Alexander Macedonia

when I walk into the room there's nothing you can do
To stop me from making moves
I'm coming for you

His sharpened canines pierced the slender slope of the witch's neck, Sebastian's venom immediately filled her veins, flooding her system with a burning pain that brought a scream to her lips. Her voice seemed to echo within the depths of the metal hull but Sebastian had little interest in ensuring she experienced the full breadth of terrible agony his venom could provide, if he allowed it. Rather, those serpentine red ribbons moved quickly to embrace her slender limbs, tying them together with a sturdiness that would not be easily undone. The very moment she was secured, Sebastian was content to drop her upon the ground with little care of how she fell, or the groaned sound that left her lips at the impact. The only thing that mattered to the Englishman was the harm that had come to his Fated. He was quick to close the distance between himself and the Italian King. His hand tenderly reached out to caress the fae's jawline, the vampire entirely relieved that there was still warmth to the fae's skin. That genuine simper upon the Monarch's features prompted a soft, genteel fluttered of his heart, even as Dorian confirmed he was entirely fine. Slowly, the glacial hue of his gaze turned towards the young witch at the compliment he was afforded before, quickly, his attention fluttered back towards the King. "Thank you, your Majesty."

Sebastian was entirely aware of the fae's sterling gaze upon him, that look held far more within it then any interest within the witch's fate. Those words of genuine appreciation were entirely unexpected, though they certainly served to remind the vampire exactly of why they were there in the first place. Slowly, Sebastian's hand fell back towards his side, before his head dipped in a slight bow of respect. Despite the relationship the two held in another world, Dorian was still very much a King in this one, and Sebastian was well aware of his own position within the social hierarchy. "Of course, I was happy to help." He commented softly as his gaze followed that gentle wave of Dorian's hand. The magic that surrounded them was near palpable to the night creature, Serafina's weakness all the more so as she fell into an unconscious heap where she had been left. It was, he was certain, an act of kindness that she would no longer have to endure the feeling of his venom coursing through her veins. Any other words the couple might have exchanged upon the girl's fate, however, were cut off by a resounding thud that echoed vociferously within the ship.

Christ, that had hurt! The air had been pushed from his lungs, the impact dazed the Dark Hunter as every bone in his body screamed in hurt. It took him far longer than he would have liked to regain his senses, and slowly, Alexander pushed himself upward. The golden hue of his gaze narrowed at the mere sight of Azrael, the demonic Dark Hunter wholly distracted by the arrows that rained down upon him with remarkable precision. Matteo, it seemed, had finally viewed it fit to join the frey. The Macedonian took that moment Matteo had given him to reach for the full extent of his capabilities, this demon would be felled in mere seconds. It, at the end of it all, hardly stood a chance against the demi-god, like so many others before him. The two, thick golden bracelets upon his wrists seemed to flash with luminosity as that electrical current began to envelop the Greek King. His blade flashed from hilt to tip as electricity crackled vehemently against the sharpened steel. The water underfoot served as an effective conduit, his lightning danced across the surface, quickly expanding from the Dark Hunter with the intricacies of a spider's web as Alexander lunged forward, finally utilizing the speed his species was capable of.

The air itself seemed to hiss around him. Those three words upon Azrael's lips surely meant to be his last as the tip of his blade hit true, piercing through cloth, then skin, and muscle. The demon's dark black blood tainted the godliness of his sword, Azrael only just seemed to understand the situation he was put in before his body failed him. That final glance of awe was the last Alexander was afforded before the demon fell forward quite at the same moment Alexander pulled his beloved xiphos from Azrael's body. The hunter's body fell to the floor in a crumpled heap - he was no longer a threat, the creature wholly unmoving as his soul lingered upon the very brink of life and death. Out of habit, the Dark Hunter wiped the edge of his blade upon those dress slacks he'd stolen, cleaning his sword from the taint Azrael had left upon it before it faded from existence. The once vibrant luminosity that had surrounded Alexander was quick to follow suit, those godlike features retreating to leave what appeared to be a mere man once more. The Macedonian turned, the blue-green of his gaze shifted upwards towards the rafters. How unsurprised he was to find the Frenchman had procured the highest ground possible within that makeshift 'battle' of sorts - after all, was such not what an Archer did? His voice shouted over the groaning of the ship. The boat, after all, was clearly sinking. It was best, he was sure, if they were not on it when it decided to do so.

Alexander moved to join Sebastian and Dorian, Matteo already had teleported back onto the floor beside his son. The conversation regarding Serafina and Azrael's bodies were, admittedly, of little interest to the Macedonian. Their fate, after all, was better left in the hands of someone from this world lest the ripples of Matteo and his own presence create a profound effect upon a world they did not belong to. Thankfully, Dorian hardly seemed inclined to fret over their fate for a prolonged period of time, the fae content to leave them behind - just in time for the screeching of metal to draw their collective gazes upwards. The ship would hardly last much longer. Already she was falling apart, a sheet of metal tumbled from the ceiling above, missing the party by inches. The noise of it echoed loudly within Alexander's ears, reverberating angrily in the empty ship. Water had begun to pour in all the more, now that Serafina was unconscious, the ship had begun to list as her balance was thrown off kilter. "I think that is a good idea." Alexander responded as he broke out into a run behind the Italian Monarch and his lover.

The sound of his name drew his gaze upwards as a wooden beam fell from the roof, twisting and tumbling through the air and, unfortunately, straight towards him. He hardly had a moment to reach for his affinities before a lance sliced through the air, slamming into the wooden beam. That weapon....Alexander...knew that weapon. It was one he had not seen for centuries, it's unique makeup had been replaced ages ago when horses were no longer viewed as a necessity in battle. For a moment, Alexander seemed to pause before a small shove from the Frenchman behind him pushed Alexander back into his run. Had he really introduced Dorian to those ancient cavalry polearms? Why them, out of all the weapons he had wielded over the years? The thought lingered inquisitively upon his mind as the group stumbled out and onto the docks. The ship, behind them, had begun to drop lower and lower into the ocean, listing dangerously upon its side in the process. The very sight of it had attracted a crowd that looked on in shock. They murmured amongst themselves, pointing at both the boat and the group that had emerged from it. Alexander's attention upon the boat, however, was short lived as Dorian handed Matteo a piece of paper. The oceanic hue of the Dark Hunter's gaze turned briefly towards the address written on the paper - the street was one he remembered passing upon their trek from Sebastian's mansion to Dorian's estate, how...displeased Matteo was going to be.

Alexander remained silent as he listened acutely to the exchange between Matteo and his son. It was easy enough for the Macedonian to assume just where the address would lead them to and with a small nod, the Dark Hunter agreed with Dorian's assumption that, perhaps, visiting Isabella was best done alone. Those emotions, Alexander was certain, were not one meant for Dorian to witness. His brow, however, rose ever so slightly as the insinuation that King's relished in tea after any such victory. Truly such a metaphor was not necessary, was it? Matteo had won his fair share of victories to know precisely what it was King did in the wake of such wins. How many cities had welcomed them with open arms and voluptuous women eager to display their appreciation? "Let them go, Matteo." Alexander insisted softly as Dorian reached for the vampire's hand, Sebastian seemed altogether....inquisitive of this...tea and the penthouse in which he was about to enjoy it within. Really, Alexander was certain it'd be a miracle if they saw the couple again before they left.

He hardly expected Matteo to inquire after that weapon of all things, even if it had lingered curiously upon Alexander's mind all the same. "A Kontos." He corrected softly, even though he knew it was likely to matter. Matteo, in those early years, had been quick to abandon the weapon altogether. It had been...too heavy and unwieldy for the speedy fae's liking. Still, it was that word 'grandfather', upon Dorian's lips that saw his eyebrows furrow. Why would he have taught Dorian to utilize that weapon? When would the fae have ever a need for such a weapon in such a modern world? Matteo's gaze turned towards him, that question brought a small shrug to his shoulders, though Dorian was quick to refute it before Alexander could even attempt to puzzle over why he would have resorted to that pike. It was, however, the young fae's insistence that it was not him however, that caused even Alexander's eyebrows to furrow. Who else could it be? If not him? Isabella's parents would hardly have known of such a weapon, not one from his era. That is...unless...but no. This world could not possibly have seen history waver so much could it? Could it?

He was hardly aware of how that color seemed to drain from his features even before Dorian spoke the singular word he was both terrified and utterly desperate to hear. 'Hephy'. For a moment, Alexander merely stared at the retreating form of his grandson, as if he could not fully comprehend exactly what Dorian had said. Hephaestion. He was here? How? The Alexander of this world had seemingly done what he had not - the one singular thing Alexander had always hated himself for not doing...and in turn....Hephaestion had lived. His Hephaestion. He was inattentive to Matteo's gaze upon him in that moment before, slowly, his parted lips closed and Alexander began to make his way through the crowd upon the docks. He couldn't believe it. Not that he thought Dorian would lie to him but...Hephaestion? His Hephaestion? Here? After over two millennials? He could hear Matteo behind him, though Alexander ignored the shouting as he broke free of the crowd upon the docks, his son at his heels. "You want to go see Isabella, right?" He commented as he glanced over his shoulder. "It'll take us twenty minutes to get there." Alexander was nothing short of precise, as the Dark Hunter so often was. He said nothing, however, of his thoughts upon Hephaestion or the polearm Dorian had wielded. Alexander was nothing if not single minded in his quest as he fell to silence, swiftly guiding Matteo back towards the wealth of the Northern neighborhoods.

The Dark Hunter paused at the very end of the street upon the address, only to point down towards it. "She should be down there...go find her Matteo." He uttered softly, gingerly clapping the Frenchman's shoulder before he left his son to make the final bit of that trek himself. After all, Dorian had not been very clear exactly upon which street Hephaestion lived and Alexander was more than willing to walk the length of both streets that ran parallel to Isabella's own in an effort to find the soul mate he had long ago lost.