Redeeming Cain

By Kaj-Nrig

Notes/Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is the sole property of Square Enix Co., Ltd. I claim none of its characters, scenarios, or affiliations as my own.

Prologue: The Night Flies

The woman pleaded with his mutilated mask, attempting at once to shield her young child and stave off his advance. He would have none of it. "No, please! I never asked for this! She's just a girl, for Christ's sake! Please!"

Ignoring her desperate protests, he grasped her flailing arm with his own and twisted, forcing a abrupt and painful cease to her cries. "Vampires will not be allowed to live," he muttered harshly, flinging her aside. With a cry of agony, the woman tore a table into pieces and continued into a tattered sofa, leaving the huddled girl alone under the gaze of the red death. He could smell the rank stench of terror on her face, and the tears streaming down her eyes nearly made him recall himself, but he brought the dull black pistol to bear on her small chest.

"P-Please," the young pale girl wept, attempting valiantly to quell her stuttering lips and shuddering arms. "Pl-please don't k-k-kill m-m-m-m-m..."

"It's nothing personal. You are meant to die," he replied, almost as if that were a suitable answer for her half-life. Suddenly, the girl's mother, her only parent left after her father's death at the hands of this red pestilence, rushed over from the mess of the couch, ignoring the throbbing rending of bone and muscle and organs and blood in her ribs and ligaments. The emptiness between them was less than two meters, but a flash of light tore through her throat and she tumbled unceremoniously to the already-bloody floor; chunks of skin, gore, and muscle sang in harmonious flight, peppering the walls and creating ripples in the puddles of cherry hues soaking into the ground. The woman tried to speak as she breathed through her neck, but only a sick hiss of expelled air came out.

Shrieking with terror, the pale, horrified, ghastly girl, with flickering sky blue eyes and diminutive canines, fumbled over to her mother's side. The red death clasped the hem of her shirt in his warped claw, tossing her small frame against the wall. With an anguished cry of pain, the girl squirmed futilely against the hand that pinned her. "NOOO! NOOO! MOMMY, NOOO!" she continued to yell intermittently, thrashing wildly and flailing her arms to reach-reach-reach for the still-twitching form laying face-down in a puddle of spreading cruor.

With methodical disregard for her irrelevant anguish, the masque of the red death continued throughout the room, and the crimson plague bore down to confront her eye to eye. "May you find joy in the next life, for there is none here," he muttered under her screaming, crossing the pistol once on her chest – up to down, left to right – and placed its final resting place where her life pulsed.

"MOMMA! COME BACK MOMMA COME BACK COME-"

Chapter 1: Bounty Hunter

The midnight moon shone harshly on the rocky crag of road that passed through the countryside. On one side, the forest glinted with the glow of unnatural beings, slinking through the gloom of night in search of unwary visitors. On the other side lay their trap – a sharp valley stretching from the plains of Nibelheim to the Midgar Ocean, carved out of the earth over eons by the ancient Gongaga River.

The inhuman cackle of beastly mutterings suddenly fell silent, leaving the night with an eerie, hushed silence that reeked of malice and tension. They were waiting for their next meal.

The traveler stood on the side of the road, staring down the two paths with equal interest – none. Next to it stood the long-abandoned map post, which displayed a half-rotted, centuries-old representation of the local area. Above the pine display were posted three oak street signs, though they were now unreadable and molding. The crimson-cloaked figure nodded as if it understood the indiscernible gibberish and stepped onto the road following the canyon.

The attack was instantaneous.

As if shattering the night air itself, the edge of the forest burst in a sonic boom, tearing trees out of the earth as a gardener would pluck vegetables, and was followed by the overpowering sound of the night howling as death took another prize. Within seconds, the road and forest edge were littered with crimson liquid so opaque they both seemed to be built of it.

The shrieks ended as quickly as they hard started, leaving the world once again wrapped in deathly silence. Crickets, though their wings itched to open and fill the world with their melodies, crouched lower into the blades of blood, gazing up at the fractured image of only a singular creature, one singular creature that glared into the horizon with eyes as red as a ruby and twice as bright.

The eyes of a vampire.

---

The town was built much like any other in the Outer Plate – with buckets and buckets of fear. Surrounding the large stone-and-wood shacks that served as shops and houses, a huge looming gate structure stretched up a story and a half, topped off by thin, towering spires that stabbed into the sky like ominous steel pitchforks. His eyes could faintly discern the eldritch etchings that had been engraved upon its dark and stone surface, designs that had once held an unimaginable power, and probably still did.

Giant crosses were emblazoned onto the wall at regular intervals, with one of the giant symbols lying above each entrance; it was a safeguard that, he knew from personal experience, was only partially effective. Branching from the fortress-like enclosure and to his left was a long gravel path that was swallowed up by the nearby forest, and he knew that the town's source of fear lay huddled somewhere in that forest.

Shrugging, he made his way into the open gates.

---

Father Michael Hebner shuddered as he lay huddled against the church doors, clutching the crucifix tightly in his white-knuckled grip. He stared in horror as something dark and whispery floated above the altar, above a small, simple pinewood coffin. A set of stands stood on opposite ends of the altar, each with half a dozen candles burning brightly, casting a perverted halo around its vicious form. The creature passed a nearly-indiscernible arm... or hand... or something over them, and the instant they were touched, the candles threw out a dramatic shower of sparks before snuffing out.

"D-Dear Father, Who art in Heaven-"

"-I BESEECH YOU TAKE ME FROM SIN AND KEEP ME IN YOUR KEEPING AMEN AMEN AMEN!" the apparition cackled, prattling a string of laughter in its wake. It focused its glaring blood eyes on his diminutive form, giggling almost girlishly at the cross in his hands, which looked small and insignificant even to him. "Ah, Father... Do you not know that the Lord has forsaken us?" it whispered seductively and began gliding to the door, its feet splayed back and rigidly cold.

The Father shrieked in terror and backed further into the door, causing it to buckle against its restraints. As the apparition languidly rode the air like a wave, it smiled a predatory smile, and poking through its teeth were twin fangs. Its red eyes narrowed to tiny vertical slits, like a cat. Father Hebner's screams broke down into silence and he felt a warm liquid seeping down his pants. He crashed into the doors again, terror and adrenaline erasing all memory of the door's lock and the key he had kept safely in his breast pocket.

"Ah, Father, why do you tremble so? It's me, your beloved parishioner... Melantha Crescent. Don't you remember me?" she sang, and suddenly he felt the light pull of her fingers – stiff, cold, and yet startlingly vibrant – on his cheek. His mouth opened to scream, but then there was a caress on the neck, and he saw the face of a midnight beauty, felt the darkness of her breasts pressing on him, smelled her sensuous earthen scent, and tasted the night's most forbidden fruit.

---

Townsfolk bustled around him in a flurry of action. Open-air shops were selling the day's freshest meat and produce, while others stepped in and out of buildings in search of various trinkets. In the center of town, throngs of people gathered around the large fountain to pray, eat, socialize, or all three. The fountain itself was a mesmerizing sight: the Son Jesus stood eternal watch on his cross as water poured from the stakes in his wrists and down his limp fingertips. His visage was that of a holy warrior, glaring with righteous fury in the direction of the forest.

He took careful pains to not look anybody directly in the eyes; it wouldn't do any good to have townsfolk recognize the trademark glow of vampire eyes in broad daylight, after all. I have to find lodging and food, he remembered, and headed toward what looked to be a suitable foods stand.

Suddenly, from across the square, there was an ear-splitting crack as something blew apart. The townspeople gasped in shock, and after an instant of surprise, some began shuffling away from the local church, while others gathered in fascination. A sickening dread soon found its way into the pit of his stomach. Well, at least the job's not scarce, he told himself. Clutching his cape closer to his body with his left hand, he began to rush to the scene. His right hand reached down and unclasped his handgun.

"Everybody move. Out of the way," he commanded in a calm but rushed tone. The church doors boomed loudly again as whatever was inside threatened to burst out. "Move, everybody move...!" Not minding the gasps and surprised exclamations, the hunter made his way to the front of the crowd, holding his handgun up to disperse the crowd.

Just as he made his way past the townspeople, another blast rocked the doors of the church, and this time they blew off their hinges. The dark apparition that flew out cackled with undisguised pleasure, screeching through the air at a blindingly fast pace in hopes of catching an unwary citizen. He didn't stop to face the creature, simply firing off a round and leaping over its falling body as he bounded into the church. There was movement to his right, and he swept the sight of his gun over to it.

Writhing in agony, his left hand desperately gripping a cross that was singeing the skin off, the priest howled in pain as he dipped a burnt right hand into a stand of holy water and splashed the side of his equally burnt face with it. On his neck were the marks of the vampire, and he splashed more of the divine substance on it, trying in vain to utter some sort of prayer; to him, it sounded like an attempt to recite the Act of Faith, but the words charred his throat as they came, and all that could be heard was nonsensical blubbering. Still, the fallen priest continued to pray, to clutch his crucifix with futile hope, to bless himself with holy water, until the hunter finally stood over him.

Well-built men were coursing in now, half of them to inspect the priest, and half to see who this strange and sudden new visitor was. "Jesus Christ, what happened to him!?" one of them exclaimed.

Staring up at his ungodly crimson eyes, the man beckoned to him with the cross in his hand, and continued to dab with increasingly weaker strength at the fang marks on his neck. As he stooped down and placed the barrel of his gun on the man's chest, he heard him whisper, "...may God forgive you..." before succumbing to the pain.

Emotionlessly, he crossed the priest, readying him for a return to dust. But as he gazed upon the man's crisped and smoking features, he stayed his hand. Pulling his own small crucifix out from under the hem of his jumpsuit, the traveler placed it squarely on Father Hebner's forehead and began reciting the prayer he'd started.

"Dear Father, my God, he firmly believes that you are one God. He believes your Son, the Father Jesus, died for man's sins. He believes His second advent draws nearer. He believes these and all truths that You teach, for You revealed them upon him, and You can neither deceive nor be deceived. He believes, Dear Father, he believes in You. Amen."

With that, he crossed the man once again with his hand, and gingerly lifted him off the ground. As he turned to the men that were now crowding the entrance, a young woman burst in. Her beauty caused him to pause momentarily in his step, and he was in awe.

Her eyes, a beautifully crafted golden brown, sparkled with concern under the light of the stained glass windows. Her luscious brown hair was tied back in a smooth and elegant ponytail. Her frame was slight and curvaceous at the same time, though it seemed to be so frail that it would break upon the touch. The air of the church lightened almost visibly when she stepped in. His breath caught in his throat, but he caught himself just as she rushed over to him.

"Father! Father Hebner! What happened!?" she sobbed, taking in the remarkable and repulsive burns on the entire right side of his face and neck. He suddenly felt deep shame and guilt running through his system; a woman as beautiful and innocent as her shouldn't have had to see the sight of her beloved church leader like this. When she saw the bite marks on his neck, she backed away in shock and despair, and he felt even more shame. Then she finally seemed to notice his presence and stared up at him, into his strangely luminescent eyes. But instead of reeling back in terror, she simply pleaded, "Please, you can't... please, don't kill him..."

Fighting the urge to pull her into his arms and soothe her worries, he replied calmly and coolly, "He's unconscious. Take him to rest." She nodded and the men behind her took his burnt body, some more hesitantly than others.

As he walked outside to examine the wraith's body, he felt her tug on his arm. Turning around, he watched her as she struggled for words. He could see a deep sadness playing across her features, but he couldn't understand why. "I... Thank you. For... saving my sister..." His eyes widened ever so slightly as understanding dawned on him. Looking back at the pale corpse of the woman, he noticed the sharp resemblance.

"...no thanks necessary," was his reply.

She nodded solemnly, and knelt down to examine her sister's dead body. "Are-"

A large man suddenly made his way past the crowd. "Move, move! Who the hell are you, stranger!?" he demanded as he pushed through the crowd of people. Though the young men who were previously in the church were helping scoot people back – they were most likely the town's police – it still took a while for the man to get into the clearing. When he did, he nearly leapt back into the crowd. "Jesus Almighty, what the hell is that!?"

The woman replied, "My sister, Mayor Foulke. She managed to awaken, and this man saved us." She looked back at the traveler and gave him a weak smile. He responded by holstering his firearm.

The mayor looked puzzled, but anger still weighed heavily on his mind. "This is Melantha? But wait a minute! It's still broad daylight out! How the hell could she awaken in the middle of the day!? You better tell me how something like this is possible, stranger!"

"Mayor, please! This man just saved the entire town! I think he deserves a little more than your blind suspicion!" she shouted. Mayor Foulke grumbled in a low voice to himself, obviously not pleased. The gunslinger shared this man's wonders; if a vampire victim could wake up in the middle of the day and still exhibit its powers of flight, then it meant that an extremely powerful vampire was at work. But all the oldest vampires are dead now. This shouldn't be possible...

"...fine. I apologize, stranger. These times have been... hard for us." He nodded, understanding very well what the mayor said. "Well, where's Father Hebner? I thought he was in charge of staking her." One of the men still in the church came out.

"Sheriff Weston and some other guys took him to the clinic. He was bit-"

"He was bitter at himself, Mayor. He said it was his fault that she managed to escape," she interrupted, smiling prettily at the young man. He looked perplexed, then nodded, smiled back, and returned to examining the church.

Mayor Foulke nodded, then turned to the crowd after some deep thinking. "Okay, folks. Everything's over, let's get back to our business. She's dead, she's dead, yes, we'll bury her later, c'mon, let's go..." At his words, the people finally dispersed, though some stared longingly back at the scene.

The gunman, staring at the blue and black body of Melantha Crescent, knelt down and examined the gunshot wound in her chest. It had gone straight into her heart, which was good. So why hadn't the body started decaying yet? This is going to be hard.

The woman next to him turned to him, that cheerful yet sad expression on her face. Now he knew why she was saddened. "Say, you wouldn't happen to be a hunter, would you?" He nodded and continued examining the body – the fangs were disappearing, at least. "Are you staying long?"

"Just for the night."

"...oh..."

"She needs to be buried before nightfall. If not, there's a chance she will come back as a wraith," he explained quietly, bringing his hand to curl under Melantha's neck. He considered for a while, then decided that enough people weren't looking and brought his left hand out from hiding. As he lifted her body up, he noticed the woman's eyes fixated on his golden appendage. "No need to worry." He made his way inside, and she followed.

"Oh, I didn't mean to stare. I'm sorry..." Her voice trailed off as she examined the church. It was almost unchanged, save for a few broken benches along the center aisle. He laid her sister to rest in the coffin and closed it again, crossing the face of it before turning to leave.

"Where's the clinic?" he requested, taking careful pains not to fix his eyes on her. She had a way of distracting him.

Without a second thought, she grabbed his claw and led him out of the church and into the town square. "It's up the road to the northwest. My house is also up there..." She paused, embarrassed.

"What's the problem?"

"I... I need your help, but I don't have nearly enough money to hire services like yours."

"If this vampire wanted your sister, it may also want you. Payment isn't a matter of discussion until after this vampire is destroyed. I just need a place to stay," he answered, somewhat surprised at the uncharacteristically generous offer he had just proposed. The woman perked up at once and beamed at him. It was strange, as her happiness cause himself to feel something quite joyful.

"Of course I have room! I live by myself... well, my sister used to live with me..." He nodded and began in that direction. She followed closely, and they made their way up the road, easily ignoring the sets of eyes that stared at them and the hushed whispers that circulated. "Say..." she began, "...we don't even know each other's names yet. I'm Lucrecia."

"...you can call me Vincent."

"Vincent... That's a nice name. Nice to meet you, Vincent."

He was quiet.

Chapter 1 End

A/N: So yeah, I've been not writing for about... half a year now. Blame my muse. (Please don't; I don't have one.)

Many of you may notice the uncanny similarity to Vampire Hunter D. And I must admit, that's what got me started on this idea. Or if not, it sure had a big influence. Don't worry though; she's not gonna be throwing herself at Vincent in a big schmex-fest. And no, she doesn't have a younger brother. And also no, Vincent's metallic hand doesn't have a face on it that talks to him.

And I'd intended to introduce a familiar FFVII element in the short church encounter, but I s'pose I'll leave that for later.

Notes:

- The prologue draws heavily from Edgar Allan Poe's "The Masque of the Red Death". Not in its staging and setup, per se, but just in the descriptions of Vincent.

- "Melantha" is Greek in origin and means "dark violet/flower." "Lucrecia" is Latin in origin, and has varying meanings, including "brings light" or "full of light."

- Mayor Foulke's name comes from Larry "Pixy" Foulke, your wingman in Ace Combat Zero: The Belkan War.

Sheriff Weston – I asked my siblings what a good "Western movie" name would be for a sheriff. Among the first were "Nelson," "Montgomery," and "MacDonald." The first didn't sound gung-ho enough, the second was straight from one of my sister-in-law's romance novels, and the last was "too Alabama," as my brother put it. Weston sounded fairly decent. Incidentally, I have a friend whose last name is Weston.

"Dear Father, my God … he believes in You. Amen." – One of the most common Catholic acts of faith.