Out of all my stories, both fan fiction and original idea, this one is by far what I'm the proudest of. This story and what helped create it goes back to my early high school days almost 20 years ago. For that reason, I wanted to share it with those interested in vampires and their lore and mythology. As stated in the preview, all 41 chapters -not including the epilogue for its continuation- are completely written. I am to post a new chapter every week, maybe sooner depending. With that, I hope you all enjoy!

1

Born of Blood

Thirteenth-Century Rome

Mournful hums of a woman resonated through a dimly lit dungeon. The sounds got the attention of two robed and lightly armored men standing guard outside down a hallway. In each of their right hands was a halberd, its axe and spear tip crafted of silver. Between them was a closed cell-bar door leading to a corridor housing many dungeon cells.

One of the men sighed in annoyance and shook his bearded head, grumbling in question, "Must she do this again?" He glanced over his shoulder and yelled loud enough for his voice to echo in the dungeons. "Oye! Silence your trap or it'll get shut it for you!"

The humming paused, but only for a moment. Hushed laughter followed suit, and the humming returned.

"Barten," the first guard began, "go see what's gotten into that witch."

The second guard grumbled and rolled his eyes in equal annoyance. "Fine, but you're doing it the next time." He waited as the first guard unlocked the heavy dungeon door. With a swing on its creaky hinges, he was allowed to proceed inside. Out of precautionary measures, the door was locked behind him.

Barten called out in his striding toward the cell from which the hums were originating. "Silence, woman!"

From within a shadow-encased corner came an ominous cackle. "What do you plan on doing to stop me, lad?" A grungy woman slithered out of the shadows and stared up at the man with hungry, bloodshot eyes. Locks of matted ash-colored hair curtained her sullen face, and cracked lips curled upward to reveal yellowed teeth. "Your threats mean nothing to me . . . mortal." Her last words were filled with bile as her canines elongated into fangs.

The guard reached the butt of his halberd into the dungeon cell to slam it into the woman's forehead. This brought forth a yelp and knocked the woman to the stone floor. "Do not tempt me, demon!"

He watched her hiss and retreat back into the safety of the cell corner's shadows. She began to cackle a laugh, then suddenly let out a sharp gasp. Though her gaunt frame was mostly concealed in darkness, she could still be faintly seen in the dim luminance from the torchlight. She started choking, and her body jolted in spasms. Her bony fingers clawed the damp stone floor, causing some of her fingernails to break off to the quick.

This had the guard moderately alarmed. He had seen her throw a fit similar to this, before in the past, but not to this degree. A haunting chill began to fill the dungeon and sink into the marrow of his bones.

"This better not be another one of your tricks," Barten stammered out.

Seeing the woman's eyes roll back and hearing her neck pop from her head craning in painful positions made the guard stumble backward. His horror-widened eyes couldn't look away from the scene.

It took his trembling, agape mouth several moments to finally form words. "Jamos! Jamos!" he called to the first guard. "I think it's happening! Relay message to the Sect! It's happening!"

Bustling of hastened strides filled the dungeon corridors. Jamos scrambled down the narrow, spiral staircase leading into the dungeons followed by four other men. Immediately behind him was a much older man, a bishop, and keeping close to him were two priests. Last was a monk appearing to be in his early twenties, his green eyes downcast beneath his hood.

Jamos's trembling hands fumbled with the dungeon keys in dread of what was to come. He could feel the weight of the bishop's stare on his shoulders and felt overwhelmed by it. With a click in unlocking the door, the guard stepped aside to allow the religious figurehead and entourage passage.

They approached the pale-faced Barten standing motionless against the wall immediately across from the woman's cell. He saw the flash of elaborate silken robes from the corner of his eye and nodded a bow to the man. "Bishop Malwin."

Bishop Malwin didn't give any visual acknowledgment to the guard but instead took a stance in front of the locked cell door to observe its occupant. He could hear hushed whispers emanate from the sullen figure in the corner. What was being said was only recognized by the bishop and one other accompanying him. The piercing coal-black stare of the lavishly clothed man didn't blink in their continuous deciphering of the enigmatic language.

Standing quietly to the bishop's left was a priest, a silver cross necklace standing out in contrast to his black robes. His intense gray eyes squared down on the detained. "The blood is born, again . . . two hundred and fifty years later."

The bishop parted his pursed lips to question the detained. "Where is the blood being born? Where might we find the child?"

A strained, hoarse moan was the only answer the woman had to give. Quietly, Bishop Malwin turned his head to gaze at the jittery form of Jamos. "Open the cell."

Without questioning the order, the guard did as told and rejoined Barten along the back wall. Bishop Malwin then brought his gaze over to the leftward priest. A nod of his head gave a silent order, and the priest glided past and into the dungeon cell.

He towered over the wretched woman to interrogate. "The babe is close, isn't it? You can sense it. Tell me where, Lady Ryna."

Bloodshot eyes shifted in their sockets to meet the priest's chilling stare. "He knows and is searching. They all know, but he . . . he is whom you should dread."

The name "Caliss" rolled off the priest's tongue in a growl.

A glint of anger shined in the priest's eyes for only a moment, bringing a sinister smile from the Lady Ryna.

Bishop Malwin's nostrils flared and his jaw muscles flexed in anger. "Abbot Christophe," he began in a booming voice, "assemble a team of our finest and comb the nearby lands for the child." He and Lady Ryna's eyes locked on each other's. The man continued in a stern tone. "We must not let one of the last of Lilith's chosen obtain the blood."

The priest Abbot Christophe left the cell and ordered over his shoulder in passing, "Brother Henry, you will be accompanying me."

The monk, who had been standing quietly, did as told and joined the abbot's pace.

As per order of the Sect, a team of horses and all monks trained in specialized combat were always on standby. One never knew when word would come from the bishop to mount up for a defensive or offensive measure against the damned. It was because of this that the selected team, led by Abbot Christophe, was ready for departure. Four monks were on horseback while another steered a small carriage the abbot rode in. Also inside the carriage was Brother Henry.

His hands were busy securing the curtains of the carriage's interior shut while Abbot Christophe watched him. "Remember your training, boy." Brother Henry stopped in his working to meet the firm stare of his mentor. "Do whatever is necessary to protect the child should we find them alive and unharmed."

The timid monk hesitantly nodded his head to oblige. "Yes, Abbot."