscious effects of his power being so unstable.

He would not forget this insult, being rebuffed by Lord Darius was one thing, it had happened before, it would most likely happen before. However, THIS! This was unaccounted for! He had a line to represent, now it was getting obvious, those fools were afraid he might ruin their carefully kept peace.

The thought makes him sneer, that was the undoing of the psychic people, they had become weak, they had become vain and secretive, that was the beginning of the end of his people. How sad it is that unfortunately, there was nothing to be done to rectify this, not yet anyhow.

He shivers in anger when he recalls the nerve of that ancient… always biased in the favor of the musings of that pacifist coward Merrin. One of these days he would make sure that smug and skinny, weakling fool be taught one lesson he’d never forget, one of these days.

Lord Wolfgang Bison ponders dark thoughts as he paces through the main corridors of his lavish mansion, the beauty and richness of the decorations and antiques it held would put many a king to shame, gold, silver and marble all coming together in a perfectly designed merge that was a feast to one’s eyes.

All he wanted to do now was eat dinner, and then go to sleep in order to push out the bad news of his mind and prepare carefully for his return in 3 months. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he enters the kitchen and then he pauses.

“Welcome home Pops” his unwanted son, Marcellus, greets him, arms folded behind his head, and boots lying on the priceless oaken table he purchased only recently. The senior Bison’s eyes flare some as slaps his feet off the table, not so gently, giving him a warning look as he sits down at the head of the table.

“Wow…bad day at work, eh? I heard old man Darius made a fool out of you, not so hard to do, but looks like you outdid yourself this time…” Marcellus muses and chuckles lightly at him, while smirking, earning a death glare from Wolfgang, whose eyes begin flaring in violet. Just as he’s about to teach the boy a lesson in manner, his wife enters along with young Kale.

He gives him a look that promises troubles soon, as he leans back and sneers at the boy, who just looks back at him with smugness, content at aggravating the old man he hates so, the loathsome old fool quite an annoyance as of late, not that he ever was civil.

Marcellus hated his home, the place was cold and lonely, and his friends dared not visit him, in fear of his father, who had a reputation spanning from Beijing to Mozambique, not a good one with that.

Life was dull on his vacations, true he went out and met his friends occasionally, but not all were available, and even an occasional date with a damsel here and there was getting dull, most of the women of his age were just not fiery enough for him, they were all greedy, conceited and fake, he needed change.

Suddenly it hits him like a ton of bricks and a sly grin reaches his lips, startling the wife of his father, as it holds a secret that forebodes bad things. His younger brother Kale only looks up at him adoringly.

Kale was perhaps the one thing that liked him in the house of Bison, he idolized and loved Marcellus, and he had to admit he loved the little guy as well, he had a way of touching him, and didn’t seem too similar to their old man, or his dusty, dull excuse for a wife.

“What’re you up to boy?” Wolfgang asks him coldly, while tapping his fingers against the table, expectance in his tone and glare. Bison whistles lightly and looks up at him, a devilish glint in his eyes, as he plays the last thought in his mind, inwardly cackling evilly.

“Oh nothing…just thinking of a girl I plan of courting…that’s all?” Marcellus muses calmly and takes a bite out of the food, he had to admit it was marvelous, it’s flavor and texture divine, but somehow most of the things that came out of this blasted house had a rotten part to it, at least in the back of his mind.

“Oh? Who is this “Girl” you’ve set eyes on?” Wolfgang asks suspiciously while drinking some wine, peering at the fruit of his loins suspiciously, while not liking the look in the boy’s eyes, not one bit.

“Oh a new student, nobody special…” he muses and toys with his father, knowing he’s walking on thin ice and enjoying the rage his father’s eyes reflect. This practice being one of the much-appreciated shots he had at his old man, the only way he could get back at the old fogy who had humiliated and beaten him up to obedience mentally and physically for so many a year, for the time being, for the time being.

“Stop dodging the question and answer me boy, or by the ancients I’ll have you decked against the wall, squirming in pain” he sends his son, hiding the message from his younger boy.

“So touché’, I thought elder psychics were supposed to be ageless and all knowing, tolerant and calm tempered, but then again, that’s why you’ve been whipped down like a dog, isn’t it?” Bison muses with a chuckle, brazenly hitting his father where it hurt, causing the old man’s eyes to ignite with unchecked fury.

Marcellus then strains to push out his father from his mind, the mental extrusion causing him to tense up as sweat beads down his forehead. Truthfully, he was still very young, but his power was growing rapidly, and soon he would be strong enough to put HIM in check, which was his goal that he yearned to achieve more than anything else.

But for now he wrestling the torrent of pain while gritting his teeth hard, his father’s cold and angry eyes not leaving him for a second. The pressure was getting unbearable and he felt as if his brain was raking at his skull and pounding against it, liquid fire blinding him as he raises a hand in defeat, and the pain stops.

A tense silence is left at the table, the two adults looking at him coldly, Kale worriedly, and Marcellus himself, only chuckles lightly between heavy pants “My, my, isn’t this the very impatience that got you into that mess with the ancient earlier?” Marcellus asks as he licks his lips, he was beginning to push his luck and he knew it.

Wolfgang’s fists begin glowing and his wife puts a restraining hand on his shoulder, holding him back barely, as Bison junior drops his next crippling blow, right according to his plan

“My, My father, I was hoping of a more enthusiastic and calm response. If you must know, I’m pondering on courting the young lady Rose,” he muses, and relishes on the boiling rage that flows through his father, explosive and elusive as a lightning bolt.

“You’ve set eyes on Rose Merrin? You dare court a Merrin?” his voice asks, in an overly controlled manner, while his wife promptly gets the hint and leads Kale outside, with effort as he senses something bad about this, as his father rises, eyes on the table, and hands fisted against it as well.

Marcellus glances sideways as his “mother” takes away his younger brother and shuts the door behind her, then looks at his father, with curious eyes “Well she is a beautiful young lady and from an influential family, I thought you’d be thrilled” he muses with fake sweetness layering his tone.

“Now you listen here boy, I’m willing to tolerate most of your silly antics, but this is too much, I forbid you to court or even meet this Merrin whore.” He says and his power curls and licks at his limbs, the room illuminated by violet light as his power rages violently around him.

Marcellus quirks a brow at him and rubs his chin, looking thoughtful, pondering the notion, “Since you’re so enthusiastic about the idea, I’m inclined to pursue it, besides, maybe this will be your chance to be pitied some by the house of Merrin and not be humili...” he begins before the foreboding power around his father explodes.

“I’ve had just about enough of your insolence boy…You will learn to obey me…or you will pay the price…” he whispers into his mind, his tone calm and cold, the deadly edge it holds not hidden, and quite unsettling.

Marcellus can’t help by gulp; he had never seen his father this mad. Yet, at the same time, a devious satisfaction spreads across him, oh yes, this would do perfectly as the tool against his father, “My fair Rose Merrin, do brace yourself, For the ride of your life…” He thinks to himself grinning lightly, before his world is flooded with pain and agony.

“I often wonder why we psychics boast so highly of being superior to the humans, heh, I don’t see much difference between then and us, greed, violence and bigotry is equally spread amongst us all…”

– Rose Merrin to herself as she rolls her eyes at the nobles around her -

-1901 Grand ball, Paris, France -

“How dull can one ball be?” She reminisces what he asked her, “You might meet someone cute while you’re at it?” he coaxed her softly. She pouts lightly to herself, wondering why she had agreed to participate in this intricate form of boredom torture in the first place.

It was one of the psychic world’s vacations; the whole week was a holiday, in which studies and council affairs forfeit for an extravagant few days of celebration in order to thank the ancients for the victory of lord Fares in the psychic wars. Legends say his rebellion successful in ages past, saved them all from tyranny under some nameless evil one, whose name was lost in the dusts of time.

This ball is taking place upon the last day of the holiday, and she had been away from home all week, traveling with her parents, who were on business and leisure while she was left to baby-sit her younger sister.

She sighs more, she could’ve been spending some of her free time on something more enjoyable, maybe go and make some friends amongst the many people who studied in the college for the gifted, well at least she had some time off from dealing with her overly energetic sibling.

Still, despite the solace, she knows that against her better judgment, she was here now, stuck amongst all the stuck up aristocrats and their offspring. She was standing in a more secluded corner, eyeing the crowd idly, to try and relieve the unbearable sense of vertigo, everything was moving so slow, as if time was frozen, how ironic was that as the only thing she wanted now was to get out of this dump.

“At least the food’s goo…d” She thinks. Sighing as that is her only ray of light this evening. She had promised her dad she’d attend this ball, she rarely did go to these overblown masquerades, but she knew her absence was hurting her father politically, and as much as she hated being a part of politics, the least she owed her father was to attend.

She had smiled and spoken gratefully to the people, who had greeted her and complimented her, when she was near her parents, while they socialized, like her mother, she distasted this, but knew the necessity of it all.

Across the room, Wolfgang Bison was up to his own form of socializing, he had much work on his hands, the incident earlier this week had seriously effected some of his influence, he merely reminded his peers, who he was, and what happened to those who forgot their place.

Utilizing his charisma and natural charm, he conquered them once more, and managed to gradually mingle about and win back, with cunning or sheer intimidation, his people back, thus, preventing a conquest of his circle of supporters by the Merrin faction.

Upon tasting the bitter taste of his defeat earlier, and playing the name he loathes so on his tongue another, incident reoccurred to him. How that little b*stard child he was raising had the nerve of speaking back to him was beyond him.

So was the fact that he also above all other things insulted him, his status and power openly. These of course didn’t pass quietly, and the boy was disciplined properly for his insolent behavior.

Now all Wolfgang needed to do was to deal with that little whore who that foolish boy was apparently going to court. If there was something Wolfgang learned over his long life and constant vying for power, was that you never leave anything to fate or chance, action always derived a good outcome.

But how to do so, without creating a scene or direct conflict with the Merrin patriarch, though he had no objections on crushing the little impudent pest in his bare hands and strangle him until his eyes popped out, he knew that would prove problematic for him, moreover after what happened so recently.

He lays eyes upon the young Merrin, standing there all alone in a secluded corner, sipping some punch from a crystal goblet. He couldn’t help admire the child’s lithe and womanly body, her sleek and slender body filling out her aqua blue dress just right.

He keeps in mind these fact, should he need to take drastic measures to keep the little brat in place, he excuses himself from the presence of some of his peers and slips into the crowd, pushing across it while closing in on the young woman.

Rose feels someone’s eyes on her and shivers slightly, a chill running up her spine and an uneasy feeling rising at the pit of her stomach, a silent scream at the back of her mind urging her to rejoin her father and mother at the table.

But before she can think someone she looks up and sees a frightening sight. She had no doubts that this hulking figure was the infamous Wolfgang Bison. He was wearing a dark crimson tunic, trimmed nicely with golden lines and barely containing his muscular body.

A raven colored pair of trousers, belted by leather who’s buckle was solid gold with his house’s emblem upon it. To add to his foreboding visage was a black cape that reached the floor, giving him the impression of some cruel tyrant ready to order her execution.

She keeps her resolve and looks up at him calmly, quirking a slender brow, though inwardly she trembles some at this man who looks down at her quietly, with those cold and cruel eyes.

“Rose Merrin, Usually I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet such a fair and beautiful young woman, but let’s put niceties aside, and get straight to the point…” he speaks coldly, his voice dark and commanding, trying to envelop and bury her under his power.

She refuses to show weakness before this man, yes, he was a powerful psychic lord, but she knew she was beyond his reach, this man, who took pleasure at bullying his way out of everything, would not take away her pride; she wouldn’t disappoint her father either by kneeling and allowing the brute to dominate her.

“I beg your pardon?” she asks quietly, now not only here to defend her own honor by refusing to be humiliated by this man’s gaze and acting as a woman of her status, she was representing her family, her father, she would make him proud, she would.

“My son, Marcellus, I have plans for him you see…” he muses, grabbing a glass of red wine for himself and looking down at her, with his horrid, fierce eyes, his tone darkening upon speaking of the boy.

Rose wonders inwardly just what this man wants, she had only met him a week ago, and even then, she had barely spoken to him, frankly he did most of the talking while he lead her through the campus, before she could start talking, she had class to attend to, and could only thank him quietly for his kindness.

She gets lost in thought shortly, eyes distant before she is brought back to reality as she sees the lord of the house of Bison’s eyes glow some, though his power remains hidden. “Stay away from my boy, Merrin, or by the ancients themselves, I’ll make you regret the day your whore mother bore you from her wretched womb,” he says venomously.

Rose’s eyes widen some, and then narrow angrily, her brow ticking. He had some nerve. Not only in his threatening her, but also by his insulting her mother, how dare he?

“You have some nerve, threatening and insulting my mother. But then again, I suppose your boldness and crudeness is legendary. If and when I do or do not get to know Marcellus is MY choice, and you will not dictate over me, good eve,” she says simply, in a cold tone, glaring back into his eyes with defiance.

He blocks her path, “You would be wise to not ignore my threats, little one, or you might find yourself in trouble way over your head…” he whispers as he senses July Merrin approaching and gives Rose a cold glare before walking off into the shadows.

“What was that all about dear?” July asks Rose, while looking at Wolfgang as he returns to his table, the elder Bison looking at the two, with cold eyes. Rose shivers some and looks up at her mom “It was nothing important, just some idle Bison chatter as Dad says…” She muses to her mom with a smile, and with that, the two Merrin ladies return to their table.

“The child has her mother’s fire and her father’s calm, intriguing, though her father’s insolence has been passed on to her as well, heh, perhaps It’s time I taught someone of the house of Merrin some manners…” he muses to himself and a dark smile plays on his lips.

“I’m sure my friend; the shadow walker will be pleased at this task. He lets his eyes trail over the rear view of the young Merrin, grinning to himself as he imagines what twisted and unthinkable things Halkare will do to a woman of such rare beauty in his duty and private lust.

Of course, it’d all be done for the right price, but money was not a problem, not for the prospect of destroying something so valuable to Gasper Merrin. Moreover, with the added bonus of the rare allure of this young lady, he’s sure he’ll get every penny worth of trauma inflicted on young Rose’s mind, which would be sufficient payback for the insult he had taken.

Smug and content with his latest plan, Wolfgang can’t help but thank his little worthless son, for giving him such a grand opportunity.

In addition, with what his ally would do to the woman, he was sure any plans of Marcellus to court her, would be shattered to a million pieces. He relishes on this as he drinks his dark wine, eyes gleaming with hidden malice and content.

"Wise? Why, I never considered myself very strong in wisdom. It is only that I'm so old, I have become tired of making mistakes."

- The Ancient Darius, in discussing with the Ancient Lord Fares

Halkare could admire the taste and elegance of House Merrin's main mansion. Not quite a castle, it had an imposing face of light-colored stone, pierced here and there by large windows and terraces and personal balconies. However, it wasn't built to impress, he could feel that.

Instead the house gave off an impression of strength mingled with contentment, with its blue-slated roof, its gurgling fountains, flower beds, and the well-tended garden which made up most of the residence. Cobbled trails led to other parts of the large property, the most interesting of which was a sort of solarium, and the other an open-aired resting area complete with crafted chairs and a white-washed table.

The Shadow Walker knew from his own sources and those he had from his...employer... that this quiet, calm elegance was near-solely the work of July Merrin, the mistress of the House. The weak-stomached lord, Gaspar, had a notoriously poor taste for anything ressembling decoration, and had given his wife - and later, it seems, his eldest daughter - carte blanche in transforming the residence.

What a fool he was, that Gaspar, giving his women so much say in the way he should be, or even worse, seeking that advice. No wonder these two were so strong-minded, especially that child, Rose.

It didn't matter right now, however, because he had been given the mission to humble that impudent little flower. She had dared stand up to Wolfgang Bison publicly, confident that her oh-so noble father's influence and high standing would protect her.

She was right where it came to ordinary measures that the old man could take, for anything direct would bring Gaspar down on Wolfgang like a thunderbolt. For Gaspar, beyond his pacifist views, was known to be extremely protective of his wife and daughter. Weak fool.

Time to get to work now, he thought. I'll make sure this little trollop gets the message on leaving ol' Wolfgang's boy alone, and then I'll check up to my sweet little Rachelle.

The thought entertained him. His little night with that arrogant girl - such a sensual experience of domination! - had wielded promising results. Rumors were rife that she had given birth to a son, who had been born with a strange greyness which had faded quickly. This electrified him. The boy had inherited his powers - the greyness meant that he was linked to the Shadows.

He just hoped this one wouldn't be the feeble psychics and disappointments his other randomly-sired children had been. That Rachelle was becoming an outcast in her own family meant absolutely nothing to him - as long as his son grew old enough to be tested and, if found powerful, trained as Halkare was trained, none of it mattered. But he would check up nonetheless, just for the fun of seeing her.

It was only when he started shifting walking towards the house at a stealthy, nimble pace that he felt something was wrong. He couldn't quite define what it was - he hads bypassed the security and the psychic wards, and knew that none of the three powerful auras - and the number of lesser ones - were still giving off the calm impression of sleep.

Yet he felt...watched. It was an eerie feel, no one should be able to feel him, but he couldn't quite shake it off. He looked around quickly. Nothing. Just trees, bushes and clean-cut grass sparkling in the moonlight, the faint sounds of insects, nothing out of the ordinary. Grumbling to himself, he went to the nearest walk of the house, seeking his link to the shadows.

"No. I cannot permit this." A voice sounded sounded calmly in his mind, and Halkare's eyes widened, shock paralysing him for a bare instant. And during that bare moment of inaction, a force - a powerful force - pushed him away from the house, the power hitting him like a ram, so roughly his breath was cut off. He skittered and rolled on the grass, his mind scrambling for defenses, and managed to stop himself and struggle to an erect position.

However, he barely had the time that a man - a tall, lean man - was looking at him from only few feet off that he was pitched backward again, but this time he only stumbled, regaining composure quickly. Anger was replacing the shock, but he kept it in check for now, regarding the man with scorn. He couldn't quite make out the facial traits, but he screamed of someone he should know of. No matter. No one kicked him around, not even Wolfgang. He'd make that guy understand that.

"What are you, the Merrins' dog?" he leered.

"A guardian, more precisely. One they will never know of. You see, I like Lord Gaspar, Lady July and, especially the young one, Rose. I felt your intent with her and I warn you: desist."

There was something about the polite, soft tone which made the back of his head prickle icily, but he refused to let himself be intimidated. "I don't take well to threats, man. You should have stayed out of this." And with this, he unleashed the power he had been amassing during this interlude, firing it point-blank, a storm of chi and mental energy which had always layed any opponent low.

He went through the second phase of shock of the night when the man, far from showing horror at the sight, merely swiped an arm crackling with energy, connecting with the attack and dissipating it like it had been a dust cloud.

The man merely spoke again. "This is your last warning, Shadow Walker. Leave and promise never to return, or I will have to use stronger means of persuasion."

"I don't take orders!" he hissed, and attacked the man, letting loose a kick with all the speed, all the power he could muster. The man didn't seem to move, and yet before the kick could connect his hand had caught Halkare's foot and shoved in away, forcing the mand to land on his back.

He was up at once, his anger taking over, attempting to take out this infuriating opponent with a series of punches and kicks. None of them connected. Without seeming to move, the man blocked or shifted away from the shots, always keeping a calm, almost bored, facade.

Finally he couldn't take it. This man was making a fool of him, the first time anyone had done this to him. Forgetting the fact that the screams might bring three other powerful psychics to him, Halkare opened his link to the shadows, forced them to coalesce, and attacked with them, immersing the man in a living darkness of pain.

However, no screams came. In fact, there wasn't even a flinch. Halkare poured more power, staining himself, but to no avail. He maintained it until his nerves felt raw, and that the shadows began to strain against his will, and yet nothing happened. Finally, with a frustrated, disbelieving gasp, he let go of the power, panting. The shadows parted at once.

To his horror, the man stood there, looking none the worse for wear. "You are powerful, Shadow Walker. But you are but a trifle to me. Let me show you what exactly you seek to destroy."

The warning was all he had before a wave of pain penetrated through his defenses, sending him to his knees, righ on time to receive a devatating kick on the chin, forcing him up and away. He landed and rolled, forced himself to a kneeling position, only to receive a blow which slugged him to the side, hard. Then the wave of pain returned, and he couldn't prevent himself from crying out in pain. He wouldn't surrender, though, and struck with all the remaining the strength he had in the direction the other one surely