Dive
The Halls of the Final Voyage.
Except for the roaring waves and the quiet luminous lichen growing calmly along the walls, all was silent in the hall.
And, except for the single person sitting on the edge of the water, all was empty.
Quiet. Solitude.
Breathe it in.
The person was a strange one to be seen in Vampire Mountain. Unlike his comrades, the man with thin underneath his blue suit, though it was easy to see just through the way his shirt stretched, that he was still quite toned. His face was fair – 'easy on the eyes', as some would have called it, while others would have more likely described his face as 'angelic'.
Ethereal.
As if he did not belong to the world in which he lived.
He sat with his knees drawn up, hugging them lightly, his long golden hair out and brushing the tops of his shoulders. His eyes, a blue too blue to even begin to describe, were partially closed, almost dreamily so, his full lips parted slightly, as if he were holding a small egg between them. The only thing that marred his beauty – if it were possible to describe a man as 'beautiful' – was the set of three, close-set scars on his face. But then again, the scars gave him an almost roguish look, the type that many women – and a small population of men - would swoon over.
Kurda Smahlt's eyes never left the water below him as it roared past.
He sat.
Thinking.
Wondering.
Remembering.
Days ago, the boy vampire, Darren Shan, had fallen into the very same waters Kurda was staring at now. Darren had been washed out of the hall, out over the waterfall, and had disappeared completely.
There was no trace of him.
Kurda knew.
He had searched for him.
Intent on killing the boy, to stop him from ever giving away his plans.
But he had never found him.
Slowly, Kurda raised a long, thin hand before his face and looked at if, almost as if it were something he had never seen before. The fingers were long and delicate, a musician's hands, the ends tipped with the scars that marked him as a vampire.
He remembered reaching for the boy.
The hatred in Darren's eyes.
Darren letting go.
A soft sigh.
Kurda stretched out, his hand falling into his lap while his legs dangled over the edge of the little ledge he sat on, about a metre above the water level. He tilted his face to the side, a small smile creeping onto his icily beautiful features. It was not a happy smile, though.
It was almost nostalgic.
Sadly so.
Darren had not been the first live one to plunge into those waters. Kurda remembered, in his first few years as a vampire, others would do the same – young vampires wanting to feel a rush of adrenaline, to feel their blood pumping in their hearts as they took the risk of diving into the violent waters and seeing how far they could go.
Lucca. That was his name. A cheerful young vampire, small, lithe, intelligent, dark hair and cheerfully brown Italian eyes. He loved risks. He loved adrenaline. Humans these days would have called him an adrenaline junkie.
They had been friends.
Lucca was half the size of many vampires – probably about the same size as Darren. He was comfortable with his height. Many would have thought he was meek, but his sharp tongue was just as quick as his sword hand.
Lucca would watch the others jump into the waters.
Watch them get dragged away by the current.
Climb out unscathed.
Lucca wanted to go.
Kurda said no.
Lucca went.
He never came out again.
His body was found several days later, washed up several kilometers away from the Mountain. It had already been mostly devoured by whatever scavengers were brave enough to eat a vampire.
The young vampires stopped jumping into the water after that.
Another sigh.
This one sad.
He didn't think much of those who took risks. They were idiots to waste their lives in such ways. It was funny, though – in his previous life, Kurda had been a soldier. Not willingly, though. He had been conscripted into his country's army, and when he fought he didn't fight out of patriotism, but rather the money it got him and the possibility of getting home. Risks had been a daily part of his job.
Fast. That was what they had called him. The speedy guy.
Kurda's mouth turned into a larger smile.
He had only ever used his speed to run away from the battles, not in to them.
But no matter how far he could run, he could never truly get away from fighting.
His eyes traveled up, to view the serrated ceiling of the chamber.
Fighting. Violence. Stupid things that stupid men used to cover up their inadequacies, in his opinion.
That was why his plan must succeed.
It had to succeed.
In order to prevent the coming war he knew was coming –
He had to take over the Mountain.
No matter the consequences.
It was for them, after all.
Not himself.
His sacrifice.
For the greater good.
How cliché.
Those blue eyes dropped once more, viewing the water below him. It kicked and licked at the edges, willing him to join them in either a watery death or a wild ride. It beckoned. It sang.
Loud in his ears.
A chorus of sirens.
Risk takers. Idiots.
Kurda hung his head.
Coward…
He looked up and glared at the water. Then he smiled, shook his face clear of his long blonde hair and stood.
Then, with neither the grace nor the elegance that was so present in everything else he did, he raced forward and clumsily leapt into the raging water.
It raged and roared around him.
It tore at him, like a lover's hands trying to free him of his constricting, cumbersome clothing.
And the adrenaline pumped through his veins.
His blood roared with the water.
And he knew he had the courage to go ahead with his plan.
After all, life was all about taking risks.
A.N Sorry for the strangeness of this. Hehehe. It just came to me, and so, I wrote it down in about half an hour. Mwuahaha.