France, Paris, January 10, 2004, 4:40 AM (Jan.10, 1:40 AM GMT +3:00)

A cold wind blew along the banks of the Seine River, deserted and silent in this late hour of the night. A diffuse foot step covered the light lapping of the floods. The noise became stronger, while the silhouette of a woman cut out in the light fog. She was wearing black clothes, and only her hair, almost bloody red, was bringing some colors to her person.

She was walking at a brisk pace, hands in her pockets, her neck dig in her scarf. She was going to pass a pile of the Pont-Neuf, when a young man popped up from the shadow and came to her.
“Ambre, I knew that you would come” he said, wrapping his arms around the young woman.
“The offer was… tempting” she answered with a smile.
The young man looked at her.

“Beautiful Ambre, nobody's told you that you must never follow people you don't know…”

The man tightened his pressure on the back of the red-haired woman.

“Yes, I think my mother's told me that once...” she answered.

“Well, perhaps you would have better listened to your mother...!” said the young man, with a cruel smile.

His beautiful face changed suddenly. The cheekbones and arches of the eyebrow bulged. His eyes were not those of human any more, but those of a demonic animal. And his opened mouth let appear canines as sharp as the one of a carnivore.  The monster plunged his face in the red hair and the neck of his victim, and unexpectedly faded away in smoke. The young woman didn't move during a few seconds, her right arm holding firmly a wooden stake.

“And you, nobody's told you that vampire hunters hang around seedy bars in search of guys like you!?” she said with despise.

She put the stake in her coat, and moved away. She walked just some few meters when a shadow jumped out of the darkness of the pile and dashed out of her. But the creature stopped in the air, as if an invisible wall was standing between him and his future victim.

The red-hair woman turned around, took the stake in her coat, and stabbed the vampire in the chest. The body of the creature felt down, and burnt to dust.

“Merci, Will!”

The raid-haired woman turned around toward a black Jaguar, parked close to the pile, from behind which a blond girl emerged.

“Well... You know... That's normal... Ambre!”  stammered Willengard.

“Let's celebrate this new victory!? How about the Queen? Or the Monte-Christo? A salsa before going to bed?”

Ambre outlined some steps of dance with a great smile.

“Shina won't appreciate if we don't come back!”

“No, I'm sure she will understand! She used to be young too, you know...!”grumbled Ambre .

Her portable phone spit out some notes of "No scrub", sign that somebody was calling her. She looked at the screen, and smiled.

“Yes, boss? We were precisely speaking about you!”

“Ambre, you and Will, come urgently to the Champs de Mars. I will join you in less than an hour... Something terrible has just happened!”

On the phone, Shina was almost breathless, clearly under a deep emotion.

“What's happening...? Where in the Champs de Mars, exactly?” insisted Ambre.

“I don't know the exact address, but I will find by then!”

“Shina, but what are you talking about? I don't understand anything!”

But Shina had already hung up.

“What's happening?” Will asked.

Ambre shrugged her shoulders.

“Just forget the club... We have to be at Champs de Mars by 5:30 AM…”
 

USA, New York - January, 9 2004, 10:30 PM (Jan.10, 2:30 AM GMT–4:00)

Like almost every evenings, Garn Olgers was drinking a Scotch, seated at the counter of the Excelsior, one of his favorite bars of Soho.

This 28-year-old trader had spent an exhausting day, having ups and downs - like everyday. He had started very badly the morning, losing 1, 5 million dollars on Tokyo security market, right before the close, then had recouped his losses on Paris and London markets, and closed the day with a benefit of 700,000 dollars. Anyway, he thought that if he didn’t find a way to make fortune quickly, and preferably before thirty-five year-old, he was going to finish cardiac. Anyway, 2004 was starting spectacularly!

He looked at his own reflection in the mirror. Fortunately neither the stress, nor the many sleepless nights in bars were reflected on his face, or his look. His colleagues had made fun of his female look when he arrived from Stockholm, detached by the Swedish subsidiary. It's true that Garn was not a model of masculinity, with his blond hair, buckled to the shoulders, his almond-shaped blue eyes, and a beauty spot under his right eye. Some colleagues had teased him, asking him whether he "was AC or DC". Some others, more interested, had asked frankly if he was gay... and "free"! All of them had very quickly changed their mind, seeing the facility for Garn to find a partner for the night, and the numbers of female conquests on his records. The young man, playing freely of his ambiguous, but nevertheless tempting appearance, was clearly more attracted by temporary distractions, rather than a real relationship. It would be only at his retirement - thirty-five years, if he was lucky - that he would think to start seeking the woman of his life.

At this time, his glance was slipping on a gorgeous brunette, whose long black dress drew her perfect forms. Garn was going to propose her a glass when his phone rang.

“Yeah, Garn Olgers on the phone... ”

“Garn, it’s Cape...!”

Oh! No! Not him, not my assistant! sighed Garn.

“Garn, you must come... Ruckus on Hong Kong Market!” gasped Cape on the phone.

Really, Asian markets don't like me!

“I'll be there in twenty minutes!”. Sigh again.

He hung up his phone and put it in the pocket of his beige jacket. He looked at the young woman, who was sipping a margarita.

Precisely the day when I had a chance with a gorgeous and mysterious brunette!

Garn called the barman.

“The same thing for this charming young person” he said, pointing at the young woman.

The barman prepared the cocktail, and set it down in front of the mysterious beauty, explaining that it was offered by the young man in beige suit, seated at the other end of the counter. Garn took the opportunity to come up, and offered to the brunette his business card, a smile on the face.

“So sorry, I have to go now... But I would love to have a dinner with you one evening...” said Garn, winking at her.

“Thank you!” answered the young woman, taking the card with a smile.

Garn left the bar, giving a friendly wave.

After his departure, the young woman soaked the card in her Margarita, and turned it in the glass like a straw. She brought it out and licked the few drops of liquid on it, under the disconcerted glance of the barman. She broke into a broad smile and left the bar, leaving the card tinted of red on the pane of the bar.
 

Garn had parked his 911 Targa in a back street, two steps away from the bar. Weak neon lighted the street, diving in a kind of wet fog.

3 meters away from his car, Garn took his key-ring from his pocket and unbolted the doors. The car answered by merry calls of headlights, only "show of life" in this street.

Garn slipped the key into the lock, and suddenly saw in the reflection of the pane a fist ready to strike, just behind him. He leaped aside. The fist fell down in the pane of the car in a noise of broken windows.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing!?” shouted Garn.

He didn't have time to turn around that a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and sent him, head first, in the remains of the pane. He howled, feeling one of his cheeks cut by the broken glass, then an incredible pain blowing his back. His sight scrambled, and the earsplitting alarm siren of his car started to torture his tympanums.

“Oh, God, please, make it stop!” whispered Garn.

His pray was quickly granted. The noise decreased, and then died.

Glaucus drew the inert body from the car, which ran up against the ground violently. The left side of his face was flooded of blood, coming from a large cut, starting below the left eyes, to his jaw.
Ishara came up to the body, a gold amphora in the hands. She knelt close to the young man and poured the contents of the amphora on his face, while chanting mysterious words. The face covered with blood was illuminated then covered by incandescent volutes. After a few seconds, the lights faded away, letting appear the regular features, whose harmony was broken by the bloody cut.

“It's finished... There's a new soul on this body, now!” said the young woman, “we can carry on with the next one.”

Ishara raised, her eyes still riveted on the young man. Glaucus looked at her attentively: could it be that Ishara had recovered all her mental sanity?

Ishara suddenly vanished in the air. And so did Glaucus.

Aphrodite opened his eyes, but could see only a world painted in black and white. His body was shivering of pain, and his face was on fire.

His body? But whose body was it? Why was he made again of flesh and blood?

His sense of hearing came back gradually. The alarm of the car made his brain vibrate painfully. Very quickly, the pain became unbearable.

He howled, but his scream faded away in the desert street.

France, Paris, January 10, 2004, 5:30 AM (Jan. 10, 2:30 AM GMT +3:00)

Ambre was struggling against the lock of the apartment, thinking that shooting it or smashing the door would have been faster. But she had to be as silent as possible...

The appointment had been canceled. Around 5:00 AM, Shina had called Ambre, and had told her a crazy story. Something or somebody was carrying a resurrection ceremony on young men all around the world, dragging their soul away to replace it by those of Athena's saints. Shina had ordered her to go to the apartment of a certain Gabriel de Riveau, located Street Saint Sens , in the 15th district, and to take care of the victim, who would answer to the name of Camus. She had urged Will to go to Orly Airport, and jump in the first flight for Barcelona, at 7:50 AM on the dot, to find a man called Armando Delavaga, whose body sheltered from now on a certain Shura. And her, Shina, she would catch the first flight to Naples, at 8:30 AM, in search of a certain Lorenzo Mastroianni, alias Death Mask. That would take some doing!

The lock yielded, and Ambre rushed in the comfortable apartment of Gabriel de Riveau. It was small, but decorated with taste and very well arranged.

“Not so bad for the lair of a single guy!”

She came in the living room, and caught her foot on a book. The place was a complete mess. The racks and the glass of the coffee table were broken, and the sofa had been turned upside down by a mysterious storm.

She eventually saw the man she was looking for. His body was all hunched up close to an opened window, from which rushed an icy cold wind.

She ran towards him. The young man was conscious, and raised his eyes when she came closer. He was so cold that he was shaking all over. His face was abnormaly white, lips slightly violets. Wounds covered his face and his neck, and blood had dried against his temple and his cheeks.

Ambre understood that Shina had not exaggerated the situation at all.

“Don't worry! I’m here to help you!” said Ambre while closing the window.

She switched on the electric heater, and ran in the bed room. She came back with a cover, and wrapped the young man in it. Still shaking like a leaf, he tried to speak, but no sound left his mouth. He could only lift his eyes on Ambre, begging her assistance.

She sat down close to him and rested delicately his head on her knees. She was afraid to move him, and to get worse his wounds. Hesiting on what to do, she started to stroke his hairs, in order to calm him.

“Camus, don't worry, everything gonna be alright!” murmured Ambre, happy that the electric heating had already started to warm the flat.

Still stroking the hair of Camus, Ambre grabbed her portable phone in her pocket, and dialed a number.

“Doctor Aymar? Ermengardis needs you...”

Camus quieted down under the gentle stroke of the red-haired woman. Who was she? He didn't know. Anyway, she knew his name. She was here to help him. And he was too weak to move or even to think about his current situation. Never life had appeared so ironic: he, the Gold Knight of Aquarius, the magician of water and ice, come back from the land of the dead thanks to some magic spell, had almost died again, of cold...

Like many years ago, his mother died under a porch...
 

USA, New-York - January 9, 2004, 11:10 PM (Jan.10, 3:10 AM GMT –4:00)

Pema Thokmay was walking in a deserted alley of a silo of the New York Public Library -the one of the Fifth Avenue- wearing his glasses on his nose and reading a big book open on an illuminated page. He avoided carefully one of the pillars drawn up on his way. Three years of work in this place and he had completely memorized the layout of the reading rooms of this famous library.

At 21years-old, the passion for old books root in his body, this young New Yorker had decided to become a librarian in the most famous library of his beloved city. A not too hard work, and which enabled him to have at hand treasures of literature or history, at any hour of the day and night.

Although his grandmother was Tibetan, Pema was hardly interested in the civilization and history of his native land. Whereas many of American citizens had tasted the Buddhist retirement, and impassioned themselves for the Tibetan cause, Pema preferred stories on old Egypt, Mesopotamia, or Middle Age in Europe.
　

His portable phone rang up.

“Yep?”

“Where are you?”

God dam! His girl friend...! What did she still want? He had already told her two hours ago that he would come back late!

“Still at the same place!”

“My God! You hang out with your books or with me!”

And she hung up again without awaiting answer.

Pema sighed, and put his handy phone in the pocket of his jeans. Really, things were getting worst and worst with her... Perhaps, it was the time to take a hard but salutary decision for both of them ... Anyway, he would speak to her tomorrow ... Driving out any morose idea, Pema climbed on one of the stepladder standing against a heavy wood rack. One of his favorite places for reading. When he was seated there, and if he raised the eyes from his book, he could have an unrestricted view on the green lamps of the working desks, all the studious heads lean on their documents, or others, pensive, looking at the frescos of the ceiling. Splendid frescos where the blue color dominated and that Pema liked to contemplate. On the top of his stepladder, he always felt closer to this sky in mosaic.

He tied his hair on his neck, so that they do not obstruct him during the reading of this jewel, a story about the Order of the Templar Knights in the French Kingdom, from the 10th to the 13th century. Pema engrossed himself in the reading, pleased to understand Latin, a dead language he had rather a good command in, like in a dozen of other languages...

A patrol car passed in the fifth avenue, its siren howling. Pema raised the head, slightly disturbed by the noise, but quickly, he immersed himself in his book again. Chapter 2. Jacques de Molay, the last Master of the Templar... deciphered Pema.

He was drawn from his reading rather brutally. Somebody clutched him by the ankle, and put him violently at the bottom of the stepladder. The head of Pema ran up against the last step, breaking the wood. He felt unconscious almost instantaneously.

Ishara came up to the body of the young man, and bathed his face with the contents of the amphora she held in her hands. When the incandescent light disappeared, she stood again.

Glaucus picked up the inert body and leant him against a rack. The young man seemed to come back to life slowly, his head kept nodding gently.

Ishara took the book that Pema was still holding in a hand. She read few lines of the page that the young Tibetan had started to study, and smiled mockingly.

“The templar knights! He admires the templar knights!”

She threw a scorning glance at the young man, who was groaning of pain at her feet.

“I hate the Order of Templar! I still remember that day when King Philippe ordered to burn the Master of the Templar Order, and to dissolve the Order!”

Glaucus looked at his mistress anxiously. The reason of Ishara was failing again. She smiled, as if she had just remembered a happy memory.

“I almost danced of joy in front of the stake of the Master!”

Her smile faded away suddenly, replaced with a painful grimace.

“Until the arrival of Ermengardis...” she murmured, her face expressing suddenly fear.

Glaucus looked at her, more and more worried. The expression on Ishara’s face changed, suddenly illuminated by a freaking smile, as if she was coming out from a nightmare.

“We have to go now...” she said, looking at Glaucus.

She faded away, followed by her servant.

 Mu opened the eyes. The first thing that he saw was representations of angels, running on white clouds, strewed on an incredibly blue sky.

Then the pain invaded him. His head, hic back, his legs... His whole body was painful.

His head, his back, his legs...!? How come he had a body again? Who was it belonging to?

The blue of the sky darkened gradually, as a crackling went up to his ears. Then all became black and quiet.

USA, Los-Angeles – January 9, 2004, 9:30 PM (Jan.10, 4:30 AM GMT – 07:00)

Keleus Dioskouroi was rather satisfied with his performance of this evening. He had performed rather well at the audition for the future musical, "Prince of Egypt". The judges seemed to have appreciated his acting as well as his physique. He was certainly going to play an interesting part. Maybe the leading role? He might have to go to Broadway, New-York… Well, never mind, he would go… After all, after eight unlucky years, he was on the edge to achieve his dream!

At 29 years, this young Greek, of Russian origin, was to give up hope. He had come to Los Angeles at the age of 21, firmly determined to carve out his place in the starry sky of Hollywood. He had quickly become disillusioned, the competition being extremely hard. Indeed more than 900,000 actors and actresses populated Hollywood. Keleus had quickly understood that if he didn’t seek his chance, fame would not come to him.

His large body - 6'1 feet all in muscles! – and his face of charmer had allowed him to find easily supporting roles. He had also become an excellent stuntman, sometimes of big stars, and he could fill in his diary quite easily with action movies. But that was not enough for him. Keleus wanted to shine. By himself.
　

As he was at Santa Monica Pier, Keleus thought that he had the time to go to Santa Monica Beach for a short walk. It was not very cold this evening, almost 12 degrees. And the air of the Ocean would make him good! His mind would certainly cool down… or maybe warm up…

Keleus was not sure which effect that the air of the Ocean would have on him, but anyway, the beach was calling him.

Spain, Barcelona – January 10, 2004, 6:30 AM (Jan.10, 4:30 AM GMT +02:00)

The intern Alphonso Martinez looked at the man who was lying on the bed. He was young, certainly around the same age as him, 27 or 28 years. Alphonso wondered who or what could have put this strapping man in a similar condition. The young man had a broad binding around the head. He also had bindings around the left shoulder, the wrists, and the bust, which was marked with a big black wound.

Aphonso looked at him with a certain emotion. This man, brought two hours ago at this hospital, was protected by the Order of Ermengardis.

Alphonso was not on duty that night. But he had been drawn from his sleep by a phone call from professor Ortegas, another Spanish doctor who had sworn fidelity to the Order, and which was in duty in Seville. He had received highly important information from the Great Master of the Order, and had requested the urgent help of Alphonso. A man known under the identity of Armando Delavega would be brought to the hospital of Alphonso. He had to do everything possible to put this man, answering from now on to the name of Shura, in a safe place, and away from the questions of the other doctors and policemen - although a police chief of Barcelona, won over to the cause of Ermengardis, was scrambling the tracks. And of course, he had also to prevent another aggression from potential attackers, until the arrival of a mission of Ermengardis.

Alphonso accepted this duty immediately. However, he was afraid... God only knew what kind of creature he would have to deal with!

 
A moaning drew him from his thoughts. He saw the eyelids of the young man quivering. He was coming back to life! Alphonso bit his lips, feeling a little overtaken by the events. If he called him, perhaps that would help the man to open his eyes. What was his name, by the way...? Ah! Yes!

“Shura!”

The young man opened the eyes, and let them wander over the place until he saw the anxious face of Alphonso.

“Where... Where am I?”

“In a safe place! Don' worry, we take care of you...!”

”But, who... are you?” Shura managed to ask.

“Ermengardis!”

Shura tried to remind if he knew this name, but he had no memory of a certain Ermengardis. And he felt so tired... He allowed him sinking again in the sleep.

USA, Los Angeles – January,9 2004, 9:45 PM (Jan.10, 4:45 AM GMT -7:00)

Keleus had been sitting on the sand of the beach for half an hour, observing with a dreaming expression the waves raising a few meters away from the beach, and then coming to die on the white sand, in a shower of foams.

There were few walkers in this evening of January. Only a female jogger - perfect representation of the Californian woman well in shape! - had passed 15 minutes ago, a walkman on the ears. Keleus had given his most charming glance and had winked at her, signs to which the young woman had answered with a smile. Keleus had briefly hesitated to follow her, to start a conversation which could have last more or less long time if affinity... but he had finally given up. He wanted to be alone this evening.

Keleus stared at an invisible point at a few meters away from the beach.  It was like if a human shape was walking through the waves, in the direction of the shore. Keleus blinked his eyes and recognized indeed a human shape. A few seconds later, he could distinguish the silhouette of a young woman, slender and graceful, with long black hair dancing around her face. Her shoulders, her body, followed the rhythm of her movements and of the waves surrounding her. Her long dark dress floated around her, revealing furtively a white and delicate skin.

Keleus was like bewitched by this apparition. He was a "ladies' man", and “had known” much female partners. But never a woman had had such an effect on him. She was exuding something mysterious. A kind of magic. A black magic but yet, delicious... paralyzing.

He thought that death would be like that: unexpected and tempting. Death? But what a strange idea to think about that night! Why was he thinking about that?!
 

Keleus felt a shock in his back, and then the pain invaded his whole body. He was projected ahead, and rolled on the wet sand of the beach. His body eventually stopped to roll, the head turned towards the ocean and the beautiful young woman. The vision of Keleus scrambled, and he hardly made out the silhouette of the young woman coming closer. He closed the eyes.

Glaucus knelt close to the body as Ishara emerged from the ocean, like a ghost coming to haunt the place of a shipwreck. She held a gold amphora in her hands.

“Amalric, my angel! What a happiness to see that you appreciate my coming!” whispered Ishara, with a lunatic smile.
She knelt by his side, stroked the sleeping face, repeating words without any sense. Glaucus was looking at her, impassive. After some minutes, he however set a hand on the shoulder of his mistress.

“Ishara Mistress?” he called, to awake her from her dream.

She beat lashes, and smiled to him. She started to chant in a strange language, and opened the amphora. Gold volutes escaped from it, and covered the face of Keleus. It was glowing of a dazzling light during a few seconds. Then calm returned on the features of the young man.

“Amalric... speak to me!” begged the crazy woman, “I would like so much to hear again the sound of your voice...”

However, without awaiting answer, Ishara raised slowly and, continuing to utter strange words, moved towards the shore. She faded away in the spray thrown on the beach.
 

Glaucus came to the body. The man was still unconscious. His eyelids quivered, sign that he was going soon to return to life.

“How fragile are the humans!”

And he teleported himself to the place of the following mission.

Milo was lying on the white sand of the beach, like a shipwrecked man rejected on the coasts of a deserted island. Water came to lick his body at each backwash, drawing him gradually from the darkness where he had been plunged.

He opened the eyes. The only thing that he saw was a splendid starry sky, unlighted with thousand of jewels.

The sky! The stars! I can... see the stars! thought Milo.

Then he became aware of "the" body. But he knew it was not his body. He could feel very clearly that he was locked up in a body which he didn't know, and which howled of pain.

Tears rolled out his eyes. He couldn't stop himself to cry... Through the pain, he could understand only one thing... He was back to life!
 

Italy, Naples – January 10, 2004, 6:55 AM (Jan.10, 4:55 AM GMT +02:00)

Police chief Togniazzi pushed the door and came in the room the most silently as he could. He took a seat close to the bed and looked at the body lying on. All his life, he had dreamed that Ermengardis would call him. He had been a member of the Order for almost forty years. He had joined the Order at the age of 15, because it was the tradition in his family, but had decided to stay by conviction.

And today, this day that he thought would the best day of his life had come. However, he was feeling so sad. It was him who had found the body of Lorenzo. The message had arrived around at 2:00 PM, while he was working on an urgent file. A message signed by the Great Master of the Order, and stating clearly that Lorenzo Mastroianni was in danger of death. Tognazzi had left immediately the office to take his car and go to warn the young inspector.
And he had found him in the car park, unconscious and covered with blood. And now, his body was lying on a bed of hospital, in front of him.

Togniazzi had no illusion. The explanations of the Great Master were clear. The soul of the young inspector had flown away, replaced by another, the soul of a Saint of the Sanctuary, a man called Death Mask. Tognazzi felt a shiver running in his back. What a horrible name!

The eyelids of the young man quivered, and two blue irises filtered through the long black lashes. He cast an eye over the room, and then noticed the presence of Tognazzi. The Inspector rose from his seat and examined the face of the young man. He pulled a wry face when he noticed the wounds that blackened the temple, the right cheek and the lips.
　

“Don't worry, Death Mask, I take care of you...”

The young man didn't answer, but he raised his left hand. He managed to grip the bar of his bed, and to ask of a trembling voice:

“What had happened... to me?”

Tognazzi took his hand, and rest it on his chest.

“Nothing... Let's speak about it later.”

“But...”

“What's your real name?”

“Angelo...”

Tognazzi liked this name almost immediately. A name meaning kindness and hope...

“Ok, Angelo... The best thing that you can do for now is to rest... I take care of you.”

Angelo had never been a man who trusted an unknown person. However he decided to trust this guy, who he had vaguely the feeling to know. And he felt too broken to protest or to ask any more questions... He sank again into the sleep, under the protection of Police chief Tognazzi.
A name just kept resounding in his head: "Lorenzo"

Greece, Terrestrial Sanctuary– January 10, 2004, 8:00 AM (Jan.10, 6:00 AM GMT +02:00)

 The impressive doors of the Throne Room of the Palace of Elision opened in a squeaking. Apollo walked resolutely, entering the place without waiting that hostess grants him the right to do it.

Persephone was sitting under the red platform, hidden by a dark veil, slightly agitated by a mysterious breeze.

“I greet you, Ô Goddess Persephone!”

“Welcome, Ô God Apollo!”

“My dear aunt, the message has been sent to the Great Priests of Ermengardis. I come to have some information on the status of the operations on you side... Have you found the right executants for this task?”

There was a silence before the Goddess answered softly:

“Yes, I found the perfect executants... And they have already brought back to life six knights in less than twelve hours.

There was however in her answer a tone of hesitation that drew the attention of Apollo.”

“But what? Who are they? Who are these so effective warriors?”

Silence again.

“You wouldn't hide me something, would you, my dear aunt?”

“They are two "Great Ancients", Ishara and Glaucus...”

When he heard the words of "Great Ancients", the expression of the face of Apollo changed instantaneously. Surprise, incredulity, and then anger darkened his eyes.

“You brought back to life two Great Ancients! ... Vampires, you put your trust into Vampires!” he almost howled.

His voice resounded in the dark room, as a thunder clap would roll in a night sky.

“I didn't have the choice... Ishara is the only one to know the incantations of the priests of Ancient Babylon...” answered Persephone. Her voice was trembling.

“Vampires are monsters... Unpredictable, impossible to control! ... They don’t fear Gods, neither their anger, nor their rules! You know how difficult it was for the Saints of Athena to lock up these eight monsters in their coffins, five hundred years ago!”

“I know the story, my dear nephew. But sometimes it is necessary to take the right measures to achieve what you want!”

“Yes, but that didn't imply to infiltrate the island of Telemny, and to wake up from their coffins these... creatures! I hope that you didn't awake the others either... Marius... He is still prisoner of his coffin, isn't he?”

“He is. Do not worry my nephew. I had only Ishara and Glaucus awaken.”

“And could you tell me what your plans are to keep them under your control? Do you have a plan in case these monsters would turn against us? If they decide to taste the blood of a goddess or a god?” asked Apollo, ironical.

“Ishara is completely under my control, and by Ishara, I keep Glaucus quite.”

The voice of Persephone was calm again.

“Really?”

“Really. Believe me, my nephew. Ishara is only a toy between my hands.”

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