The Hand That Feeds Me [Closed]

So apparently, Isaac was a candidate. Perhaps it was the nature of his father's family within the Vatican, or perhaps it was with his mothers influence over the opposite. He did not know. But he was a 'candidate', a candidate for what? That was the key they would not give him. He was instructed with the not-so-subtle brutal tone of a army commander when he first came. Change out of your every-day clothes, find clothes more suitable, make sure your quincy cross is clearly visible, pay deep respect to the council of eight, comb your hair in a uniform manner, make sure to keep your back straight. So many orders, with so little time, yet Isaac did it all, almost akin to a robot. He followed even whim and command that the person - who he did not know the name of - asked.

Now he was honestly really thankful for it. The chamber of the council was intimidating, incredibly so on that matter. The very nature of the situation bred such a deep tension in the air you could cut it with your finger. It was obvious that nobody here was in the best of moods, and furthermore only interested in how the "candidates" would appear, and act, in the front of a force much greater then their own.

Upon the swinging doors opening, Isaac had all but molded his face into an empty look. Not one of carelessness, or one of a person having since lost their personality, but someone who was active, there, however contained. His father had taught him this, to act this way around people who had such a superior power over you was necessary to fully get anywhere in this world, and as thus, keeping this militaristic look on his face, along with his straightened posture, was the most that Isaac could do. He could only hope that his outfit would fit correctly for the situation and his current appearance, which was a long white coat with gold trim, a clear Quincy apparel, along with white leather gloves, a white long-sleeved shirt to accompany the coat, a golden-white tinted belt, accompanying white pants and shoes to match the occasion, along with his Quincy-cross, rosary and all, which sat on his chest from his neck.

Still, while Isaac looked like any good Quincy soldier should have, inside he was pissing himself. Not in excitement, or really fear, but a bit of annoyance and self-loathing. A sort of mixture that made up the average-day cubicle worker, in that they didn't want to be here, nor did they think anyone around them did, but they were forced into this situation by unforeseen circumstances which had been out of their control.

However, to break his cool now was to break whatever potential power he could get out of this. So taking the lead, Isaac stode forwards, his white-leather shoes tapping softly in the echoing room, only to drop to one knee immediately after, breaking the straight-back posture to only reaffirm a more respectful one. "Isaac Achilles, at your heed."

Klaus watched the sliver of light between the doors grow as the opened up into the council-room, a solar-esque design fitted for the Pope himself. The man would enter in alongside fellow Quincies, and to the side of a long held friend, Gareth. Klaus' own image was adorned with the vestments of the Vatican, and of his profession. A jet cassock fit his body snug, while the only thing to compliment - or rather contrast - the garment was the clerical collar across his throat. He was without his stole however, a yellow piece that would have brought much more attention than the shades that he was adorned with.

It was rather imposing being placed before the individuals in the room, and despite the composure of the young Kaiser, he feared crossing eyes with the one that said second from the right. It was an older gentlemen with short-cropped gray hair slick back though lacking any sheen from grease or gel. Glasses masked his eyes as it reflected the lights from above, and he sat with a stern expression. It was Klaus' grandfather, and a man that he had been disappointing recently with the rumors of sexual action with his students. While most believed his plea, Klaus knew that his grandfather wasn't tricked with such shallow words.

A part of the man wanted to bump elbows with Gareth, and whisper a joke - something he might have done in his younger years, but here and now, there was no moment to get cold feet. There was a respectful head nod to his superiors, though absent of any words. He could have addressed them as Master, but took the route of speak when spoken to, especially considering two of the Masters' recent change of disposition, one of anger and frustration.

“Isaac Achilles,” Isaac began. The fact that the two shared the same name caused his left eye to twitch. “Gareth Van Hellsing. Nicklaus Kaiser. Three quincy, all of which have unique talents meant to hunt and kill. They were each considered to be in your hunting apostle, Ville, though some of their skills were better suited to other places.” 

The massive doors behind the two shut with a groan, and the leader of the Holy Council beckoned for the three to stepforward. 

“Today, the three of you shall die. Your families, with the exception of your grandfather, Kaiser, will be notified of your death. Your names will be changed. That is the price you must pay to ascend to heaven, for the dirty must always pay a price.” Isaac smiled then, and leaned back in his throne. “I trust you three are knowledgeable of the rebels trying to destroy our peace? If so, then some of your guesses may be clear. You three will join a unit meant to hunt, kill, and eradicate these rebels. 

“There is no going back. The moment you three decided to attend this meeting was the moment you decided to throw away your lives for the greater good. But God preaches mercy and understanding, so I will make you all one offer. You may leave this chamber and resume your lives, but at the price of your quincy powers. Do any of you accept?” 

It was an unreasonable offer, no matter how they looked at it. Isaac had invited them here knowing this. But in order to confront great evil, great sacrifices had to be paid. Isaac was sure this path was the one of the just and the righetous. 

Nicklaus could not and would not speak for the others on the offer, but he didn't waver at all in the words of the leader. His diligence did not falter, and his face did not break under the pressure of what was being asked. Instead, his mind fell into a vicious cycle of arithmetic problems. What would he gain and what would he lose? The youngest child in a family that he continuously stained the name of with his antics. Love perhaps existed, but it wasn't one to shed a tear over when a member left their circle - it was of respect, not compassion. Maybe his mother... yes his mother would weep.

And Klaus' job? He dressed himself at the first break of light, and proceeded with the same schedule. He spread the lies of common Catholicism, and spoke of demons and devils, avoiding the truth in the matter. The few Quincy present in his classes knew of what was out there, but the rest were to remain ignorant to the true enemies. The true monsters that prowled their very own lands. It was mythology he was teaching, a piece of theology that was unproven in every sense.

The only thing really to miss was young lady Gabriella. An Italian rose, ripe in every sense. His newest fascination, and one that consistently tempted him to commit sin. And a woman that did consistently make him commit sin.

Gareth's words were the only thing able to sway his decision. By the time his dark-haired friend spoke, he had already concluded that it would be best for him to lay down his life for the cause. If Gareth decided no, he would have followed - only in order to insure the safety of his friend. It didn't come to that, and he nodded in agreement as well, a cold tongue sounding with conviction, "As well as I. I accept."