:: Illusions ::

~Sorcerous Stabber Orphen~

Disclaimer: I don't own Sorcerous Stabber Orphen or any of the characters. Rights go to Akita Sadanobu, and ADVision.

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: mostly undetermined, only vague hints so far

Warnings: complete AU, mild OOC (to be explained later), language

Notes: *claps* It's my new project! Praise me! .;;

Seriously, this is gonna be my new epic. None of my one-shots seem to want to work with me (with the exception of the Excel-fic I'm working on), including Ivy-san's prize-fic. Sorry, Ivy-san. I'm really trying, but it's hard to work on something you don't enjoy doing...

Anyway, this is going to be a supernatural fic. Run away now if you hate that kind of thing. Yes, supernatural, complete with vampires, witches, mages, sorcerers, demons, shapeshifters, werewolves, possibly even other, slightly more mythical things like elves and the like. If you know me, you'll probably know what pairing the fic'll end up with, but even I'm not completely certain. So as not disappoint anyone, I'll leave my options open for the moment.

Also, this is my attempt at making chapters longer, so there will most likely be longer updates in between things. After all, if I want to be a novelist I can't limit myself to five pages per chapter, right?

So this is just the prologue. Constructive criticism is highly welcome. Thank you.




He was bored.

It wasn't too unusual. He was, after all, very young, and though he understood much of what was going on, he'd caught enough of the plan the first time around. Why hash and rehash until every word had been used, broken and mutilated beyond all recognition? It was just stupid, and though he tried to have patience with it, he did *not* condone with stupidity.

It wasn't his fault that he was a prodigy in nearly every way possible. Such things happened when you were undead and immortal.

Two hundred years was considerably young for a vampire.

Majik stifled a sigh, trying not to fidget. His elders didn't put up with his so-called insolence ("It's not my fault I can grasp concepts quicker!") but it was getting very monotonous, just listening to the same boring thing over... and over... and over...

A tiny white fuzz was stuck to his sweater. Majik plucked it off, flicking it away absently as the vehement voices of his elders -- mostly men -- argued back and forth. His wide, innocent-seeming turquoise eyes caught a pair of deep-set crimson. The woman across the table smirked faintly at him, rolling her creepy but lovely eyes in a way that said, 'Yes, I must agree, this is stupid.'

Majik grinned. Azalea was much more like him: a prodigy and very intelligent. They weren't close, but they got along fairly well because of this. She was very different from him, of course; Azalea was much more determined, set in her ways, persuasive without the use of powers, gorgeous... Not to mention she was a mage, very different from the vampire he was.

But the war against spell-casters and the undead had ended long ago. There was only one race against the supernatural beings, and that race was considered superior even to them: they lived even longer, were more powerful, and abused this power in every way.

The Demons were dying out, of course, but there were still the few that were considered high above all others. And it was those Demons the Silver Moon was aiming to annihilate.

Failure wasn't an option in this job.

Majik leaned back in his chair, careful to choose a pen to toy with rather than a pencil. There wasn't a great chance he'd stab himself with the pointed wood, but even splinters hurt like hell. That was a huge disadvantage to the vampires; though powerful, the very essence of Life could kill them.

He straightened up at once as he was addressed, his sharp senses picking out his name amongst the rumble of many voices. Tucking the pen behind his ear much in the fashion of a busy reporter for the daily news, Majik flashed a disarmingly sweet smile. "Yes?"

His gaze was pinned with a pair of dark, unreadable eyes. "I'm counting on you," a cold voice said, piercing through the air. "Do you hear me? No foul-ups this time around."

Majik kept his smile plastered in place; it had taken him years to perfect it, but he'd finally gotten the facial expressions down to pat and rarely set his master off anymore. "Don't worry," a high-pitched, feminine voice said to the smaller boy's right. A pale hand came to rest; he didn't have to look to see who it was. He could sense her thoughts vaguely. "We'll succeed this time around, sir."

And beneath her soothing words was underlying determination. Perhaps she was as sick of getting the blunt end of the stick as he? Majik made sure to keep silent. Should he speak without her seeming permission, everyone would catch on to the little game.

Funny. Two hundred years ago he would have been appalled at even thinking of toying with a female this way. Of course, he hadn't been expected to be bitten that night, either.

"Everything is under control," Majik assured him, his voice dropping to a soft pitch, making him sound even more like a gentle girl that usual. He'd always been pretty, mistaken for a girl at a certain distance, and having the chiseled features of the undead didn't help that any. Ah, but it made him attractive, and that certainly did help when he needed to feed.

Speaking of which, he hadn't done so for nearly five days now. The lack of oxygen flowing through his deadened veins was beginning to make him wilt. Majik hated drinking from conscious human beings, unlike most of his kin. He didn't enjoy the struggling and rather hated getting blood all over him. It was bad enough he was one of the undead; why flaunt it?

He tapped a pale wrist not far away from his own hand, eyes flickering to catch another pair of pale, glittering ice to convey the silent message. He could try linking minds with her, but no, not with *him* in the room. He'd give him a good whack with a club if he discovered Majik was trying too hard to be conservative again.

"Are we quite finished?" the pinched voice asked sweetly. "It's far past Hunting Hours, you know."

Pale red, almost pink eyes glittered with malice as a smirk curled their master's lips. "Of course. Good luck to you all."

It was an insincere wish, but Majik smiled and ever-so-politely thanked him, pushing his chair in with great caution. Why, oh why did their master insist on having wooden chairs? Damned bitter old sorcerer...

Once outside, Majik turned his eyes to the tiny cluster of people around him. To his right was the blonde woman whose wrist he'd touched; she looked a bit like him in the way she had blonde hair, blue eyes and pale skin, but her hair was also paler, nearly silver, and his eyes were tinged with the barest hints of green.

And, aside from that, she was *way* older than he.

"That was pointless," said the crimson-eyed Azalea, pausing in her steps to glance at anyone else for agreement.

Since no one seemed to want to agree, Majik spoke up. "Yes."

"Perhaps you just whine too much," drawled a redhead young man with golden eyes.

Azalea pinned him with a dark stare. "Really, Hartia, just because Majik and I are basically smarter than the rest of you--"

"Excuse me," the one addressed as Hartia cut in, baring sharpened teeth. One ignorant to the supernatural would believe him to be a vampire, but his gold eyes gave him away to a shapeshifter-- a werewolf, to be precise. "Just because you're the master's favourite sex toy doesn't make you any better than us!"

Amused, Majik hung back to watch them bicker.

Azalea scoffed. "Sex toy? Please. At least I'm not the one that had to turn into a bisexual just to make sure I got something."

"There's nothing wrong with liking guys, too," snapped Hartia. "And at least I'm not a damned slut."

"Excuse me. I'll have you know I have been faithful to my *sole* lover my entire life!"

"Well, obviously, since he's that old..."

Raising an eyebrow at the heated words spat between the two, Majik noted with his usual awe that Azalea was the one that overall kept her cool. She was poisonous in her words, yes, but throughout the entire argument her only facial transformations had been a slight stitch at the eyebrow and the barest curve of a scowl. Whereas Hartia, he grew livid and clearly agitated, due to his nature as a wild beast, perhaps. His lips would curl, his eyebrows would furrow deeply, and his voice would hitch with a growl.

Majik didn't understand why Hartia insisted on fighting with the beautiful mage. Azalea was a master with words, weaving them into what she desired. Her voice could go so sweet as to be completely subtle in her intentions, blinding her victim of her true intentions until it was too late, or have sharp thorns from the very beginning, ready to prick and slash once the call was made.

"Majik..."

He didn't start at the voice, clearly expecting it to interrupt at any moment. "Yes, Cleao, I'm coming," he replied serenely, casting one last look toward Hartia and Azalea before bounding after the older vampire.

Cleao stared at him for a moment, uncharacteristically serious. "Your mind was dull during the meeting, you know."

"Mm hm," Majik agreed, stooping to pick up a rather large stone from the dirt path. He tossed it carelessly; the rock whizzed through the trees, not stopping until it smashed into what sounded like a cedar tree a good mile or so away. The blonde boy smirked.

"Is the last mission still troubling you?"

Majik cast her a startlingly dark look. "I appreciate your concern, Cleao, but I can assure you I don't need it. You know the only reason I follow you around..."

Cleao sighed and nodded, her positively fake, cheerful smile lighting her childish features. "Of course." She paused in her walking, glancing down at her toes as she nudged the dirt. "Shall we go hunting, then, or are you too weak?"

Of course he wasn't that weak, but Majik tended to use it as an excuse so he wouldn't have to see his victim's face before he put them into a trance, freezing their expression into that of horror before he sank his sharp fangs into the tender, hot flesh, blood singing through their veins, calling him...

Shuddering and shaking the thought from his head, Majik managed to say in a controlled tone, "Yes, I do feel rather weak. I'll go rest and see you when you get back."

Nodding, Cleao turned and disappeared into the forest, barefooted and in a swirl of silvery curls. Majik ran a hand through his dust golden hair, sighing heavily as though he'd just released a huge burden off his back. In a way, he had. He liked Cleao; she was all right, but she could be so irritating sometimes. It took a lot of patience to deal with her, and Majik's two-hundred-and-fourteen-years of patience were stretching thin.

Now he really was tired. Majik strongly suspected his -- their -- master had something to do with that, perhaps sapping the energy he so sorely needed. Ah, well. The sooner they could solve the current Demon problem, the better. Then he'd be free of the binding contract, free to escape from the master he loathed so much.

A part of his long-buried innocence cried at the hatred burning through his soul as he melted into the shadows that night, its keen wails heard to no one but himself.