Chapter 1

Years past

Rain darkened the pavement deep in the city's core, pounding down mercilessly as though to beat the city to its knees. White lightning lit up the sky, skittering across blackened clouds, chased only heartbeats away by powerful claps of thunder. If there was such a thing as mount Olympus, then the gods had yet again met in battle in the heavens, and all the earth could do was watch with baited breath for the end. Yet for all the fury the gods could muster, there remained those in the vast labyrinth of concrete and iron who did not gape in awe at the sight, for many the clashing of the gods was all too common and all too unwelcome a sight.

The poorest section of the city was known to the local riff-raff and drifters as, Waste. Here, the black mark on the white sheet of the great city Territh, was were the unwanted, the rejects and the runaways made their claim. It was here in the twisting, crumbling streets of the old city that one could leave behind the outside world, because Waste was a different world of its own. Here, one's own blood and flesh was currency; here a criminal running from the authorities could seek safe haven, and almost always find who upheld the law dared to enter the inner core of Waste, seeking only to patrol the perimeter and snap up the stragglers who failed to evade them in time. The city had no use for those who couldn't contribute to the general wealth of the populace.

There were no prisons in Territh, no life sentences. Any criminal who's crime was deemed to be more than a year's worth of time had only one fate. A dark building, vast and wide like a giant raven watched the city with a critical eye; black, sooty chimneys belched blackened smoke, filling the air with a sickening stench. The Incinerator, or Watchtower as it was nicknamed, the place were the unwanted of all races and species met their end with swift precision. The largest crematory furnace in the world, never suffered from lack of work. Indeed, there were some who said that as long as the city stood, so would the Watchtower, the dark queen at the side of her husband.

Yet, even as a plant will, over time, wind its way through the earth seeking the sun, breaking rock and crumbling concrete, so will life continue, in all its shapes and forms, to seek to find a better existence. For some, the chance comes when fate throws an opening in their path and circumstances beyond their control push them forward. Then there are others who must find their own way and break their own trail.

One such unwanted huddled beneath the stairwell of a crumbling hovel on the outskirts of Waste, near the financial district on its western most rim. The rain had lessened, but he still clung to the shelter of a broken cardboard box that was his temporary shelter. The rains here were often violent, but luckily they ended almost as fast as they began. Besides, a little rain, or a lot, was never enough to chase him away from his dinner. As the rain lessened, a little blue haired head peeked out. His hair was short, mussed and filthy, almost gray with dirt and grime, as were the pale cheeks. The only thing clean about him, from his bare, clawed feet and hands to his tattered jeans and T-shirt, was his eyes. Large, shimmering pools of liquid gold, with jet black centers.

Saix winced at the small strands of bright light that filtered down from the slowly clearing skies, holding up a small hand to shield himself. Across the street from his alley way, people who had taken refuge beneath overhangs and shops began to filter out onto the sidewalks, slowly filling the air with the comforting clamor of everyday life. Saix came here often, and the sounds of a bustling street were comforting to him, so unlike the deathly, fearful silence that marked the inner core of the Waste. Food was plentiful here in the financial section; men and women rushing to and fro from work to home often had little time left to finish their expensive foods, and often threw them, half finished, into the nearest garbage bin.

Eyes darting to check for the "Sweepers", marked by their bright red trench coats and stun-guns, Saix took a small, hesitating step from his box. The streets were clear. He was safe. Darting forward like a blue mouse, he dove into the shadows of the nearest garbage can. A mixed variety of smells met his nose and he sniffed. Most definitely reeked of the inedible, but his sharp senses were tuned to pick up on the slightest scents that could possibly indicate anything still palatable. Standing up to his full 4'3", he sniffed again, testing.

Suddenly his ears perked, their little pointed tips poking out beneath his hair, and he knew he'd struck gold. The unmistakably tangy scent of baked sea-squid filtered out from beneath the lid, tantalizing him, just out of reach. Saix wasn't perturbed, he had been on the streets since age five, and now three years later at eight years old, he was still alive and kicking; Quite the amazing feat by normal standards. Children abandoned so young rarely survived more than a few days, yet he had, and more than that, he thrived. Retrieving his card board box from beneath the stairwell he scooted it up against the side, the young half-human sprang atop with simian agility. By balancing on the corners of the box he had learned to spread his weight enough that even a box as weakened by rain as this, could be a useful stool.

After that it was only a matter of using his head and hands to push the heavy lid up high enough that he was able to give a light spring and hook one skinny leg over the top, then rummage around until he found what he sought. Today, he was lucky. The bag containing his prize was near the top, and within minutes he had it firmly in one grubby fist, then dropped back down to the ground, flattening the box and expertly snatching his fingers out of danger as the heavy lid dropped shut.

Saix checked over his shoulder again, ensuring that the coast was still clear, before sliding down on his haunches in the shadows of the bin to feast on his prize. Using his claws he stuffed the greasy morsel into his mouth, savoring each bite with relish. The squid was still crunchy, so it must have been dropped off only a few moments before. Today seemed promising already. Finishing the first tentacle, he eagerly devoured the remaining pieces, licking the juices from his fangs.

A sudden gust of wind poured up the alley, sweeping the box and its single remaining piece out of his startled hands and onto the sidewalk. " Shit." he muttered darkly. Standing quickly he stepped out onto the side walk, retrieving the box and checking to make sure the squid wasn't dirty. Thankfully, it wasn't, and he stuffed it into his mouth and worked it around a bit, stepping back into the shadows of the alley. It would probably be the last bit of squid he would taste for a long time, seeing as how it was rather expensive. People usually didn't just throw stuff like that away. Today he had simply been lucky. Suddenly, a shadow fell across him, freezing him where he stood.

"Well, well, well. What have we here? A mongrel human cub is it? Got any identification, sonny boy?"

Saix felt his blood chill in his veins, as though the sun had suddenly been blocked out and the world had gone dark. Fear twisted in his gut but he turned slowly. He knew who, or at least what was addressing him without even looking, the arrogance in the voice was unmistakable. A Sweeper. Human too by the odor.

The towering figure was an imposing sight to say the least, the polluted wind of the city whipping his blood red trench coat around his body like the wings of a great dead bat; limp, tattered and leathery.

His hair, a fiery mane of layered crimson stuck up in all directions over his head, seeming to follow no particular pattern what-so-ever. A pair of motorcycle goggles were pushed up on the Sweeper's forehead, perhaps with the intention of keeping all that wild hair out of his face, but it didn't seem to be working. A few stray pieces blew gently before eyes of pure emerald which were narrowed as his mouth quirked upwards in smug amusement. The wind caught the long tail of hair at the nape of his neck and tossed it up over his shoulder, where it weaved on the wind like a snake ready to strike. The man's eyes swept over the small figure before him once, and the grin only widened.

" Hmmmnn. Now that I've had another look I guess you aren't human at all are yah, though you don't look entirely Were either. What kinda creature are you anyway, yo? Some kinda cross-breed?" He chuckled softly and then shrugged, glancing away down the street for a second before stepping into deeper into the alley, backing Saix up with him. His voice was affable enough, but there was no hiding the danger in his eyes. " Anyway, it doesn' matter what ya are, but you must nodda heard me coming right pup? Cause if you had you should be bowing to me. But we kin fix that right now, yeah? After all, disprespect to authorities is a crime you know."

Taking his cue Saix dropped to his hands and knees on the filthy pavement, staring at the man's scuffed black boots from only inches away. " F-forgive me Sir!" he squeaked.

His mind raced furiously. He was in trouble, that much was without question. As a Stray of Waste, he had no identification of any kind. No one born in the Waste did. Only those who had once lived as regular citizens had ID, or rather, their blood code had been extracted at birth and filed away in the city's massive computer data banks. After that, a tiny micro-chip, only about the size of a pin-head was inserted into the pad of the individual's thumb. When asked to present ID, all one had to do was press a thumb to the thumb pad on the portable white, "chip reader" disk offered to them, and Territh's computers would verify all information needed.

" Thats better, kid." The man chuckled. Inserting a cigarette into the corner of his mouth, he cupped his hand against the wind so that the frail flame of his lighter, presumably from the same pocket as his cigarettes, had time to catch and blew out a smoky breath of satisfaction.

What should I do! The thoughts screamed in Saix's brain. The pavement was cutting painfully into his knees, but he didn't dare move to rise. He could try running away, but the much larger man could easily catch him, and fighting was not an option. In the movement the man had made to light his cigarette he had tucked the weapon he'd been shouldering beneath one arm; a steel, telescoping baton with a single pointed end. It was a simple, yet deadly armament. Saix couldn't see the stun-gun he knew the Sweeper must also be carrying, but he doubted that he could out-run that either.

" So kid," the man's voice broke into his thoughts, " Ya gonna show me your ID or what? I ain't got all day." Keeping his head ducked low, the Were-cross pressed his lips into a firm line to keep them from trembling. He knew full well that the man didn't actually expect him to have any ID. It was obvious from his clothes and grubby body that he was a Stray.

The sound of the man's quiet laugh came again as the Sweeper knelt down by Saix's head, tapping his shoulder lightly with the blunt end of his Baton. A smoky exhalation send Saix coughing. " Whats wrong kiddo? Why so quiet? Don't tell me you ain't got any ID, a nice looking kid like you an all. It be a shame to have to send you to ol' smokey now wouldn't it."

Saix shuddered. "ol' smokey" was just another slang for the Watchtower. Of course, it was no secret that all criminals were executed there, regardless of age. Simply having no ID was a crime. Dammit! This scum's just playing with me! It'll only be a matter of time until he gets bored and hauls me to the Watchtower! Think! Think! Saix was trembling, but risked sitting back on his heels, rubbing his hands on his pants to remove the grit that was biting into his flesh. Taking a quick glance up at the grinning face so close to his own, he resisted the urge to dig those two laughing eyes out with his bare claws. Arrogant Bastard! Then a sudden flash of inspiration hit him. If he did it just right, he might have a chance. The kneeling man had unwittingly put himself in a vulnerable position, no doubt viewing this flea infested child as no threat what-so-ever. His mistake.

With a yell Saix launched himself straight at the shocked Sweeper's head, claws raking down both sides of his face faster than the eye could follow, carving two bloodied slashes on either cheekbone.

" SHIT!" The man stumbled backwards, dropping his cigarette, hand cupped to the side of his face and the other already swinging in for the counter attack.

Saix had anticipated the move, and had flung himself backwards and out of reach the moment his claws had made their mark, ducking just in time as the heavy Baton hummed angrily by overhead.

Then he was up and running, his feet pounding the pavement as he shot wildly back into the alley, towards the end, away from the crowds, noise and openness of the streets. He knew he didn't have a chance of out running the Sweeper in a straight race, so he zig-zagged around the numerous piles of garbage strewn willy-nilly across the way, counting on his smaller size and maneuverability to out distance his enemy.

Sure enough it was only a matter of seconds before he heard the heavy pounding of boots and an enraged yell as the larger man took up pursuit. Saix could only hope the man would decide to rely on speed to catch the much smaller prey. If he brought out the Stun-Gun, Saix probably wouldn't stand a change. The Sweepers were renowned for many things; the ability to use any weapon with perfect accuracy being one of them.

" Get back here brat!" The man's roar sounded frighteningly close. Too close.

Oh Hell! The idiot's faster than I thought! Saix pushed his short legs faster, the adrenaline giving him an extra boost. He didn't dare look back, the footsteps were so close. In a single second, he realized his plan had failed before it had hardly begun.

The blow came fast and hard, a savage strike from the Baton's blunt end, clubbing his ribs and sending him into the alley wall. Saix curled up in a heap at its base, gasping, his mouth working like a fish out of water as he tried desperately to drag air into his lungs. It hurt to move, to breathe! Every bone in his side seemed as though it had been crushed in on itself! O gods it hurt! However, he had no time to dwell as a gloved hand snatched at the back of his grimy shirt and hauled in upright, slamming his back against the wall. The man's bleeding face pressed up close against his own, hot breath blasting him as the Sweeper ground out every word, his eyes burning like twin pools of green acid.

" Well brat. That was a nice try, but you made two very fatal mistakes. One: you tried to run. Second: you cut me. And now, little pup, I'm gonna make you bleed just a little as pay back before I send you to the incinerator with all the rest of the trash this city doesn't need!"

The red head swiveled the Baton around in long, delicate fingers, then brought the razor end up in the child's frightened face. " Too bad you're a half-breed. If you were a human child then I might only send you off crying, but seeing as ya aint, then I've gotta follow my orders, see. No Demons allowed in Territh. I don't care if you're a Were, vamp, Hider or Floater. Ya ain't human, ya aint welcome. So here's a quick little message for all your little demon friends, yo!"

Saix screamed as the Baton sliced into his forehead above his right eye, the man's other hand coming up to grip his chin, holding him still while his knee dug into Saix's chest, pinning him. Blood flooded his eyes almost immediately, blinding him. It was like falling into a lake and looking up at the blurred images above, except this wasn't water, even if he felt like he was drowning in it. The Baton moved slowly, carving a long diagonal line across the bridge of his nose and ending on his left cheek. Then the baton repeated the pattern starting over his left eye, until he had carved a gory X across the squealing, squirming child's face.

" Watsa matter,demon? Don't like blood? Oh, sorry, pardon me, you don't like your own blood. Is that right?"

Saix sobbed and squirmed some more, his hands trying to cover his face, as if touching the wound would make it stop hurting. The Sweeper deftly set down his Baton and used his freed hand to smear the blood away with his gloves, admiring his handy work. " Ah, don't worry about it kid. Its a nice clean mark so it won't mess up your pretty features any. Also, don't worry about the blood on your clothes, cause I hear fire takes care of stains real good, and fire is something o'l Smokey's got lots of. Come on."

Seizing the bloodied, now limp Saix by his arm, the Sweeper turned and dragged the kid towards the open street again, back the way they'd come, not noticing, or if he did, not caring as that his captive wasn't walking with him but dragging like a limp doll, almost unconscious as shock set in. A large black van would be waiting for them about a block away. The Sweeper had parked it there himself when he'd started his patrol; how lucky that he managed to find quarry so soon. Useless human scum and purebred monsters were bad enough, but half-breeds were by far the worst. They always grew up causing the most trouble; a class all their own, accepted by neither the humans nor the monsters. To allow this small brat to live would be like letting a roach loose in your house and expecting it not to find another and multiply. The Sweeper was almost at the end of the alley, and he paused to hack up a spit-gob and shoot it on the ground. Yuck. He hated roaches.

" Put the kid down, Blood coat." the voice froze him on the spot. It was deep, with a strangely musical note to it, yet low, dark, and ...dangerous. He turned slowly, smirking.

" Never thought I'd see a blood sucker out during daylight hours. Guess there's always a first time for everything though." The Sweeper's smile came easily, and one could almost say--- joyfully. Here was a real challenge at last!

The vampire who stood before him seemed unimpressed. Still, after a few hundred years of living most things were unimpressive. You've seen em' once you've seen em' a hundred times so to speak.

The Sweeper seemed a cocky fellow indeed, and with a bloodied child dangling from one hand he certainly suited the part of Serial Killer, which was exactly what every single damn Sweeper really was when it all came down to it. Vincent Valentine had no use for such filth. Much less when they fell to the level of harming children, regardless of race. He spoke again, slowly, deep voice rolling in waves over the wild looking redhead. The wind whispered gently behind him, dragging on that long silken black mane his as though it wanted his attention, boiling his own red cloak around his body in a lover's embrace; Soft, caressing, hypnotizing. " I won't say it again, human. Release the child."

The man smiled, sliding his weight back on one heel and threw his narrow hip to the side, almost managing to look coy. " I 'm frightened." not really, " but tell me vampire, just what exactly do you plan to do with him? Drink his blood? He is bleeding after all, a lot in fact. Though I guess I am too. Trust me he wouldn't make much of a meal. Maybe you'd better just let me burn him with all the rest of the trash, eh fella; he isn't worth your time. Then maybe if you're real good then I'll bring you a snack. Or was it my blood you're after?"

Vincent's face remained immobile, unreadable. But the cardinal eyes hooded. Humans could be so irritating. " I said I wouldn't ask again, so I won't. However, I should be sleeping right now, but the smell of your wretched, polluted blood was getting to me, and now I feel positively sick. I guess I'll just have to kill you as requital."

"Awww, its not nice to insult somebody you've just met. My name's Reno, whats yours" The Sweeper let the child drop to the ground, swinging his Baton from under his arm and letting it slid out to its full length. People passing on the street behind him had slowed or stopped to watch the unfolding drama. Wonderful, the more the merrier.

" Charmed. And none of your business." Vincent brought his left hand out from the shadows of his cloak where it had hidden until now. The golden gauntlet, the fingers shaped and sharpened into long claws, would be his weapon for now. There was no need to use his gun, Cerberus, in such close spaces. It would be a shame if any bystanders got hurt, not that he particularly cared about any of them, but he wanted to get this over with as fast as possible with as little mess as could be hoped for. Besides, he wasn't sure how much longer he could resist the alluring smell of blood that was dripping off the boy. He knew he shouldn't let his mind dwell on it, but it was so over powering, he couldn't help his eyes being drawn.

People everywhere were starting to look less like people, and more like food. He could hear their hearts beating from here, a pounding, pulsing sea of blood; hot, thick, rich blood. Rushing, flowing through veins like red water. Sweet, sweet blood. Hot, drinkable blood. He needed it. Wanted it. He could feel the familiar ache in his mouth as his fangs, both upper and lower, began to extend, glowing, lengthening. The pressure in his gums felt good, and he tasted blood, his blood, as the razor sharp edges cut into his lip.

A throaty chuckle broke into the trance he hadn't realized he'd fallen into. The vampire's eyes narrowed, fixing on the man's sniggering face, then darted to the child still unconscious at his feet and back again. Why was he laughing?

The Sweeper, Reno, twirled his baton, appearing at ease with the situation, but Vincent could hear the speeding beat of his heart, the rush of his blood. It leaked from his cheeks, smelling faintly of adrenaline. Vincent smiled; blood never lied.

" You vampires are all the same, yo." Reno reached up and dabbed a finger on his cheeks, coming away red. He rubbed it between thumb and forefinger, taunting. "The smell of blood and you show your true colors. Ha, you're no different from animals, isn't that right demon?"

Vincent didn't give him the pleasure of an answer. The sight of the warm wet blood smearing on the man's fingers was the final thread for his weakening self-control. He hadn't fed since the night before. To have so much blood suddenly here in front of him, so tantalizingly close was just too much.

He launched forward with eye blurring speed, his claws swinging in for the man's throat. He would taste blood this day, he would sink his fangs in deep and assuage his hunger, even if it was in the neck of his wretched excuse for humanity. His fangs ached, and he would saturate them in lovely red glory to appease his ravaging hunger!

Reno moved fast, faster than any regular human could ever hope to move, managing to blocked the swing of the vampire's metal claws with his Baton. Metal struck metal with a loud shriek of protest, sending the gathering crowd on the sidewalk scrambling. The training and conditioning he had received as a Sweeper had served him well, but it didn't change the fact that even so, had he been even a second slower he would probably be missing his head by now. The thought never fazed him though, even as the sheer force of the Vampire's charge brought him down, crashing back on the pavement with the vampire's full weight pinning him. Fangs bared just inches from his face, hungry, blood red eyes boring into his with rampant, wild-eyed blood-lust. The change was so dramatic from a few moments before, as if he had become a different creature entirely. But that was to be expected of a demon.

" This is just a tiny taste of the side of me that I call, Chaos." The Vampire hissed with no trace of the composure he had had only moments before.

" Charmed." Reno grinned, his own blood-lust rising. This is what he lived for.