Verando POV-

It was an odd sensation, not needing to sleep yet feeling mentally exhausted, he could feel Fenrir attempting to dig his way to the surface. A gnawing ache in the back of his skull, made him feel heavy and a bit foggy from devoting half of his mental capacity to shoving the beast back down. Walking past the bed, knowing I wasn't home, hit him harder than he liked to admit. When did he become so painfully attached? 

Spending the last few days together had rekindled the closeness we shared, flooding his senses with my scent, and creating a void where I should be. My scent was muddied by the bloodstained clothes, tossing them into the metal wastebasket, he threw a lighter down into the bin to set the clothes ablaze. 

Nobody beyond their immediate circle needed to know what had happened, that he was too far gone to ever bring back. 

Alpha had at least fallen silent, no doubt pouting and accepting that there would be no chance I was coming back tonight. Descending the stairs, Verando hesitates when he spots Steffan casually strolling through the destruction. It's a clear reminder of just had badly he'd messed up, seeing the debris littering the floor, the melted and cracked marble coupled with the shattered glass, and various streaks and smears of blood.

"You're still here." He grumbles, running a hand through his damp hair. "Steffan, I'm sure you have other things to attend to."

Steffan raises an eyebrow, taking the man in. 

The buttons of his shirt were left partially undone in his haste to dress, the way it was haphazardly shoved into his jeans, he could see my appeal.

 "You look.. brighter. Like maybe you aren't going to give up on yourself just yet."

"Might as well be a corpse. My eyes look terrible." Verando retorts, sighing heavily as he rolls his shoulders and stands before the Strigoi, self-consciously plucking at his shirt. "I could crawl into a hole with what a mess I look. It was a little easier to shower today, I have had a lot of nightmares about that night, more than I could count. Perhaps this lack of sleep is a benefit in that way, there's little time to reset from spending a night reliving it."

While the sentiment is nice, it was a pipe dream that the other man felt cruel to let him focus on. there would be no such long-term relief. Steffan quickly sets the record straight. 

"Don't worry, it'll come back so much worse because you'll have to dismiss it consciously or it'll consume you. Our minds are only built to hold so much, in the past Vampires were said to have gone crazy from the overwhelming sense of knowledge but, there are ways to compartmentalize as you get further along. The eyes, though-" 

Touching his own dark circles, Steffan seems to share his remorse for the lack of pigment that once graced the space. "It comes with the territory. You'll look tired for the rest of your days, and that beautiful complexion might start to fade as well, being dead does weird things to the body."

"Perfect." Verando crosses his arms over his chest, the chain rattles loosely around his neck as he tracks the destruction to the severed head. "So, if you're still here, you must know how to clean up this mess. Or have you just not finished tormenting me?"

"Call your book." The Strigoi instructs.

Both men startle as the loud bang from upstairs jolts their senses. It's as if a caged beast were unleashed, with the fumbling and slamming of a book trying to escape. Quickly, Steffan hisses at him to stop and the room falls silent once more. 

"Envision the path. Don't overthink it, imagine how you descended and then call it."

While uncertainty clouds his face, he repeats the action, holding out his hand and uttering the words, "Come." Just as I had to summon him. 

Once more, there's a loud bang, but this time the book slings itself down the stairs, causing Steffan to duck as Verando snatches it out of the air with a wince at the impact on his palm. "Dreadful thing." He growls, shaking out his fingers. 

Undignified as it was, this seems to please the Strigoi. "Hey, second attempt, not bad. Now, as an otherworldly being, you can summon a variety of spirits. There are creatures created to serve, and those are the ones that I tend to access. You might want something with a bit more gusto considering you need a home rebuilt-"

"Steffan." The word is strong, firm, unyielding, a warning to pick a different path. He was still fighting back, still pushing against the demand that he learn to use. Resting the book on the dining room table, his hands slide off of it to rest on the oak, only to quickly retract his palms as the heaviness seeps from his shoulders, down his arms, and into his hands. There's the breath of a dark haze on the tabletop as if it might have been burned. 

Steffan lays his hand on the man's shoulder carefully. "That's step one. You must push to your threshold, otherwise you will never know how far you can go. You felt it, didn't you?"

Verando jerks out of his grasp but Steffan quickly grabs his arm. 

"I'm already dead, Randy." he reminds the lycan. "Practice on me, please. My life is fulfilled, I have nothing but time and a whole mountain of debt that I need to repay. I've taken so many lives, let me help you do it the correct way. I know you're not a vampire, you're something so much worse, but there's also so much good in you. Practice."

Gritting his teeth, Verando can only glower back at him, teeth clenched, jaw tight. "Don't push me, Steffan. I'm not your ticket to salvation, would you like to know? Do you want to know what I see? Hell's fire, when I look at you all I can see is the omen that one day you will burn, and I'm damned by this bloody god to put you there." Before the other man can speak, he shakes his head, dismissing him as he turns his attention back to the book. 

They had too much faith in him, he had practiced control his entire life and yet this felt so beyond the realm of what he was capable of. What had he done to deserve their faith in his ability to learn this? To master it? 

Opening the book, he flips through the pages, tense as his body burns from the inside out with the urge to fulfill his duties. The list had been incomplete, there was still a need for him to return to his job duty as the master of transition. 

"You don't scare me." Steffan reminds him quietly, though it was obvious the words stung, that it was confirmation that none of us would be getting out of this with any recognition for the good we'd done. There was to much bad stacked against us, too much unpaid debt, and too much ill intent. "Do you mean to tell me God does care that I'm gay?" he teases. 

Flinching, Verando hesitates, his hand floating over the page as he considers letting the frustration loose and yet, the question was innocent enough. Glancing over, spying the shy look of the Strigoi who truly did want an answer, he considers how any man would like to hear why he was damned. 

Cautiously flipping to the next page, the words of the book shuffle, turning into a heap of names with short scrawls beside them, instantly earning a double take that makes Steffan perk up. 

"It changed," Verando grumbles, turning the leaves of paper back and forth before settling on the list. "It's the list. Interesting, I can see it so clearly in my head but it's here as well. I guess.. in a sense."

"It would make sense. Again, I dare to say it, you write it into law. What you deem for your magic is what it is. This is raw ability Verando, while it has its limits and I don't feel like you could conjure as Nic does, you can very clearly influence the rules and laws of the book."

Verando purses his lips, tracing his fingers over the names as they strike off from the lives he'd already collected for the day, noting that there were names in red added that had yet to be marked. He recognized one or two, from the wallets he'd glanced at of those he'd killed. So they had been added, would have to go find their souls?

More red tape, more paperwork. Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he glances at Steffan who jumps back, clearing his throat and pointing to his own face. "Your headlights are on..."

"What an odd thing to say." Verando retorts dryly, touching the exposed bone on his cheek. "Fucking hell. It's because the list is unfinished, it would have been lovely if I hadn't decided to destroy the house. I'm already so far behind." Yet amidst the grumbling, the stinging sensation of a human in suspense weighing on him, Steffan was still hopeful to understand his damnation. 

"I don't think there is any God who cares that you're gay, Steffan. God's are disgusting, at least the ones I've spoken to. They are interested in whoever will serve them. Perhaps a different sector of God might, I believe Nic once said you were all Catholic. So... make your peace with whatever that may be. This only says 'Underworld' on it, there is no causation, but if it makes you feel any better... I checked on some of us, we are all going to Hell."

Somber, the pair sit in silence, with no heartbeat, and only forced breathing between them. It was a harsh reality that not all good deeds were paid for in the end. The purpose was written there, plain for him to see, but knowing that would not benefit the man in any way. There was nothing he could do to change it or prevent his fate. 

While it was obvious that it bothered the Strigoi, he seemed to be mustering up the courage to make light of it. Verando offers him the slightest hint of empathy, dimpling his cheek at the small smirk. "But, I'll be going with you. I'm Death, surely there's some VIP room in Hell, I'll pull whatever strings I have to." 

The thought makes Steffan chuckle, rolling his eyes with a small sniffle, "Oh surely.. it can't all be stiffs and flames."

"Perhaps you could make one." He insists as the bone fades away like ash swept from his skin, calming him, and reining the beast back in. "Besides, you're not dead yet, so try not to dwell on it. Nobody knows when your number is up, not even me unless I wish it-" Freezing, he narrows his eyes at the man, "And I don't wish it."

"Can't a man pine for all the answers?" Steffan questions sweetly before sighing, crossing his arms over his chest. "Alright, find this spell, let's get to conjuring these little bastards so we can fix this place and get this head disposed of."

Despite Steffan's encouragement of his ability to conjure servants, the book seems to reject every attempt at it. The text changes, over and over, no matter how many attempts he makes to ask it. It would appear that, rightfully so, Death was a vessel to deliver and not to create. Frustrating as this was to Steffan, Verando found some solace in this. There would be no undead army, that was one thing he could cross off the list. 

"This power is not meant to create," Verando tells him firmly. "I can feel it, there's no way I'm going to get a spirit to come here. Not even a blank, as you say." The thought crossed his mind that the lingering dark magic from the tail end of the war could be something that he would have to deal with. Wraiths, the various empty forests, all of these things were full of souls needing purging. 

Disappointed, Steffan snaps his fingers and the little whisp appears, almost human in some ways but more of a flutter of energy than anything else. "I'll use mine for the small things like clean up and dispersal. I'm not nearly as strong as I was, but he can get the job done. You call your men or whatever it is a warlord does when he's in trouble with his spouse."

Rolling his eyes, Verando steps away to gather his phone off the kitchen counter, taking quiet inventory of all the damage as he calls Tucci to have him send a crew over. The Rougarou was handy for things of this nature, he could use his own ability where Verando was very limited. A Shadowman had considerably better access to otherworldly beings than he did, with a low profile as the head of his focus. 

"Why do I feel as if something very wrong has happened to you, friend?" Tucci presses, curious. "I feel.. a darkness.. beyond the normal cloud that Fenrir casts. Haebom has been beside himself for the last few days, is there something you wish to reveal?"

Verando watches the spirit carry the head away, shuddering, "Would you accept that I can't tell you anything?" His mind drifts to me, wondering how I am, wondering if I was feeling alright or if I'd gotten the correct things for my cravings. The thought of me caused his chest to ache, and his temple to throb, it was an uncomfortable pain that was so much more intense in the fleeting moments he allowed his guard to lapse. 

"I believe there are things we both keep secret from one another. This, however, feels... out of this realm."

"Mmm, how perceptive. I'd encourage you to stave off your curiosity, if you won't be satisfied with that, I'm asking you as a friend to let it go."

The line goes quiet, as the other man considers this, a distant knock on the door echos and Verando flips his hand absently to Steffan who moves to open it. A small crew enters, making quick work of the various stacks of debris. "Are you getting a good look? Do you really wish to tempt me?" Verando's voice is low, hard, and menacing under the lightness of good conversation. 

"What on earth happened to your home?" Yet there is no shock in the man's voice, only vast amounts of suspicion and interest. "Yet you, sir, are unharmed. So it would appear.. you.. destroyed your home?"

The light eyes flick up, glancing through the men as they begin to work and he slowly takes calculated steps toward the group. A hunter stalking his prey, "Listen to me very carefully, Tucci. I called you as a favor, in good faith, because we are building something quite exceptional together." His finger lightly trails over one of the men before changing his mind and moving through the group once more. 

"Consider a favor paid from me as a debt I hold very dearly, but remember that with that favor comes great expectations for silence and cooperation." Verando steps to the next man with a short inhale before casually moving to the next one, his sights focusing on a small worker who did not suit the others. 

A slightly different hue to his skin, and a patchwork seam running up the back of his neck. Verando grips his shoulder, spinning him around to lock eyes with the glassy-eyed creature. "Speak of what you saw here, utter a single word of suspicion, I will find out about it and you'll wish you'd never delved into that curiosity. Understood?"

Tucci can only chuckle, making the puppy grin as well. "My my my, what have you gotten involved with, Mr.Mercer? It's intoxicating."

"Tucci." Verrando snarls, flashing his teeth, making the Shadowman retract his sight from the creature who looks very confused at the sight of the warlord. Verando drops him, disgusted as he dusts off his hand, ignoring the way the puppet begins to wrath and spasm on the ground as his body slowly disintegrates. 

"I yield, Mr.Mercer, but I will remind you that this conversation is not over. A curiosity such as this does not go away quietly, I'm afraid you've only fueled my fire with your little display. We are friends, and I honor your wish to retain my silence, but remember that you owe me a favor."

Verando hangs up, resisting the urge to destroy his phone as his head pounds. 

"Headlights." Steffan points to his face again, making Verando snarl at him in frustration as he slams his hands on the table once more to reel it in. 

"Fucking Tucci." The lycan spits, knuckles popping and grinding as his fists clench. In the background, Alpha was whining again. 

"Nic."

"Nic." 

Gripping the side of his head, he makes a sound of frustration as he storms into the kitchen with Steffan close behind him. "What's wrong?"

"Gods, it's ear-splitting!" Verando manages, covering his ears desperately. "Alpha, stop. For the love of god, stop!" Slamming his back against the wall, if he could will himself to deafen he would. It's just another dent to fix, another piece of drywall destroyed, the magic being bringing materials out of the house looks disappointed at the extra labor. 

"What does he want?"

"Nic. He wants Nic. I want Nic. This is bloody well impossible, now. I understand why he needed to leave but-" Growling in frustration, his whole body feels like it might implode as he slides down the wall into a sitting position.  There was nothing left to do but surrender, let it wash over him just how badly he was missing me, how much he needed me right now. "I understand that Nic loves me, but I don't think he quite understands the depth to which I need him-" 

Suddenly his face pales, and his hands slip from his temples to slide down and rest on his collarbones, searching the tile as if somehow the answers were there. 

"Did you have a stroke? Come on, finish your damn thought You're starting to freak me out." Steffan pleads, making the man crack as he inhales sharply. 

Reluctant, it's almost as if he'd considered ripping off the chain, one by one his fingers unlinked and his hands sliding to rest on the cold tiles. "Nic is on the list." He exhales. "Nic... not Nic.. oh god..." His voice lightens, barely a whisper. "What have I done?"