Underneath

Co-Authored with the author of the character der Tote; Takes place the night before "Whole"


AstaTheBroken hated winter.  It wasn’t the cold that bothered  her; she had always had a high tolerance for freezing temperatures, even when she had been human.  Snow, however, was a major annoyance.  Sure, it looked beautiful, for about five minutes.  But someone always has to ruin it.  She snorted in disgust as she passed a park.  Some jerk kid had run through it, marring the serene landscape with his stomping footprints.

Asta shook her head and lifted a thin black cigarette to her lips.  As she lit it, she smirked as she thought about the humor in it.  “You really can find anything on the grey market, if you know where to look-and you have the money to back it up.”  She breathed in the sweetly spiced smoke and held it in her lungs.  Vice had been her friend since she returned to the City; she didn’t have many friends left, otherwise.  The former members of Blackhaven wouldn’t trust her, and frankly, she wouldn’t trust them.  Her ex-companion barely existed on the physical plane when she had left after cracking under the strain of Astral’s escape from his mental prison; der Tote could have disappeared altogether for all she knew.  Half of her current clan had left without so much as a goodbye, an affront that Asta took personally.  They had made the decision for her.  True, her decision would have been the same; she knew her own feelings, even if she didn’t know his.  Even so, the insult weighed on her.  And, of course, her clan’s leader, Capadocious, had been attacked by the traitors and was resting, which effectively cut Asta off from the only vampire besides Mooncalf that she had seen as a surrogate sire.

She had been walking down the streets, brooding, when she heard the soothing velvet voice saying, “Welcome back.”

Asta turned to the source of the familiar voice, opening her mouth to reply to the greeting.  She wasn’t able to get any sound out of herself, and a look of panic crossed her face.  She’d lost control completely.  Panic turned into pain as Astral pushed her aside to take form.  Her body contorted and grew, tearing her clothing.  Within moments, the tall, broad form of the fallen seraph faced der Tote, his face openly communicating his hatred for the dead one.

“She doesn’t have anyone left but me.  She trusts me now.  Soon, she will be mine completely.”

Astral laughed. “Her strength wanes.  She took quite a beating, you know.  She doesn’t have any control over me anymore.  No thanks to you!”  Astral lunged at der Tote, his heavy fist swinging at the vampire.

--


Der Tote had always enjoyed winter.  The frigid temperatures and sometimes outright hostile weather were wonderful excuses to stay home and enjoy a good book (or perhaps just to laugh at the people running through the muck, not yet using that excuse).  As he’d gotten older, and grew into his vampiric abilities, winter became more enjoyable, as the cold never seemed to bother him, food became easier to find, and his own supernatural stealth left him amused when he failed to leave footprints in the snow.  And even a predator in the night could appreciate the simple Rockwellian joys of a fluffy white park with a snowman surrounded by a halo of little footprints.

He had just finished finding himself a meal, and was wandering the back alleys of the city when he heard her.  Standing in an alley, listening with sensitive ears, he recognized those near-silent footfalls, even after all the intervening years.  He’d heard rumors that Asta had awoken again.  He should have visited her by now, really, but he always managed to find some reason not to: Something to do, some business with someone else, even just plain old laziness; anything to avoid that awkward reunion, years after she’d abandoned him…or he’d abandoned her?  Even of that he wasn’t sure.  How do you greet your wife, when you’ve not seen her in over half a decade, when you’ve not tried to find her nor her to find you?  He sighed inwardly.  Well, he thought, may as well stop being a baby and bite the bullet.  Stepping out from the shadows, he said, “Welcome back.”

She turned at his voice, but something was wrong.  The other one was still there, too, and stronger than he had been before.  No, that wasn’t right.  Astral wasn’t stronger; Asta was weaker, like she’d given him more of herself than before.  Asta disappeared in a flash of panic, and Astral stepped bodily into the world, an image of demonic might, of rage and hatred.  Der Tote stood facing him, stunningly unimposing in his collared shirt and jeans, hands in his pockets, glaring at the demon through plastic-framed glasses.  “That welcome was for her,” he said, his voice sounding strangely unimpressed by the powerful horror before him, even annoyed.

“She doesn’t have anyone left but me,” Astral sneered.  “She trusts me now.  Soon, she will be completely mine.”  Enjoying the prospect of finally putting this uppity fledgling in its place, the demon laughed.  “Her strength wanes,” he taunted.  “She took quite a beating, you know.  She doesn’t have any control over me anymore.  No thanks to you!”

Der Tote sidestepped as the demon lunged, his large hammer-like fist missing the vampire’s head by less than an inch.  A second fist shot forward, aimed for his chest, but he caught it with both hands, softening the impact enough that his sneakers simply slid back along the asphalt, simply riding the inertia safely to its end.  Astral pressed the attack, driven to destroy the one who’d locked him helplessly in the recesses of Asta’s mind years ago, but der Tote cleanly avoided the blows, making good use of everything he’d learned from the city’s hidden guilds over the years.  Even as blow after blow failed to find its mark, though, the demon still forced the vampire back into the dark alleyway he’d come from.

“Release her,” der Tote demanded as his heel struck the brick wall behind him, “or I’ll do it for you.”

Astral laughed a deep, mirthless laugh.  “You won’t bottle me up again, dead one,” he replied, lunging again at the young vampire before him.  “I have the power now, and you’ve slept too long!”

Astral pulled back his fist, ready for the finishing blow, when der Tote’s right eye suddenly shone a bright, angry red.  The vampire jumped up and kicked off the wall behind him, pouncing straight at the demon’s chest and somehow, despite what physics would demand, the larger demon was tackled back through the air, eyes blazing with the same light that came from the vampire’s shining right eye.  By the time the two combatants hit the ground, Astral was gone, and pinned beneath der Tote was, instead, Asta the Broken.

---


That was not supposed to happen.  That SHOULD NOT have been able to happen!

Asta opened her amber eyes-BOTH amber eyes-and stared at der Tote.  A slight trickle of blood was oozing from the scars on her face.  Her features seemed softer, more fragile, more human, than they usually were.  Her eyebrows were arched in fear.

“I know what he’s trying to do,” she whispered.  “I need to get home before Astral wakes up again.  I have to tell….” Her voice trailed off, and she looked embarrassed.  “I have to get home.”

It was at that point she realized what position she was in.  When Astral took over her body, her clothes were torn through by the demon’s hulking form.  She was now lying naked on the cold pavement, beneath her ex-husband.  If nothing else, this would go down in history as one of AstaTheBroken’s most awkward moments.

---


“Ruhe, Ruhe,” he said, feeling the panic welling up from her.  “There’s nothing to fear.”

Der Tote’s face was the picture of serenity, a quiet and almost infectious calm, and his kind eyes were focused steadily on hers, his right eye once more glowing its faint pale white.  He’d done just as he’d done years before, when they first met.  Astral may have been imposing in the physical realm, but in the astral (ironically), der Tote ruled, and the demon had bound himself to the same rules mortal bodies and minds had to follow.  Astral was awake, he was aware, and he was pissed as all hell, but he was trapped in the deepest recesses of Asta’s subconscious, and there would be no escape for him while the vampire was watching.

“I’ve got him,” der Tote told her in a soothing voice, “and he’s not going anywhere.”  His eyes remained focused on hers, and he did his best to calm her down until her panic finally subsided…and he was finally able to notice for himself the position they were in.

---


“I need to get my…pile of useless rags,” she groaned.  Asta was not usually this inhibited.  Of course, even with the confidence given to her by the demon spirit, she still would not have exactly been comfortable walking through the City in the nude.  Adding to her uneasiness was the odd situation of needing her former lover’s protection to return safely to her home, a castle ruled by a lord they had once both despised.

“Um,” she said, timidly, “would you mind seeing if there’s anything salvageable over there that I can maybe cover myself up with? I’d prefer to stay here where no one can see me right now.”

---


Der Tote stood up and offered his hand to Asta, turning to look where the remains of her clothing had fallen.  They were somewhat far away for an inspection, but his keen eyes could tell right away her outfit was entirely destroyed.  Contrary to what the Incredible Hulk would have people believe, clothing doesn’t stand up to the sudden gain of even a couple hundred pounds of muscle…not even pants.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he said, taking off his gray collared overshirt and handing it to her.  “Here.”  He stood there wearing a dark T-shirt, seemingly oblivious to the cold winter air, regarding his clothing-challenged ex thoughtfully.  “So…from the top, then?”

---


"The top, huh?" she asked as she did up the buttons.  The shirt came down almost to her knees, and, even with der Tote's broader shoulders, she still could not do the top few buttons.  But at least she was decent, relatively speaking.

"I'm not sure what woke me," she said as they began to walk.  "I was drifting when something woke me.  Some kind of jolt.  I was hungry, and don't remember much of the first night.  The second night, I continued toward what I felt, what I knew woke me, Capadocious' return."  Even now, she still called him by his full name, part of her still respectful of her former leader, her almost-lover.

"I was pulled, and given a chance to satiate my bloodlust, get my revenge on this wretched City.  Which, as you can see by my weakness, did not turn out so well."

Her face darkened as she tried to hide her anger.  "The failure wore on many of my clanmates, and they trickled away.  I should have pushed to lead from the beginning.  Capadocious was more like a doting father than a war leader, and that's what we needed-a warlord.  I was too full of my own self-loathing to get into politics, and by the time I decided to change my mind, it was too late.  The clan had fallen from the inside.  I don't even know where Capadocious is.  He may have left the city, he may be asleep in his chambers, he may have buried himself like I did for all I know, I don't care."  From the passion behind her voice, it was apparent that a part of her still did.

Her tone lowered, as if she was trying to hide a secret, and she spoke fast.  "I know what he is going to do now.  Listen, quickly, before he wakes up.  I already feel him stirring, he won't be happy.  He's been trying to convince me to bond souls, but he doesn't want to bond, he wants me gone.  I have to beat him once and for all.  Will you help me?  Tomorrow, meet me in the Armory at one in the morning.  You'll be able to find it, I know you'll be able to sense it.  Please?"  Her human eyes pleaded with him.