The night was alive with the bright lights, volleying sounds and simple smells of October's crisped air. Bodies of the cities inhabitant moved along the sidewalks and meandered before the dimly lit storefronts and night clubs, as if they were unaware of the imminent danger that plagued them. Thus, it was death that kept the city, and this particular form of death was their bringer of a new life.
The reaper was shaped like man. He was the epitome of a greater sin in which the world has never ever seen and if it were only possible that they did in fact, caught a glimpse of such a creature, they were either dead or their memories were abated. This man was the perpetual glorious dead. He was a vampire, bloodsucker, leech, and etcetera. He was not what the humans had portrayed in books they read as fiction and fairytales. He was much too real to be contrived in imaginary tales.
This was a vampire who could be evil yet seductive or both. He was either terrifying or beautiful…but the so called myth humans believed in was strictly falsified. The sun was the enemy of course, but it was things like garlic in which it was depicted to repel the undead; but it only made a human's breath smell most foul. A meager stake to the heart only felt like an itch from the inside. Silver was just jewelry, made to wear not destroying the supernatural. And crucifixes were relics of an ideology established several thousand years ago. Like vampires, Christ was only a part of history, and He was nothing to be feared, at least not to creatures like the man strolling down the street with a cane in hand, tapping the pavement rhythmically.
To mortal eyes he was a blind man—and he is, but with him being an immortal…a blood drinker, he could see with his hands. Yes, through touch he could see the faces of his prey. He could see their blissful smiles at his beauty, he could see and smell and taste the fear from each drought of blood he took, as they felt their death inch closer and closer. And in their death he could live another day.
The vampire stopped next to a large, clear window showing off the latest in technology. He touched the glass, seeing the bright lights flash and tiny moving humans danced to a certain beat across the different sized screens. He made a contented sigh, slightly marveled that he had lived long enough to see such wonders.
The night of his mortal death had been etched into his mind forever. He could not forget a single second of that event. It started with him as a human of 28 years. He was born in the time of slaves and plantations and made into a creature of the night in the hot, humid south of Dothan, Alabama. His creator was slim, olive skin, Frenchwoman, travelling alone along the Mississippi river from Baton Rouge. The Parisian was taken by the by the lone blind, barn slave who cleaned the stables for a bed and breakfast inn the harbored passing coaches who riders didn't want to travel by night. But his soon to be mistress did everything at night.
And on one of those many hot nights the woman came to him in all her ethereal beauty in which he couldn't see. The slave brushed her horse with great care as he did all the other equines yet having her witness him doing so he wanted to proceed with caution. She was quiet, watching him as he prepared her coach for her departure. She stared at him still with intense dark eyes. The woman looked the mortal before her up and down, sizing him up for something he never even saw coming.
The slave so badly wanted to say something to the female, she was just too quiet and it was so unnerving but for him the rule was to not speak unless spoken too. But he needn't say anything. She said everything for him.
"You wish to be free, boy...?" she asked in her thick accent, walking up to him now.
He paused in his brushing at the thought that was strictly forbidden. Never in his life had he believed he could get away from his owners. He knew nothing of the world so where could he go? Soon, he continued his work, banishing the thought away. But the woman pressed on further. "Humans overpowering other humans…It is something I would never understand. You are as strong as the white men yet you do nothing to stop them from enslaving you…"
"I…I don't know, M'am…I'd be whipped before they let me be free…" the male said, looking down at the faceless woman. He could tell she was too close, he felt the length of her body bump against his own. He closed his eyes as her sweet scent flooded his nostrils. And his reaction seemed to thrill her because he could hear the smile in her soft voice.
"I seek a companion. Someone I can make strong and call him my own…"she smiled. "Come with me and you will never have to lift a finger to the expense of the white men again."
The black man didn't know why but he believed her. He nodded shyly; trembling as the woman took his hand in her own and brought his face down to her's with the other. She kissed his full lips and then moved toward his neck and in one bite he succumbed to her will. He stumbled to the floor as his body was drained, he could feel his heart slow with each breath he took, he looked up at the woman in confusion and fear but he couldn't see her. Then something pressed against his mouth, it was wet and salty, with a heady smell of iron. "Drink." Was the Frenchwoman's simple command, and he did. He began drinking his fill until he was told to stop. He obeyed immediately, kneeling down before her feet.
"My stomach is on fire…" the man breathed out harshly, not recognizing his own voice.
"It's okay…You're mortal body is dying. And soon, you will live as I do. Immortal…and perfected." The woman smiled.
The pain lasted for days…years…centuries. The slave didn't know. He was in too much pain to understand the concept of time but the whole time he could hear the woman sing to him or herself as if she were trying to drown out his horrid screams as she waited for his transformation to end. Then there was silence. He could hear everything so much clearer not, even the smallest breath of each bug in the stables. He could hear his owner's snores from the Inn a hundred yards away from the barn. And when he felt a cold dead hand wrap around his own he could see. He looked into the black eyes of his Mistress, seeing the hunger and love she felt for him. Suddenly, he leaned in to kiss her roughly, almost tackling her to the ground but in a surprise to him she was strong enough to hold him back. She made a small giggle at his gesture.
"I thirst for you…your…blood…"he said unsurely.
"Ah, yes, my love, but I will give you a taste of a blood more lovely than my own…" The Parisian smiled darkly as she inclined her head towards the Inn.
The slave only gave a ferocious growl as he sniffed the air, smelling the blood contained in the sleeping bodies of the house. It was his former Master, his wife and their two kids. And they all smelled so delicious. He turned back to his Mistress, giving her a large, feral smile, letting his new fangs elongate at the prospect of what was to come. "Tonight, we feast…" he grinned, marching up towards the house with renewed vigor and his creator in tow.
After the massacre, the man had stayed with the woman he had come to love for years, decades, centuries. That was so, until she died in the rays of the sun, leaving the blind vampire alone. Outrage didn't begin to cover the creature's feelings. But soon, hopelessness and confusions set in. He once believed they had a happy life together. There were no warning signs for her suicide…Now he was alone. He knew of no others like him. He had no one. And for many years this loneliness continued. But that was to come later on in this story.
Yet on this particular night the raw smell of blood was in the air. It traveled on the high wind but the vampire knew exactly where the scent derived from. He preened his ears to catch on the faint moans of pain coming from miles away. His mind entered that of the human victim. He soothed the dying man's pain by sealing away the feeling from his bleeding body. The man, by the vampire reading his mind was the victim of a jealous spouse in a rage. The gunshot wound was still bleeding profusely and the man was near death and that was literal because the blind vampire stood in front of the man. And he got to the point.
"What is your name, mortal..." even though the vampire already knew it just from picking around the human's mind. He just wanted to hear him say it.
"...G...Grimmjow...Jagerjaques."he answered.
"Very peculiar..." The blood drinker smiled softly.
"You got one don't you?" the teal haired man smirked faintly, his skin was already turning pale at the loss of blood. Grimmjow looked up at the man, staring into his face. "Hey...How'd you know I was here?"
"My name is Tousen...yet I might inquire as to why you haven't asked me to go get you help..." Tousen sighed as he watched the blood pool along his feet.
"T-true but what can a blind man do?" Grimmjow said haughtily.
The words made Tousen frown deeply. "I can see you all too clearly, human."He bent down to touch the man's face.
Grimmjow made a tiny gasped as he felt the icy cold fingers of the vampire. He glanced up to the man's face again, seeing him open his eyes to reveal pure white orbs that glittered in the streetlight like daimonds. The pain in Grimmjow's body intensified as the vampire released his hold on the human's mind. "Argh...Shit...!" the male cursed, haplessly clutching at his slowly bleeding wound.
Tousen licked his lips as he knelt down further beside his new interest. "I can save you...by giving you and eternal death. I will teach you the way of our kind...but you will lose your soul..."he murmured, smoothing back the teal colored strands that plastered themselves to the other male's forehead.
Grimmjow could only smile as he leaned into the touch, staring into his savior's bright eyes. "That's fine, I never had one to begin with."
A/N: Oh my, wow....a new story!!! Its the halloween story I promised some ppl on a forum. I know you guys are like WTF? Tousen and Grimmy? lol. sorry. Theyre not a pairing, okay. Tousen is Grimm's creator. I didnt really want aizen to be. Well. more to come. Review!!!???