Shadows Speak to Shadows

[Hattori Kazuya]

February 16th
23:27
Demonic White House

Such a craggy  place. The whole of the Enthropic chasm was just unregulated and unforgiving terrain. The slopes that descended into the darkest part of the region were jagged and hard to climb. the remains of what might have been a city made makeshift spike pits of rubble and re-bar. In all, it was a horrid place. Though, there was an allure to it. It had a sort of destroyed beauty. Much like the unique designs created by corrupted computer data or even the sounds of a damaged record. This place had it's own sort of allegoric existence that spoke to the artist in Kazuya's heart. His feet swept across the landscape ;like a breeze through the plains. He was in his Inferis morph and that made moving over such a deadly landscape nothing but child's play to him. He leaped from the wall of the chasm and seemed to drift on the still air until his toes grasped the tip of a rusty pipe jutting from the side of the cliff face. He bent his knees and jumped from the pipe soaring over all that could harm him. he was but a drifting shadow on the ground. In no time he was where he wanted to be. the demonic ruins of the White House. He found the whole place rather funny. Then again, the whole of Inferis was funny. it was such a twisted parallel of our world though it was likely that it came first. If that were the case would earth just be a twisted copy of this horrid place? He caught the edge of a window sill and hauled himself into the broken window with ease. His body rolled across the once carpeted floor and he stood with the slow and practiced control of a gymnast. He took three silent steps backward and placed his back the far wall of the room. As the shadows closed around him he disappeared from view.

His feet took him across the threshold of many rooms. Each step as silent as the last and his body only shimmering into view occasionally as he drifted from shadow to shadow. Until he saw what he came for. Not an object like normal, no this was something different. Something important to Inferis and to Kazuya. He could learn something from this one. His eyes took in the form of Vladimir The Impaler. Quite the ominous title and a well earned reputation. it was such a shame that so many demons were just some dead person and nothing of note. It was only the few like Vlad that mattered. So those would be the ones he would seek out. Kazuya stood in the shadow of a darkened doorway and watched the ancient man go about his business for nearly an hour, then, he revealed himself. With a single silent step forward out of his cloak of invisibility he bowed. His bow was respectful and at the waist. The two draping blackened silk scarves that trailed from his pauldrons hung by his head. "Vladimir." Kazuya addressed him with his dual toned hiss from behind his kabuto mask that was more or less his actual face in this form. "I have come here to speak to you." With a quick motion he pulled his sword his back, still in it's sheath and held it off to his right side, a traditional show of inhostility in ancient Japanese culture. he hoped the demon would understand the gesture.

[Vlad III Țepeș]

Pointed fingernails dug into the big, expensive chair's navy blue leather as ominous yellow eyes slowly glanced leftward, resting on a clock with a broken glass cover. Thirty minutes to midnight. Count Drăcula sighed through his nostrils stoically, returning his chilled stare back to the Oval Office's great aperture, formerly a triumvirate of tall windows profiled by curtains of rich purple velvet now tattered and frayed beyond repair due to eons of neglect, and looking far out into the Entropic Chasm. Wherever his eyes landed, chaos was all that stared back. Belphegor's realm was uneven, jagged, as much of an environmental Dystopia as it was a social one; even after Lucifer declared his reign by proxy, Demons had grown accustomed to waging petty struggles for power and dominance, competing for control like children over candy.

Drăcula found it repulsive. All he saw were nothing but charlatans, imposters, and fakes; mere infants pretending to know where their ambitions lied. They were no better than the weaklings that failed to act on them at all. But, at least the milksops knew their place in the great scheme of things; they recognized their lack of strength and motivation, and accepted this as reality. The wolves were the predators, and the sheep were the prey. It was simply the natural order, and the Lord of the Nosferatu was living proof of this unwritten law. He was only a humble actor, performing his part in the grand play of existence. And he was quite skilled at it.

And it seemed as though the sovereign and strongest of the vampires landed himself quite a prominent role this time around. No longer would he spend his valuable time micromanaging the hideous and bloodthirsty Nosferatu. At the behest of Lucifer himself, the Count was to rule the entirety of the Entropic Chasm, Belphegor's rightful kingdom and sphere of influence, in the Slothful One's absence until the day he rose from his millennial sleep. The Impaler knew his position as acting ruler would last only until that fateful day came, but a small sliver of his prideful self detested this certainty. That part of him was not satisfied with what the Overlord bestowed unto him; he was an Archdemon in title only. But in his frustration came a sense of familiarity, a feeling that seemed to override and quell the irritation created by his restlessness.

If he could not claim the Chasm as his own, then the least he could do is whip its denizens into proper shape. After all, this realm was to serve as a prison for the criminals, malefactors, terrorists, and lawbreakers that were sentenced here for the rest of their pathetic afterlives. Drăcula's lips curled into a fanged sneer, somewhat tickled pink by the irony of the situation he was placed into. It was almost identical to his term as Voivode of Wallachia: chaos and anarchy ran amok in the kingdom of Sloth personified. Lawlessness permeated within the depths of the Chasm and the crumbling ruins and desolate cityscapes that dotted its craggy slopes, cliffsides, and valleys. Oh yes, it was all too familiar to him.

The atmosphere of the room shifted, enough for the Count to pick up on the sudden change as he was pulled from his train of thought. The doors of the Demonic parallel of the Oval Office had not opened, yet his vampiric senses detected a presence had entered the room, and was now lurking within it. He slowly rose from his leather chair, fingers relaxed and hanging at his side, as he turned on his heels to face the closed wooden portals, carefully examining the interior with glowing predator eyes. A blanket of shadow concealed half of the chamber's contents, but this held no clout when faced against the vampire's superior vision. He performed a thorough visual sweep of the office, from the dusty shelves and banisters to the ruined Presidential decorations and portraits. No one else was there.

"Most intriguing." Drăcula mused to himself as he darted glances all around, his stance unflinching as a marble statue. His eyes, built to detect enemies and see within the darkness, could not find what he was looking for. But perhaps his other senses could accomplish what his sight failed to? With a deep inhale, the Count's stare sharpened in its intensity until the yellow orbs were little more than threatening slits. So there was someone present. An intruder, perhaps? Very likely, considering the Patriot's Labyrinth was rife from top to bottom with Belphegor's minions and soldiers; elite in both personal skill and group tactics, and yet all of them were completely bypassed by this invisible trespasser? Quite a remarkable feat.

But he merely leapt from the frying pan and into the fire.

The Impaler chuckled lowly while he folded his arms behind his back, hands clasped into one another, straightening himself out into a dignified and regal posture. "There is no worth in skulking in the shadows when I can smell you out," He called out with a commanding aura, expecting the imperceptible entity to cease the charades. Just in case it conveniently failed to comply, Drăcula followed up with a veiled threat, "Spare yourself further humiliation and reveal yourself." It took less than a fraction of a second for a humanoid figure to emerge from the shadows, garbed in armor of heavy Oriental influence and brandishing a sheathed sword with a gentle curve to it, as it bowed at the waist before the Count. "Vladimir." The vampire's arrogant smirk vanished instantly, becoming frigid and almost scornful at the strangely dressed warrior with the bitonal voice. That was not his name, and yet he had the audacity to assume it was. "I have come here to speak to you."

"Your tongue is deeply stained with ignorance, warrior of the Orient." The Count snarled as his eyes shot daggers toward the scarf-wearing figure. "Address me as Lord Drăcula henceforth, lest I have it cut from your mouth." He turned on his heels, his back now facing the newcomer, as he stared out towards the whole of the Chasm once more, both admiring and admonishing the discord that plagued the craggy depths. "To whom do I speak to?" The strongest Nosferatu wanted a name in return, seeing as he was forced to correct him for making such a bold deduction. He glanced back over his shoulder, golden eyes solemn and humorless in their expression. "And, precisely, what do you desire of me?"

[Hattori Kazuya]

It was the right of all noble men to act as they pleased. though, the European ones were the worst. they were creatures who covered themselves in a veil of false On and honor. they invented a code to make their nobles behave in a manner that was not evil in nature. This, unfortunately, was similar to what happened to the idle samurai after the great bloody days of the Sengokujidai had been ended by Tokugawa. Then again, these nobles still had great power and money to make their arrogance have a root. They were not petulant children that would argue and clash with others for no reason. no, they were motivated by the same thing that the great warlords of Japan had been motivated by, power. Power came in many forms and this vampire that stood with his back to him had power. Power over those blood sucking cretin that he had so easily avoided and over this place. More than anything though, he had knowledge. Knowledge was what made all men truly powerful. An ignorant man could have all the money and soldiers he wanted, he would never be powerful, just a puppet.

"No need for threats Lord Dracula." Kazuya hissed in his almost gleeful and metallic tone. "I meant no offense and offer my sincerest apology." he bowed at the waist again to the back of the vampire lord that stood before him. "I am Lord Hattori, Grandmaster of the Tengu of Darkroot." he straighten his posture but made no moves other than that. he would not presume in this situation. He knew he could escape and might even wound this creature. However, he was not looking for a fight nor did he want to harm the man he came here to speak. He merely wanted to talk. Besides, Hanzo knew that they had threatened this thing. they had, after all, evaded all of his guards and even evaded him. The Lord smelled them but did not know where they were. They would not mention this though. It would be their little secret just in case it ever proved useful.

"I have come here because I wish to speak to you. As one master to another. To speak on things civilized men do." Kazuya still made no movements. Only his luminescent crimson eyes glittered behind his helmet as his hollow bi-tonal voice echoed out in a metallic whisper. "This place around us is nothing but chaos and meaningless violence. yet, those who would claim ownership of these lands offer no solutions. they are content to live midst disobedient subjects." Kazuya paused for a moment, his breath hissing in through his armored mask. "It is my understanding that, historically, we both have a similar disdain for such philosophies. Am I incorrect?" Kazuya could see the predatory eyes of his fellow noble. Yes, they were more similar then either of them realized.

[Vlad III Țepeș]

"No need for threats Lord Drăcula." Count Drăcula's menacing glare intensified, his eyelids narrowing until the yellow orbs behind them were little more than thin slits. The ninja's voice, though distorted to sound mechanical in its timbre and tone due to the mask he wore over his face, carried a subtle but keen trace of arrogance with it. What an insolent mongrel he was! Not only did this whelp surmise himself as important enough to attempt to speak to the Impaler on casual terms by trying to address him by his old mortal name (which was hardly accurate to begin with), but he also had the audacity, the mettle, the sheer testicular fortitude to suggest that the strongest of the vampiric race, Count Drăcula himself, relax? "I meant no offense and offer my sincerest apology."

The strangely dressed figure bowed at the waist again, a gesture the Count watched with pursed lips. Evidently this was his cultural custom, but it was unnecessarily dramatic, at least, in the Nosferatu's opinion. He should have removed his mask and helmet prior to opening that conceited mouth of his; to do so was considered an act of respect in Drăcula's court, and was likely to earn you a better opinion than most others did. Alas, the Oriental soldier failed to do such, which served only to reinforce his presumptuous attitude. And while the vampire kept his mouth shut on the matter entirely, he did consider having the ninja hunted down and his helmet bolted to his head after tonight's events concluded themselves. If he felt so obligated to wear his headgear before the presence of a lord, what better way for the Count to express support for his beliefs than by reinforcing them?

"I am Lord Hattori, Grandmaster of the Tengu of Darkroot." The Impaler raised an eyebrow at the mention of the Darkroot Domain. This ninja warrior comes from Ba'al's realm? What business does the Golden King have with me that requires the services of a messenger? He thought to himself as his eyes swept over the grand view of Inferis presented to him, studying the discordant landscape as he inwardly made plans for the near future. Belphegor's subjects still needed to be properly introduced to their new steward. "I have come here because I wish to speak to you. As one master to another. To speak on things civilized men do." Drăcula's hypothesis was negated as the ninja explained his ulterior motives, which were questionable in and of themselves. So, he opted to trespass into the slumbering Archdemon's lair and fortress and risk capture and possibly certain death just for a chance to talk to him? How bold. The Count turned to face the soldier of the shadows, an unfriendly and impassive expression amidst his pallor. "Very well. Speak."

The vampire's supernatural yellow orbs locked onto the iridescent crimson eyes of the ninja with the distorted, dual-toned voice. "This place around us is nothing but chaos and meaningless violence. Yet, those who would claim ownership of these lands offer no solutions. They are content to live midst disobedient subjects." With a cool, phlegmatic aura surrounding his upright posture, the Impaler patiently tuned in on Lord Hattori's winded speech, ultimately hearing nothing of worth; all this supposed Grandmaster did was state obvious facts. There was nothing intelligent about his drivel whatsoever. If anything, the Lord of the Nosferatu felt inclined to take his statements as a personal stab at his methods of sovereignty. Of course, he refrained from jumping the gun, and waited for him to round off his blathering with a question. "It is my understanding that, historically, we both have a similar disdain for such philosophies. Am I incorrect?"

The Count paused for a moment, then partially lifted his hand until it rested at breast level. With a loud snap of his slender fingers, the door to the vampire's right (and Hattori's left, respectively) slowly swung open, revealing a weaker Nosferatu nearly a full six inches shorter than its master, dressed in an aristocratic justaucorps tailored from the richest of black and red fabrics and given trimmings to emulate a more Romanian influence. Resting against its sickly looking hands was a platter made of polished pewter, and on it were two crystal goblets and a green bottle containing a red liquid. Wine. Cabernet-sauvignon, to be precise, best paired with a fine slab of rich and bloody red meat.

"I cannot be inclined to deject nor confirm your assumptions, Lord Hattori," Another finger snap, and the Nosferatu minion briskly paced its way over toward the Resolute Desk, gently placing the wine bottle and glasses against its surface before bowing to the Count with European flair. As the Impaler glared down into the mechanical servant's eyes, a dark glimmer flickered within his own, prompting the lesser vampire to bow once more before calmly exiting the Oval Office as if the mere act of glaring at it were a sufficient enough order. "Violence, meaningless as it might seem, is merely a product of conflict, which in turn, is an aspect of chaos." Drăcula spoke coolly, grabbing the bottle and twisting the cork with a single movement of his wrist until it detached itself with an audible pop! He continued on as he waited for the liquid inside to breathe. "And chaos is merely the natural state of all things in the universe. All is born of chaos, and when their time comes, all descends back into it." Carefully, the vampire turned a goblet over and lightly tapped the bottle's lip against its rim, pouring the scarlet red substance at a slow pace. "It is a never-ending cycle."

He repeated this process with the second goblet, the bottle's liquid contents flowing into the clean and pristine chalice as it rolled against itself, producing a strong and almost fruity aroma that pleased the vampire's sense of smell. If it was one thing that could nearly compare with the thick, savory scent of blood, it was that of a fine red wine. "Alas, it is as you claim to have observed: there are some who fancy themselves fit to rule over Dystopia—" Pale fingers slipped underneath one of the goblets as the Impaler paused in dialogue, lifting the glass cup to his mouth, then pausing to enjoy the pleasant smells before tilting it backward, allowing a portion of the cool and refreshing liquid to trickle over his tongue and down his throat. "—yet they harbor those ideals without an adequate grasp of the elements necessary to reinforce such authority."

He turned to the ninja, Lord Hattori, yellow eyes glimmering with a subtle but passionate ardor. His own voice barely registered that same zeal as he continued to explain his ideals to the shadow warrior, pacing across the carpeted floor with a calm and casual stride. "These are the fools, blind with ambition and drunk on that power, that collapse under the weight of their own title, wholly ignorant of the responsibilities they must fulfill and the burdens they must shoulder to ensure their kingdom stands proud and prosperous." He paused again, enjoying another sip of his cabernet-sauvignon. "Unless one can bend the surrounding chaos to his will and control it to serve the interests of that which they rule," With that, the vampire clenched his hand shut with a fierce motion, shattering the goblet into tiny shards as the fragments tinkled all over, a mixture of both blood and wine flowing down his paper white skin and collecting into a pool below. He smiled darkly. "The entire system shatters at the seams."

Drăcula continued on, his smirk having since faded from existence. "Regarding your question, whether or not we both harbor a shared contempt for anarchy is entirely irrelevant," He glanced over to the ninja, eying his outlandish attire and taking solid note of the sword on his person. He may appear to have the advantage in terms of equipment, but the Count was far from being completely unarmed. Just like the Oriental warrior, Drăcula was also a master of deception. "As it currently stands, our principles differ by the very means with which we choose to engineer the bedlam to suit our own devices."

[Hattori Kazuya]

Snap. An abrupt gesture. The again, the first Shogun was known to clap his hands together to call his servants to him. Hattori preferred to just have his servants know what he wanted. Though, that did take a long time. You needed to get a serving mind and then train it. Hone it, like a good hound. In the end what were servants? Just very useful dog. Then again the same could be said for most things in general. Everything was a tool or pet to something else. Even the most powerful thing in the universe was still a slave to it's own arrogance and nature. Not only that but there was always room to over take the position of power. There is no position in this universe that can not be supplanted, not even the king of Hell, or his father. It only took a certain amount of time and a certain amount of effort, much more than fathomable at the moment it seemed.

Hattori watched as the servant entered, slow in movement but with a sort of inhuman grace. He knew about these creatures. he knew they were not easily dealt with, even if this one seemed weak, it was likely it could still fight well. He was out numbered here, no denying that, if violence erupted he would leave. It would not be a difficult task to escape this place. there were a great many windows and naught but his own loyal tengu could keep up with his agility. His eyes followed the servant as he set his tray down and exited with a flourished bow. Europeans are so flashy. So little substance to their customs. Though a European might think the same of them, such was the curse and blessing of society. Kazuya's razor sharp hearing twinged at the pop of the cork. He had never liked that sound. In fact, he never had liked any sudden and sharp sounds.

Ahhh, so he thinks nature is chaos. Such an interesting thought. A common one, one he thought perhaps the Count would not have entertained so wholly. The truth was there were no absolutes, though, uncertainty was not the definition of chaos. Nor was nature as chaotic as it might seem. Though at first glance, it would seem to just be a cluster of random events. It was, however, a never ending cycle. That was undeniable. All things in this world or any other were connected in the great cycle of life death and unlife.

Dystopia was the perfect term for what this landscape was. It was a hostile land filled to overflowing with mad souls and lost minds. The few creatures that thrived here were either smart and cunning enough to carve out a place of their own or vicious enough to hold what they had against the ever looming threats, in some cases, they were both. This was why he wished to speak to the Lord of the Vampires. He knew that past his exterior of arrogance and ruthless cunning lay a very astute ruler. Not just a tyrant, but an effective tyrant. it was easy to be a harsh ruler, it was difficult to get results from that mode of thought. It was a ruler like the Count that this dystopia needed. Not the never-present whimsy of the Hell Princes. Hattori watched as the Count drank from his wine cup. He'd not had red wine in a great long while but dared not presume to take a glass. After all, he hadn't been offered one. If there was one thing Hattori would never break it was his etiquette. Etiquette was his social armor. His defense against trickery and insults. He would not allow it to break.

Again Hattori was drawn back to his original conclusion. That The Count was a powerful leader and with the proper support and motivation could bring a reign of order to this wild land. Not traditional order, no, this would a kind of order never seen before. A rule of a chained hurricane. Prosperous, though roiling to be unleashed. Yet at the center would be a calm point. A select group of those who's power draws the clouds inward and keeps them swirling. It was a proper metaphor for what could be accomplished.For now though, it was time for Hattori, Grandmaster of the Tengu to speak. he had stood still as stone while the Lord of the Damned ranted. Now he would move.

"The means may not differ as much as you think, Lord." Hattori began, turning his foot to the side and stepping just off to right while keeping his eyes on the Count and his hand folded behind his back. Hingers resting on the center of his katana's sheath "You speak of the natural state of things being chaos. I say we differ in that regard. After all, with out human intervention, the natural world will spiral on for an eternity. adapting, surviving, dying. All in the order of it's natural state. Chaotic things dis-balance the world. New species and industry disrupt the natural order and bring a synthetic chaos." Hattori stopped his path at the opposite end of the room from Vlad. "It is our souls that are full of chaos and it is our minds that can choose to either embrace or to control it." Hattori smoothly gestured to the Counts bleeding hand. "You are a prime example of that. You unleash your passion to make a point, you make the point clearly, then return to a calm state. Why? Because it is the superior mindset. No need to roil in chaos and destruction until there is no other choice it becomes the best option. Yet still, one weighs the option of chaos and use your ordered mind to choose it."

Hattori's left hand smoothly returned to it's place at his side. The crimson orbs that seemed to hand in shadow behind his metal mask never moving form the Count, never blinking. "This dystopia is in need of order, though nothing could ever bring it to full command. Instead it is as you suggested, reign over the chaos." Hattori's breath pulled in through his mask making a hissing noise as he paused for a moment. He hoped his point would be made clearly and that the Lord Dracula was not too buried in his own arrogance to hear him. "It is not enough to have a hound for fighting. One does not hunt the fox with a wolf hound. While he certainly will get what you hunt he will tear the thing to pieces and ruin the hide. No, what you get is a hunting dog. Still just as well equipped for the task, yet trained, tempered and focused. The wolf hound will do wonders when unleashed at your enemies yet is a waste on hunting. his is how one must look at these wretches around us." Hattori yet again swung his left arm up, this time point to the door which the Count's servant had exited. "Your servant is a fine example. He is, at his core a predator. He smells blood and craves it. yet he was made to serve you wine. He likely serves you very well, yet is not suited for all tasks. You must appraise each beast you come across with the same mindset. Not all things can be made to behave the same way. one must find out which dogs are wolf hounds and hunting hounds. That way the proper chain can be placed around their neck. yet in the end, all creatures must be weighed and judged. You can not leave the world to it's own devices, lest you let the chaos of intervention destroy it or the order or nature return to it's infinite cycle." hattori awaited his companion's response. Hattori had faith in Vlad's ability to see through the fog of his own position and entertain what Hattori spoke of.

[Vlad III Țepeș]

"The means may not differ as much as you think, Lord." Drăcula watched carefully as the masked assassin slightly shifted his position by turning a foot several degrees to the right and pacing himself in that direction, his hand still clutching the scabbard that housed an exotic sword. As the vampire mimicked his pacing with a movement in the same direction, he pondered to himself. Why did he not release his grip on the sheathed weapon? Did the likelihood of an ambush swim through his shadowy mind, like a shark that thirsted for the taste of blood? He mentally squashed the urge to persuade Lord Hattori into letting his guard down; they were engaged in a civilized conversation—which he personally went out of his way to risk life and limb to attain. No advantage came with openly displaying such tension. Now who needed to relax?

"You speak of the natural state of things being chaos. I say we differ in that regard." He torqued his brow in response to the ninja's assertions, curious to hear of what he believed to be the real definition of discord. "After all, without human intervention, the natural world will spiral on for an eternity. Drăcula's ear canals practically burned at Lord Hattori's enunciation of a particular word, one that personally stabbed at his blackened heart. The very condition he believed made a creature, live or dead, worthless and weak by its very definition. A state of existence far worse than eternity as a Demon, spawn of Lucifer. Human. "Adapting, surviving, dying. All in the order of its natural state. Chaotic things dis-balance the world. New species and industry disrupt the natural order and bring a synthetic chaos." While his facial features remained in their emotionless, Laodicean state, the vampire's cadmium yellow gaze, no longer focused on the ninja but directed elsewhere, became far more lethal in its intensity as black pupils narrowed into little more than feral slits. Irrespective of whether or not discord was of an artificial or a natural kidney, the evidence—both theoretical and observed—remained very much the same: chaos was still chaos. "It is our souls that are full of chaos and it is our minds that can choose to either embrace or to control it."

"You are a prime example of that." Belphegor's substitute glanced over to the shadow assassin's location, swiveling on his heels to pace the opposite direction as he observed the ninja make a gesture to his hand, now stained with a blend of wine and still-running blood. "You unleash your passion to make a point, you make the point clearly, then return to a calm state. Why?" Lord Hattori already knew the answer, as did the Count. "Because it is the superior mindset. No need to roil in chaos and destruction until there is no other choice it becomes the best option. Yet still, one weighs the option of chaos and use an ordered mind to choose it." Well, that certainly was an interesting way of looking at it. But what influenced the Tengu chieftain to hold such a theory as factual? He was implying that it took a sequenced mind, one that adhered to the concept of rigidity, structure, true order, to accept the benefits that chaos could provide and immerse itself within bedlam's embrace.

"This Dystopia is in need of order, though nothing could ever bring it to full command. Instead it is as you suggested, reign over the chaos." And the two, the ninja and the vampire, were sent back to square one. And Lord Hattori was merely fortifying the Count's stance on the grand scheme of the universe: true chaos could never be fully harnessed, and must instead be manipulated to serve one's own ends. To insinuate that accepting chaos out of one's own volition required a stable mind—one dictated by the forces of order—was a fatuous notion; for Chaos could easily defy any attempt to convert its existence into one of Order due to its very nature as a disorganized, unpredictable force. And yet, there was something about the discordant energies and axioms that many found to be... fascinating. Free will? Nothing more than a detailed illusion, created in a feeble attempt to rationalize decisions and emotions that the mind cannot hope to accept nor comprehend, even at their basest levels. It was a fragile construct, and served to expose those who gave it value to the frightening possibility that everything they ever knew about the way life, the universe, and everything functioned was terribly, horribly wrong.

Drăcula's lips formed into a tiny smirk as Lord Hattori continued on with his ramblings. "It is not enough to have a hound for fighting." He was switching topics? First an existential debate, and now military tactics? The vampire's grin returned to a neutral state, yellow stare lessening in its earlier sharpness as a glaze of mild boredom washed over his irises. "One does not hunt the fox with a wolf hound. While he certainly will get what you hunt, he will tear the thing to pieces and ruin the hide." The shadowy assassin's distorted voice spewed more riddles, which did slightly irritate the direct, very straightforward Count to a degree. "No, what you get is a hunting dog. Still just as well equipped for the task, yet trained, tempered and focused. The wolf hound will do wonders when unleashed at your enemies yet is a waste on hunting." More metaphors from the physically and vocally disguised warrior. What was this fool driveling on about? "This is how one must look at these wretches around us."

Lord Hattori motioned toward the door which the well-dressed Nosferatu had entered and left, yet Drăcula did not entertain his gesture by turning to face the now-closed portal. "Your servant is a fine example." A threatening glint emanated within the steward's scrutiny. "He is, at his core a predator. He smells blood and craves it. Yet he was made to serve you wine. He likely serves you very well, yet is not suited for all tasks." A wounded hand slowly curled into a loosely packed fist, crimson life force continuing to drip to the floor, collecting into miniature pools while simultaneously forming a trail wherever the Lord of the Nosferatu strode. Once more, Lord Hattori's arrogance seeped from his every word. It was clear that the ninja knew what was being projected from his insolent mouth: he was criticizing the vampire's methods, his tactics, the very means that made him a successful conqueror and ruler. Not only was this cretin far too hubristic for his chosen profession, but he was a blatant hypocrite as well—and whether or not it dawned on the chieftain from Ba'al's realm, his continued recriminations only served to further deface the Impaler's original opinions of him.

"You must appraise each beast you come across with the same mindset. Not all things can be made to behave the same way. One must find out which dogs are wolf hounds and hunting hounds. That way the proper chain can be placed around their neck." The leader of the Tengu paused one last time before wrapping up his irritating, long-winded speech. "Yet in the end, all creatures must be weighed and judged. You can not leave the world to it's own devices, lest you let the chaos of intervention destroy it or the order or nature return to it's infinite cycle." And thus, the Grandmaster of the Tengu had spoken, and his tongue no longer waggled inside his mouth. He waited for the Count's response.

But he would not receive it yet. No, Drăcula chose to mull things over, process all that had been spoken and discussed. At a fundamental level, the two did share similar views of how chaos established its presence in the universe, and its all-inclusive malleability in the hands of those capable of recognizing its potential. That much, the vampire was willing to admit without contest. But it was a ridiculous premise to assume that voluntarily choosing the forces of chaos over order required an order-bound mind. Ask any Demon around the whole of Inferis, and the answer will always be the same: one does not choose chaos, but is born into it, and ultimately defined by it.

In the end, the Count was swift to dismiss the assassin's remarks as the ramblings of a mind enthralled by its own conceitedness, yet he had to give credit where it was due. He could recognize that Lord Hattori proudly showed conviction with every word he spoke through that mask of his, convinced that his way was the only correct one. Was this a characteristic of soldiers that hailed from the Orient? It would certainly appear so. Truth be told, were it within the steward's interests, he could very easily tear apart the Tengu chieftain's belief systems, but chose not to. The both of them were quite arrogant, that much was true, but the European tyrant opted to be the better man among the two by allowing the ninja to speak his thoughts. His credo was riddled with loopholes and flaws, but then again, Drăcula had yet to encounter a truly perfect philosophy.

"I must agree to disagree with you, Lord Hattori." The vampire finally spoke after what felt like an eternity of silence. His throat had become rather dry, and he had been so careless with shattering his other wine goblet that he had neglected to offer his guest a drink. How discourteous of him to do that. "As you have stated, the Nosferatu are natural predators," Drăcula stated with an eerie sort of calmness to his voice, despite all that had been said by the ninja assassin. "And, identical to myself, they are pathologically driven to consume blood. That is how the Blood Huntress created them to behave." He casually strolled around the Resolute Desk until his legs became obscured from view, eyes scanning over the various drawers as if he were searching for a particular one to open. "However, it is not by my design, nor Mammon's, that they strive to emulate the mannerisms and quirks displayed by their creator."

Grasping a wooden knob, the Chasm's surrogate lord open the storage compartment and reached his non-bloodied hand inside, summoning a spare crystal goblet that had been stashed away within. He always kept one on him in case any sort of "accidents" happened, as one did earlier. "They cherish the strength of their animal side, yet admire the elegance of their maker," Lord Drăcula continued, placing the chalice against the table and filling it to equal capacity as the other one had been. "They are a paradox unto themselves. However, after deposing the last sovereign of the Nosferatu, I have broken their previous stereotypes and have set a new standard for them." The vampire lord took a swig of wine, still impressed with its flavor even after it was allowed to settle for a minute or two. "They follow my example. Obey my commands without question nor complaint. In exchange, I turn a blind eye to their fragile attempts to imitate the Demonic aristocracy." He glanced over towards Lord Hattori with a sinister glint in his eyes, chalice still gently pressed against his pale lips. "But I have made it very clear to each and every last one of them that I will not tolerate failure under any circumstances."

The Count cleared his throat while he used a single arm to scrape his massive leather chair one-hundred eighty degrees around, an acute but transparent exercise of his superhuman strength, until it was positioned so that he could face Lord Hattori while sitting down. Upon placing his posterior onto the soft cushions, the Impaler motioned toward the other goblet, filled with wine. "Come. Sate your thirst, Lord Hattori. You must be parched beyond belief." He released a gentle, fanged smile; friendly and amicable on the outside, yet hollow and devoid of such hospitality beneath, for the dreaded Vlad the Impaler was beyond the ability to display emotions of a positive nature. He eagerly awaited to see how the ninja would respond to his invitation.

[Hattori Kazuya]

And so they continued. Not as Hattori had expected though, that was a pleasant surprise. The Count opted to disagree and in truth it mattered little if he was to agree or not. It was, after all, philosophy. Philosophies were tricky things. They were made of nothing but soft clay and all could be torn down and washed away in an instant, yet so many people held them aloft as though they were iron castles. He held his own philosophies high and and defended the with great fervor, yet, he acknowledged their meaninglessness. Hanzo was not so intellectual about his though. He would cling to his own thoughts and beliefs like a desperate man. It was why the modern Japan would always be more powerful then their ancient predecessors. Yes, they had many traditions that were worth keeping, yes they were admirable, yes they needed to be moved past and left to decay. Kazuya would use his ancestor to accomplish his goals and when his usefulness ended, he would be discarded.

The cunt had waited long to speak. During that time Hattori stood like a statue. His hands folded behind his back, both lightly holding the sheath of his katana, back rigid, breaths light and metallic. His red gleaming eyes watched the count move behind his desk as he spoke and retrieve another goblet. To replace the broken one no doubt. Hattori wondered if courtesy had returned to the nobleman. His voice certainly ad calmed down. His emotional displays were so rude. Even the lightest smile was a betrayal of On. Europeans and their emotions. So eager to give away everything they thought with direct speech and emotional states of being. They lacked the control and precision of his people. Oh well, better my potential foes let me know everything rather than making me figure them out.

Dracula explained the nature of his fellow blood drinkers with a calm and concise lecture. They were as Hattori had known. The Count did not tell the shinobi anything he did not already know but he did do so politely. Hattori held his normal silence and stillness as the vampire spoke. These creatures of blood were controlled well. Just like his own soldiers, the Tengu. In fact, this man had come to power in a nearly identical manner as Hattori Hanzo had taken control of the Tengu. He had come to them and killed their former master and taken his place. he had renamed them the Iga Tengu and forced his own new laws on them. How fitting. Now these two usurpers stand in a room together and speak of control. Each was a master of controlling people, though each had a different approach. The Count was Machiavellian in nature. Controlling them with fear, tyranny, and by controlling their resources. Hanzo was more of a guru or mentor. He offered his men the ability to challenge him at any time and let them do so openly. He did however crush all challengers without remorse. This created less assassins in a place full of them and garnered a certain respect that can only be earned by a true master. Each had their own way, each was effective.

Eventually Hattori was offered a drink. It was not what he preferred to drink, however, he was in this man's home and would not be rude here. It was against his own code. Hattori looked over at the seated count and appraised his offer. It was hollow courtesy but that matted not. Manners were all hollow. Hattori bowed his head slightly before he spoke. "Thank you Count, my thirst is great." he spoke in his normal bi-tonal hiss before he silently stepped over and picked up the goblet with a cupped hand. He pulled the drink to his mask and the red liquid seemed to be pulled through the mask itself and into nothing. He made no sound as he drank and none as he stopped hissip. "This is a fine wine." He looked down in the goblet and swirled the red liquid. If it were poisoned Hattori would worry not. His body could not be poisoned for it consumed nothing. The wine merely vanished to a place not even Hattori knew. The taste however was not great. Such a thing paled in comparison to the fully body of sake and soshu, however, it would do. "How old is this marvelous blend?" a simple question. He wondered if it was from the time of the Count's life.

Once his question was answered Hattori moved on, "The circumstances of both of our rises to power are nearly identical." The shadow stood, in plain view of the Count and took another sip of his wine."We both saw a weak leader and disposed of them decisively. We rule in different manners but that is of little consequence. After all, your men are not mine and mine are not your's. That aside, we both lived in a simile time, died in a similar time and took power as we knew how." Hattori took another sip of his wine, now about a third of it was gone. "So why do we tolerate absent gods now?" His question was pointed, his voice hissing through his mask like a steel viper. Hattori did not have any love for these archdemons and took a page from the European's book and spoke directly. He eagerly awaited his response.

[Sponsored content]