Viktor:Heart of Her King(16)

Arriving at the private airfield owned by KI, Viktor awakened the pilot  and prepped the plane. The other Kings arrived en masse just as the  first rays of a new day broke over the horizon. Not a word was spoken  during the three-hour flight to Olympia, Greece as Viktor dreamt of new  and creative ways to flay the skin from Bjorn's body while maintaining a  tenuous hold onto Katarina's guiding light.

His worry that serious injury was the cause of Katarina's continued  unconsciousness fueled the King's need for violence. His almost  uncontrollable rage burst through his mental blocks, bleeding over onto  his comrades. Viktor snarled as Roman gripped his shoulder.

Speaking in their native tongue, Roman counseled, "Tranquillitas  Commander, your mate is strong. Destiny did not bring you together only  for you to lose her. Cool heads must prevail today for us to see  victory. This is an enemy we all know too well. One we have been bested  by before. But on this day we shall triumph. You shall have your  vengeance, your justice, your pound of flesh, and your custos animae  safely back in our fold. Now, address your men. Give them the battle  plan."

Viktor knew the man who had been his second-in-command for their entire  lives was right. Taking a long, deep breath then exhaling as he had  before every battle both as a human and as a King, the ancient commander  stood and looked each of his comrades in the eye. They were the best  the world had to offer. They had slain more evil in their very long  lives than most people could ever fathom even existed. Each man would  die for the other without question or reservation. He was in the company  of the Elite and was humbled to be called their leader.

Clearing his throat, Viktor began, "Today, we find ourselves in familiar  territory, my amicorum. We ride into battle against an old foe, not on  horses with shields and spears as in our humble beginnings, but in this  jet," he motioned around him, "flying through the air. The world around  us has changed and we have changed with it but one thing remains  constant-our fight to rid the world of evil. Bjorn Markis is more than  evil; he is corrupt and must be stopped once and for all. Not only  because he had the unmitigated gall to lay hands on my mate but because  he has been a blight on the world for three millennia.

"Be aware, his blood will stain my hands and mine alone. There will be  others who require the attention of your blades. We go into this battle  with Zeus' blessing. There will be only one outcome and that is our  victory. Ready yourselves, we land in ten minutes."

A simultaneous nod from his comrades filled Viktor with pride. These men  had given up forever in the Elysian Fields to spend their immortality  fighting the worst evils ever created. It was an honor to have them at  his side whether in battle or in business. They were his friends and his  family. They were bound by blood but also by a shared comradery that  defied all. With a single pounding of his right fist to his chest over  his heart, he pledged to lead them to success. Their returning salute  was confirmation of their shared belief.

It took less than an hour by foot using their preternatural speed to  reach the old manor nestled deep within the Folio Oak Forest. Viktor  remembered the bedtime stories his mother had told of the centaurs and  dryads, also known as tree nymphs, who inhabited the mysteriously  beautiful woods. It was said the dryads stored power in the trees for  the centaurs who protected their land from invaders.

Offering a prayer to Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, the Kings  surrounded the structure housing their oldest enemy. Viktor marched up  the walk, stopping just before the steps leading to the huge double  doors, drew his sword but kept it to his side, and spoke with authority.

"Bjorn Markis, as the Unum of the Kings of the Blood and with the  authority of the Father of the Gods, I charge you with untold and  innumerable atrocities against humanity, including but not limited to  the abduction of my custos animae."

Viktor paused. He spoke again when he was sure his comrades had moved  into their second position. "You have been sentenced to death. Come out  into the light and face justice for your crimes."                       
       
           



       

"Ha! Death is not much incentive to come out of the safety of my home,  Viktoras. If you come with the authority of Zeus then what stops you  from simply entering of your own volition and delivering your justice,  as you call it? Cowardice has never been your trademark. Is it something  new? Or is it that you fear for the safety of your mate?"

Viktor knew it was a bluff. Bjorn thought to manipulate the King.  Viktor's rage surged but he used it to fuel his need for vengeance  instead of force his actions. Katarina's wellbeing was the only thing  stopping him from tearing the door from its hinges, slaying everyone in  his path, and burning the building to the ground.

Bjorn had been granted his immortality by Eris. The goddess of strife  and discord had chosen her compatriot well. She'd also given the bastard  magic most did not possess. Viktor was well aware of the power of words  and Bjorn's ability to manipulate them for his own ill gains. Looking  at the sword given to him by Zeus, Viktor prayed it would be enough to  combat whatever, both physical and mystical, the bastard threw at him.

"I believe it you who are afraid. Were you not known as the Bastard of  Achaea in your human life? Is that not why you chose to slander and  disparage my name? Did you not believe that my blood would somehow erase  your past? That you could rise among the elite if you eliminated me?  Did your goddess not want me dead because of my service to Zeus? What  does your goddess think of you now that I still walk the earth? Have you  lost your ill-begotten favor with a petty deity who is not even  important enough to breathe the air on Mount Olympus?"

Viktor felt the other Kings move closer to the house. They were ready to  strike. Dealing the final blow to Bjorn's ego, the one Viktor knew  would bring the bastard out of hiding, he bellowed, "Let it be known to  all who hear my words that Bjorn Markis, the Bastard of Achaea, is a  coward. He refuses to face me now just as he did three thousand years  ago. He instead uses deception and lies, kidnaps women and harms  children. He has no honor. He is as the eunuch in the temples-impotent  and unimportant!"

The crack of wood and shattering of glass immediately followed by a war  cry of pure fury cut through the morning air as Bjorn flew at Viktor  with his dagger pointed directly at the King's heart. In the back of his  mind, the Unum heard the other Kings burst into the manor from every  available egress while avoiding his opponent's poorly aimed attack.

Viktor easily blocked every ill-placed jab from Bjorn's dagger while  delivering expertly placed strikes of his own. Blood seeped through the  bastard's sweater from the strategically placed slices of Viktor's  blade. He was purposely avoiding any major veins or arteries. Viktor  wanted the bastard to bleed...slowly and painfully. Death would come to  the man responsible for so much pain and destruction but first, the  bastard had to suffer.

Sparks flew as the iron of Bjorn's double-edged blade clashed with the  bronze of Viktor's god-sword as inside the manor, Bjorn's men were being  systematically exterminated by the other Kings. Viktor drew strength  from his comrades' relentless determination. He knew the bastard was  using magic from Eris; the slimy feel of its ill intent tainted the air  around them. It was the only thing keeping Bjorn on his feet.

From the crimson color of his once ecru sweater to the trail of blood he  was leaving on the ground, the bastard was dying. Slowly bleeding to  death just as he deserved. Dike, the goddess of moral order and fair  judgement, may be swift with her justice but Viktor would not pray for  her favor. He would exact his revenge for himself. He was the Unum, a  King of the Blood, and he demanded payment. He claimed his pound of  flesh. He would cut it from Bjorn's useless hide as the bastard lay  dying. Bjorn would pay with his immortal life.

Deep circles under the bastard's eyes and the pallor of his once olive  complexion pleased Viktor as little else ever had. Continuing his brutal  assault, the King drove Bjorn into the forest, looking for the  opportune place to end the wretch's life. But first, Viktor had to find  the source of Eris' magic, for if he didn't, Bjorn's vengeful goddess  would simply resurrect the bastard.

One crushing blow after another of the god-sword and Bjorn was little  more than a withering husk of a man only animated by the dirty magic of a  forsaken goddess. Lifting his blade over his head, Viktor poured every  ounce of disgust and hatred he felt for the bastard into the downward  swing of his blade. The weapon blessed by the Father of the Gods sliced  through skin and bone as if they were no more than warm butter. Bjorn's  hand still holding his dagger flew through the air, severed from his  wrist. The bastard fell to the ground, holding his bloody stump to his  chest, crawling backward on his knees, begging for mercy.