I do not own any of these bloody characters!
Abyss
Oh Raziel, was the pain great?
Water on the flesh…it is deadly to our kind. Too, the sun, that grand bauble…death. So it is a simple matter to punish impudence or treachery in my court. I have been dubbed many things, often names of unimaginable brutality. I deserve these titles, each one. My hunger is great, but it pales beside ambition.
In the spirit of conquest I crafted lieutenants from the remains of my most dire foes. The Sarafan, warrior-priests, advocates of my kind's extinction…I seized their remains. The will of Kain is a potent tool, and I was willing to pass along my exultant curse. They were brothers, fiends, keen of thought and deed. The human chattel bared their necks to our thirst. We were gods incarnate. We remain so. But Raziel has passed from our number.
Was the pain great? It is the spirit of honest curiosity that inquires. I have suffered unduly. How many children remember their birth so vividly, or the plague of accompanying hunger? Yet Raziel knew these torments as well…I cannot claim that my pain is greater. Of my flesh, he also knew another thirst, the desperate craving for power. My spirit yearns for domination. Some may call me selfish and, in turn, a monster. Perhaps I am evil. If so, then Raziel was a beast. A lesser monstrosity, perhaps. But abomination is not a matter of degrees.
I watched his faithful fall, his plummet, his doom. The waters closed over my most prized creation, and I was indeed sorrowful. But his threat was immeasurable…wings! Such audacity! Yet he answered my summons, and came in good faith. Once again Kain is the betrayer. And as ever, Kain is jealous.
Jealousy is a beast beyond any vampire. It torments a heart long bereft of beating. I find myself envious of paltry gain, of laughter and joy. Upon a time the taste of blood was euphoric, was all-encompassing; it was all the sensation I required. But millennia have passed, and the flavour of blood has grown wearisome. Oh, for a simple cup of wine! Yet food is ash, and music a strain on undead ears. My hall is often a quiet place, for I have heard each melody before. The bards of Nosgoth are useful only for sustenance.
Too, those days of feasting have passed. No long trestle-tables of squirming mortals, their wide eyes pleading, their hearts beating rapidly, enticingly. Did they know that fear made them more appetizing? Raziel was ever the merrymaker, his the only laughter I could hear without wincing. His mirth was somehow weariless. I shall miss that cold joy.
Will my children continue to surpass me? Shall their bodies warp beyond semblance, and shall I persist in casting each one to his doom? How long before they simply rebel, leading their respective clans in utter war? The thought is unsettling, but far from frightening. Even now my hands rest on the hilt of the Soul Reaver. The power of the blade courses through my aged veins, filling muscles and mind with potency. I am still their better, even should they unite. Creator and destroyer, the true legacy of Kain.
Was the pain great, Raziel? Will I ever know it myself? I spoke of jealousy, and I find myself jealous of your death. I once chose to remain alive. I did not commit the necessary sacrifice, and thus ensured the agonized decay of this world. I have seen beauty fall to abject ruin, and have known I was the cause. It is a peculiar burden to bear. In choosing life, I ensured a latent desire for death. I should not be. That alone haunts what passes for a vampire's dreams.
Raziel, I feel that we shall meet again. I am no seer, nor do I claim true wisdom. Yet the wheel turns, such as it is. Even the immortal move through time. And a wheel always returns to the beginning.