. . .
A Brief Note, Please Read:
One) I own nothing.
Two) For the best experience, I recommend listening to the song "Let The Monster Rise" from Repo! The Genetic Opera before reading this.
No, do not watch the film clip that goes with the song, simply listen to the audio, the lyrics, at least to get an idea.
Or do as you wish, of course, who am I to judge what suits?
Three) Thank you for reading. Thoughts are welcome.
. . .
The air is rank with the heavy scents of tanker grease, smoke, stagnant water, wet dirt, and old blood. Blood oozed in web-like rivulets to thin, dry and darken between the cobblestones like crude oil from machines, but it was not a machine of metal that this substance was pooling so lethally from.
Two pairs of eyes glow in the nighttime, matching in colour: a pale, piercing lapis lazuli.
These eyes are locked on each other as if in challenge, pupils mere slits, reptilian, inhuman.
One pair is widened. The other is as well, before it becomes downcast.
He withdraws his teeth from his most recent kill, tongue automatically swiping out to cleanse the reddish glaze from curving fangs.
Too late to pretend this was something otherwise.
Far, far too late.
She is trembling, her own fangs bared in a disbelieving grimace, horror unable to completely suppress instinct as they lengthen to protrude over her taut lower lip.
The scent of blood is heavy in the air, but not nearly so burdening as the words not yet said, caught in closed throats and locked in blanked brains.
He straightens, his mantle closing elegantly around his tall frame, darkening him into the surrounding shadows except for the paleness of his face and the brightness of his eyes; always elegant, always impeccable, always immaculate, except now, with the redness now staining his face and hands, except now, with the guilt now being placed bit by painful, weighty bit on his psyche with every passing second under her searing, simple stare. None of this guilt is betrayed in his face, only tiredness, weariness, regret, as the body cools at his feet.
His work is not yet finished, of course, but some things must take precedence...
He speaks first, the weariness roughening his voice.
"Didn't I tell you not to go out," he says quietly, "Didn't I...?"
"You did, you did..."
Her voice is a quaver, a broken song, tainted by smoke and shock, another stab into his heart.
"Didn't I say the world was cruel?" he gestures to the expanse of machine and stone and blood that encompasses them, turning away for a moment, "Didn't I...?"
"You did, you did..." she grieves.
He turns back to her, jaw slightly clenched, though his voice is still soft.
"Then tell me how this happened," he murmurs, glancing her over, her pure presence in this unholy place a wrongness in his eyes, his voice breaks, "What I did wrong,
Tell me, why?
Can we just fly home, bat,
And forget this dreadful night...?"
She is small, she has no mantle to hide inside, no years nor wisdom to bring impact to her presence. But she has spirit, she has strength, and now she has something to be fueled by these attributes. Her shaking eases, her hands slowly lower to clench at her sides instead of fisting in front of her breast. He blinks as he faces a frame with shoulders broadened instead of curled, a frame of defiance and rebuke, of challenge instead of fear, and his own shame nearly cripples him in front of her as she glances from him to the corpse.
"Didn't you say that you were different," she grinds out, staring at the sad thing at his feet, "Didn't you?"
"I am, I am..." he mourns, almost a plea.
"Say you aren't this person," her gaze snaps back to his, "Say it..."
"I am, I am...!" he repeats sorrowfully, whether this is an agreement or a confession, what does it matter now?
She steps forward, anger turning into something approaching desperation, hands almost reaching for him, before clenching again, black nails biting into pale palms.
"Then tell me how to act, Dad,
What to say, Dad,
Tell me, why?"
She bites her lip, waiting for an answer that he can't give, and once again her lostness dissolves into fury.
"All you've ever told me," she then says shakily, as his eyes widen at her.
"Every word,
Is
A
LIE!"
She comes at him, surprising him enough to make him stumble back from his kill, but she stops short, teeth bared, delicate claws curving from delicate fingers, fingers that seem too delicate, too frail. She is so small, she is so exposed, yet here she is, challenging with a boldness fit to combat a being twice her size; which he nearly is, yet how could he even think to respond to her challenge?
"Didn't you say that you'd protect me," she snarls into his stunned visage, baring her fangs at him, at him, "Didn't you?!"
"I tried, I tried!" he snaps back; anger, insult, and still that wretched regret.
"Is this how you'd help me," she spat, she gestures with mournful disgust to the corpse beyond them, "Is it?!"
"I tried, I TRIED!" he roars, but his open wrath does not deter her, he cannot scare her now, so inflamed is her rage.
She turns her back on him, normal nails clawing at her scalp, breaths hissing between her teeth, heaving from his chest.
Then...once more, her arms are lowered, her pale, delicate hands lax at her sides.
". . . Don't help me any more, Dad," she says quietly, and he cannot see her face; longs to, is afraid to.
"You are dead, Dad,
In my eyes..."
A blow nearly physical to his heart, knocks the breath from him, worse than any staking.
"Someone had replaced you," she continues, almost calmly, and still she will not turn to see him; she only has eyes for the corpse at her feet, for the wild shock of reddish-brown hair, for the brown eyes still widened in shock and horror and betrayal, now glassy. She had not known this person for very long, had wondered how things might've been if they'd had just a little more time, somehow she knew how things might've been, but now...
She looks to him then, and then blinks when his eyes glow redly to her gaze. But hers flash redly in return, breaking the attempted memory wipe, and her face is cold as his twists once more into self-loathing shame, and he attempts to hide himself in his mantle, in the shadows, under her gaze of wan, weary disappointment.
"Dad, I hate you," she continues, voice as heavy and solid as a gravestone.
"Go and die."
Worse than any staking, more final than any burial or cremation, he can only watch as the little bat flies away into the atmosphere of fog and shadow and smoke...
Away from him...
He stumbles back, against the wall, the silk of his cape scraping crudely against the roughness of the brickwork. His eyes are wide, his teeth are bared, he is nearly shaking his head, but slowly, slowly this semblance of shock leaches away. Now an expression nearly harsh in its sombre sobriety casts its cold gaze upon the corpse. He straightens, once more elegant, once more immaculate, once more untouchable...
"Didn't I build a house? A home?" he softly says aloud, "Didn't I...?"
You did... You did... some things answer, soothing voices.
"Didn't I raise her all alone?!" he whirls to ask them, insulted rage twisting his countenance, "Didn't I?!"
You did... You did...
He laughs, sorrowful laughter.
"And then he took her from me," he casts a condemning sneer on the corpse, "Charmed my child, he's to blame!"
He sweeps to the mouth of the alley, leaving the body behind him, a nearly manic smile is cast in the direction that she had flown.
Then his face falls, as he considers the pathway in front of him, with an expression looking almost lost.
"Have I failed my daughter...?" he murmured.
Nothing answers him this time.
Rage, controlled and remorseless, takes his face again.
"Then let the father die," he intones. Shadows spread behind him, shadows are his mantle, shrouding out all light, and eyes of lapis lazuli glaze with red.
The Prince of Darkness smiles, looking now with anticipation to where she has flown.
"And let the monster RISE...!"
His laughter is slow and rich, his form is dark and deadly, and now this pathetic human city will be the first to experience the reign of terror and vengeance he is now free and eager to conduct. Screams rise where his shadow falls, and his shadow is great. The air this night is rank with the heavy scents of tanker grease, smoke, stagnant water, wet dirt, and freshly flowing, calming, cleansing, beauteous blood...