His workshop is here, and his wish to capture beauty for a fleeting moment.

  “You didn’t want to be his ex; I can tell you that.”

  “What is he then, the ssh your tires type?” Fred chortles. “Or take your horse type?”

  “He did a lot worse than taking someone’s ride, Fred.” Vukosava seethes.

  Harley side-eyes Vukosava before guiding her away. “Let’s split up.”

  Mark exchanges a gnce with Amber. “You sure?”

  “We’re strong, independent women, Marcus, we’ll be fine.” Harley poses for a moment, doing bicep curls for the camera. “You boys can’t be having all the fun, okay?”

  Clearly arguing internally with himself, he reluctantly hands over the second camera. Amber squeezes his arm before heading off with Harley and Vukosava to explore the depths of the castle. Harley shakes her head slowly at Vukosava. “You were close to losing your shit, babes, what’s gotten into you?”

  “Don’t you get the feeling that something is off?”

  “Yeah. So what? We’re here to make green and get out.”

  Amber crosses her arms. “I’m all up for making green, but this seems dangerous.”

  “I’m the medium, I haven’t gotten anything telling me that we should leave. You’re not going to take my word on it?” Harley asks fervently.

  “Of course we take your word on it, we just want to be safe. Isn’t that right, Vukosava?”

  “You can turn the camera on, Harley, let’s get on with it.”

  Harley obliges with her request.

  “Now, for those joining on the tour down into the depths of this lovely castle. We’ll be paying a visit to the kitchen. Then the prince’s personal bedroom and that of his tutors.” Vukosava continues on in a brisk tone. “The Prince’s Father, King Harald, was relentless. A true machiavellian to the bone - he applied those same founding principals in every aspect of his life. War and governorship. He wasn’t excessively cruel, but he was harsh. A lot of people were thrown into the dungeons and a lot of them were released into the wild spreading his reputation far and wide. They were terrified of the Demon of Avaron. His wife was able to mend his heart, and bring a bit of warmth back into his shell.”

  Their supernatural equipment is dead quiet.

  “There is one thing to note about Prince Zar’va, his father might’ve taught him how to stand and fight. How to use a sword, but his heart sought something different. To be an entertainer of the masses, a great performer of the arts. King Harald still had much to do after ‘The Usurper’s War’, the young d would be left in the care of his mother, Queen Josphine. She didn’t want to lose her son - not the way her husband had been lost. At first, Prince Zar’va wanted to make his mother proud, but over the years, the two monarchs would weaken, their health starting to fail them.” Vukosava sighs heavily. “After the prince’s 5th name day, he found his true calling.”

  “I guess we’re doing the same thing.” Amber says much to Vukosava’s surprise. “I don’t like the idea of being able to rete to this guy – at all!”

  “Don’t worry, we’re in this together.” Harley boasts. “Besides, boys can be boys. They get the fun part.”

  “I just hope they’re doing okay. That’s all.”

  “Don’t worry, John is a moron, he’s not an idiot.” Vukosava tries for a winning smile, a joke for the camera. But she’s having a hard time convincing herself of it, Amber can tell.

  “We could run back. Besides, what are we going to find here anyways?”

  “Listen, Miss Worry, we’re not going back until we get something good.”

  “You’re turning this into a competition again, Harley?”

  “I’m not one to be stood up by the boys, if they put out a challenge, I’m not losing.”

  “I’m all for being a competitive child – but this isn’t some contest to win.” Vukosava looks back in the direction of John, Fred, Nathen, Gregory, James and Barry. With Marcus in their mist. “I know we all got our damn points to prove, but this is a contest I’m ending.”

  Harley gres harshly at Vukosava. “You’re going to run up there and end our night early, Party Crasher?”

  Vukosava didn’t bother replying, she started heading back up. She raises a hand to stop Amber. “I’m just checking in on them, that’s all. It’s probably nothing.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure, besides what’s wrong with a bit of party crashing?”

  Harley rolls her eyes. “You’re useless, Vukosava, you just can’t stop yourself.”

  “I don’t need to put on three yers of blush and lipstick.”

  “Yet, you do that for your eyeliner.”

  Vukosava is already loading up another retort but manages to stop herself from uttering it. Bickering doesn’t solve anything; despite the satisfaction she would get from it. “I’m going. You’ll be able to find something, you’ve got EMFs, you’ve got the cat balls. Go wild.”

  With that she leaves before Amber or Harley could stop her. Hopefully John and his boys weren’t doing anything stupid, though with her luck they’re taking it on as a challenge. She speedwalks over to their spot in the castle – concern and fear running down her spine. If there’s a problem, it’s going to be a big one.

  She can hear their words, in unison. John and his gang reach out to the prince.

  Mark to his credit is trying to stop them, and Nathen sounds reluctant.

  John is directly challenging the entity, the st thing one should ever do. “C’mon then, we’ve done all of this, and you’ve gone quiet. They say you painted walls and canvases with the blood of your enemies. Where are you at, big boy?”

  Marcus looks around, his face paling with each passing moment. “Stop. Doing this.”

  John ignores him completely, like he doesn’t even exist. Exposing his red shirt loudly and proudly. “Big boy, head honcho, prince, are you okay with being a coward? Letting your enemies know that you crawl around like a little bitch?”

  Their red shirts were like beacons in the darkness, a direct challenge to the entity.

  It’s not long before James takes out a rope and foldable chair, setting them down for Barry to use. They start tying him to it, like a straitjacket. It’s then that Barry does his best acting skit, coughing and spluttering, his eyes going bnk as he sells a possession. All she can see is the whites of his eyes, it’s almost believable. But the provocations don’t stop, he starts barking and hissing. Vukosava can feel her pulse going cold, her heart running on ice instead of blood.

  Amber rushes past Vukosava, clearly wanting to be with them. Harley is right behind her.

  “What are you doing, John?” Vukosava calls out, seeing the candles in a giant circle surrounding a piece of cheap, tacky artwork. That’s when all hell breaks loose, the boys turn around to stare at her. Vukosava curses loudly, as Amber in her determination to consolidate with the group, passes the flickering candles of the circle, crossing over to reach Marcus. There’s one piece on the chessboard that the prince will always respond to. A woman that he deems a precious jewel from the world that he must cim. To be a true conqueror is to seize what one desires – no matter the cost. “You need to stop, now!”

  It’s then that the possession isn’t fake, Barry isn’t ughing anymore. There’s real terror in his eyes. A swarm of bck butterflies go about his neck, funneling upwards into an outstretching hand of wings and exoskeletons, their mandibles and limbs prying open his mouth with a vicious ferocity. The butterflies go down, cmping onto the back of his throat, and suddenly his head drops onto his chest. It happened so fast that Vukosava could barely breathe.

  John screams. “Barry!”

  As Barry raised his head, his eyes were completely bck. His lips move and the words pass seconds ter; everything distorts around Barry. “But what is a man who ys cim to no one?”

  Vukosava eyes go wide.

  “Who’s heart doesn’t seek to have?”

  “Break it off! Break it off, you idiot!” Vukosava screams at John.

  “Oh, my dear diamond upon this twilight night, you gave me permission.”

  Harley stumbles forwards, and the candles that surround them go out and the canvas shines with freshly spilt blood. The entity is being drawn into the real world, and the attachments they previously got were helping in the process. Harley’s expression said as such, she always spoke of little people and silhouettes hanging around them. It should’ve been obvious from the start that John’s drive to chase after fame and fortune would always put them in jeopardy.

  But this is different. The Eternal Prince is here; at the epicenter of the mess, they made.

  “I will not meekly depart. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time.” Barry looks at all of them, his eyes completely bck with tears streaming down his cheeks as a great smile shines on his face. Then suddenly, there’s a sharp crack, his neck giving way and he falls down ft on his face, his eyes returning to their dark brown colour.

  The bloodred canvas starts to crack with energy, the blood starting to billow out in graceful strokes. It’s like a 3D movie when an image is jumping out of the screen, Vukosava could barely keep track of what’s going on. It’s happening too fast and the time to close the ritual and put an end to this performance is gone. A silhouette steps from the canvas, a great, long cape that extends into the night as all their equipment goes dead. At the centre, stands an incredibly tall and handsome man with angur silver hair that frames his face. His face is angur to the point that he looks elven in appearance, his skin is deathly pale, with coloring on his cheeks. His figure follows the contours of his face, he is fwless and beyond reproach, he’s a supermodel corpse thrown up from a grave freshly dug.

  He walks up to them, the left side of his face disappearing behind a mask, with full lips, cheekbones and lush hair, a startling reminder of his first love, with all of her feminine beauty. At his hip, is a rapier done, with the guard done in the shape of a droplet of blood. In his left hand he holds onto an artist’s palette and his right is reaching out, with cws long and vicious. His chalk white fingers stop just short of Amber’s hair as Marcus goes up to stop him.

  “So, the performance begins. The canvas has been set. The paint is eager, and bliss cries out to me.”

  Vukosava grabs Harley roughly. “Fucking close this thing.”

  “I can’t.” Her words were barely legible. “I’m not a bloody exorcist.”

  “There is no need for a blossoming flower to settle for what is less than a man.” Prince Zar’va bows deeply. A smile upon his colourless lips. “You will have everything – and so much more.”

  Marcus continues to block him.

  “How could anyone love a creature so ugly?”

  Vukosava gestures for everyone to retreat. As they slowly back away, the Prince shakes his head in amusement. “We shouldn’t discard the pleasantries so quickly. I wish to experience the ecstasy of performance once more. To give you a gift. You will become the temple I kneel to, the divine I worship, the brightest jewel in the world. We shall know bliss until the end of our days.”

  Amber is shaking, holding onto Marcus desperately.

  “Perhaps, I need to be more convincing. I will paint your souls into these walls. A moment caught in immortality.”

  “Run!”

  With that the group starts running, but the Prince simply ughs. “Nothing can be truly beautiful without a little effort.”

  Vukosava is escorting them back into the main hall, but the nightmare is only getting worse. She is wracking her brain for a way to respond to this madness, if Prince Zar’va is at their heels wanting to cim objects of affection and devotion. There is only one entity that can stand in his way, if he could suddenly become a lifelike thing in the real world, then surely it could be done again. The only problem is that doing another ritual could bring something worse. Vukosava shakes her head, at this point this is the worst case scenario.

  They were ahead of the prince for now, perhaps he is still getting used to the physical world.

  “What can we do?” John cries out.

  “I’m still thinking, numbskull, do you have crosses, salt, anything that he can’t freaking cross?”

  He shakes his head.

  Folklore Files:

  Lord of War, Harald Vestris

  “You must be more brutal than anyone else, otherwise you’ll be treated like anyone else.” Harald Vestris could’ve been a good man once, virtuous and noble. But that boy died under the brutal and borderline psychotic instruction of his biological father and tutors. There was to be a choice of who would guide the family in matters of war and conquest. Harald Vestris, proved himself taking on the moniker as “The Lord of War”, ying waste to all challengers with mercy and compassion burning away year after year. He loved his younger brother, Ivan, and would often expose the softer side that he possessed, the emotions that y beneath the cold, unfeeling shell – Harald didn’t love his family, he despised his father most of all and would’ve cut him down if given the chance. A cruel twist of fate would deny him the opportunity, his father passed away from a sudden bout of illness. Harald didn’t want his closest kin to die on a field somewhere, so he fully embraced his role – becoming the man his father wanted him to be – a blood-soaked usurper and future King of Avaron.

  After the war was won; his own beating heart returned to him and the coldness was starting to die off. But in its pce was a growing emptiness and apathy – his blood was too charged with that of his enemies already. As much as he wanted to recim that younger version of himself, Harald knew it was too te. His weaknesses, his ability to feel warmth in his soul were cancers that were not only removed but cauterised. There is only one nguage he could understand completely, and that was violence. He’s not alive in the same way that the rest of humans are, that is what he believed. All that mattered during his war, was his prowess and his strength as a warrior, along with his willful conviction to win. It has been drilled into him that weakness is not a tolerable trait, he couldn’t expose this side of himself to anyone but his beloved brother, his Queen and ter his son.

  He dealt with his kingdom with utter ruthlessness, and ter his wife became an administrator whilst he focused on building a castle worthy of housing his family. For the first time in a long while, he could actually work towards creating a new future, and this moment provided crity in his life. He decided to abandon the way of the sword for the time being – pcing focus on raising his son, Zar’va Vestris. Despite this new lease on life, he struggled with properly educating the boy. There were plotters at court, Harald Vestris was sure of it – his paranoia had been fuelled by nightmares and perhaps a mental condition that arose as age finally caught up with him.

  It was one night where everything changed and his flesh and blood disappeared, a blood painting dedicated to the love of Zar’va Vestris. The bodies of Fodor Dresk, fellow artists and friends were scattered around his son’s room. He burned away the memory of his son and ensured no one would remember him, with little holding him to the mortal coil and his will breaking down into sorrow and despair. The King, Harald Vestris died, passing the rulership of Avaron to his younger brother, Ivan Vestris.

  Additional Info:

  His outward appearance is that of a seasoned warrior. With cold, dead eyes and a consuming presence. With a great cloak that went around his form, many of his scars and wounds were hidden beneath it. He built a persona as a ruthless and heartless man, that bordered on being a demon in the field of battle.

  There is an unnerving quality that hovers over Harald Vestris, in his youth he acquired prowess in battle that went beyond what a mortal man. There were many stories that formed about Harald Vestris - one in particur saying that he was a child cursed within his mother’s womb, that even before he opened his eyes, that his young and impressionable mind was like cy, and he was set down a disastrous course to become a weapon of death and despair.

  The stories did not end there, desperate to create the perfect son, Bratisv Vestris made a choice to kill an ancestral guardian of the forest. A wolf. It was skinned and its pelt left untanned was wrapped around the child. The freshly spilt blood from the kill, along with the bestial nature and formidable strength of the beast was taken in by the child. In that moment, the fate of his own blood was rewritten. There have been consistent variations and retellings of the original stories, but one aspect remains the same between them – Harald Vestris fought more like a beast than a man.