The fear, the carnage, the agony and desperation of the twisted memories he witnessed through his brief connection with Vladimir were enough to pin him to the ground as much as the weight of the massive werewolf already had. Not to mention, Mithias had never done this before. But in that brief moment, Mithias realized that Vladimir wasn't acting of his own will, but out of instinct, pure adulterated, manipulated instinct, and that he was inconceivably ill. Mithias saw flashes of ocean, a ship, a woman, and scene after scene of vicious murder. Surely some piece of information would tell him what to do to get through to this creature.

The fangs never fell, and the werewolf's attention was drawn off while Mithias sorted out reality from the information he had gained from mind-reading. Liam had taunted the beast from his puddle of blood on the floor, but before that scene could play out, Kate appeared in the doorway shouting to "take Liam and run," and "this won't take a minute..." Mithias couldn't believe what he was seeing as he scrambled to his feet. This little grey-haired vampire girl launched herself atop this horse-sized monstrosity like it was a damn rodeo. Ah, the fearlessness of the youth. It was so often their downfall. Obviously, and immediately, her relatively tiny form was dislodged. Of course it was true that she could only have bought Mithias and Liam seconds of distraction at best and only at the potential cost of her own life. Yet, she was without question fully willing to do it. She must have been wildly overconfident, suicidal, or blindly in love with Liam. 

Springy, spiderlike, sounds snapped from the werewolf's wounds as he tore Kate off his neck. Seeing how quickly that happened, Mithias knew he wasn't going to be able to move fast enough, not with Liam in tow if the insane beast didn't want them to escape. Kate would be dead by then as well. He had to try something else. If he could just get through to the werewolf, to Vladimir...

"Vladimir..."  The name rang like a bell in his mind, and suddenly the winds stopped and the storm lost its fury. The waters calmed and the deck finally stopped rocking sickeningly back and forth. The screaming, which screamed, and screamed, and screamed... faded like an old memory, obscured by time. Vladimir could think again, his emotions stabilized, his thoughts becoming clear. Where the hell was he again?

If Mithias' heart could race, it did. He knew he had done something to Vlad and had crossed a line he wasn't sure he wanted to cross. Had his defenses gone down? Why was he suddenly able to do this? He trembled at the thought of being vulnerable himself and drew his psychic energy back within his walls like a rabbit scurring into its hole. Hopefully, he had reversed what Deon had done, but the implications of what had just occurred were disconcerting to the 700 year old vampire. Who might he become?

The casting of a headless body announced the arrival of one Lord Bedivere of Perfect Sinews, Knight of the Round Table of Camelot. Not a spec of blood marred his pristine white suit, which perfectly matched his eyebrows and hair. Mithias felt his attention irresistibly summoned by that familiar voice. He looked over, shirtless, shot in the leg, and gaunt in his need for blood. Oh what a relief it was to see Bedivere, his brother in blood and oath, and ally, yet the heroic knight's visit had not been expected. Mithias was familiar enough with the oldblood to detect the heavily veiled ire in his voice, but he had no idea the magnitude of events that had occurred since his attempted assassination. "Brother." Mithias replied in welcome. He was pleased to see Bedivere yet obviously still confused and uninformed. There would be much to discuss. 

Then, from behind Bedivere, a child ran up to Mithias, or rather not so much a human child, but a child to Mithias himself, a child in a vampire's eyes. The vampire blinked as the blinded youth ran into him, embracing him protectively and possessively, pleadingly... Mithias allowed this, sensing no malice from the lad and knowing Bedivere could have, and would have, stopped him if it were necessary. With a gentle furrow in his brow, Mithias placed a hand behind Lucan's head and hushed him. It was a sudden lull in the battle that had been going on just until that point. A quiet fell upon the room. 

Yes, fresh blood was tempting, but curiosity was the stronger. Red hair split between dirty white fingers as Mithias slowly drew Lucan back to behold him. With his thumb, he wiped a tear from under Lucan's green eye, and the mortal began to calm. "It's alright. I know you. You tried to revive me after the explosion. I remember you now, and I see you've become tainted with my blood. I am sorry for what it has done to you." Not knowing what exactly to do about this new thrall of his, Mithias held him and looked to Bedivere. He spoke again, "Lucan," for he innately knew his thrall's name, "I will help you. I will not abandon you, and I will not kill you. You deserve better than that. But you must stay close to me and obey me, otherwise I cannot guarantee your safety in my world." 

"Agent Kelling? Agent Porter." Mithias needed to communicate with the squadron that had come to his resque. He kept a cautious eye on Vladimir as well, and he had yet to see Mia, Kathryn, and what was left of Hank outside. "Are you alright?"

Outside, all humans in an X radius were dead or dying as zombies. There had been a lot of them within and around Deon's building in particular, probably because it was ground-zero for the release of the virus, but there was also, another reason. Sir Bedivere and Lucan had lacerated and shot a number of them on their way down to the basement, but little did they consider the disproportionate population.... Upstairs, on the middle level, unseen and unbeknownst to the rest of the world, a true horror was arising. Masses of zombies clamored against each other in the hallways, all mindlessly trying to get to the same location, the storage room. 

The ceiling of the storage room was high enough for the mountain of bodies piled on top of each other. They were all dead, truly dead, fresh zombies drained of their blood and no longer moving, and in the center of it all, was an opened, empty box.