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London
–Damian Hawthorne–
There. He'd done it.
His chest heaved as he sat on the ground, after having dumped the 56th thrall into the prison dungeon, after finding the last one unresponsive in a forest somehow. After flying over the city half a dozen times and finding no one left, he finally dropped a letter at Hogwarts' letterbox, which was out of the range of the infamous Hogwarts' ward structure, which was fascinating before finally coming back to his Lair.
In the letter, he had detailed the number, state of the thralls, and their rough ages, along with a 24-hour deadline to get them transported. He had no idea if Dumbledore could do that in the stipulated time, but he was hopeful.
Lucien stood nearby, checking on every single thrall, making sure that the enchantments were working fine.
In the middle of his trips, Lucien had somehow figured out that the enchantments keeping the thralls asleep were not part of the original ward scheme and were instead part of a relic hastily built for this specific purpose. He complimented him on that, but just that feat alone had alarm bells ringing inside his mind.
He'd thought the man to be someone adept in magic, as was expected when people reached old age in a field where most people did not survive middle age, especially if one was in a more combat focused role or a high risk role, like the Sanctum Master.
Despite the Ancient One's near-perfect clairvoyance, forces arrayed against Kamar Taj somehow always managed to whisk her away to try to damage Kamar Taj's Sanctums. They never managed to take anything valuable and were always pushed back by either reinforcements from Kamar Taj or by the Ancient One herself coming back after having dealt with whatever challenged her.
The only fly in the ointment whenever that happened was always the Sanctum Master. Having been tasked with guarding the Sanctum, mostly with their lives, they were the first line of defense once the wards fell, and the delay in the wards falling and reinforcements arriving, resulted in either a severely injured Sanctum Mater or a dead Sanctum Master.
Either way, that made the post extremely dangerous, which is why only veterans like Master Corven held them. It was just as much a burden as it was an honor to be tasked with guarding one of the three Sanctums.
Though without seeing him in action, he could not really say if Lucien was really as skilled as Old Man Corven was but for now, the very fact that he could even think of such a comparison was more than enough for him to get this over with fast so that Lucien, or whatever his name was, was out of his lair.
"Tired?" Lucien offered him a flask of water that had next to no magic on it, but he was not naive enough to take the man's offer. Instead, with a mental snap, a glass of water appeared in front of him, making him smile as he remembered the way he had solved this seemingly simple problem.
The issue of teleporting two different objects from two different places, of two different states of matter, into a single place, such that the water was always inside the cup and was completely stable, as well as at just the right temperature.
The right temperature issue was solved by having a container full of water that was programmed to have the right temperature water based on his preferences, decided after taking the average of hundreds of samples.
He smiled as he used the straw to sip water, taking care not to take off his cowl. Lucien, seeing the glass, seamlessly withdrew the flask and acted as if he had not just insulted the man to his face by rejecting the offered water.
"Very," He replied, thinking of a way to get the man out of her without seeming too rude in the process, as he watched all 56 thralls seemingly sleep peacefully, enclosed in energy fields that would just zap them if they touched the walls, alerting him.
It would also further reduce the available air in the area while he came back to deal with the situation. Judging by the meagre magic they had in them, he had no doubt that none of them will wake up, let alone mount any meaningful resistance, which meant the immediate problem was solved.
Come morning, which was due in just half an hour, there would be no reports of dozens of car accidents due to their drivers spontaneously combusting on the spot because of the sun, nor videos of people disintegrating, either shot by people on their grainy phones or by the CCTVs in most areas.
Now, it was up to Dumbledore to do whatever he promised he could do to help these people.
"My work here is done. I would like to go home now," Lucien said, opening a portal to the portal room(heh), as he followed the man, now somewhat recovered from the strain of feeling as if someone had reached inside and pulled every last bit of magic from his body.
Before he could voice out his protest regarding taking the prisoners out when Dumbledore finally came through, Lucien spoke up, "You will not need me for the next part. She will come through."
His mouth clicked shut as he realised what was happening. As the portal closed behind him, he offered his hand for a handshake, "Thank you. Truly."
"I was doing as was ordered by our leader," Lucien said, taking the offered hand and then stepping back as the portal moved from behind him and swallowed him whole. His eyes widened a bit as the portal did not stop moving, instead advancing towards him with alarming speed, only to shrink and wink out of existence before it could touch him.
Relaxing, he huffed at the move and turned back, ready to head to bed and pass out for however long it took for him to recover properly. It was the very first time in years that he had ever been this exhausted, both physically and mentally. The last few captures, that race against time, was mentally exhausting. The ones that hurt the most were the elderly. The glassy looks on their faces was just infuriating.
He wondered what Dumbledore was going to do about that. For one, he knew that there was no reverse button for vampirism. If there was one, vampires as a race would have been in a lot more danger. So, the only option left was rehabilitation. Taking them someplace safe and away from normal humans, where they would not be hunted down for just being vampires.
As he left his uniform, took a hot shower, and plopped into his bed, his mind went to the dozens of questions that arose if the second scenario was the one that Dumbledore had in mind.
Even if these people were taken to a vampire settlement, away from human civilization, then what? Would they survive in that atmosphere? The social contracts in such a place must be wildly different from normal human society. It had to be.
Would it be like a socialist utopia? No work, they were fed properly and only had to remain in isolation, but how would that work? Vampires, even thralls, as far as he can tell, were ageless. Provided they received enough sustenance, in the form of blood, they could live forever. How could anyone sustain such a place without asking anything in return?
Or would it be the humans gladly footing the bill for such a place to run without the risk of vampires overrunning regular human society? He could see that happening, if humanity as a whole was far more united than it was now. As it stood, if such a thing existed, it could only exist as a result of cooperation between the five or so extremely powerful countries on the planet.
Even then, it would be suspicious because the superpowers on the planet would never do something like this out of the goodness of their nonexistent hearts. Such a thing would always lead to experimentation, super soldier experiments, ambitious people seeking immortality, and more.
Without a strong enough figure to act as a deterrent, to both the governments keeping the place running and the vampires inside itching to go out and hunt humans, such a place could not exist.
Those were the thoughts that ran through his mind before he succumbed to the sweet, sweet sleep.
___xx___
Ireland
–Albus Dumbledore–
His eyes tightened as the pentagram on the ground sizzled, the grass around it withering away as a blinding purple light heralded the arrival of a demon he hated dealing most, for she was a necessary evil that could not be removed without bringing forth greater ruin.
The worst part of it was that she knew that as well and always tried to push against the bounds placed on her, knowing that as long as she did not truly take the last step, the world at large had no other choice than to humour her.
He sighed lightly and took a step back as the light show ceased, and in its place stood a human looking purple woman, who was most definitely not one. A vampire, evolved into a Demon after ingesting the blood of some high level Demon and gaining their approval after sacrificing the rest of her humanity in some depraved ritual that he would much rather not recall.
Saying her name out loud had consequences that he would much rather not bear. Even thinking of it made her aware of the people thinking it. As a result of that, she was known, to every single person in power on the planet, as the Shepherd.
For she was responsible for a vast majority of lesser(thrall) vampires on the planet, keeping them in line, contained in a controlled, orderly manner. It was largely an experiment run by the world's powers, with the cover-up being the wholesale death of any thrall turned and abandoned by their vampiric masters. It allowed them to study them, find their weakness, and also maintain a thin veneer of humanity by keeping the innocent people alive in a semi comfortable state.
"Oh, Albus," She cooed at him, leaning forward until her nose was barely threading the line of the pentagram, infusing her magic in her voice. A lesser man would have instantly succumbed to lust, as she had the ability to change her outer form at will.
He, on the other hand, was not like most men. With a slight flex of his magic, it spread out around him in a white miasma, making the Shepherd lean back and click her tongue in disappointment.
"Tch. You're no fun. Can't you at least pretend to fall in my trap, oh Supreme Mugwump?" Her silly expressions had no effect on him as he spoke, "Recently, there was a pureblood vampire that was killed in London, but not without….damage."
Her expression instantly smoothed out, her proportions deflating into normal ones as she lost her skin lustre, height, and cartoonishly big eyes, as she spoke, "I see. I assume you have some thralls you want me to take?"
"Yes."
"How many?"
He blinked at her, surprised at her straightforward answer. He had expected more of a negotiation here and threatening tactics before she finally caved to take the thralls. He sympathised with the Giant Killer and his request for the thralls, but he had heard that there was a price dealing with the Shepherd and was not too keen on losing something precious in exchange for the thralls that might result in even more deaths down the line.
She rolled her eyes at him, "You forget, Headmaster, that my first priority is to get them out, so that the sun does not burn them alive. As for the price, I can always get that later. After all, if you do not cooperate, I can always just send them away."
And there it was, the evil in her actions. A necessary evil, he reminded himself.
"56 thralls. 6 Elderly, 40 middle aged, and the rest young, with the youngest being a teenager." He rattled off the information he received from the Giant Killer's letter, smothering the anger that threatened to erupt when he thought of the number.
"I see," She said before falling silent for a moment, "Where are they?"
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