DISCLAIMER: SNK is not mine. There's no way even my own questionable sanity could produce something as convoluted as this.
AUTHORS NOTE: Now, I don't know if I mentioned this before, but I used to write about darker, more melancholic stuff because the first fandom I ever dared to write for was—well…"Tw….ght". Get it? And because I adored the writings of a certain Miss that rhymes with "Nice"—well, let's just say my writings were more like overwrought horrors of narration.
Now, I don't know why I cannot let this piece go. This was my very first story and as such it holds a great deal of significance for me. During various times, at certain points of writing this tale I found myself amused, wary, weary and very much attached to the tale. Often times though, I think I got lost but I've always believed that I would find the time to review what I have written and see if there is room for me to fix the errant and stray thoughts that invade what should have been a smoothly flowing story.
I've tried remaking it countless times—downright ignored it for years but its persistent I tell you. It wants to be finished—I don't think it will ever forgive me if I don't. So, here it is—my final attempt at using the words I first wove together nearly ten years ago.
I really don't know how much magic is still left behind—I'm just hoping there's enough to make someone want to read it.
PROLOGUE
Bloodstained Nights
"...For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity a human form,
And Love , the human form divine;
and Peace, the human dress.
Cruelty has a Human Heart,
and Jealousy a Human face;
Terror the Human Form Divine
and Secrecy the Human Dress..."
- William Blake, Songs of Experience
Present, London, England...1837
The hunger is riding him…strong and fervent as when he had felt for the first time… The undeniable…the unceasing pangs…the insistent stirrings that marked his passage between slumber and awareness…that exact moment when he would open his eyes and feel the seductive thrumming of the night like an unnamed symphony playing in his veins and he would be helpless once more against the siren call of those that dwell in the Savage Garden…
His hand trembled slightly…concealed beneath the fall of priceless, black lace that hid seemingly fragile wrists and fingers whose nails lengthened into crystalline talons... sensitive, delicate fingers clenching and flexing... already feeling the desperation for the feel of soft, warm yielding flesh…of fevered skin waiting to be pierced, and savaged and torn apart.
There…a familiar and eagerly anticipated scent…the perfume of fresh prey…the unmistakable bouquet of someone tainted with the exquisite markings of sin…
The night is calling and the hunt is about to begin…
A few minutes of subtle flirtation and whispered titillating conversation in shadowed corners…a careful orchestration of aloofness and passivity and coquettishness…all masterfully done so that he could arrive at this point…and he here was, following slowly the hulking figure in front of him as he was led down the darkened alleys on the seedier parts of London…his step sure and swift and silent, never losing sight of his prey…a large hand clasped around his own smaller one, unaware and unmindful of the sharp claws that lie a mere hairsbreadth away from its vulnerable wrist.
As always his shell served as the perfect lure. And oftentimes as he hunted, the prey that takes his lure were gifted with beauty themselves, like this one, a vigorous man at the height of life, gifted with the sable colored hair and warm blue eyes. Witty and living in the midst of the privileged echelons, this night's prey was reared from the finest English bloodstock…but that is not all there was to him. Oh no...Certainly it played the part in his suitability as a potential prey…but the reasons that made him so suitable were none of those things.
A prey that satisfies his own peculiar and distinct palate must be one whose heart is blacker than a raven's wing and more poisoned than a witch's brew—a true connoisseur of the darkest human nature. This one, a minor lord of the realm and third in line for some obscure title in particular, made sport out of forcing himself on little boys. It was no surprise that this deprived child of the nobility gave in to the titillation he offered, the subtle challenge and all too willing innocence that he so convincingly portrayed. A warm, rosy blush suffused his beautiful face, his cheekbones stained with the unmistakable sheen that could be mistaken for the flush of an innocent youth held in the throes of a lover's impassioned embrace. A whispered word with his deep, cold voice; a heated glance from dark smoldering eyes and a shy retreat always seemed to guarantee him a willing prey. Is it any wonder that this corrupt lord found him irresistible?
Having to hold back his baser nature for some weeks, the thought of finally slaking off his thirst was making him giddy. Even he couldn't hide completely the unholy gleam that burned behind his jeweled eyes, though he was still cautious enough never to look at people directly, instead, he gazed at them from beneath the fall of his thick ebony lashes, making his gaze even more alluring. He could smell the animalistic excitement in the faint sweat that tainted his prey and he licked his lips in anticipation.
He could feel the faint heat that is already suffusing his cheeks, the tell-tale gush of saliva flooding his mouth, his tongue eagerly swiping at his lips in unconscious excitement...already the thrill of taking in the warmth of another's living essence is drugging his mind with the images of unbridled pleasure.
And yet, throughout this anticipation of sensory overload, he has kept enough self possession to ensure that his exterior remained poised. With the exception of the rosy tint that painted his cheeks, and the veiled fire in his gaze there was no sign of the hunger that raged within him. His countenance remained aloof, divorced from the happenings around him—it was as if he was somewhere else and not there in the boundaries that marked the edge where the dregs of civilized society roam freely.
The creature that led him suddenly turned at a corner and pinned him to a nearby wall startling him…warm, trembling hands plunging into the silken mass of his hair, letting the cool silken locks slide over them like bronzed moonlight as his fingers traced patterns of desire on his nape. Eager hands gripped his snow-white cravat, tearing the fragile cloth in the man's haste to have him bared to those fevered eyes, pulling at his coat and ripping his linen shirt until one snowy shoulder was exposed to the chill of the night air.
Warm eager lips tried to catch his but he evaded smoothly, placing his own against the warmth of his captors neck, nuzzling and biting until he heard the telltale moan. He quickly parted his lips, baring his fangs and brought it down swiftly against the exposed flesh, ripping the yielding skin and allowed the hot gush of arterial blood to flood his mouth and quench his never-ending thirst even as the man in his arms jerked with a strong jolt enough to dislodge anyone else's embrace. Anyone else that wasn't him, of course.
A strangled breath caught in someone's throat…a muffled wheezing gasp…another brief, last minute struggle and the blushing youth now held in the cage of a pair of strong slim arms, a willing silent captive. One of his frail hands clasped delicately around the side of the hunched figures neck, seemingly soothing the creatures heaving breath as his lips fastened on the other side of the man's neck, his face concealed to all that passes by as he gently nuzzled against the warmth he found there.
His eyes were half closed, glazed over by the drugging sensation of drinking, finally after so long, in the life-essence of another…he realized belatedly that he was almost purring…drunk on the near-forgotten pleasure of partaking in the rich rewards of this forbidden hunt.
People passed by, glancing at this scene quickly before turning away just as fast. The sight wasn't all that unfamiliar…a man settling his business with any of the many nighthawks that plied their trade in the shadows of London. Perhaps this one was simply in too much of a rush to even observe the propriety of getting a room and simply took what he paid for in the covered anonymity of an alley.
And yet, if only the human traffic that ebbed and pulsed around that darkened corner paused for a minute more they would've noticed that the embracing lovers were both not the traditional sort. The smaller of the two, though undeniably beautiful, was not female. And though this was not an unheard of case, there was something quite odd about their pose.
The younger of the two seemed to be pinned by the huge hulking form of the other. A closer look would've revealed that instead of an impassioned hold of a not-so innocent lover, it was a hand with bloodstained talons that was clasped around the man's neck. The boy that nuzzled against the older figure's neck had its mouth open, blood staining the corners of his thin lips as he continued his rabid suckling.
Many minutes passed and then there was blessed silence, the sight of the entwined lovers forgotten in light of more important sights and matters. Then the night was once more disturbed by the staccato sounds of well-shod feet hitting the cobblestone paths. An elegantly arrayed young man with dark, short gleaming hair and elegant, entirely black evening clothes strolled out from the shadows seemingly born from it.
The young gentleman's face was concealed under the brim of a top hat, showing only a faint smile on his handsome face and an unholy glow in his gem like eyes. He whistled a happy tune as he walked to nearby mansion. There was nothing to indicate, at first glance, to reveal that this was the same youth that mere moments ago was locked in a less than innocent embrace. However a more discerning eye might see the unmistakable mark left by his recent episode—the unmistakable crimson hue that taints his usually pale lips. With a sensuous lick, he cleaned away the final evidence of his recent repast before he entered the brilliantly lit ballroom.
The night was young...and the hunt has scarcely begun…time for the next prey to be hunted down…
I go by many names…many titles…how and why I came to possess them escapes me…
My memories have waned and faded over the long passage of time…
But slowly, slowly, I am gaining answers to the questions that have been plaguing me…
It's only a matter of time.
This is the tale of my many lives…
Yes, you read it right…
Many lives…
Here is where it all started...or at least where I wish for you to start...
LEVI
Past, Romania in the year 1600…
Blood…
From the moment I first drew breath and witnessed the world, that was all I ever knew…
Black and red…
Silvery hues in the light of the waning moon…pallid ivory stained by unforgiving ebony streaks that shimmered even in the pale illumination of the quicksilver gleam of dusk… they were the first colors I have memory of…snatches of images from a world painted in garish, glaring hues that seemed to characterized my entire existence…
Death…
Its undeniable presence…the reality of it was the only truth that pervaded my world…I was born of it…from it…and for it…and for the longest time I was content for my reason for being…I didn't know how I came to be in this new world…or where I was before waking…or even who I was…
All I had to go by was the certainty that seeing blood—being practically bathed in it—that was not something new for me…how I knew that would come to me later…but for now…the knowledge that it was familiar was enough to sustain me.
Be strong…Fight…Rely on no one…
These were the first words to ever come out of my lips…they are still the only words whose meaning has never been proven false…everything else I have learned…every utterance spoken by my sinful lips and mind has either been cleverly spoken lie or tools for manipulation…I have learned early on to excel at both…but the drive—the conviction to gain strength, to battle and to be independent held true…
Conquest…Hunt…Annihilate…
Hunting prey was the game I excelled in…the only game that made the long interminable days go by a little faster. I've dabbled in many forms of entertaining myself over the endless nights—everything from learning how to manipulate those around me as an exercise for my mental faculties, one I took obscene pleasure in concocting, if only to extract the most morbid and tragic of results to outrightly putting myself at risk just to feel that rush—that unfathomable rush that came from knowing just one miscalculation would end it all...everyone and everything else exists simply as pieces—pawns on my varied and extensive game board…and when the need for physical stimulation comes into play my body has the hunt that every creature given the Dark Gift participates in…I found to my eternal delight that it is both excruciatingly fun humiliating fledglings and satisfying for my appetites…
I am a killer born…
It is my one task…one purpose in life…The one certainty I've never questioned. No matter what name I bear or circumstance I find myself in—I knew that fact to run truer than even the crimson hue of the blood flowing in my veins…I exist to kill…
To kill what seemed an immaterial query…I knew what I was created for—raised and trained for—Death. That requires no clarification, merely a list of potential prey and targets. What I was before I joined the ones I call brethren might still be an empty void inside my head, but the reality and ease with which I deal with death and dying tells me I was never a saint.
I have a code that I live it—a rule of law for how I live and act. though I freely admit that I do not fall prey to the moral dilemma that burdened a few of our kind…so many of them feel the faintest traces of shame whenever they face the need to hunt, burdened by the fact that they kill to live, never thinking that every other creature that exists do so by ending the life of another. I find this feature amongst fledglings a distasteful weakness that comes from being liberated from mortal confines…that they were foolish enough to feel guilt for surviving, for existing…that's more troublesome than it's worth. Especially when the bloody hypocrites still kill why insisting they do it because they're compelled by their curse.
A curse…
That's what they try to call it—justifying those that revel in the killings like rabid dogs and those that suffer from culpability more deceitful than a whore's smile. I don't see the existence of our kind as a curse nor did I perform the hunt like some sport… competing with others like me for the blood of mortals like lowly wolves after cattle…I hunted simply to feed and hone skills that has helped me survive the passing years and prowled the realms of mortals because doing so pleased me…
The only thing that I actively avoided was confronting innocence. I loathed them like the light of the sun…nothing could rouse my fury more than the presence of an innocent mortal in the arms of my kindred…played like some hapless toy…strung along like a time-bound marionette…
Let me make it clear that it is not because I pitied the weak creatures or because I felt some hypocritical sense of justice…it was simply that their existence incensed me…their blind notion that they are more worthy…more deserving simply because they were untainted by the spell of the night…because they can escape the curse of being born in the Savage Garden. Their very blindness ignites my enmity.
It infuriates me to be accosted by innocents. For them, a quick death was not an act of revulsion—I do not allow personal feelings to get in the way of getting the job done. Death for an innocent was done as quickly as possible—not because I was compassionate…it was because above all else, I am an efficient weapon… their death is a chore dealt with in the most expedient manner. I am after all the best at what I do, the best that there ever will be…
I have had no other longings or wants save for the life essence that fulfills me...no desire unknown nor any hunger left unsatisfied...I fear no one and hailed no one and nothing as my master. I was a law onto myself and recognized no power save my own. If there was something in the world that intrigues me, it is only the faint inkling of wanting the truth of where I am from and how I came to be. Not knowing didn't bother me unduly and I was prepared to wait as long as possible to find or not find the answers I sought.
Beloved by nobles and feared amongst the lowly fledglings that quivered and stuttered to do my bidding. I had the entire Immortal world in my grasp. I had everything my heart desired...there was nothing they could've or would've denied me. I had every I everything any immortal could have wanted and more. Or at least that was I thought…
There was no challenge left unconquered, no satisfaction unrequited in my immortal existence and yet through it all I have suddenly grown bored...life offered no thrills anymore. I wanted more from my Immortal Life. I needed more from the nights than it has yielded to me thus far. And so I sought the very thing that would destroy me. I sought to fulfill the impossible.
The day they told me to seek out and fulfill a single, insignificant task was the day I began to change. It should have been insignificant chore if I hadn't been so affected by what I did and saw back then.
But I was.
That was the first time I tasted defeat. The first time I tasted pain. It was a lesson I learned all too well. After that nothing again was ever the same. I was their Dark Captain...fearless leader of the Death Dealers…feared and admired by every Immortal. And I wanted no part of them. Not after that one incident that changed everything for me.
Many arguments broke out after my change of heart. Many moons they waged arguments and threats of war but I had no time for them. I had only time for my own needs...my own thoughts...my own darkness finally consuming me.
In the end I chose banishment over continuing...despite the many pleas and threats of the Council. None of it held sway over my decision. And though in the Coven's eyes I was theirs to cajole and tempt into ruling, to me they were as useless and annoying as buzzing gnats upon a rotting corpse. Words flowed from many lips, spoken by many tongues, promising me everything under the red moon and the hell below—save the very heavens itself—but I was deaf to it all.
I do wish they had listened to me. But they did not. And so now they wait, hoping still that I would change my mind and see how important I was to the Coven.
Pity that they couldn't see that they weren't that important in mine. All that mattered to me was finding the answer to the questions I have long ignored. All that mattered to me was finding out who I was before I came to belong to the night…All that mattered was finding out why I found it necessary to write a name no one could read to be permanently branded on my body.
