Ah, what a pleasant midsummer morning this was. The glowing orange sun through the stained glass windows predicted warm weather for today, the chirping of native birds sounding just outside. A shame he could not go outside and greet this day... In here he was protected from the glaring sun that would burn him dry in a matter of moments, and his protective skin cover was not yet completed, or he would use it. There was absolutely no way that he was going to smear that dreadfully greasy UV gel over his skin like the rest of his vampiric kin. The man sighed deeply, and continued down the long hall.
Isaak von Kämpfer. He was tall, even by Methuselah standards, and slim, his night black hair, glossy and freshly washed, falling well below his waist line. His crisp, black uniform was in perfect order, the white trim and silk shirt underneath bright as could be in stark contrast. His gloves were absent today, the crimson band around his left upper arm matching the color of the velvet rug that extended the length of the stone hall, the very rug that his polished boots made hardly a whisper on as he walked.
Another set of footsteps echoed off the limestone walls as he was joined by another, a young man of nineteen or twenty, his uniform neat, but not in the same aloof manner of his companion. This was Dietrich von Lohengrin, the nineteen-year-old companion of Isaak. His tawny hair was short in comparison to Isaak's, hanging over his liquid amber eyes ever so slightly, a tiny, mischievous smile always in place on his fair face.
"Isaak, you look so longing. What for?"
"Have you taken a look outside? It must be a sin to miss such a beautiful day... But I do not want to ruin it for you. By all means, go outside."
"And why would I want to do that? I wouldn't want to rub it in your face, you know." Isaak chuckled softly.
"You should enjoy your life as much as you can. Humans live short ones."
"Honestly, the only reason my life is worth living is because I get to spend it with you. Everyone else can go to hell for all I care."
"Then you are stuck inside these walls until I develop a proper skin ointment."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Dietrich smiled, "So, how do you think Master Cain's encounter with his brother went?"
"I would say he is returning to Neumann Castle as we speak, and that it was a success. Then, I will have more time for you, as he will no longer need to be preserved."
"Mmm... I look forward to that." Dietrich stared down the hall, spotting one of their servants, an android woman dressed in a black and white maid costume. She approached them, and stopped, her monotone, mechanical voice reverberating off the stone walls.
"Magus Panzer Magier," all of them, the Auto Dolls, referred to the members of Rosenkreuz, including Cain, by their rank and title, with the exception being their creator, Melchior, whom they referred to as Master. After knowing the man for as long as Isaak did, he felt he was living up to his title, the name Pygmalion. The man was quite the technophile, and spent all hours of the day with his machines, keeping his unhinged mind focused on something constructive. She turned her gaze, her face framed with bobbed, dark hair, to Dietrich, acknowledging him as well, "Magister Marionettenspieler."
"Yes, what is it?" Isaak asked. She turned to him again.
"Ipsissimus Krusnik 01 has returned. He waits by the main entrance." Isaak smiled,
"Wonderful. Come, Di, let us greet our Lord." They left the maid, leaving her to her own devices, striding quickly down the hall to the main doorway. The heavy, wooden doors were tall, over twenty feet, and reinforced with iron bars and rivets, left from the days that the lords of this castle expected raids on a fairly regular basis. None knew now that it still stood. Isaak was expecting to see Cain standing there, in all his former glory and then some after having absorbed his younger brother, greeting the two of them, but he was not standing. No, when Isaak saw him, his expression gave way to utter despair, and Dietrich gasped softly.
"M-Master Cain...?" Dietrich whispered. Isaak stood there, speechless. Cain was laying in a crumpled, shameful heap upon the floor, white feathers strewn haphazardly left and right, some of them bloodstained. Blood was smeared across the floor as if he had dragged himself up the stairs and through the door, and spattered Cain's once glowing white robe near his extremities. His clothing was soaked along his chest and back, his cape torn to shreds in places as if he had been stuck through by that awful scythe of Abel's. The wings brought on by his Krusnik form were crumpled, both shedding feathers at an alarming rate, one of them reduced to a bloodied stump that still oozed dark red on the floor. His eyes were closed, his lips ajar slightly to allow a trickle of blood to pass, glowing golden hair the only unmarked, untainted part of him.
Dietrich glanced at Isaak, who stood, wide-eyed for a moment as he took in the horrific sight before him. Then, he started to shake, as if he were about to break down, and dashed to Cain, kneeling on the floor beside his blond-haired head. Slowly, he rested a hand on Cain's pallid cheek, sliding his other hand underneath to lift Cain's head from the floor, resting it on his shoulder as he shifted Cain to his back, and could not have cared less about the salty reek in the air, the sanguine mess on the floor, along with the dripping of Cain's blood onto his uniform. He did not fail to notice that the bloodstain left on his chest originated from the exact center, where his heart was. If it had been pierced by Abel's scythe... Then it was already too late to save him. Isaak slid his hand inside the hole left in the front of Cain's robe and found... Nothing. There was no wound beneath the cloth.
Isaak's short laugh of relief was teary and cracked with the held back sorrow of seeing Cain in such a state, and Dietrich had come to stand behind him.
"Is he... Going to be all right?"
"Yes... He... He will. Di, I need you to help me take him to his room. He has managed most of his regeneration on his own, but he will need my help to continue." Isaak startled slightly when he felt the movement of Cain and a soft groaning, his angelic face screwed up in pain.
"Mmf... Isaak..." he turned slowly to rest his chin on Isaak's shoulder, resting his palms on his subordinate's lower back.
"Please, My Lord... You need rest and time to recuperate. Do not strain yourself." He shuddered nervously as Cain's lips met the side of his neck and opened, but there was no searing pain of fangs. Isaak knew he needed blood, and the half-hearted way he bit down nearly made Isaak choke up again. Cain kissed the side of neck instead, and went limp with a groan. "Dietrich, help me," Isaak said to the young man behind him, and Dietrich came around to help Isaak lift Cain to his feet. Cain was leaning on Isaak, supporting his weight on Isaak's shoulders, his nose once again buried in the crook of Isaak's neck. Isaak knew this situation could become dangerous very quickly, as Cain's need to feed could override his logical thought.
"Isaak..." he whispered softly into the Methuselah's ear, "I want to hear your voice... Poetry... Please..."
"What do you wish to hear, Lord?" he glanced at the blond head on his shoulder. Cain was silent for a long while. "Lord Nightroad?" Slowly, before Isaak could lead Cain to his room, one of Cain's arms snaked around the Methuselah's waist, holding fast, the other seizing the side of his neck. Isaak gasped, pulling against that grip,
"Dietr—!" Dietrich turned just in time to see Cain viciously clamp his jaws on the side of Isaak's neck, puncturing his jugular vein. Isaak cried out loud, forcing his palms against Cain's chest, trying to push him away.
"Isaak!" Dietrich could do nothing but look on, helpless as the pair toppled to the floor, with Isaak grappling to break the Krusnik's godlike grasp as he sapped Isaak's life away from him, his vision beginning to swim and cause the panicking Dietrich's figure to blur as he stood there, fiddling with his fingers. Though the action seemed only to be a nervous impulse, the flash of gossamer silver puppet strings could be seen between them. He was making an attempt to call Isaak's Schatten Cohort on his own, though they would be of little help here.
Isaak emitted a strangled gurgling as he was held in Cain's death grip, his legs flailing helplessly, and Dietrich cried out in fear, diving on the two of them, yanking on Cain's shoulder.
"Master, stop! STOP! You'll kill him! PLEASE! PLEASE DON'T KILL HIM!" his pitch increased as he became hysterical, seizing Cain's white robe with and pulling with all the strength he could muster, the fabric ripping in his grasp. He fell, the torn cloth still clutched tightly in his fists, regaining his footing as quickly as possible, and as he dove on Cain again, he released Isaak, and Isaak fell to the floor. Dietrich stared as Cain fell too, gasping softly as the damaged wing on his back was reconstructed, muscle snaking up bone, forming pale skin, white feathers sprouting and filling in the gaps on his undamaged wing. His wings shrank, fading into his back, and he wiped the trail of blood, both his own and Isaak's, from his chin.
"I... Isaak...?" Dietrich knelt beside the other, shifting Isaak's head to look at the deep wound on his neck. "O-oh... Mas...ter?" Dietrich glanced at Cain as he rose, his eyes wide with pain and betrayal, as if he was a young boy again, his father's life stolen away by one who he thought to be a friend, but he did not shed a tear.
"Yes, Dietrich, what is it?" Cain's voice was groggy, as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep. He turned, and his lips parted slightly in surprise at the sight of the Puppeteer and the Armor Magician, Dietrich's white-gloved hands fisted in Isaak's uniform. "Isaak...? Oh, I..." he reached out, and turned Isaak's head, finding the marks that his own fangs had left in Isaak's flesh. He felt for a pulse, and his face fell. There was none. "Isaak, I'm so sorry..." he muttered, frowning, lifting him from the floor and cradling him close, stroking his face, his eyes burning with tears. Dietrich sobbed quietly beside him.
((Apparently I like writing tragedies. :P))