The sound of clashing swords resonated through the night. Thomas fought against Gilles De Rais whilst Anne engaged Cesare Borgia. He sliced at De Rais's arm, making his opponent draw back, and quickly glanced at the others. Juan had somehow subdued his attacker after being left with no weapon and limped toward Richard. As Thomas watched, they disarmed and knocked out the dark-haired warrior, then rallied to Thomas's aid. 

"Need a hand?" asked Richard.

"Not at all," answered Thomas merrily as he danced out of De Rais's way, neatly avoiding the tip of his opponent's sword. "Go help Anne and make sure Joan is okay."

From the brief second he'd managed to check on his wife, Thomas noted she was clearly struggling to keep up with the Borgia Bastard, even though he was already wounded. He battled with his rage, which often numbed fighters to any pain. Juan was hurt too badly to go up against such a man, so that left Richard to assist the brave Nephilim leader. The former King and Queen of England always made a formidable pair when fighting together.
Growing tired of his own fight, Thomas disarmed De Rais and punched him so hard in his face that the Frenchman fell unconscious with a broken nose. He found the other two men were still knocked out and hurried to join Juan, who'd limped toward Joan. She sat on the ground staring blankly at the leaves, Anne's gyrfalcon beside her. Juan dropped to the ground in front of her, blood dripping slowly from his leg. He touched Joan's hand lightly, but the Fallen Angel seemed aloof to Juan's presence. He threw Thomas a worried look when she didn't react.

"We need to get her out of here," said Thomas.

He held out his hands and mumbled the portal spell. The air before him sparked until it was torn apart by a bright light. Every time Thomas opened such a rift, it made him remember the first time he'd seen the Heavens. This time, though, he couldn't waste even a second to appreciate its comforting beauty.

"Anne! Richard! Time to go!" he yelled. "Juan, take Joan. We'll follow you."

"I think not, little magician."

The light before them disappeared. Thomas spun around. Suddenly, he felt like someone had taken hold of his heart, squeezing harder and harder. He fell to his knees. His eyes widened when they found Erzsebet Bathory advancing on him, veil discarded, eyes blazing red in madness.

"Well done, Englishman. Few people can take me by surprise like that. But you hurt me. And for that, you will pay dearly."

Thomas doubled over as she twisted her stretched-out hand. He clawed at his chest, gasping for breath. His vision blurred as the witch used her black magic to summon his heart to her, making it thump erratically inside of him. 

"¡Demonio! Release him!"

Juan threw his dagger, but the Countess easily deflected it with a wave of her other hand. The blade struck a tree a few feet away. 

"Bathory, finish them! It's time we take our prize!" Borgia yelled from across the field.

The Countess grinned maliciously and raised her hand toward Juan. Thomas tried to use his magic, but he couldn't fight the witch's invisible grip on his heart. He sank deeper into the siren call of death, when suddenly, a blazing light illuminated the darkness.
Before anyone had time to act, the demons were thrown away from the Nephilim. Thomas gasped as Bathory's hold on his heart released, taking in every bit of air he could. He struggled to raise himself up, looking for their saviour as Hypatia stepped out of the light, arms outstretched to keep the demons down.

At once, Anne was at Thomas's side. She pulled him along, but he could barely stand. She swung his arm around her shoulders and dragged him to the portal. Richard had already carried Joan through, and Juan limped after them. As soon as Anne and Thomas were in the clear, Hypatia followed and closed the portal behind her.
Thomas slumped in his wife's arms, panting and groaning in pain. He barely discerned her concerned voice. His mind was reeling. It should have been easy. In and out. Just get the Fallen Angel and return to the Sanctum, like they'd done many times before. So how the hell had he almost died?

***

Everyone gathered in the infirmary to get treatment for the wounds they had suffered fighting those goddamn demons. Anne sat with her husband, holding his hand comfortingly. Thomas was conscious but clearly distressed by the ordeal he had gone through. And he wasn't the only one. Joan hadn't stopped shivering and seemed to have retreated into herself. Richard covered her up the best he could, but she still trembled uncontrollably. 
Anne didn't want to think about what could have happened had they arrived one second later. Joan had come too close to being taken by that filth. Thomas was able to pinpoint her exact location after receiving Peter's message and had made a portal. It'd been a happy accident they'd geared up for training and were prepared for a fight, but they'd still gone in blind, not knowing anything about their foe. Had they known about the Blood Countess, they would've -

"¡Ai! Por el amor de... Olympe, please be more gentle. This really hurts."

Juan's wail took Anne out of her thoughts. The Spaniard lay on Joan's other side. His leg had finally stopped bleeding, thanks to the swift action of his French lover. Anne couldn't help but smile as she saw the couple bickering.

"Mon Dieu, Juan." Olympe sighed. "You can be such a baby sometimes. It's already healing. And besides, it is your own fault. You should have paid attention to your opponent, not to what was happening five feet away from you."

"I was making sure Thomas was okay!" Juan sputtered in his defence. "You know he's not the best of swordsmen."

"Well, he is not the one who got slashed, is he?"

"No, but -"

"How about we stop quarrelling amongst ourselves? Juan, admit you made a mistake. And Olympe, admit that you are genuinely concerned about Juan and are masking that concern with anger."

The two were silenced by Hypatia. The Egyptian woman walked into the room, carrying a basket with oil vials in one hand and a bowl of warm water in the other. She approached the table where Richard was seated.

"My love, how are you?" she asked her husband.

"I'm not wounded, dearest," he told her, touching her arm reassuringly. "Only my pride is. Better to care for the others. Anne got a nasty cut on her wrist from the Borgia Bastard. That man fights like a beast."

"So, it was him, then?" Hypatia asked, stepping over to Anne. "I only glimpsed him."

"Yes," she answered. "And the Blood Countess, Erzsebet Bathory, as well. Did anyone recognise the others?"

"I'm not sure, but I believe the man in the coat was El Destripador."

Olympe froze as she heard her lover mention the name of his attacker.

"The Ripper?" She crossed herself. "Mon Dieu. You are lucky, mon amour."

"Not to worry. Fortune favours the brave," he said, winking at Olympe.

"And the stupid," Richard added in a hushed tone.

"What of the one you were fighting, Richard?" asked Anne.

"I did not recognise him."

"Tepes."

Anne tilted her head at her husband when he spoke the name.

"Vlad Tepes," Thomas said at her inquisitive gaze. "Also known as The Impaler, ruler of Walachia. Or his more popular fictional name, Dracula. An impressive man. I hadn't heard of him since a few years after his death. It disturbs me he has joined the Circles."

"What do you mean?" asked Hypatia.

"He's a Fallen Angel."

"What?" exclaimed Anne. "Surely not! How would such a man ever be allowed into the Heavens, or the Vale, for that matter?"

"You forget Tepes did what he did in God's name," explained Thomas. "And there's no denying he suffered in his life. Only Peter and Michael would know the details, of course, but I'm sure there was something that made him important to the Lord's design."

"But then, how did he fall?"

"By choice, from what I heard. He asked Michael to take away his wings. No one knows why. If he went to the Circles, I fear he may have believed that to be his right place all along."

They all fell silent. Any angel cast out of the Heavens was always at risk of being seduced to join the Circles, but most of them could still resist. Most of them became servants to the Nephilim, trying to help in every way they could. A Fallen Angel who went to the Circles posed a threat - a serious threat.

"And the other one?" Anne broke the silence, her mind still on the fourth man. "The one you were fighting, Thomas?"

"Gilles De Rais. A serial killer, like the Ripper, and a general, like Borgia. He fought with Joan in Orléans, but left her army before she was imprisoned. He must've been recruited to provide information on her."

They all looked at the girl in the middle bed, lying on her side, huddled underneath the covers. She hadn't spoken a word. Olympe drew closer to see if she was sleeping, but Joan was still awake, just staring into nothing.

"Joan, you are safe here with us," she said reassuringly, sitting on the chair next to the bed.

"Il ne faut pas avoir peur de nous," Anne then spoke.

Olympe nodded, and Anne thought she might have understood why she spoke in French.

"Est-ce qu'ils t'ont fait mal ?" Olympe added.

Joan remained silent. The Nephilim look at each other, but none knew what else they could try.

"Perhaps it's better if we leave her to rest for now," offered Hypatia. "I will stay here in case she needs something."

"Thank you, Hypatia," said Anne. "Thomas, lean on me; I'll take you to our chamber."

She helped Thomas get up from the infirmary bed, and they left the ward together. Richard would help Olympe with Juan as soon as Hypatia dressed the wound properly. 

"Anne, wait." Thomas halted her in the corridor, his face bearing a grave expression. "Are we really just going to call it a night? Shouldn't we at least let Peter know we have her? And who was waiting for her?"

"That can wait until tomorrow, darling. You need to rest. We all do."

"It's just... I have a bad feeling about all of this."

Anne pressed her lips together. She didn't want to worry Thomas by admitting she, too, was concerned. Clearly, Joan of Arc was a prize the darkness was eager to claim. For what reason, though, she could only guess.

***

Grigori watched as the Borgia Bastard entered the Master's chamber. A smile fell from his lips as he saw the proud warrior get down on one knee. He had failed to bring back the girl. The Master would surely punish him now.

"You, and your team, failed your task," spoke the voice coming from the shadows.

"My Lord, the girl was aided," Borgia quickly responded.

"By the Nephilim, I know. You were lucky you had the Countess with you. They would have bested you much sooner if she hadn't been there."

"I'm sure that's not -"

"And I am sure that you will have a good excuse. But, frankly, I don't want to hear it."

"Does it really matter she is with the Nephilim? I told her what you instructed me to say. The girl's spirit is broken. She will not be of any use to them."

"Hmm, true," said the Master. "We'll have to wait and see if you've done your part on that, at least. Make sure you are ready to get her when I give the order. And beware if you fail me again!"

Borgia rose and backed out of the room. The heavy door shut, leaving Grigori once again alone with the Prince of Hell.

"Master, is there something I can do?"

"Find out which Nephilim faction took her. Go to their Sanctum and watch them. Report their every move to me. We must take Joan when she is most vulnerable. If the Nephilim somehow reawaken her fighting spirit, then we'll have to find another way to get to her. And to Gabriël."