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Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed] Read 2945 times

Krystal Itzume

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Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed]
« on: April 17, 2014, 05:17:41 am »
Hostile Takeover

“What, no Cain?”

The dark-skinned man came into the light of the rather empty room. It was a cleared warehouse, empty save for a desk and the chairs around it. The meeting that had been called was impromptu.

Despite that, there were already people around the desk. Lord Adrian Edom sat in the leather, spinning chair, dressed in a suit. At his side stood Amon, the man who refused to adapt to the times and take surname. He even dressed in a way people frowned upon. A black silk robe hung on his shoulders, and he wore a rather extravagant gold necklace. Black pants were made to match, and he wore sandals.

Sitting on the desk was Radhika, the beautiful Indian woman with the deadly blood, dressed in a purple sari.
“No one fucking told me this was a black tie event.” He was just in a hoodie and jeans.

“It is not,” Adrian answered him. “We merely enjoy this attire. It has been a while, Olomu.”

He smirked,
“Yeah, it has,” he came to the desk. “We’re really doing this, then?” Adrian nodded calmly. “Shit. Shit, why couldn’t we do this when the humans were weak?”

“They are still weak.”
Adrian told him, calm. “They hide behind technology, technology that we also know. They have nothing that we can not also use against them.”

"They have UV lights."


“Besides, you don’t know how to work computers, Adrian.”
Radhika noted.

His nose wrinkled.
“Amon does.”

“Oh, yes,” an eye roll. “I tend to forget he is an extension of your will considering how much he hates you.” It was well-known. Radhika did not understand how Adrian trusted Amon, after all these years. Perhaps that was just it. In all this time, Amon had never acted against him.

Adrian just smiled. Amon gave no response. He had none. He still couldn’t believe how easily he bent to Adrian’s will.

There was no more commentary on that matter. The doors were pushed open, and in walked the leaders of Chicago, of Illinois, really. They, too, were formally dressed. Olomu cursed under his breath and crossed his arms over his chest as the five vampires took the seats around Adrian’s desk. None of them looked happy.

The center one, a man with black hair,
“Lord Edom,” he spoke through anger, that much was evident. Adrian wasn’t even playing with his emotions. “I have answered your summons only because of the threats that followed them, to remind you of your place here in Illinois. You are merely a guest that we tolerate. You will not dictate terms to me again.”

Adrian’s smile remained pleasant. They had no idea who they were talking to, and their ignorance amused him.
“As you say.” He had stopped boasting of his age long ago. He found that the mystery bothered people most. When he said how old he was, almost none believed him. “My apologies for causing you offense, Prince Kincaid.” That was how he liked to be called. Prince.

Obnoxious twat.

The bristled man settled.
“Good. Now, as I am here already, clarify this nonsense I heard, because I don’t believe it.”

Amon’s lips twitched to a smile, but he looked away, smiled at the ceiling and let his back lean heavier against the chair.

Adrian nodded,
“Very well,” and he clarified, “I am going to make us known to the city, Kincaid. I am going to make us known to the state, to the nation, and to the world.”

Kincaid stared at him. The four with Kincaid stared at him, but one, a brute of a man, stood.
“Have you gone fucking mad?” He demanded. “We’ll be massacred by the humans if we come to light, if they know they’re no longer the top of the food chain.”

“Your logic is strange,”
Radhika noted, “If they are not the top of the food chain, how can they be a threat to us? Sheep do not rebel against their slaughterers. Humans, too, will learn this behavior.”

“We are, indeed, their superiors. They will bow or they will be slaughtered,”
Amon moved his hand through the air above him, earning a look from Radhika. “There is no more need to hide. It is time we took our rightful place as their masters.”

“Do you think that is going to happen? That they’ll just submit?”


“Oh, no,” Adrian shook his head, “There will be a fight. We will win. I told you to prepare, Prince. Have you done this?”

“No!” Kincaid looked offended. “I won’t let you do this. I won’t let you ruin all we’ve worked for! I won’t support you!”

“That’s a shame,” Adrian leaned back in his chair, “I’m not giving you an option, for you see, I am going to reveal us, and when I do, there will be no other side but mine. You will not be able to side with the humans, Prince.”

There was only one option. Adrian did not need Cain’s ability to know what was going to happen next. He had offended the Prince of Illinois and he was issuing commands. He saw the tick of rage, and then he kicked his chair back so that the wheels took him out of range when Kincaid leaped over the desk to try and rip his throat out, claws and fangs bared.

He was met with a face full of fire, for Amon shoved his hand forward, burning. Kincaid couldn’t even scream. The fire spread and engulfed him, catching the desk on fire. Radhika jumped from it, and bit into her own arm to draw forth her blood as Kincaid became ashes.
“You killed him!” The woman in the golden dress exclaimed, eyes wide with fright.

“As I said,” Adrian rose from the chair then. “Join me, or die.” Olomu bristled with electricity, and Amon glowed with fire. As Radhika’s blood touched the ground, it burned.

The four that remained considered their options, and the woman in the golden dress shook her head, blonde curls bouncing.
“Kincaid will give his regards to you in hell.” She turned, and she ran. Olomu lifted his hand.

“Do not!”

And she was allowed to flee. The others hesitated, but then followed her out, not launching an attack.
“She’s going to rouse the city.” Olomu stated. “That was their fucking marshal, Adrian.”

“I know who it was, and I know what she shall do,”
he looked to the man with a smile. “What better way to announce to the world that we are here, then with a lightshow,” a glance to Radhika, “And a feast?” For she would need to drink to sustain her power. “What better way to convince our kin that it is us they should join, then to destroy the society of Illinois so completely, with only four of us?”

Olomu opened his mouth as if to protest, but then shut it and kicked the ground,
“Shit,” this was going to hurt. No one was getting out unscathed. “Well, I see where Amon gets his crazy.”

Radhika, however, grinned wider. She was a warrior at heart, and she wanted to show off her skill once more. She’d reveled in the blood of her enemies before, and it was for that reason she was blessed with these fantastic skills.
“These neonates shall not harm us. Do we wait here?”

“No,” he began to walk towards the door, “We are going to go introduce ourselves to the mayor while the vampires gather their forces.”

Amon cackled, but killed his fire and followed after Adrian, much as Radhika and Olomu did.

That night, hundreds of vampires would die, and humans would be made aware of the fall of Chicago through the news. Images of the chaos were shown, flooded their media. Corpses littered Chicago, vampire and human alike, but it was clear who was ruling the wasteland--the white man, for he addressed them. He called to them, vampire and human alike, to join him or die.

It would be global news in a matter of seconds. Following that one city, others would fall, as vampires flocked to join Adrian rather than perish. Many humans turned on their own kind for a chance to survive, as the war progressed and it became clear that, despite their numbers, they could not win.

« Last Edit: April 17, 2014, 10:46:28 pm by Krystal Itzume »

Krystal Itzume

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Re: Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed]
« Reply #1 on: April 17, 2014, 08:50:48 pm »
The Makings of Amon-Ra

Lord Adrian Edom, as he now called himself, was starving. It was an unusual feeling, for he’d never gone without before. However, he now understood the downside of empathy. The screaming emotions of pain, anger, and fear, would never let him complete a feeding.
‘Soon it will just be instinct.’ He was looking forward to that, to gorging without thought, without care.

One day, he would have better control of this power. At least, he hoped so. He didn’t want to live in such a weakened state normally.


‘It will be dawn soon.’
His internal voice warned him. He was not far now from the place the humans called Egypt. Olomu would have known it by another name. It was new, but it was powerful. He would find somewhere to hide from the sun. He had to. He wouldn’t last a minute beneath its rays right now.

He knocked on the first door he saw that had a light flickering. A man answered, pulse gorgeous to look at. Of course, Adrian inspired fear with the first look. He did not look anything like a human of this area. ‘Calm!’ He pushed the emotion out.
“I…need a place to stay.” He realized as he watched the man’s face, he had spoken incomprehensibly. He’d spoken Greek, a language he picked up in Troy.

He was answered in a language he did not know.

The two stared at each other for some time, in mutual understanding that they couldn’t comprehend each other with words. The man was calm, though.

That calm ended with the snap of a neck. It was a quick way to ensure the panic the man felt wouldn’t overtake Adrian. He kicked the corpse in, and shut the door behind himself. He knelt besides the body to drink, not caring right then that it was dead—that blood never tasted as good.

His weakened state allowed the wife of the man to hit him from behind. He fell forward, unconscious.


When he awoke, he was in chains. His body screamed out from burns and he opened his eyes to look at the flesh marred by the sun.
‘At least someone had the good sense to pull me out.’ Though he was not at all happy with this.

“The monster wakes up.”
This one spoke a language he understood. Greek.

Adrian adjusted himself to sit, noting that was all the height the shackles on the floor would allow him to achieve. He tilted his head up, followed the stairs to the throne. There, a man sat, but another stood besides him. He was dressed too-well to be a guard. There were plenty of those around.
“We were warned of your arrival, Delsin.”

“Adrian,” he corrected. “My name is Adrian. You have the wrong person.”

“Oh, that I doubt,”
there was the voice that spoke the first time. It was the one standing, the one with the obnoxiously long hair and the piercing amber eyes. “We’ve never seen someone that matched the description given.”

“Who gave you this description?”
A cant of his head, “Has it been in dreams?”

“Our god Amon has told us these things.”


Adrian’s lips twitched in a smirk,
“That is not your God speaking to you. That is an imposter known as Altjira. I am hunting him down. Let me leave your territory at night.”

“So then, you are the one he meant.”
The younger deduced, “You are the one who feasts upon the flesh and blood of humans, and whom our god has forsaken. We saw evidence of that already, and heard testimony for the former.”

An unnecessary breath was taken.
“It is the only way by which I can survive.”

“You are cursed of the gods. One such as you should not survive.”


Adrian pulled at his chains, fangs baring themselves, but he didn’t have the strength to break them. The man in the seat recoiled, but the younger one did not. He observed, and Adrian settled, decided to focus again on the emotions.

The man in the chair was frightened.

The one standing was amused. There was the one he could use, then.
“Who are you to judge me?”

He offered his full name,
“Mighty bull of the west, He of the Two Ladies, Enduring in Kingship, of Golden Radiance, He of Sedge and Bee, Son of Amon the self-created, heir of Djer, Amon,” he spoke the name of their god, and Adrian gave him a bizarre look, “You may address me simply as Amon. Here, we who rule are the sons of the gods, Adrian.” He told him, “We speak and we rule with their authority. It is no strangeness to be named after our true fathers.”

“Who is Amon?”

“Amon is the god of mysteries. He is the god of the night and of darkness. He is the first, the transcendental and self-created.”


“Then he is that one which protects me, for I am a creature of the night.”


“Amon would not protect you. He works alongside Wadjet to give us day, to give us life. He would not harbor someone that would be offensive to the goddess.”


It seemed his line of argument wouldn’t work with this man. Someone named Amon, of course, would understand the theology surrounding his god best. It only made Adrian hate him more. He was so confident, so sure of himself.
“If he were to protect you, he would give you shade on the day of your execution. Tomorrow. You will die in the sun, unless you have some words to your defense as to why you killed Djet.”

Adrian had no response that would satisfy. He remained mute. He cursed Morena for her ‘gift’ that had brought him this low.
“No words, monster?”

“You will be as me, tomorrow, Amon, heir of Djer.”
He let his gaze move to Djer. “You are ruler, are you not?”

A nod.


“Why do you not pass your own judgment?”


The only answer received was,
“I do not answer to peasants.” All of what Amon said was his judgment. Amon was being groomed, for Djer knew that his time was not long. Amon would take over before the year was out.

The guards came to Adrian’s side as Amon ordered,
“Take him to a cell without a window. I don’t want him burning to death early.” The chains were released from the ground, only for one guard to take both in hand and pull Adrian to his feet. He was guided to just such a cell, and pushed in. The door shut behind him, and he sulked, moved to one of the corners. He shut his eyes, and he let himself sleep, if only because he knew it would allow him to encounter Altjira.

Altjira wouldn’t miss this for the world.

The world swirled around Adrian, cold and dark. He found himself in a familiar landscape, and Altjira stood there. He smiled to him,
“Delsin.”

“Altjira,” he greeted. “Where are you?”

“I am not so foolish as to tell you that.”


“But I am in chains. I am in a prison.”


“And you are smart.”
Altjira would never take that away from him. He was not smart in the typical way, but smart in a primal way, in a way that always knew what to do for survival. If any of them was going to make it to the end of time, it would be Delsin. “You may yet escape, though I hope you do not. You deserve this.”

“I deserve this for providing myself with nutrition?”


“You do not need to eat us. You never needed to eat Morena. You are selfish. You kill whatever you feast on. It is behavior that will get us found out in the end, and then the humans will kill us all.”


“This again,” Adrian stalked across the white ground, circling Altjira, “You should know best that we are their superiors. You have never even been human.” Not the consciousness, even if the body was.

“You lie to yourself. You were made inferior, and you are unable to overcome your lust. You are weaker than all of us.”


His smile was wicked,
“I was stronger than Morena. Come and play, Altjira. I bet you’re stronger.”

Altjira shook his head.
“I told you. I am not stupid.”

“No…you are afraid. I can feel it even here,”
predator eyes, predator movements. “Only I find your fear is not repelling. It is enticing.” He wanted him afraid, of course. It triggered joy in him where it had not before. He did not share Altjira’s fear. “I will find you, Altjira. I will find my way out of here.” He blinked, “What happens to spirits when they’re eaten?”

The disgust that came on to Altjira’s face was priceless, before the dream ended like a door slammed in his face. Adrian woke with a start and looked around. He was still in the cell. He heard others outside, and he tapped into their emotions. He pulled on them and tried to replace them with pity, an emotion Morena knew well in her time. She had only ever pitied him.

He had hated her pity.

One of the guards affected by it glanced in at him. He made sure to look pitiful, too, in his corner, weak from lack of blood. It wasn’t hard. A conversation occurred outside his cell, and one of the guards left. What returned was a man in robes, who spoke Greek,
“Amon has said you may have food or water if you would like.”

“I do not drink water.”
He answered the scholar. “Any food I want he will not provide.” Pity, pity, pity.

“He would. He is…prisoners are taken care of until they are to die.”


“Then what point in eating? I die tomorrow.”

“One last taste of the worldly pleasures.”
Pity did inspire humans to such stupid acts of generosity. “What would you like?”

“I dare not speak it while others may hear.”


“They do not understand us.”


Adrian lifted his gaze to the speaker’s eyes. Silent moments passed, and then the man had the door opened. He walked in and came close. He seemed to think if the guards were outside, he would be safe, but Adrian felt that fear creeping up. It entered into him, too. That was the annoying thing. He derived no pleasure from this human’s fear. He could calm him in the moment, but the second he bit into his neck, it would be overpowering.
“I drink blood,” he told the man. “Human. It is all that sustains me,” he smiled, but it faded, “Such is my fate, and such is how I have always been, but your rulers seem fit to kill me for what is natural.” That fear faded slightly, “You see why he will not let me eat?”

There was a nod, hesitance, and then the foolish man in the robe offered his arm,
“If you will not kill me, you may drink.”

Gratitude flashed in Adrian’s eyes, and he spoke the words before taking the man’s arm. He wouldn’t abide by this stipulation, but the robed man did not need to know this. Right now he felt good. Right now he felt the satisfaction of any human who gave to their assumed inferiors. So, he took the arm, and he dug his fangs into it, drawing out the blood. The man in the robe gasped, and when those outside looked in he must have told them not to worry. Adrian didn’t understand, but he knew that none came to remove him.

He drank deep and he drank fast.

The man felt dizzy soon, and said,
“Now is enough.”

Adrian did remove his fangs from the man’s arm. He licked the blood from his lips. Already, he felt stronger. So, when the robed man started to stand, he also stood. They hadn’t chained him in here, just left the shackles to dangle around his arms. As such, he was able to lunge for the man and pin him to the wall. His fangs dug into the neck. With the taste for blood on his tongue, he was able to ignore the fear and indulge, until no more came from the robed man.

Of course, he was removed by the guards before he could drink his fill. He laughed as one shoved him against the wall and drew his arms up into a metal circle. There, the shackles were quickly attached, and there he stood, still laughing, as looks were exchanged with words.

They were terrified.

One left, and another removed the body. He stayed outside the locked door, looking back to Adrian every couple of seconds.

Amon’s voice was all but shouting in that language Adrian couldn’t understand. 

Amon had never said that the prisoner was to be fed or watered. He stopped at some point in the hall before Adrian could see him.
“Kare?” That must have been the name of the scholar. The steps suddenly increased and Amon came into sight, knelt over the corpse. His hand touched the wound at the neck, then on the arm. Sorrow tainted his voice, his emotions, but he seemed to be cursing.

“Who was he, to you?”


Amon looked into the cell. He rose, calm and poised. Adrian pulled at that sorrow.
“A lover, perhaps?”

“My friend. My teacher.”


“Shame. I wanted to kill someone dearer than that.”


Anger. It was delicious to him. Amon spoke to his guards only, but Adrian heard the name Wadjet and understood the gist before Amon stormed out. One of the guards picked up the body and carried it out with him.

Adrian remained with a smile on his lips until the night passed, and dawn was upon them. When he breathed in, he could smell incense on the air. A new guard who hadn’t seen what he did to Amon’s friend dragged him out of the cell, and into the palace. It was still dark out when he was led outside, but Adrian could see the colors of dawn threatening to bring the sun out. Incense was burning. There was an altar made for him, a place for his chains. Amon was there, of course.
“You will burn.”

“So will you.”


But Amon shook his head to deny it, as Adrian was fastened to the altar.
“You have one chance, Amon, son of Amon,” he spoke clearly, “Let me go, and I will only kill you.” The chains now felt quite weak when he pulled on one to test.

Amon huffed. Djer crossed his arms, and began to speak so that Adrian couldn’t understand. It was a prayer, and an offering, to Wadjet. Adrian could understand that much by the melodic flow of the older man’s voice. He listened calmly to it, and looked out at the colors. His fangs began to coat themselves in poison, and that was when he knew he had to move. The poison was fickle; it didn’t always come when he wanted it to.

The chains shattered when he pulled, stirring fear in the hearts of all. He ignored them all, save Amon, who had reached out and grabbed a burning bit of wood from one of the brazier’s. Adrian was initially repelled when the torch was swung before him, and held like a weapon.

The problem with fire was that it burned, though. It burned down to Amon’s hands too quick, and he was forced to drop it or burn himself. He let it go with a yelp, and Adrian was then on him. He pulled the man close and sunk his fangs into his neck. A scream followed as the poison moved into his veins, so cold it burned as it stole the life from him and altered his body’s internal make-up. He scratched at Adrian’s chest, he tried to push him away, but to no avail. He soon became limp in Adrian’s grasp.

Everyone else was paralyzed by fear, so that when Adrian drew his fangs out of the would-be pharaoh, none dared approach. He considered dropping Amon there, and letting him perish, but thought better.

A worse fate would be to bring him along, and let him truly see what he was, and how the gods he so praised had forsaken him.
‘And you will be as Amon, that god of darkness.’ Little did he know in a millennia, Amon would become a sun god, and his own childe would take his steps into madness and delusion to make up for what was lost.

Little did he know, fire would never again burn the man’s hand. Amon’s gift would come quick, quicker than most, as they’d later discover. 

« Last Edit: April 17, 2014, 10:46:08 pm by Krystal Itzume »

Krystal Itzume

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Re: Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed]
« Reply #2 on: April 18, 2014, 05:18:47 pm »
No Reprieve

Amon had enjoyed his years away from Adrian. He lived in Las Vegas now. He’d bought most the strip, and was beyond rich. He used the money to buy up ancient artefacts of Egypt, and he opened a museum to keep them in. He lived in the Luxor, as did his vampire guards. He’d updated it, blended the Egyptian design with more modern luxuries. He had known how it truly looked, after all.

He’d updated Caesar’s Palace, too, and all the themed casinos.


“Pharaoh.”

Amon turned his head from his window, where he was observing the pyramid all lit up. His guard looked distraught.
“What is it, Nekhet?”

“Lord Adrian is here.”

Amon had expected this. He had declined Adrian’s invitation earlier that month, and he knew what it would bring.
“I see,” Amon rose from his chair, “Let us go down and greet him, Nekhet.” They walked out of Amon’s room, and Amon inquired, “Are any with him?”

“Yes,” which was unusual, “there was the woman, Radhika, and the man, Olomu,” of his guard, Nekhet was the only one who would have remembered the two of them. It had been millennia since they had been with Adrian. Nekhet was only as old as the age of Cleopatra, half-Greek and half-Egyptian, but with a clear love of Egypt. Amon had turned him when he asked, the only childe of his that had lasted so long. All his guards were his childe.

None were ever unwilling.


“Perhaps he was not lying,”
Amon mused to himself, earning a curious look from Nekhet, “We may be going to war, he clarified.

“With Adrian?” He asked, noting how Amon’s hand took flame.

“Perhaps.”

Amon had the forces, or so he thought. He had a miniature army in Las Vegas that swore their fealty to him.
‘And they would give it up in a second for Adrian.’ He grit his teeth together. The flame evaporated as he shook it out. Adrian only had to snap his fingers, and he had an army of his enemies. Loyalty only went so far when someone could muck with your emotions, and make you all but love them.

Adrian had told him as much one day, laughing.
‘You hate me. I cannot change that, but I can make you think you love me, too.’ And so he had. Despite being told of Adrian’s powers, whenever he was in the man’s presence, he was at the mercy of them.

He came to a halt in the hallway, some yards away from the door where Adrian was being kept waiting.
“Pharaoh?”

Amon had a strong desire to run, and never stop.
‘Pointless. You remember Altjira.’ He did. They’d chased Altjira for years. Adrian was relentless when he wanted something, and so they had caught him. Amon was not allowed to participate in the fight—Adrian wanted it all to himself.

There was no corpse left to burn. To this day, Amon wondered at how Adrian had dispatched the body. It was one of the many reasons he was terrified of his sire, besides the fact that he was, indeed, his sire. That made him older. That made him more powerful.
“I do not wish to see him.” Amon said. “Tell him—” Kare’s face intruded in his mind, followed by a stream of others Adrian had murdered. No, he couldn’t ask someone he liked to tell Adrian.

The curse that escaped his lips was understood by all of those around. He taught them all his native language, one long lost to time, long lost to Adrian’s memory
. “I suppose I will tell him I want him gone.” Today he would be stronger. It had been centuries since he had been in Adrian’s presence. He would resist that power of his. He knew himself better.

“Shall I join you?”

“No,” Amon answered, too quickly, “Stay outside the room. If I…,” his long fingers ran through his hair. “If my mind has changed when I exit, do not speak of it in Adrian’s presence.”

Nekhet nodded. He did not truly understand, unaware of what Adrian could do, but he would not question his own sire. He always seemed to know what was best. He followed Amon to the door, though, and he opened it for Amon.

Amon walked in and saw the three.
“Leave.” He looked pointedly at Adrian. Radhika smirked. It was an ‘I Told You So’ smirk.

Adrian was having none of it. He stood, and Amon felt fear sweep through him, natural, unnatural, it did not matter. It was fear, and it could not be denied.
“You will not order me, childe.”

“I will, when you are in my home,” he tried to keep to his original position, but his voice betrayed his fear. “I want nothing to do with you any longer. I have no plans to disturb you. I want to leave it at that.”

Adrian shook his head.
“I’m afraid I cannot accept that answer.” A swirl of emotions pushed forward. Adrian had much better control of his talent nowadays. He didn’t just feel what others did, he was much better at forcing emotions on to them.

Amon felt it all. Fear, respect, and that accursed affection which he knew in his heart was a lie.
“But I understand your reluctance to help, so allow me to say that if you do help, I will give you Egypt.”

Surprise. Joy. Amon’s eyes widened at the offer. He couldn’t feel suspicion, that was barred immediately by Adrian.
“All you have to do is align yourself and your army to our cause.”

“And that is?”

“World domination,”
Adrian said it as if it were a plan to get ice cream. “Once we have the world, I will set you over Egypt, and you can keep this place if you like. We will hardly have to meet any longer, just now and then when the council I establish has some large issues to handle.”

“You promise?”
Why was he asking that? Adrian went back on promises more than anyone in the world.

“Of course.”


“Egypt?”


“Yes. You are the only vampire who would want a desert. It is no hardship.”


He thought. He knew there was no choice, though. He couldn’t deny the strong pull of his desires,
“Very well. You may stay the night. I will prepare myself and my army.” He cursed himself the second he dropped his head to bow. He quickly turned to leave them, giving orders to the guard at the door to see that the three were taken care of.

He walked on. Nekhet fell in step.
“Well?”

“We are helping them.”

Nekhet glanced over his shoulder, then asked,
“Why?”

“Because he promised me Egypt.”
That wasn’t it.

“We could have Egypt ourselves!”

Amon paused,
“Not truly,” not the way Adrian was promising. “Adrian is taking us public. We are to prepare for war with humanity. I will leave with Adrian. You will stay, and you will take over Las Vegas when the first move is made.”

Nekhet looked bewildered.
“This is suicide, Amon.”

“No,” Amon said and continued walking then. Nekhet hurried to remain at his side. “It is not. You do not know Adrian as well as I, nor any in that room. They are powerful beyond your imagination, and they are all older than I.” Nekhet knew well how old Amon was. “They have allies besides me, and Adrian can bring an army to heel. I have seen him.”

He would see him do it, too, again and again, he would watch as entire armies of humans simply dropped to their knees and bowed. He watched humans betray their own again and again, because of the affection they felt for Adrian. If he couldn’t make them bend, then he would tear them to shreds with emotion, render them unable of acting from the confusion within.

Adrian could do it without them.
“What of us here? There are not nearly enough of us to hold Las Vegas.”

“Speak to the other vampires in neighboring towns. If you can broker an alliance with them, we can hold it. They will be forced to act, regardless.”
He knew Adrian didn’t want word spreading too soon, or too far. He was going for the element of surprise. That would force people to react quickly.

“Amon,” he said again. “Is this what you want?”

‘No.’


“I want to go home.”
But his home was years and years away. His life was long gone, with his brother and his father, with Kare, and everything else he had ever loved. He turned to Nekhet, took hold of his arm and pulled him closer, “Do not die on me.” That hand lifted to the back of Nekhet’s head, and a fierce kiss was placed to the man’s lips.

There was no relationship between them besides friends, brothers, perhaps. Amon was rather liberal with his affections, something Nekhet was used to, but it still stole his breath when Amon released him and turned away, walked off without his guard.

He knew then it would be the last time he ever saw Amon.

Nekhet would die in the ensuing war, never seeing his sire again. 


Krystal Itzume

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Re: Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed]
« Reply #3 on: April 28, 2014, 07:24:16 am »
Unwritten Letter

“Dear Alexia.”

Niven felt his life slipping away when the fangs dug into his neck and tore open his throat. His gasp was gurgled. He reached out in vain, at the air, and watched as his vision began to go dark, the area around him fading. His mind composed all the words he wished he’d said to the one he was protecting now.

There was so much he should have told her, but he had always thought there would be enough time. Foolish, really. He recognized that as his green eyes began to close.


“There are many things I should have told you.”

It was hours later, when the sun rose, that Alexia approached the exsanguinated corpse of the man who had raised her. She looked down at him.


“I named you after a man I knew, who died in vain.”

She touched her cheek near her eye to wipe at a tear, and she sucked in a breath, before looking away. She took in a deep breath as she wrapped her arms around herself. She was alone in the world without him, Niven. He hadn’t wasted his time with groups.


“He died to protect me. I was caught.”

She still remembered where she had seen a home, though. She remembered the way to the vampire town, and knew there would be supplies there. She turned and started walking west, plotting in her mind just what she needed.


“I was raised in the murderer's household. I’m sorry, I lied. I was not always a rebel.”

The journey took a couple of hours, but it felt almost immediate. Alexia was not keeping track of the time, not numb, but not aware. Somehow, it was easy to just walk in. Only humans were on guard, and no one questioned another human in their midst. No one in the rebellion would be so bold as to just walk into a vampire-infested town. Vampiric security had gotten lax.


“I served the man who killed your parents. The man who controlled lightning.”

There were stores, and she walked into one, mindlessly grabbing the matches she needed, the gasoline she wanted, and the shovel. She started for the door.
“Miss, you have to pay for that.”

Alexia looked back at the human running the store. There must have been something in her gaze, because the man didn’t ask again. Instead, with a bit of hesitance, he asked,
“Will you be back?”

She gave a simple nod.
“Hurry.” Another nod, and she left him, but committed his face to memory. She left the store, and left the town as easily.

“He killed your mother shortly after she gave birth to you. You look like her.”


Alexia retraced her steps to where the corpse still was, and she set aside the gasoline and the matches. She wasted no time in starting to dig with that shovel, and did not stop to eat or to sleep, but dug and dug.


“He killed your father years before you were ever born.”

She didn’t know how deep it ought to be, but she dug until the hole was over her head anyway. It was night by then, and she climbed out of the grave. She tossed the shovel aside and walked to where Niven laid. She sat down besides him then, and touched her hand to his heart.


“I was he. I was killed the day I was brought into Olomu’s service, but when you were born I lived again.”

The tears fell, but it was a calm fall. Alexia let each one hit the body beneath her, let them fall to her hand. She took in deep and slow breaths as she let the reality of the situation sink in.


“I could not kill my daughter. I could not kill you.”

She shut her eyes and bowed her head after a little while. She knew nothing of prayer, but right then she composed one without words, letting her sorrow send up its wishes to whatever might be merciful enough to heed her. She asked for strength. She asked for mercy. She asked for guidance, before she swallowed down the sounds that would never part her lips and opened her eyes once more.


“I killed him. I ran away with you. I did not think you would survive the night.”

Alexia didn’t have the strength to lift Niven, so she rolled him into his grave, stood, and began to rebury him. Dirt fell upon his body. It was still dark by the time she finished, and she dragged the shovel with her to the tree near the gas and matches. She took a seat there, and tilted her head back. Sleep followed.


“One of the servants said to name you. I didn’t know what to call you.”

It was disturbed only by the sunlight. Unaware of how long she slept, she rose easily enough. She grabbed those three items, shovel, matches, and gasoline, and began to walk again. The grave was unmarked. Alexia would forget where it was years later, but never the man in the ground. She took hold of an old practice humans once had, of utilizing surnames. His first name became her surname.


“I said Alexander. I was informed it wasn’t a girl’s name.”

She walked back to the town, covered in dirt, still with the gasoline and the shovel. None stopped her. It was almost humorous. She returned to the same shop, where the same human was working. He took her in. He hadn’t forgotten her red hair.
“You don’t live here at all.” He had deduced that before.

“She told me it was the name of a general. Alexander the Great, a human who conquered the world even when those like Adrian and Olomu lived.”

Alexia shook her head. “You aren’t owned.” Alexia agreed with that sentiment, silent.

There was a hesitation then. He knew he ought to report her, but she was still holding the gasoline and the matches. The gasoline hadn’t been used.
“Who are you looking for?”

“I asked her why a girl couldn’t be a general. She didn’t think it was proper. Something about raising children and nurses, that was the best way women could serve the future…to bring up the generals of the future.”

Alexia searched for her voice. Her first attempt to speak failed, so she cleared her throat, but her voice wasn’t working. He raised a finger, and turned away. Seconds later, he brought her a glass of water and she sipped it. Then, she answered,
“Callas and Langarus.” Those were the two who had taken Niven from her.

“Fuck her.”


The human took in a deep breath.
“Ok.” He went and grabbed a cloth sack. “Pick one.”

“Callas.”


He placed the items in the cloth sack. Then, he went back and began to write on a piece of paper. He folded it, placed it in an envelope, and brought it to her.
“You are bringing Callas a delivery. Ask for directions and you’ll—” he stopped mid-sentence as he saw her began to open the envelope and look at the words there. “You…read?”


“We don’t have time to wait. I called you Alexia, because Alexander…the one I knew, he failed, but he stood for something. I don’t know if you’ll want to fight for us.”

A simple nod. She did read. Niven had insisted on it, something about a library in Egypt, and her name, and she didn’t remember half of it. Egypt made it important, because Egypt was tied to Amon.

The man seemed awed, but was quiet as she found the words matched what he said. She slipped the cloth sack over one shoulder, and walked off without asking further questions of the human.


“Perhaps it isn’t right of me to even assume, but I hope you will want this. I hope you will fight.”

Whenever she needed them, she did pause and find someone who could help direct her to the home of Callas. At the home, she knocked, and was greeted by a human servant. She was brought in, but only a couple of steps. The door was shut behind her to keep the sunlight out, as the human went to fetch the master for the order.


“I didn’t order anything!”


“This world needs someone to lead them, and that isn’t me. I'm not strong enough.”

While left on her own, she knelt and unpacked the bag. The shovel tip was doused in gasoline. The matches were held in her hand. She listened, waited.
“Gas? What is this?” Of course he would smell it. Alexia waited until he was in sight to light the match, and light the tip of the shovel.

“I grew up in the world of vampires. If it weren't for you, I would have stayed, but I chose to give you freedom. You’ve never known the life of servitude. You never will.”

The vampire paused in surprise, and that was all the time Alexia needed to move forward and swing the shovel like a weapon. With the fire, the metal tool acted as a weapon and severed the head of the vampire from his shoulders.

The human servant looked horrified as the body took flame and burned on the floor.


“You won't understand the allure.”

That human reached for the weapon that fell with his master, but Alexia struck him, too.


“So you won’t fall prey to the temptation of such an easy life. I have taught you the power of choice and the beauty of freedom.”


Alexia let the shovel fall away and grabbed the gas can. She didn’t leave the entrance area, but spread the gas all over it and then lit another match just as the other vampires of the house began to gather to where they sensed the danger. It allowed her escape through the front door as the flames acted as a wall between her and them.


“But I am sorry. I have set before you a life I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”


She ran fast, and was not stopped by the other humans out in the daylight who stopped to stare at the house which took flame, in horror. The vampires didn’t follow her into the sun, and she ran back to that store.


“You will see so many die. They will die for you, as I have.”

The man in the store cloaked her immediately, as if he’d expected this.
“Come this way.” Unknown to her, Callas was his master, and he was going to take his freedom if he could. He had already packed a bag. Somehow, he’d known, when her eyes first fell on his.

A bag was handed to her, and she shrugged it on, under the cloak. He led her out a back door.


“Do not forget them.”

Out of the town they went,
“I’m Eric,” a man who would later commit suicide rather than return to this life.

“Do not forget the cause, though. Let none die in vain.”

“Alex.”

He looked surprised, blinked,
“The Alex?” Already there was a reputation. Niven used the name. Alexander, before him.

Alex just nodded.
“I thought…well, I wasn’t expecting this.” Not a girl, and not a child. The look she gave him, the sly smile, told him that was exactly how it all worked.

“But most of all, don’t forget one thing. Don't forget that I loved you.”
« Last Edit: April 28, 2014, 07:28:57 am by Krystal Itzume »

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Re: Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed]
« Reply #4 on: May 14, 2014, 04:24:37 pm »
He Is So

The white-haired youth was delusional as he sat in the snow. He had stopped feeling the cold of it long ago. He knew he was going to die, yet he fought off sleep as he sat there, blinking against the falling snow. ‘I failed them.’ It was a terrible thought. They depended on the strong, the youthful, to venture into these storms and find food for them all. He had only just become a man—he took longer than most, because of how frail he looked.

It was strange, considering how lucky they considered his white hair and red eyes. Tawa, they called him, blessed by the sun.

He looked up.
‘Then where are you?’

His whimper carried on the wind. Another voice, also, carried to him.
“TAWA!”

Yet, when it reached Tawa’s ears, it sounded like a bear’s growl rather than anything human. His hand reached for his spear. He managed to get to his feet, though he had thought his legs frozen. He looked around, and through the white he perceived something brown moving. He was unsteady on his feet, but he had no plans of dying out here, to a bear. He’d prefer the cold take him.

His hand tightened as the creature finally stopped approaching. He no longer recognized it as a bear, but his eyes did not perceive it was one of his tribesmen, either. The man had stopped in happiness, recognizing the youth.
“Tawa, come, we need to—”

He realized too late what Tawa had in mind for him, for the albino youth threw the spear through his chest. He staggered back as it punctured him, and then dropped to his knees, gasping and gaping. Tawa hurried forward, and without a second thought, slit the throat of the man in furs.

He still did not perceive him as human. Hunger, and the need for warmth, had stolen over his senses. He stripped the man of his coat and wrapped it around himself, before removing the spear and using his knife to cut into the flesh of the man. There was no fire, and Tawa had failed to set one earlier. Right then, he didn’t consider a need for it as the warm blood rushed over his fingers. The organs were warm enough on their own, and he dug out the heart first and bit into it as another child might an apple, or a tomato.

He had never tasted anything half as good.

Tawa felt rejuvenated as he continued his meal, eating most of what he wanted long before it went cold. He was retrieving yet another organ when a horrified voice interrupted.
“What…what are you doing?”

He stopped then. He looked over to see quite a few of his tribe. He guessed it had been time to move—no scout returned with food. Tawa looked embarrassed,
“I am sorry!” He said, “I was so hungry, I did not think to share,” he answered.

The others behind the shaman looked horrified. Revolted.
“Do you know what you’ve done?”

He didn’t, not in the way the shaman did. When he looked down at the tribesman again though, to try and understand why the shaman was so upset, he realized it. He knew this man. He knew that face.

It didn’t remove the taste from his lips, nor the craving for what he still had in his hands. He looked back at the Shaman,
“I was hungry,” he could hardly feel at all. He knew he ought to feel just as horrified as them, but he was starting to wonder why they didn’t use each other as food. They tasted so good! The elderly, the dying young, those not strong enough to survive would benefit everyone. “There’s some left,” he let the lung fall from his grasp and onto the snow, something an offering, “Really, it does not taste bad at all. It is better than bear.”

He rose, bloody hands and bloody mouth.

When he took a step forward, though, the shaman pointed at him. Tawa stopped mid-stride. He knew that look.
“Eluwilussit, I meant no harm. I was hungry.”

The man was said to be capable of casting spells. Tawa had never really believed it until he saw the way his eyes took a light of their own. He felt cold as he began to speak,
“Tawa no more. The sun shall never witness you nor your crimes. Its warmth shall never touch you without bringing harm. Tawa no more. Henceforth you shall be Delsin, for there is no name for one such as yourself. The darkness shall belong to you, creature, and the day to man.”

Delsin stepped back from the shaman.
“All will try to kill you on sight, and you shall only reproduce by forsaking a meal—so you will be alone, alone forever, for you will hunger forever and never be sated.”

Delsin showed his teeth and reached for the spear, but doubled over with pain the moment he touched it. He felt the changes occur within, and the few rays of sun that escaped through the heavy clouds were agony on his flesh. He didn’t stay to fight, to kill the man for cursing him, but fled to find shelter instead.


‘I was just hungry!’
His mind justified it over and over again, and took insult at the shaman’s curse.

Despite his hatred, and Delsin’s attempts, the Shaman would die of old age and not him.
« Last Edit: May 14, 2014, 04:28:40 pm by Krystal Itzume »

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Re: Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed]
« Reply #5 on: June 18, 2014, 01:27:11 am »
Wendigo in Russia

Russia was unforgiving to humans with its bitter cold, but to vampires, it was not so bad. The snow was red with blood outside, and Adrian looked down on it all from his tower. They were in Oymyakon, fresh from a victory against the humans. Here had been crucial, for there was an airfield here.

No longer. Adrian didn’t exactly preserve things—or rather, Amon didn’t. Amon had gone into a frenzy, something that hadn’t occurred in centuries. Millennia, even. Despite his temper, Amon tended to keep control over himself.

He sat on the edge of the tower.
“It’s my fault.”

Guilt was pouring out from Amon, a rather strange thing considering how he was known to the masses. Adrian didn’t look at him, but he agreed.
“It is. You should not have lost your head.” Amon would never know it was all Adrian’s plan. He had forced Amon into the frenzy. “But it is also Radhika’s fault.” Below them, in the snow, a pyre had been set up. There was no body to burn, but her clothes and ashes were gathered. The soldiers had loved Radhika.

Or at least, what they thought were her ashes.

The taste of Radhika still lingered on Adrian’s tongue. He wanted more, but he’d reigned himself in before he got carried away. Two had died to his hunger that night, and he couldn’t risk others. The first taste had almost driven him crazy with bloodlust, and it was why a second had to die after Radhika. He hadn’t indulged in his favorite sin since at least the early CE period, when one of Valerius’s childes offended him.


“She should have been more careful. Her arrogance carried her away.”


Amon shook his head, snowflakes falling out of his hair with the motion.
“I liked her.”

“Of course you did,”
that much was obvious, “You were both insanely violent. Birds of a feather.”

Amon looked over at him,
“Oh, and you aren’t?” Adrian looked away from the glowing fire below to Amon. “You’re the worst of us, Adrian. You try to hide it, but I’ve seen it.” He tilted his head, unsure what Amon had seen and unwilling to say anything before Amon revealed just that. “I’ve watched you tear the throats out of people with your teeth. You’ve pinned tongues to tables and ripped hearts out just for fun, and yet you hide behind this demeanor of someone you aren't, this dignified aristocrat. 'Lord'.” He scoffed.

“I have my moments,”
he looked away, “but I can hardly cause the damage you can, and I do not enjoy such...gross indulgences.”

"If I gave you a flamethrower, you could. People would even go skipping into the fire for you.”


He smirked. He couldn’t help it, the image that put in his head was quite humorous.

That good mood caused Amon to wonder if it was the scenery or locale. He asked,
“Are you from around here?”

Adrian didn’t talk of his past. He knew some things, guessed others. He knew Adrian came from a place that was cold, the opposite of Amon’s desert. He also knew that Adrian claimed to exist before currency was around, before this idea of ‘trade’ even.

A chuckle escaped,
“No, there are no wendigos here.”

Amon blinked,
“Wendigo?” He didn’t know what that was. He’d heard the term, knew it was some sort of icy horror monster.

Adrian realized his slip. Names still held power, and he didn’t need Amon looking too closely at that term,
“The humans I was born around used that word for vampire. The legend has contorted over time, but it was what they called me.” It wasn’t. Wendigo was a later development that came long after him, but it was meant to describe him.

The name Delsin had lost its meaning as time went on, because his people didn’t see the power of a name that simply meant ‘It Is So’. They did not realize it was a name, and so Delsin became Wendigo. That change had made Adrian happy, for in burying Delsin many, many myths and stories were lost. The Wendigo story, however, grew, and it corrupted the truth.


“They think we have hearts of ice,”
he noted, amused. It was true, too. Many humans decided the wendigo was the Algonquian version of the vampire.

None really examined the differences all that closely.
“Ah,” Amon looked out, “So you’re a Canadian.”

Adrian winced, both at the fact Amon deducted he was from that area from Algonquian and at the idea of being ‘Canadian’. He was absolutely not Canadian.


“I thought all Canadians were nice. You don’t say ‘sorry’ nearly enough.”


Adrian moved, faster than he should have been able to, and shoved Amon from his perch. There was a yelp, and Amon struck the snow, hard. Adrian leaned over the edge.


“Sorry!”

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Re: Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed]
« Reply #6 on: July 19, 2014, 05:17:31 am »
I Have Only One Burning Desire

“You can’t go out into the sun. We’ve been over this.” The neonate was an idiot, even after a century. They were now in China, still hunting down Altjira. They were hiding out in the home of a farmer Adrian had convinced to house them for the day. He was dead now. “Every day you try this, and every day you come back in tears.” It was getting pathetic. How Amon wasn’t dead yet was still beyond Adrian.

“She’ll see me,” Amon said as he stood before the door. “She will see me, and she will pass over me, one of these days.”

“Your faith is endearing, but stupid,”
Adrian told him, crossing his arms behind his head as he stretched himself out. Normally, he would sleep, but Altjira had taken to bothering him more and more. He couldn’t read Chinese, so none of the scrolls appealed to him. He was utterly bored, and quite frustrated. Altjira spied on them during these hours, and he plotted how best to hinder them by pretending to be gods in the dreams of others. “Your god is not real.” He didn’t believe any of the ‘known’ gods were real. “The sun will burn you. You share my curse.”

“And what is that, exactly?”
Amon snapped at him.

Adrian usually didn’t explain. He thought it was self-evident.
“We burn in the sun. We are forced to take life from the beings we once were.”

“Why? Why were you cursed to such a life?”


“You, as well,”
Adrian smirked.

“Were you just some unlucky soul like me, then?”


“Yes,” he considered himself unlucky. “Stay in. You’re going to kill yourself.”

Amon just shot him a glare, and pushed open the door. Adrian moved quickly to avoid the ray of sun that nearly touched him. He pressed himself against the wall, far from the light, and watched as the idiot walked out into the sun, again. “SO WHERE IS SHE?” Adrian shouted at Amon as he took steps out, black smoke rising off his flesh, and the flesh trembling under the rays of light. “WHERE IS WADJET?”

Amon ignored him. He knew Adrian was only shouting out of fear. He could hear it, for the sun terrified Adrian. Amon spoke his prayer under his breath, in his own tongue, and he looked up at the bright orb of light.
“See me, just this once.”

A vampire’s powers were always inspired by deep desires, but few would find their powers to manifest in only a century. Desires took a while to form and come to fruition, but Amon’s desire never wavered. Sun. Fire. Life. These were what he prayed for daily, in that minute he tried to withstand the sun and failed. His faith never wavered. His desire grew stronger with each failure.

This time, his prayer was answered.

The light seemed to brighten before his eyes, and Adrian thought he caught fire, for he saw a pillar of flame wrap around Amon. He didn’t realize it came from Amon, and that the flame protected him from the burning rays.

Amon cackled as he saw this fire engulf him, but not harm him. He tilted his head back and cackled as the smoke stopped rising from his flesh, and as he felt himself able to manipulate this flame. He vanquished it, and felt his skin sizzle only a little compared to the last time. The smoke came off in small tendrils of white now, and Amon turned his gaze back to Adrian, eyes a brilliant orange, carrying a light all their own.
“My God is within.” He told Adrian.

Adrian had only a moment to react, as he felt Amon’s emotions shift. A fireball was hurled at him, and he dodged into a doorway. The wood of the house caught fire.
“YOU’LL KILL US BOTH!” The sun was still hurting Amon, that much he could tell. It just wasn’t working as fast as it should.

“I’LL KILL YOU FIRST!”
Amon shouted back, and hurled another fireball at the wooden structure, and pushed his will into the flames, sending them forward to devour the wood and chase Adrian down. He had a limited space to move in, after all. Amon could destroy the structure and win. “I’LL KILL YOU FOR THIS!” Another fireball, and he laughed as he heard the crackle of the flames as it ate away the structure. He laughed as the building began to falter and break.

Adrian backed further and further into the house, panicked beyond thought. Instinct was pulling at him, but there wasn’t much he could do. He couldn’t venture through that fire. He couldn’t leave the building. For once, he thought that he might die by the hands of this childe. It wouldn’t be the last time he would think this. He would come to live in fear of Amon, even when his control over him seemed absolute.

Fear was all that Adrian could feel, and all he could use. He forced it out and onto Amon, used his words to manipulate it.
“THE SUN IS STILL KILLING YOU. YOU WILL DESTROY YOUR ONE SHELTER.”

Amon felt that fear sweep over him, following Adrian’s words. He looked at his skin again, and saw it was darkening, shriveling. He was killing himself.
‘No. It’s worth it. It’s worth it.’ Perhaps it was, but he, too, was more a creature of instinct than he liked to admit. He cursed aloud in his own tongue and then dismissed the flames, extinguishing every single one of them. The house was mostly in ruins, but there were some rooms spared, some rooms protected from the sun. He walked to one of them over the ashes, and entered the one where Adrian was.

It was a satisfying sight to see Adrian pressed against the wall in terror.
“When night comes, you’re dead.” He said, and took a seat in front of the door, as if he could keep Adrian from escaping that way. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to cover his wounds.

Adrian took a seat as well and glared across the room at him.
“Is that so?” He asked. “Were it not for me, you wouldn’t be able to call upon fire the way you did.” He still couldn’t quite believe it. He envied him, and wondered if eating Amon would bless him with that power.

Deep down, he knew it wouldn’t. Only those who were his ‘equals’ could ever give him permanent powers. He really should shift from Altjira to Radhika or Olomu. Right now, their powers would be more useful in dealing with a crazed pyromaniac.
“It was unintentional,” Amon said. “You only did this to me to hurt me.”

“Initially,” Adrian agreed. Well, he couldn’t argue the point, “But you’ve proven to be a rather good companion. I did not kill you as I did so many others I sired for tiresome. I like you.” He had to lie. He didn’t like Amon. He had been plotting to kill him after Altjira was dealt with.

He pushed forward calming emotions, consideration, compassion.
“You had opportunities before now to kill me, as well.” Fire appeared in Amon’s hands. He moved it from one hand to the other. “You are still young by our standards,” he told him, “and you still need me to maneuver in this world.”

“I do not,” he denied, but his brows were furrowed in thought. He was working through several thoughts. His desire could not be changed. He wanted his revenge, and to fulfill his promise that Adrian would burn. He lifted his gaze from the fireball to stare down his sire, the man he hated most.

He saw no wavering. Adrian looked right back at him. Amon’s death was promised if he stepped out of line again, and the spike of fear that pierced his heart caused him to look down again.
“But I suppose…I suppose I’ve come to appreciate this immortality. This…gift.”

Amon would never refer to it as a curse any time soon.
“It has brought me closer to my gods.”

Adrian rolled his eyes.


“They have shown I am truly one of them, truly a child of the gods with this gift. And they’ve left you bereft of gifts,”
he smiled. “That is punishment is enough. You shall see me rise higher than you, in time.”

Adrian made sure not to laugh. Amon still didn’t realize what he could do.
“As you say, Pharaoh.”

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Re: Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed]
« Reply #7 on: October 27, 2014, 11:18:11 pm »
Hell is for Children

Two vampires stood before the council in chains. The council had been called by Adrian, just for these vampires. Several looked annoyed with him for this. “You called us here just to see criminals?” One demanded, “I had things to do back in my territory!”

“Do you know what their crime is?”
Of course they did. Adrian had told them. He looked back at the council members, everyone sitting but himself. Amon, of course, wasn’t even paying attention. He was filing his damn nails.

“They turned a child. So what?”


“Have any of you seen a vampire child before?”


No one had. That was obvious in their silence.
“Amon….”

“You know I have. Several times.”
It used to be a real problem that threatened their existence, threatened to reveal them.

“We know why one isn’t supposed to turn children. We—”

“You do not know,”
Adrian answered calmly. “You know in theory, but you have not seen the horror. Since this has happened,” Adrian continued in that calm voice, “I believe it is necessary for you to see, so that you will be able to ensure it does not happen again within your territories.”

“Wait.”
One of them started to realize what was going on. “The child is alive?”

Adrian’s lips quirked into a smirk then.
“Oh, yes,” he answered. Amon looked up from his nails then, eyes narrowing on Adrian. Adrian could feel the suspicion rolling off Amon. “Remove their gags. Let them explain.” Adrian ordered.

The guards did as ordered, and the gags were removed. The father met Adrian’s white eyes in defiance.
“My child won’t kill me. Adrian does not know what he’s talking about. She has been sweet, and she has kept her mind.”

“She went with Adrian peacefully!”
The mother protested.

“Too many people think this way,” Adrian said, “But I thought, why not? It’s been a few thousand years…maybe things have changed.” He heard Amon smack his forehead. He heard the pharaoh mutter something in that language he couldn’t remember, though he didn’t need a translation. He knew Amon was insulting their intelligence. “I have kept the girl safe and provided her with blood in a chamber nearby. I want you all to come, and I want you all to see if they are correct.”

Hesitantly, members of the council began to stand. Adrian motioned to his guards, and they pulled the prisoners ahead. All exited the room, and Amon’s steps took him to Adrian’s side.
“Are you insane?” Amon hissed, “As soon as that door opens, someone is getting their throat ripped out.”

“If I do not put a stop to this, it will continue,” Adrian spoke lowly, “There’s been a surge in diablerie, too,” not him, either. He hadn’t partook in millennia, either. He’d kept himself under control since Radhika. “We are facing a problem. People have no respect for the old ways. This will help with both.” For Amon was right. That girl would commit diablerie before their eyes, and it would prove that strength didn't pass on. True, the individuals before them had no powers, but it was believed that a vampire was generally empowered through diablerie anyway--extra speed and strength given. “Too many novices want to storm the council because they do not believe they will ever ascend, and think power is in what we've forbidden.”

It was true, of course. Getting into the council for a vampire who had existed before Adrian’s revolution was basically, impossible. Rare exceptions were made.
“We must make them realize again that with age, comes experience.” They were the rightful rulers.

“Are we broadcasting this?”


“It is being recorded,” Adrian acknowledged, “It will be uploaded to the internet.”

The room had an entrance, but Adrian paused at it. He looked to his guards,
“Lead the council members upstairs so they may look down from the glass,” he motioned up. The room was tall and had a glass ceiling. It was used for executions, though rarely. “I would not want them to get hurt.”

“Yourself?” One of his guards inquired.

Adrian motioned to Amon. No further questions were needed. The criminals were left behind with Adrian and Amon.
“You understand I will not save you. You are either right, or all three of you will die, you at the hands of your precious child,” Adrian told them. “Do you wish to have a less painful death?”

He knew what their answer would be.
“Go to hell,” said the mother.

“Don’t worry,” he consoled her, “I’m going to obliterated when I die. Aren’t I, Amon?”

Amon had told him of his own beliefs, beliefs that remained despite the years and religions that rose up. Amon firmly believed that he was going to have his heart destroyed by the gods, and become nothing. No soul. No thought. No hell or heaven.

Nothing.


“Yes.”


“And you of course are going to paradise,”
he almost laughed, but refrained. He walked forward and took the key to their bonds from his pocket. He undid their shackles, and then handed the woman the key to the room. “Go see your precious daughter.”

The mother snatched the key from Adrian and stalked right to the door. She flung it open, so confident that her daughter was harmless, so confident that she’d live.

The father was less so, and stayed behind just a moment long enough to see Amon’s hands light with fire. His eyes widened in fright and he flinched back, then stepped back and hastily walked to the door just as it had been flung open.

The room was illuminated with torches, keeping the child huddled in the shadows, in a corner. Blood bags were discarded around her, torn to pieces. She had retained her sanity for a day, perhaps, before it melted away from her. Children had no impulse control as vampires. Adrian and Amon had seen too much of this in the past.

The child looked up as the mother walked in,
“Come here, sweetie,” she called, “It’s ok. The fire won’t hurt you. It’s going to stay right where it is. Come on, we can leave.”

The girl got to her feet, still in the same skirt and cami she’d arrived in. She walked to the mother, who dropped to her knees to bring the girl into an embrace. It wasn’t to be, though.

Adrian recognized the behavior, the eye lock, the subtle swaying, before the inevitable pounce. The girl took the woman by surprise and was able to pin the woman and rip out her throat to get to the blood quickly, drinking it down and feeling the pulse of it up. She’d not dealt with a living creature yet, but she was smart—a beast consumed by instinct. The blood was coming up, so her hands began to rend the flesh under the neck, seeking that thing which pushed blood up into her hungry mouth. It did not take her long, for the heart was in the chest.

The woman was still alive, head not fully removed. Her hands pawed at the air, apparently unable to find the child despite her resting atop her. When the child found the heart, it ended her, for the child pulled it out and crushed it above her waiting mouth, letting the drops fall in.

Neither Amon nor Adrian moved.

The father stood in shock in the doorway, watched as the child seemed disappointed when the flow of blood stopped from the heart, before the child took a bite out of it, thinking to find more blood if it pulled it apart.

The taste was divine.

Adrian turned away then, as if disgusted.

It wasn’t disgust that plagued him. The child’s hunger was impossible to ignore, and it washed over him, willed him to give in to an all-too familiar feeling.
“Should I end it?” Amon asked.

‘No!’ Because that satisfaction was enjoyable, intoxicating, fresh. “Yes,” his voice trembled. It needed to end or he’d lose himself. He couldn’t block out that emotion, that hunger, that desire.

As the father turned to run, he felt it afresh. The daughter moved to claim her prey, ripping the heart out much quicker this time, imagining it the source of what she wanted. The father didn’t even get to scream.

Amon moved right after the father was felled and caught that body on fire, and intended to catch the girl in it. However, she leapt off before the flames could touch her, back into the room. Amon darted to the door to close it, but she was quicker. He slammed the door right as she escaped.

Adrian looked the easy prey, standing with his back to her and shaking. She was unaware that the prey she was observing was, perhaps, the greatest predator of them all. Amon didn’t even waste his breath to warn Adrian when the girl lunged at his back. He considered shooting fire after her, simply to hit Adrian as well, but knew that wouldn’t go over well.

Adrian spun around and used the momentum of his twist in a kick that sent her back against the wall. He gave her no chance to move. Just as her back touched the wall, Adrian was there, his hand entangled in her hair. She shrieked, struggled, swung her clawed hands at his face but to no avail. He dipped his head down and bit through her neck. With a twist of his own head, he severed head from body and flung the head some yards away.

He could hear her heart still pumping blood. The taste of her blood was on his lips, a flap of her flesh caught on his tooth. The feel of the muscles tearing lingered, and he remembered the feel of his teeth brushing by her spine, penetrating it, snapping it. The marrow would be delicious. His tongue had only grazed it.

He would have lost it, if Amon didn’t catch her body on fire then.

Adrian dropped the body in surprise and rounded on Amon, pure hatred in his gaze for an instant.

Then, with a blink, it was gone. He realized how close he’d been to revealing his own nature. He might have hugged Amon, if that wouldn’t be strange. So, instead, he wiped the back of his hand by his mouth and spat the blood that remained out.
‘Damn it.’ He was still shaking. His hand was blackened by the fire. “You could have waited.”

“It isn’t my fault you’re slow.”
Though Amon was smiling. He’d done it on purpose. He felt proud, and Adrian knew it was for two reasons.

Amon always liked it when he was this way. Amon had praised him plenty during the battles that gave vampires rule over the world for his fighting prowess, and had told him ever since that he needed to stop pretending to be a diplomat. He said it then, too,
“You really should just leave someone else in charge. You’d have more fun in the field, against the rebels.”

‘One day, Amon.’


Amon would regret his words that day, when Adrian ripped his heart out, and sent him to the oblivion he prophesized for Adrian.

« Last Edit: October 27, 2014, 11:28:38 pm by Krystal Itzume »

Krystal Itzume

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Re: Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed]
« Reply #8 on: October 28, 2014, 03:10:02 am »
Tomb

White smoke came off him in tendrils until the Egyptian “God” collapsed at the edge of his destination, laughter escaping the mad man as his arms crossed over his chest, hugged him. He wouldn’t die—it was too late in the day to die from this exposure, but he could still see Fenuku’s look of horror when he ran out of his house to escape, right into the sun.

He let his body fall down on the warm sand and he rolled onto his back to stare up at the sky, which was losing its color. His skin had darkened under the sun, but he didn’t care.
‘One day.’ He couldn’t be dissuaded by Adrian. One day, he’d stand in the noon time sun, and it wouldn’t burn him.

Until then, he’d enjoy every dusk and every dawn.


‘Become a masochist at this rate.’


No, he didn’t like the way the sun burnt his skin, but hope kept him returning to it. He’d gotten to the point where he hardly noticed it, which he knew was worrisome. One day, he might not recognize he had misjudged the time. One day, he might kill himself.

Night fell. Fenuku eventually came to him, as he was sitting up under the moon and looking out at the sands, the tips of the grand structures. Fenuku took a seat next to him.
“How did you know I would be here?” Amon asked. So far as he knew, only Adrian was aware that this was where he ran. But then, Adrian knew who’s tomb this was.

“This is the only tomb you are not restoring.”
Fenuku pointed out. “I thought it was special to you. It was once thought to be Osiris’s tomb, wasn’t it?” He didn’t know who’s tomb it actually was, but he had seen its image, in younger years, described as that. “Was it?”

Amon shook his head.
“It is my father’s,” he answered, “Djer.” It was not a pyramid. It had never been. It was all but buried in the sand. It was a tomb that went on for miles underground rather than spiraled up. The beliefs of Egypt had changed through the years, as was clear by this tomb being associated with Osiris for so long. “There is a space for me.” He was royalty. He should have been pharaoh, but…well, things changed. “Archaeologists never quite understood the room for Amon. They thought it was for the God. I was never known as Djer’s son.” Which some vampires took for the gospel and laughed at Amon’s claims. “Forgotten to history, though recorded,” typical. He wondered how many were lost due to similar misunderstandings, or direct translations of names.

“I…I see,” he wouldn’t have guessed that Amon had a tomb, of sorts. “So this is why you do not want any pyramids or structures for yourself.”

“That,” and he smirked, “And I will not die. If I die, it will be pointless anyway. My body will be ash. There is nothing to preserve.” Truth told, he did not believe he was going to paradise despite what he told Adrian. Without the preservation of his organs, without the preservation of his heart, he could never go on to heaven. It would never be weighed.

He was damned unless the gods opted to have mercy on him, and take him before he was physically killed.


“Do you miss him?”


Amon stared at the space for some seconds, before answering,
“I do not even remember how he sounded. I do not miss him,” he tilted his head left, “I do not miss my time. I miss what never was.”

He missed the brother he never watched grow up.

He missed being there when his father passed on.

He missed the rule he never got to have.

He missed his wedding which never happened, the sons and daughters he never fathered, the life he never had.


“Would you trade this for it?”


“Some days, I’d trade this for five minutes in the sun without it hurting. You are young,”
he told Fenuku, “You don’t yet understand, but you will find that there are days you would trade this life for the smallest of pleasures, and that there are other days you wouldn’t dream of giving it up for the greatest of joys.”

Fenuku smiled, though it seemed strained. He didn’t like being told he couldn’t understand something, even if he suspected it was the truth. He didn’t have a century under his belt yet. He was always amazed at how old Amon truly was.
“When was this?” He asked, then clarified, “Djer’s life. When was it?”

“Ah,” Amon nodded, “Somewhere around what you’d know as 3000 BCE,” he told him. Fenuku’s eyes widened.

“And Adrian is…how old is Adrian?”


“Mystery,” Amon wasn’t certain, “He comes before…much. He might come before language. I know he comes before currency. It baffles him. He’s Canadian,” Fenuku doesn’t understand the amusement. He’s never known Canadians as polite and apologetic.

“His sire, then?”


"I do not think he has a sire.”
This had never been confirmed, “If he did, then he killed the sire.” Of that, Amon was certain, for Adrian wouldn’t suffer other vampires who could pull rank on him.

“Then he’ll be next.”

Both Fenuku and Amon jumped to their feet and spun to saw another vampire swaying on his feet, blood dripping from his lips—and not human blood. The scent of vampiric blood was different.
“Behind me.” Amon ordered Fenuku. Fenuku looked offended, aghast, at the order.

“I am your—”


He didn’t hear the other vampire move, but he saw him out of the corner of his eye and managed to avoid the lunge, though it ripped his shirt nearly all the way off as the claws slashed by.

Amon caught fire, and Fenuku was forced further away from the one he was meant to protect as the other vampire let his attention turn to the pharaoh, a wide smile on his lips.
“Come, then,” Amon challenged. “You’ve drunk on others tonight. Do you think you’ve drunk enough to be protected from the fire?”

Diablerists were all stupid and strung-out addicts. They thought that what they ingested would give them greater power, would make them able to stand up to Amon and obtain his fire—it was why he was so frequently a target, and so used to this. His power was desirable to all vampires who sought to take power from others. He could kill vampires in seconds.

The diablerist clearly thought he had, for he charged right at Amon. Amon didn’t even budge, just let the fire grow and grow, so that the diablerist ran into a wall of fire. He came out the other side, staggering, burning, and screaming.

With a swipe of his hand, Amon closed the fire in around him and reduced him to ashes. The fire ceased with a closed fist, and then he turned back to Fenuku,
“Have I told you of diablerists yet, and how frequently they hound me?”

“N-no.”


“Don’t develop a power,”
he told Fenuku with a shake of his head, “You’ll never get rid of them if it is something good. Rebels will also come for your head, thinking they’ve dealt some blow to the vampires by killing you.” They couldn’t. The only way the vampires would ever fall would be if Adrian fell. Even Amon was expendable.

“I don’t…I don’t even know how one develops a power.”


“Neither do I. Nor how one develops more than one.”


“Who has more than one?”


A smirk.
“Who else?” He’d only seen Adrian use two—empathy, and scrying, as Adrian called it. He could spy on others without leaving his home, but he was knocked out when he did so. Amon usually had to stand guard over the vulnerable body when he did that. “Adrian. It's a secret.” As all Adrian's talents were. He didn't want others to know what, exactly, he could do. They were subtle things, not like fire at all.

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Re: Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed]
« Reply #9 on: December 02, 2014, 10:15:37 pm »
Memphis

There was cackling from a nearby room. Amon knew immediately he was going to know what about, for he heard the footsteps depart and hurry down the hallway, “Amon! Amon!” And a knock, as if it were necessary.

The would-be pharaoh sighed and lightly picked up the cat on his lap, set his laptop aside, and walked to the door. He opened it,
“What is it, Nekhet?”

“You must see this. You must.”


Amon arched an eyebrow, but followed his guard back to the room he had chosen to occupy in Caesar’s Palace. On his laptop was some youtube video paused.
“Sit,” and so Amon did as the man set the music video back to the start, and then hit play.

I knew you were
You were gonna come to me
And here you are
But you better choose carefully.


“What blasphemy am I watching?”
Amon’s tone held an edge, although when he looked at Nekhet, he saw that he was laughing. He turned his attention back to the screen and observed the blasphemy going on before his eyes. “This is what they think of Egypt now?”

“To be fair, it isn’t during your time.”


“I DON’T CARE!”


“Oh come on, the twinkie pyramid is great. You’re telling me you didn’t have those in your time?”


Amon gave him such a glare, that he fell mute. All amusement died.
“I didn’t…realize this would touch such a nerve.” Amon rose, chair shrieking against the floor as it was pushed back.

“Katy Perry isn’t allowed in Las Vegas any more.”


“Er…how are we going to explain that?”


“I don’t care how. Find something on the internet,”
he gave a dismissive wave, “I think I’ve heard complaints of her being racially insensitive.”

“Oh come on, Amon.”
Nekhet rose to follow after the robed Egyptian, though he knew it wasn’t a good idea. The heat coming off of Amon threatened devastation. “I bet Adrian would like it. I should send it to him.”

Amon whipped around and hurled a fireball at his ever-loyal guard. The man ducked it, fast, though that was not his talent. He rose slowly. The video had already been sent,
“He doesn’t know how to use computers, Amon.” Not the last time he’d been here, anyway. He seemed baffled and at a loss for much of the new technology, a man clearly lost to the times. “What is it that bothers you so? It cannot merely be this video.”

It wasn’t the video itself, but so much of what the video represented.

His Egypt was forgotten. His time was gone. He was as much a relic as Adrian. He had learned to adjust, but that was all he could do. Whenever he watched documentaries on Egypt, or read books on it, inevitably he got angry, or wept. He wanted humanity to know how it had been. He wanted the legacy preserved, but he could not do so. If he ever so much as revealed what he was, he’d be killed by humanity, even if he was only trying to correct their misunderstandings.

Year, after year, of watching his culture, his home, his religion, and his people butchered had come to a head in watching Katy Perry’s video.
“It was Hathor. Not Aphrodite. Hathor. The Greeks tried to steal and lessen our religion, too. They claimed their Gods had to flee to Egypt, and there they took on the anthropomorphic images. Aphrodite with a cow head. They started it.”

Nekhet could see that Amon was shaking, trembling, with rage, but his voice shook with sorrow. He had forgotten that, despite everything, Amon still believed in his old gods, and many truths long since forgotten. He had forgotten Amon would take this personally. Though they were both from Egypt, they were millennia apart. Nekhet had forsaken the gods of Egypt long ago, and moved on, ages ago.

This was what Amon was, though, still in the modern age. He believed it to his bones. Nekhet had caught him praying before stepping out in to the sun a hundred times. A thousand times.
“And they want to do that again, give the Greeks all the credit and steal from us even though we’re dead and gone,” his fists clenched, “Dancing, cat-headed women, painted blue men, a twinkie pyramid, a comparison with your modern-day Memphis to MY Memphis? MY HOME?”

The first dynasty, founded by his ancestor Menes, in Memphis.
“I can’t stand it.”

~***~

Elsewhere, Adrian finally got a human to show him how the phone worked so he could view what Nekhet sent. He was not impressed with the video that loaded, until he realized just what it was. It took him a while. It wasn’t the Egypt he was familiar with, after all.

A smile graced his lips briefly as he imagined Amon’s reaction to this, wondered if Nekhet had been so foolish as to show Amon the video.
“This is a stupid song,” he muttered, the human still standing besides him to watch.

“It’s catchy.”
Adrian glanced at the annoyance then. “Er…anyway, see ya.” And the human ran off. Adrian shook his head, turned the phone off, and walked on through the city he hadn’t yet declared his presence in. He wasn’t sure if he would, either. He was running, after all.

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Re: Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed]
« Reply #10 on: December 03, 2014, 06:01:47 am »
Hallucinations

There were some monsters that couldn’t be killed. Adrian acknowledged this as he realized the scene before him was a dream, and not, in fact, reality. “Amon wouldn’t own a chihuahua.” He spoke it aloud to give it power.

Everything disintegrated around him, the office, the council with Kincaid, Amon, all of it until Adrian found himself sitting besides his unconscious body in the snow, practically buried in it.
“Ah yes. I remember what I was doing now.” He had left his body to watch it, but had entered into a dream that had become too insane to be reality. He stood, and heard a sigh on the wind.

“You know better than this, Delsin.”


He knew the voice from plenty of dreams. Adrian was haunted by two figures. Altjira’s gift was, at times, a curse.
“You’re starving.”

He was, it was true. No matter how much he drank, the hunger remained and exhausted him the more he tried to ignore it. It was why he had collapsed in the snow.
“I am a vampire,” he said softly, not looking at the one who spoke. “All I need is blood.” He had tried to convince himself of it for years, ever since the slip with diablerizing Valerius’s childe. He hadn’t diablerized another since then, though the urge was always there.

“You are Delsin.”
Never would Eluwilussit use any other name for him. “That is what I made of you. Hungry, forever hungry, and now that hunger is gnawing at you,” his smile was twisted, his curse unforgotten in the one who used to be likened to the sun.

Sometimes, he wondered if it was a ghost, or a hallucination brought on by the remnants of a conscious that was barely in place.
“You said it was good, remember? You meant no harm…you were hungry, and needed him to survive. So now you will always need it to survive, Delsin. Flesh and muscle of your kind.”

“Then my kind is vampire, and I do not need it.” For vampires needed blood. If he was something other, then that other would also need flesh. Heart. Soul.

“Look at yourself and tell me you’re a vampire.”


Adrian glanced towards the body in the snow, and recoiled at the sight. It didn’t look like him. The limbs were exaggerated and long, the skin outlining bone. His hair was much longer and far wilder. His eyes held the tint of red that they used to, more pink than white. Long nails extended from his toes and his fingers.
“That’s not me!”

“That’s you inside.”
The creature sat up, a primal hunger in its gaze, teeth with flesh between them, blood tainting the corner of its mouth. “As you pretended to be human, so now you pretend to be vampire. You will live until the hunger kills you.”

Adrian refused to accept it. Ever since devouring Morena, he had forbidden himself from becoming that monster. He kept his emotions in check, didn't lash out on whims. He was controlled. He wasn't that.
"I never was that. I was just hungry. I would have died," he spoke to the shaman, the same words as before. It never changed.

"And you will die if you do not. You knew that when you ate Morena. You needed to. One who eats his own kind always becomes Delsin, always needs more. You've seen them," the swaying diablerists, drunk on the taste, emboldened and empowered. He'd seen some of them decay to that point as the creature before him, too, so far gone that all they knew to do was feast and avoid the sun.

Adrian rounded on the ghost in anger,
“I’m here to find your bones, you know,” he was sick of being haunted. “I’m going to destroy them.”

Eluwilussit smiled and shook his head at the mere idea
. “It won’t work, Delsin.”

“Wait and—” but he was cut off, wrenched back into his body by the sensation of physical pain.

His body had not contorted and twisted into the monster that Eluwilussit showed him, but there was pain. He let out a cry as he struggled to get up, frozen and starving, only to realize what it was that hurt. The sun had come out for its hour or so of life. He glanced up to see it starting to peek through the clouds, and then averted his gaze to try and find safety before it killed him.

There was nothing. Nothing but snow. So, he dug, quick as he could, and covered himself over in snow to avoid death. Thankfully, he didn’t need to breath, so this was just a waiting game. He shut his eyes, but didn’t let himself drift again. He was here for a purpose, though it would not be accomplished. He’d never find Eluwilussit’s grave, nor his bones. Time had rendered them impossible to locate.

At least Eluwilussit would stop haunting him after he ate Radhika, though. At least for a little while….


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Re: Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed]
« Reply #11 on: December 07, 2014, 01:08:54 am »
Beware the Frozen Heart....

The man did not go by Delsin, though it had been given to him perhaps a century ago. Time meant nothing to him anymore. Yet, he did not go by Tawa, either. He took no name as he roamed the icy wastelands and hunted down the people who had once belonged to his tribe, always seeking out one man among them, a man who shouldn’t still be alive, but was. When he would later encounter Cain’s people, he would be one of the few not surprised by stories of people living to be over three hundred years.

Some people were simply blessed in the early days.


“It takes a thousand voices to tell a single story.”

It was the saying of his people, as they tried to master language.

Delsin had not spoken for years, but he remembered that, and it pushed him on. Primal fear. He did not want his story told. He did not want it remembered, because if it was told, remembered, and heard, then it could prove his downfall.

The story was known, though. He was often greeted with fire when encountered.

So, it was curious that he was able to approach the tribe he recognized without being greeted by fire that night. The storm that raged seemed calm, here.
‘Elu.’ Delsin knew the reason for that. He didn’t doubt the man’s powers any longer.

No one rose to stop his approach. No one even looked at him, and so Delsin did not waste his time on them. He walked to the long house and pushed open the door. Women were preparing for the return of the men, and the shaman sat near the back, wrapped in furs. At the sight of him and his approach forward, there were shouts and outcries.
“Let him approach. Leave us.”

And the women and children hurried out, leaving Eluwilussit and Delsin alone. Delsin did not strike out at him. He walked until he was close, and then he took a seat on his knees. There was silence between them for several long moments.
“Remove this from me.” Delsin said at last.

Eluwilussit smiled at him.
“What have you done to deserve it?”

He hadn’t done anything of course,
“I have spared this group. I do not have to.”

Eluwilussit played along, though,
“Ah, that is good, yes. Very good,” he commended, “What is your name then? I will need it to remove the curse.”

The man opened his mouth to answer, but then bit down on the answer. His eyes burned with anger as he understood the trap. He had been stripped of his name, ‘Tawa’, as Eluwilussit’s first action. He had been dubbed Delsin, but it was not a proper name. It had been applied to those Delsin turned to be like him in anger, and Eluwilussit had informed him it was not a name. It meant ‘It Is So’—something beyond a name, something that could not have a name.

Eluwilussit looked like he might laugh, as the silence stretched and his smile grew.
“Well?” He urged.

“Give me a name.”


Eluwilussit leaned back, closer to the fire that was burning,
“I will return what was stolen, when you return what you have stolen.” Before Delsin could ask, he said, “Bring me back the soul of Igasho. I can find him nowhere. I cannot put him back into the bloodline of his family. His blood is crying out to me from where it was spilt, but I find him nowhere.”

The belief would not be isolated to the Algonquian. Many others would come to believe there was power in heart’s blood, and there was truth to it. Only the man who would be Adrian would come to embody that belief as a glorious, nightmarish reality. Eluwilussit extended his hand towards Delsin,
“Give me your heart.”

Delsin leaned away, before the man’s touch could even brush his chest.
“That will kill me.” Logical.

“To have his soul, you must die. To have a name, you must remove the many names that are written into you.” It wasn’t only Igasho that Delsin had eaten whole. “Only then can I remove the curse. It will kill you,” he admitted, though the smile never wavered, “but you will live again, as we all will, reborn and renewed. Well,” his smile twisted, “if there is any part of you left.”

Delsin hesitated. He seemed to consider it, but then said,
“No.” He reached forward instead, caught Eluwilussit’s hand and moved to plunge the other into the man’s chest. However, the fire behind Eluwilussit responded and pulled itself forward, moving around the shaman and at Delsin.

Delsin released him and jumped back before he could be burned. Eluwilussit laughed.
“Eating me won’t fix you, Delsin.” Eluwilussit rose, shaking his head. “You could eat the world and you will never find peace. Your only chance is here and now, Delsin. Give me your heart, and I will lead you to the next life.”

Delsin shook his head.

Eluwilussit said,
“I am old, Delsin. I will die soon, and there is no one to remember my words to fix you. You killed them all,” all the witnesses were dead. “I will not return to this world, either. Your hunger will worsen, Delsin. I give you this one chance out of mercy and pity. Render unto me your heart.”

Again, Delsin shook his head.

Eluwilussit did not appear surprised. He always knew what the answer would be.
“You will die, and you will never come back. You shall never enter the hunting grounds, for there will be nothing left of you. Already your heart is freezing, Delsin. Already you are killing yourself.”

“You could remove this curse without killing me.”


Eluwilussit responded,
“I could,” he consented, “but it would not save you. You would feast on humans again. To save you, I must kill you.”

“I will feast on them if you do not! I will feast on more!”

Eluwilussit answered quietly,
“This I know. This I have seen. You will live through ages, and you will take on countless names,” he did not sound happy about it, “you will destroy many. You will be hated, and you will die. I know not how, but you must, and then there will be nothing left of you.”

“Why not save all of those countless individuals then, oh Eluwilussit?”


“Because I would save no one. You would be doubly cursed with your second feast, and so doubly you would curse the world. At least now,”
his smile was sad, “you are manageable.” A monster doubly cursed for its crimes, could only then be more powerful. It grew more heinous, the more deserving it was of heinousness. Such went the logic.

Delsin could have stood there and argued more, but instead he screamed all of his fury, all of his frustration, out in one inhuman sound before he turned away from Eluwilussit and stormed out. Eluwilussit sat back down, and shut his eyes as he heard the sounds of the slaughter outside.

Stories of the wendigo would carry with it the story of its scream, as piercing as a cold, howling wind, but Eluwilussit thought it was not as dreadful as the sound of the laughter that followed. When at last he exited the long house, he saw the bodies torn to pieces, hearts removed, and left to freeze in the cold.

The hearts weren’t even eaten this time. They were just abandoned on the ground, an act of spite.


Krystal Itzume

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Re: Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed]
« Reply #12 on: December 12, 2014, 10:00:38 pm »
Snow

The blindfold kept Amon from knowing where, exactly, he was being led to. He trusted Nekhet, though, and so he allowed himself to be led on to a plane and taken into the air.
“You know I dislike snow.” One of the reasons he liked Las Vegas. It rarely snowed in Las Vegas.

“Just hush.”
Nekhet told him, “And don’t peek. You will like this snow.”

“I don’t like Christmas either.”
Heathen religion, Christianity. Heathen God, Heathen son of God. If he ever met Jesus, he’d prove a more competent Pharaoh than Moses ever dealt with. “Liars, the lot of them.” He was 90% certain that never happened, but he hadn’t been in Egypt at that time. He’d been somewhere cold. Russia, he was pretty sure it was now known as Russia. He called it hell. Adrian had seemed right at home, though.

He remembered it as he tilted his head back and shut his eyes behind the blindfold, relaxed.


“What is this? Why is this?”
Amon had never left Egypt before Adrian dragged him out of there as this creature known as a vampire. They had just left China and were now chasing Altjira further north. It would take another eight hundred or so years to finally pin Altjira down, but Adrian was ceaseless in his hunt. Altjira never had time to relax.

Nor did Amon, dragged along by a loyalty he couldn’t then explain.


“This is…,”
he frowned. He knew Amon had no concept of snow, and so he stopped. He had at least a thousand different words for different kinds of snow, but Amon did not even have one. He could tell him the word in Greek, their shared language, but it would mean nothing to Amon.

He turned to face Amon.
“Rain, you know that, yes?” Amon nodded. “This is rain if made really cold. It becomes solid, and it sticks to the ground. It is called in general terms, ‘snow’.”

“General terms?”


“This snow,” he motioned to it, “I would call ‘firn’, though I do not know if it is true, it seems to be.” Amon’s expression showed his utter confusion, “Never mind.” Adrian turned and walk on. Amon followed.

“Are you from here?”


“No,” he answered, “but I crossed through here before.” Over a bridge that was now gone, when this land was connected to his. It had been after a massacre. He had wandered to be forgotten through his absence. He was not sure it had worked, but did not want to return anyway. “It is like my home. My home was cold and deprived of the sun.”

“Were all of your kind like you, then? Unlucky souls?”

“…no.”
It was the honest answer. “And so they no longer live.” He knew, somehow, they were all dead. Even the shaman. “Do you not like the snow, Amon?”

“No,” he answered. “It is cold.”

Adrian chuckled, and then felt warmth. He looked behind him to see Amon attempting to clear a path, and he laughed harder as the frozen snow resisted the fire.
"THIS IS UTTER BULLSHIT!" Amon shouted, the fire growing and reflecting more and more off the snow.

"Amon," Adrian tried to speak to his laughter. "This snow goes deep. Feet deep. You will not conquer it so easily."

The fire ceased,
"How did your people survive?"

Adrian shrugged. It had been difficult for them, but they'd managed. Amon huffed, stepped forward to walk on from the evidence of his shame, and slipped in the ice he had revealed. He fell flat on his face, and Adrian burst into another fit of laughter.


“Amon, we’ve landed,”
Amon sat up in his seat, and felt Nekhet pull his arm, and pull him towards the exit of the plane. They had arranged things specially so all of this would take place overnight, regardless of time differences. Expensive, yes, but they had the money to spare. Nekhet drew Amon through the airport, and then out.

The air tasted familiar.
“Am I in Egypt?” But it was too cold for that, far too cold.

“Walk,” and Nekhet led him into a building that smelled of incense, and then outside again. “Now,” and he pulled the blindfold off. Amon found himself atop a decorated Coptic Church, and all around him, snow was falling in Egypt.

He looked confused. Interested. Happy.
“What is this…?”
 
“I heard the report on the news, and I wanted you to see it for Christmas.”


“That you celebrate that ridiculous holiday….”
Amon just shook his head. Nekhet had not converted, but he loved the American form of the holiday. “It is snowing in Egypt,” he couldn’t understand. “It never snows in Egypt.”

“Merry Christmas!” The lights glowed, and the snow sparkled as it fell. Amon leaned against a pillar that held the bell up above the church’s roof. Though he smiled, there was a sobriety to it that struck Nekhet as odd. “What is wrong?”

He didn’t expect what Amon said,
“I want to know how eggnog tastes.” And he never would. Even if it passed his lips, he’d not know how it would taste to a human. “Cinnamon. Hot chocolate. I have a longing to be human again now, and…warm.” Naturally so.

Nekhet frowned, then grabbed one of Amon’s arms and brought it against himself, before leaning against the pharaoh to add what little heat he could provide. Amon laughed a little as he looked down at the other leaning against him, but allowed it. He kissed the top of his childe’s head, and then relaxed in the moment.


“Merry Christmas, Nekhet. Heathen.”


“I still believe in you.”
Nekhet reminded. “And Zeus,” Amon wrinkled his nose. “Mostly you.”

Amon exhaled steam.


“We will see the pyramids in snow before the sun removes it, yes?”


“Yes.”
Of course they would. How could they not?

Krystal Itzume

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Re: Following the Blood [One-Shots of Waxing and Waning][Closed]
« Reply #13 on: March 09, 2015, 03:06:12 am »
Light as a Feather

It was a dream. Amon knew this even as his hands moved over the familiar, and yet foreign, scripts. Hieroglyphs and hieratic script had changed quite a bit since he was human, but he still understood the gist as his fingers moved over the accompanying images. They were instructions. There was a false door which bore his name.

He passed right through it when he got up the courage to approach, as he knew he would.

There was a boat waiting for him. He was before a silvery figure dressed in feathers. He shined brilliantly, and he offered Amon a hand. Amon took it, and stepped into the boat.
“It is just us this night, Amon. We will traverse Duat to Osiris.”

Amon took a seat in the boat,
“Osiris knows me not.” Osiris, Horus, Seth, and Nephthys were after his time. “I did not know him.”

“Osiris has been since before you, and he knows you, as I know you. Do you know me, son of Djer?”


“Thoth,” it came without thought. Thoth had been in his time, the moon god. “You should not be here.”

“It is a new moon tonight, Amon. You did not sleep in the night for no reason,”
no, not this time, anyway. The boat moved with them in it, “There are many gates to pass through tonight, before you reach Osiris.”

“To what purpose?” Amon inquired, “When I die, there will be no heart to speak for me.” There would be nothing left of him.

Thoth did not tell him, but said,
“Your questions will be answered when we arrive.” And so the boat moved on. At each gate, Amon was told to speak to the gatekeeper, and he did so. He had not been told the words in his life, for there were no gates taught of in his time. Still, he addressed the gatekeepers, and the women at the portals, and each time they found his words pleasing enough to let himself and Thoth through.

Eventually, they reached the shore. A deity Amon did not know took the rope and pulled them up onto the shore. Thoth did not go with Amon as he walked through another false door, and into a highly ornate room. Osiris was on a throne, and there were scales held over a pit in which Ammit resided. Anubis leaned on the wall near that pit.

Amon did not bow to Osiris as, perhaps, he should have. He walked to the dead king, and asked,
“Why have I been brought here? I am not yours.” He was not dead, and he was not devoted to Osiris, either, nor to Horus.

“It was a request made by the Lord of the Silent.”
Osiris answered. He did not need to say anymore, for Amon well understood who had asked him here.

He bowed his head.
“What is his will?”

“To weigh your heart.”


Amon hesitated.


“You will not join him in Aaru, for your blessing is to walk on Earth for eternity, an option he gave up long ago when he grew sick of fighting with humanity’s jealousy.”


“Then why weigh my heart?”


“It is his wish.”


Amon looked back up,
“As he wishes, then.”

The loss of a heart could not hurt in the dream, and Osiris rose from his throne and drew close to Amon. His hand plunged into Amon’s chest painlessly, and pulled from it the heart of Amon, anatomically correct. He walked to the scales and offered it to Anubis, who set first a feather on the scales, and then the heart.

Despite knowing his fate was not for Aaru, it was a tense moment. Moreso as the heart was placed on, and the scales rocked. As he held his breath, he watched the scales as they settled. There was no tilting, in the end. The feather of Ma’at and the heart remained level.
“I did not expect this,” Osiris confessed, “When the Lord of Truth claimed you worthy, though you follow the nameless, I had doubts.”

“The nameless?”
Amon looked to Osiris.

“His name was wiped away from all records, yet he holds in him many names and stolen identities.”


It was an obvious reference to Adrian. Amon thought Osiris referred to his penchant to take on pseudonyms. Amon never did that. Never would. Especially if it meant he could lose his own name.


“You should not doubt me.”

Resplendent and golden, in walked Amon himself, the namesake of the pharaoh. He dressed in robes of white, and his skin was black as if burned, but upon it were golden, glowing tattoos that illuminated the area. His eyes were a brilliant red.
“My son greets me at sun rise and at sunset, though it hurts him to do so. My son does not follow the path of the nameless.”

Amon dropped to a knee immediately, and the God laughed,
“Rise.”

And he did, immediately,
“I—I am…I am sorry.”

“Do not be,”
the God said and he came to Amon and placed his hand upon his shoulder. “I miss you. I ask of you from Thoth, constantly, and he tells me of you, my first child. I did not wish this for you, but we have no power over the nameless. No one does.”

One without a name was one without anything—no fate, no destiny, and no bounds.
“I cannot have you return to me, but I have heard your prayers.” The God motioned to the heart, “Give that to me, and I shall give you my fire, to mark you as mine.”

There was no hesitation from Amon,
“It is yours. It has always been yours.” In an instant, the heart burnt on the scales, and the God’s hand touched Amon’s chest.

The burning he felt woke him, and he found Adrian glowering at him within the hut as night was fading away.

When Amon would step out that day, he'd find his power over fire.

« Last Edit: March 09, 2015, 03:12:18 am by Krystal Itzume »