The Silent Sovereign
Book One Slayers
Prologue
Life, the foundation of all creation. But who created this creation? Who created us? There is one being, a silent immortal being, that made us, it carries many names, but none know its true one. For it has never spoken, it just watched, in silence. When the first apocalypse came about, silent tears fell down its cheeks; its all good creations had to die, for doing nothing nothing at all. So when it created the world once more, he started a war, a war between good and evil. He created the First and the Powers that Be, both with limited power. The first could only manipulate the dead and the evil; the powers that be could not interfere with human fate. So for millions of years he watched as the battle unfolded, he watched as humans made prophecies about itself, about its creations, he watched all this in silence, with no one actually noticing his presence. But one faithful day came when, the first in all his undying evil, caught a glimpse of its power. He wanted more, so he hunted it, hunted it down. Until he saw all that he wanted, the silent one became enraged, and punished all; it destroyed everyone in its anger. The world was void for 500 years; the time came when the silent one became calm once again, and created the universe for the third and last time. It took more careful steps to avoid discovery. Everything was whole once more. The Silent Sovereign to this day, is still there watching in peace and silence, waiting, waiting for nothing.
Chapter One
There's someone out there, I know it, there's someone watching me, waiting for me, its un nerving, every time I look into the sky, all I see is death over and over again, there's no such thing as survival of the fittest, for the "fittest" will die also although they live a prolonged life. That someone or something is waiting, I do not know for what, and I do not wish to know, I prefer to be a blinded little fool, then an all knowing hero. I prefer to live in my brutal, cruel, evil and dirty world, than live in palace perfect. No matter how much I profess to hate my life, I would want nothing more than to stay where I am right now, I would want nothing more that to be alone, with no one watching me, waiting, with no one staring at me, laughing, with no one wanting me, lusting. I just want to be alone. I just want to be left alone; can't anybody on this useless little planet understand that? Some people call me a blessed human; they say I'm blessed with beauty, blessed with riches, blessed with family. Who ever says this speaks treacherous lies, although the earliest is true, the rest are foul and disgusting propagandas, that people force themselves to believe. Because no one wants to know what lies behind closed doors, everyone wants to remain ignorant to the truth. "Oh the Chatmen Family, are well respected, Mr. Chatmen is a neurologist, Mrs. Chatman is a senator and don't tell me that doesn't bring in enough money. And when you add their children, well at least one child, their son Charles Chatmen, is on his way to becoming a psychologist, oh and their daughter, she's a sight to behold, why she has the palest skin, it's like porcelain, her hair is long and silky black, and when you look at her face, she gives Cleopatra a run for her money, way she has the most beautiful eyes, crystal blue, with long curly lashes, their daughter the pride and joy of that family" That's what they say about us, listen to what they say about me, well that's not the entire truth, what they say about my parents social standing are facts, but they're making it sound like we're picture perfect which of course we are far from. As far as I know, my parents are from England, that's were I spent most of my childhood, I still hold the accent, the proper English, I believe that makes me all the more better than these Americans, but my mother being a senator automatically makes me an American, unfortunately, not that I'm saying this country is all the more horrible, I just do not believe in the way their carry themselves, especially my conniving demon spawn neighbors, and that's putting it lightly. Oh they praise me in public, but in private you should here what they say. "Oh last night I heard her professing to Satan, she's a succubus". I know these words do not deserve to plague my mind, but they do, how can one law abiding normal American say such things about another? I suppose that's were my hatred finds its foundation, oh but my hatred finds many foundations all American based. My father is a neurotic perfectionist, if you're in the same room with him for more than two hours; I guarantee you will be as insane as he is. Yeah, so what he saves lives everyday, but those are nothing but more trinkets for his already enlarged ego. My mother, my mother, I will try to describe my mother in one long sentence. Psychopathic, Neurotic, Schizophrenic, Insane, Deranged, Psychoneurotic, Paranoia Sufferer, Maniac, Demented, Moon Struck, Mentally Unsound ,Bereft of reason, addlebrained, Stark Mad, Addlepated, Loony, Derailed, Bonkers, Not all there, off the deep end, Demonic, Homicidal, Venomous, Virulent, pestilenal, and last but not least, CANNIBALLISTIC. Yes that is my mother, woe is me, and I am forced to live in the same building with this Psycho- Babbler for the rest of my inconsistent life, why can't she just take Prozac and leave us be? My brother, one of the few humans I actually feel sorry for, he fell into my parents inevitable pit of doom, he became or wanted to become the perfect son, and I must admit he is, successful handsome respectful and lover of parents, completely the opposite of moi. I will never be that, thank god, or whoever is up there, I like to call myself, the ultimate rich and bratty rebel. I spit at all social gatherings, I laugh at my deranged parents, and I'm a full supporter of the kingdom of anarchy, I'm practically the queen. Don't get me wrong some methods of the anarchists of this country are horrid, they even go as far as killing innocent people to get their point across, I don't want an absence of government although I wouldn't mind it, all I want is to be left alone, and if that's means disorder in this world, fine so be it. I live in a mansion, on 5817 Goodlock Road, in the Happy Town SunnyDale U.S.A. Sometimes, I do believe this town was made just to destroy me. The hyper ness, the happiness, the PRIMARY COLORS! All made just to destroy me. It's enough to make one puke out every bit of food one has ever consumed. The only place that I actually feel safe is my room. When we first moved here, I was 14, had I had already acquired my political views, and my own opinions of this world, I was more informed about the world than the president himself. I had also gained my likes and dislikes, I liked all dark things, I thought black was simple and different from any other color, and it spoke to me. Ever since then I have been obsessed with black, I could not stand any other color I would not tolerate it. My room was furnished, in an Old Italian Style. I had a four poster bed, the post were engraved with climbing roses, and I had carelessly flung black scarves over the top, I had done it such a way, that it looked like it was put there on purpose. My dresser also had engravings on it, roses on the drawers and sides of the mirror, and on the top it said, "Beware of the Darkness" In Spanish pirate letters, my room was the only room on the west wing that had a veranda, if you walked out onto it at night it was beautiful, the moon smiling down at you as stars twinkled in the sky, the veranda it self, was a sight for sore eyes, Spanish vines curled around the metal rods. If I closed my eyes tight enough I was in Italy, it is the night of the Spanish Bull, music blaring out from every street corner, children dancing gaily beneath me, as I breath in the sweet scent of happiness. But then I would open my eyes and the cold truth would stare right in my face, I was not in Italy, I was in SunnyDale, my own special hell. But that didn't stop me from dreaming, foolish I know, but that is all I can do. Just like my brother, all he can do is hope and dream that Father would leave him alone, so he can go his own way, to place far, far, far away, so he'll never have to see us again. That's all we pathetic lowly mortals can do, that's all we allow ourselves to do, hope, dream, cry for what we can never have.
Chapter Two
"Dreams, Inconsistent Angel things Horses bred with star laced wing But it's so hard to make them Fly, Fly, Fly" The Bronze, the only cool place in this horrible town, it's an all age night club, mostly for the high schoolers. But, as I said before all age, its was an open breeding place for perverted idiots who think they can get it on with an innocent preschooler. I should know they've tried me every night I come here. First, a bumbling Austin Powers wannabe comes up to you, drunk as a intoxicated horse, you can even see little traces of vomit on his stubbly chin. He would sit next to you, and start "friendly conversation", when you get up and walk away in disgust, he makes a blatant attempt to grab you ass. You would turn around in indignation and slap him, or in my case punch him. Then walk out forgetting to leave a tip. Oh yes this is a weekly commodity for me. Seeing as I am so appealing to the eyes. Tonight was the night, one of my favorite bands Sixpence None The Richer, was playing. The soft music floated through the club, I watched in silence as the crowd on the dance floor, swayed slowly to the music. I had the sudden urge to get up and join them, but I knew about five other incompetent idiots would follow me. Can't tonight, nor any other night for that matter. Sometimes I do believe beauty is an unintentional curse, that I am forced to hold. But tonight was different, he was here. He was someone I saw here every night. He was always lurking in the corner watching, his pale skin glowing brightly in contrast to the darkness. Every night he would try to conceal himself quietly, but some preppy temptress, would find him and try to seduce him into following her to the boundaries of her bed, but he always said no, and would brush her off coldly, but he showed something to me that she could not see, in his eyes those dark handsome showed hunger, not lustful hunger. But starvation hunger and it intrigued me. Seeing as there was nothing else to do, I decided to be the nightly temptress. I got up and sauntered towards him, choosing not to acknowledge, the desirous stares that claimed me. My skirt swished behind me as I halted to a stop in front of him. He stared in surprise, looking at me as if I was a bizarre foreigner. He gazed at my neck breathlessly, and then looked up to my eyes. "Hello" His voice was deep, and smooth, way to woo a girl over. "Hello" That's when it happened; he grabbed my wrist and hauled me outside, into the cold and dingy alley. "What are you doing?" I demanded, wanting to know the reason for this abrupt change of scene. He turned to face me, anger dominating his aristocratic features. "leave them alone, find your feed elsewhere" He spoke harshly, and coldly, he hated me with such a fiery passion, but I did not know for what. "feed? What on gods green earth are you talking about?" I spat back, this was outrageous, how could he? Why would he? I will not consent to this. He was taking aback, by my sudden outburst, and he regarded me with suspicion and panic. "Are you...are you..are you human?" He stuttered out. "Of course, I'm human what else would I be, I'm just like you INADEQUATE REPULSIVE excuse for a human" I roared back, what else would I be? But then I saw it, he turned away in shame, and then it hit me. Such pale skin, adoption to the darkness and in embarrassment no sign of a blush in those soft cheeks. Why he was a vampire. I had heard of them before, once in England I had unconsciously stumbled in a crypt, it was on my families land. People were sprewn all over the ground, they were all dead, the floor beneath was covered in thick crimson blood, I had ran blindly ran through the woods, getting farther and further from the castle. I was lost for two days,
Book One Slayers
Prologue
Life, the foundation of all creation. But who created this creation? Who created us? There is one being, a silent immortal being, that made us, it carries many names, but none know its true one. For it has never spoken, it just watched, in silence. When the first apocalypse came about, silent tears fell down its cheeks; its all good creations had to die, for doing nothing nothing at all. So when it created the world once more, he started a war, a war between good and evil. He created the First and the Powers that Be, both with limited power. The first could only manipulate the dead and the evil; the powers that be could not interfere with human fate. So for millions of years he watched as the battle unfolded, he watched as humans made prophecies about itself, about its creations, he watched all this in silence, with no one actually noticing his presence. But one faithful day came when, the first in all his undying evil, caught a glimpse of its power. He wanted more, so he hunted it, hunted it down. Until he saw all that he wanted, the silent one became enraged, and punished all; it destroyed everyone in its anger. The world was void for 500 years; the time came when the silent one became calm once again, and created the universe for the third and last time. It took more careful steps to avoid discovery. Everything was whole once more. The Silent Sovereign to this day, is still there watching in peace and silence, waiting, waiting for nothing.
Chapter One
There's someone out there, I know it, there's someone watching me, waiting for me, its un nerving, every time I look into the sky, all I see is death over and over again, there's no such thing as survival of the fittest, for the "fittest" will die also although they live a prolonged life. That someone or something is waiting, I do not know for what, and I do not wish to know, I prefer to be a blinded little fool, then an all knowing hero. I prefer to live in my brutal, cruel, evil and dirty world, than live in palace perfect. No matter how much I profess to hate my life, I would want nothing more than to stay where I am right now, I would want nothing more that to be alone, with no one watching me, waiting, with no one staring at me, laughing, with no one wanting me, lusting. I just want to be alone. I just want to be left alone; can't anybody on this useless little planet understand that? Some people call me a blessed human; they say I'm blessed with beauty, blessed with riches, blessed with family. Who ever says this speaks treacherous lies, although the earliest is true, the rest are foul and disgusting propagandas, that people force themselves to believe. Because no one wants to know what lies behind closed doors, everyone wants to remain ignorant to the truth. "Oh the Chatmen Family, are well respected, Mr. Chatmen is a neurologist, Mrs. Chatman is a senator and don't tell me that doesn't bring in enough money. And when you add their children, well at least one child, their son Charles Chatmen, is on his way to becoming a psychologist, oh and their daughter, she's a sight to behold, why she has the palest skin, it's like porcelain, her hair is long and silky black, and when you look at her face, she gives Cleopatra a run for her money, way she has the most beautiful eyes, crystal blue, with long curly lashes, their daughter the pride and joy of that family" That's what they say about us, listen to what they say about me, well that's not the entire truth, what they say about my parents social standing are facts, but they're making it sound like we're picture perfect which of course we are far from. As far as I know, my parents are from England, that's were I spent most of my childhood, I still hold the accent, the proper English, I believe that makes me all the more better than these Americans, but my mother being a senator automatically makes me an American, unfortunately, not that I'm saying this country is all the more horrible, I just do not believe in the way their carry themselves, especially my conniving demon spawn neighbors, and that's putting it lightly. Oh they praise me in public, but in private you should here what they say. "Oh last night I heard her professing to Satan, she's a succubus". I know these words do not deserve to plague my mind, but they do, how can one law abiding normal American say such things about another? I suppose that's were my hatred finds its foundation, oh but my hatred finds many foundations all American based. My father is a neurotic perfectionist, if you're in the same room with him for more than two hours; I guarantee you will be as insane as he is. Yeah, so what he saves lives everyday, but those are nothing but more trinkets for his already enlarged ego. My mother, my mother, I will try to describe my mother in one long sentence. Psychopathic, Neurotic, Schizophrenic, Insane, Deranged, Psychoneurotic, Paranoia Sufferer, Maniac, Demented, Moon Struck, Mentally Unsound ,Bereft of reason, addlebrained, Stark Mad, Addlepated, Loony, Derailed, Bonkers, Not all there, off the deep end, Demonic, Homicidal, Venomous, Virulent, pestilenal, and last but not least, CANNIBALLISTIC. Yes that is my mother, woe is me, and I am forced to live in the same building with this Psycho- Babbler for the rest of my inconsistent life, why can't she just take Prozac and leave us be? My brother, one of the few humans I actually feel sorry for, he fell into my parents inevitable pit of doom, he became or wanted to become the perfect son, and I must admit he is, successful handsome respectful and lover of parents, completely the opposite of moi. I will never be that, thank god, or whoever is up there, I like to call myself, the ultimate rich and bratty rebel. I spit at all social gatherings, I laugh at my deranged parents, and I'm a full supporter of the kingdom of anarchy, I'm practically the queen. Don't get me wrong some methods of the anarchists of this country are horrid, they even go as far as killing innocent people to get their point across, I don't want an absence of government although I wouldn't mind it, all I want is to be left alone, and if that's means disorder in this world, fine so be it. I live in a mansion, on 5817 Goodlock Road, in the Happy Town SunnyDale U.S.A. Sometimes, I do believe this town was made just to destroy me. The hyper ness, the happiness, the PRIMARY COLORS! All made just to destroy me. It's enough to make one puke out every bit of food one has ever consumed. The only place that I actually feel safe is my room. When we first moved here, I was 14, had I had already acquired my political views, and my own opinions of this world, I was more informed about the world than the president himself. I had also gained my likes and dislikes, I liked all dark things, I thought black was simple and different from any other color, and it spoke to me. Ever since then I have been obsessed with black, I could not stand any other color I would not tolerate it. My room was furnished, in an Old Italian Style. I had a four poster bed, the post were engraved with climbing roses, and I had carelessly flung black scarves over the top, I had done it such a way, that it looked like it was put there on purpose. My dresser also had engravings on it, roses on the drawers and sides of the mirror, and on the top it said, "Beware of the Darkness" In Spanish pirate letters, my room was the only room on the west wing that had a veranda, if you walked out onto it at night it was beautiful, the moon smiling down at you as stars twinkled in the sky, the veranda it self, was a sight for sore eyes, Spanish vines curled around the metal rods. If I closed my eyes tight enough I was in Italy, it is the night of the Spanish Bull, music blaring out from every street corner, children dancing gaily beneath me, as I breath in the sweet scent of happiness. But then I would open my eyes and the cold truth would stare right in my face, I was not in Italy, I was in SunnyDale, my own special hell. But that didn't stop me from dreaming, foolish I know, but that is all I can do. Just like my brother, all he can do is hope and dream that Father would leave him alone, so he can go his own way, to place far, far, far away, so he'll never have to see us again. That's all we pathetic lowly mortals can do, that's all we allow ourselves to do, hope, dream, cry for what we can never have.
Chapter Two
"Dreams, Inconsistent Angel things Horses bred with star laced wing But it's so hard to make them Fly, Fly, Fly" The Bronze, the only cool place in this horrible town, it's an all age night club, mostly for the high schoolers. But, as I said before all age, its was an open breeding place for perverted idiots who think they can get it on with an innocent preschooler. I should know they've tried me every night I come here. First, a bumbling Austin Powers wannabe comes up to you, drunk as a intoxicated horse, you can even see little traces of vomit on his stubbly chin. He would sit next to you, and start "friendly conversation", when you get up and walk away in disgust, he makes a blatant attempt to grab you ass. You would turn around in indignation and slap him, or in my case punch him. Then walk out forgetting to leave a tip. Oh yes this is a weekly commodity for me. Seeing as I am so appealing to the eyes. Tonight was the night, one of my favorite bands Sixpence None The Richer, was playing. The soft music floated through the club, I watched in silence as the crowd on the dance floor, swayed slowly to the music. I had the sudden urge to get up and join them, but I knew about five other incompetent idiots would follow me. Can't tonight, nor any other night for that matter. Sometimes I do believe beauty is an unintentional curse, that I am forced to hold. But tonight was different, he was here. He was someone I saw here every night. He was always lurking in the corner watching, his pale skin glowing brightly in contrast to the darkness. Every night he would try to conceal himself quietly, but some preppy temptress, would find him and try to seduce him into following her to the boundaries of her bed, but he always said no, and would brush her off coldly, but he showed something to me that she could not see, in his eyes those dark handsome showed hunger, not lustful hunger. But starvation hunger and it intrigued me. Seeing as there was nothing else to do, I decided to be the nightly temptress. I got up and sauntered towards him, choosing not to acknowledge, the desirous stares that claimed me. My skirt swished behind me as I halted to a stop in front of him. He stared in surprise, looking at me as if I was a bizarre foreigner. He gazed at my neck breathlessly, and then looked up to my eyes. "Hello" His voice was deep, and smooth, way to woo a girl over. "Hello" That's when it happened; he grabbed my wrist and hauled me outside, into the cold and dingy alley. "What are you doing?" I demanded, wanting to know the reason for this abrupt change of scene. He turned to face me, anger dominating his aristocratic features. "leave them alone, find your feed elsewhere" He spoke harshly, and coldly, he hated me with such a fiery passion, but I did not know for what. "feed? What on gods green earth are you talking about?" I spat back, this was outrageous, how could he? Why would he? I will not consent to this. He was taking aback, by my sudden outburst, and he regarded me with suspicion and panic. "Are you...are you..are you human?" He stuttered out. "Of course, I'm human what else would I be, I'm just like you INADEQUATE REPULSIVE excuse for a human" I roared back, what else would I be? But then I saw it, he turned away in shame, and then it hit me. Such pale skin, adoption to the darkness and in embarrassment no sign of a blush in those soft cheeks. Why he was a vampire. I had heard of them before, once in England I had unconsciously stumbled in a crypt, it was on my families land. People were sprewn all over the ground, they were all dead, the floor beneath was covered in thick crimson blood, I had ran blindly ran through the woods, getting farther and further from the castle. I was lost for two days,