Rating: R for graphic gore and possible sexual situations.
Warnings: If you can't handle descriptive gore, sex, or (possible) yaoi, this fic isn't for you.
Disclaimer: Kain, Raziel, and etc. do not belong to me. If they did, do you honestly think I'd be writing fanfiction?
Kain quietly crept through the Tomb of the Sarafan. He was practically vibrating with sadistic glee. This would be one of his greatest and most ironic moments. He would change those that despised vampires into the very thing they hated most.
He passed miscellaneous tombs without so much as a cursory glance. He knew exactly which of them would become his faithful children. He would change not the lowly soldiers but the high warrior priests.
A satisfied smirk came to Kain's features as he entered a large, open room. He knew that this had been a grand structure when created, but time had worn it down. He had no time to admire the architecture, for his eyes were all for the six sarcophagi he had discovered.
Oh yes, this was what he'd been searching for. He went over the names inscribed on the stone carefully. Melchiah, Dumah, Zephon, Raziel, Rahab, and Turel.
Raziel? The name itself intrigued Kain. A quick glance around told him that Raziel's tomb was the most elaborate of them all. It was likely that this one had been their leader.
Kain grinned widely as he drank in the irony of it all. Their leader would become his first-born child. It was almost too good.
Without a second thought, Kain strode to the sarcophagus, sank claws into the stone lid, lifted it, and tossed it to the middle of the room as if it weighed no more than a feather. The impact shattered the lid, resounding shockwaves of sound echoing within the chamber.
The dry odor of old death assaulted Kain's nostrils as he peered into the sarcophagus. While the stench was vile, it was infinitely preferable to the slaughterhouse/outhouse smell of fresh death.
The corpse within had decayed to nothing but bones incased in rusted armor. Acting on impulse, Kain caressed the armor with a curious claw. It was so brittle that it began to crumble even under such a light weight. He drew his hand back for fear of causing harm. He would not mess this up.
Of course, it didn't help that he had no idea quite how to raise this one as a vampire. All Kain had to work with were miscellaneous bits of information from Vorador and what he himself had experienced when Mortanius had raised him. Once again, he knew that this would be different because the corpse was so much older.
Snorting in disgust, Kain dismissed his anxieties. They would do him no good. Only action would show him how. After all, there were no more vampires from which to receive counsel. If he could not do this, the bloodline of vampires would die with him. Nosgoth's imminent demise would be for nothing. Most importantly, he could not overtake Nosgoth without an army. He would not be denied.
It was with this in mind that Kain kneeled beside the coffin. His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to remember exactly what it was that Mortanius had done to raise him. The best Kain could recall was power, and a great deal of it, flowing through his body.
Kain sighed in dismay. He was certainly no necromancer and had no way of knowing if he could duplicate Mortanius's feat. A growl of frustration rumbled in his throat. If he'd known that it would come to this, he'd have forcefully extracted the information from the bastard before killing him.
His resolve solidified. If that simpleton could do it, then the process couldn't be that hard, so why was it that he was so nervous? He was Kain, slayer of the Circle. What did he have to fear from this? Was it merely the prospect of failure that stayed his hand? Did he even have the propensity to accomplish the task ahead of him?
Closing his eyes tightly in agitation, Kain grumbled to no one, "Shut up!"
Fangs bared in anger, he laid a tentative hand on the crumbling chest plate, being careful not to cause any more damage. Kain reached within himself and shoved raw power, for lack of a better term, into the desiccated corpse. He watched with rapt fascination as the bones began to move and renit themselves together. Sparse muscle tissue seemed to grow from the bones, and dry, cracking skin came forth to cover it.
Thin, stick-like hands grasped at his arm as the creature tried to rear. Kain had expected to be revolted at this task, but the power that made this mummy-like monstrosity live was his own power. It flared along his skin, and he felt an answering flare of energy from what would be his firstborn son. The reaction sparked a chain of affection so deep within him that it brought his breath in a gasp.
That one small peek into the creature's power granted Kain the knowledge he sought. It needed blood, for Kain could restore it only so far with just energy. He brought a claw to bear and with little more than a grimace, sliced into the wrist that the soon to be vampire gripped in its desiccated hands. He allowed it to lower his injured wrist to its mouth.
A strange, pleased sensation washed over Kain as the creature sucked at his bleeding wrist. Once again, he knew that he should be horrified that this thing, which was still more corpse than living flesh, was feeding from him; however, all he could feel was this odd satisfaction and a deep fascination at the sight of it.
Muscles began to stretch and bloom under the harsh, flaking skin. He heard sharp sucking noises as his fledgling's mouth and throat started to function normally. Kain sensed that the wound had closed and pried his wrist from the creature. However, the fledgling did not give up easily. It gave a keening wail, reared up and out of the coffin, and tackled Kain to cold stone floor.
The creature wrapped thin, half-formed arms around Kain's waist as if he were the only tangible thing in the world. Kain's eyes widened in mild shock when the fledgling clung tightly to him. He could never remember a being of any sort depending on him in such a way.
Alarm washed through him as he felt the creature begin to slip away, to die. In his haste, Kain cut his other wrist far too deeply, but all that mattered to him in that moment was to save this fledgling. He held his bleeding wrist close to the creature's face, and arms that had been wrapped firmly around his waist released him.
Frantic, half-formed hands gripped his forearm, and the fledgling began to feed once more. Kain became dimly aware that he was losing far too much blood, but he knew that if he stopped the creature, this Raziel, from feeding too soon, it would die. All this would mean nothing.
When the fledgling finally relinquished the wound, Kain was close to unconsciousness, floating on the brink of oblivion. Once again, his vampiric son wrapped arms securely around his waist and pressed the side of his face into Kain's stomach. Impulsively, Kain stroked a careful claw through the fledgling's raven hair, his hand coming away with bits of dry skin. Upon closer examination, Kain found that healthy, pristine skin had grown under the cracked, flaky layer of dermis.
The fledgling raised his face up enough to blink midnight blue eyes at Kain. The creature's voice was rough and distorted, "Father?"
Unable to help himself, a pleased grin etched itself on Kain's features, and he began to absentmindedly stroke his son's hair again, "Yes, Raziel. Yes."
His son resumed his death-grip on Kain's waist. A rough sigh left the older vampire. They could not stay the night here. There was far too much danger in it. His fledgling was frail, and Kain himself was much too weak from the loss of blood.
Kain mustered up the strength for one teleportation. He had the perfect place in mind. It was deserted, and no human would bother them there. Vorador's mansion.
He and his son disappeared from the tomb in a blinding flash of light.