A/N: New story. Fear it. And yes, yes this is a crack fic. Sue meh. I'm just wingin' this all.


X-NoTmYmAsTeR-X

Chapter One:

The King and His Men


Once, once I was human.

Once, once a long…long time ago I used to be called nice names. Or nice-er names.

Once, I used to be trusted. And free. Oh so free.

But now, now I am bound. A bird with both wings clipped. Hooded. Belled. On a leash. Not free. The skies are off-limits. Bound by those who find me an abomination. By those who gladly kill my lesser kin. They wanted a trump card. A new one. And they found me. Well, that's actually not true. They tricked me, blackmailed me.

The bastards stole away the very thing I created with my own blood. My child. My own. And now I must serve those who seek to destroy the remainder of my family. Yes, I realize what I write now is terribly cliché, and I ask thee, humble reader to not judge me for that. I am not in my right mind. In their eyes, I am the worst of all sinners, and because there is no way I will ever ask forgiveness for anything I have ever done, I am punished. And as such a terrible, unrepentant sinner they find ways to punish me even as I am forced to submit to being bound. As if bondage to mere mortals wasn't enough.

They keep blood from me, often only giving me enough to operate on the basest of levels. When they do take me out, which is a rarity far beyond what it should be, I am kept away from things that bleed, instead being forced to focus on ghouls and zombies instead of FREAKs and humans. How I long for a bellyful fresh, warm blood instead of the mouthfuls of sterilized, sanitized cold blood. Disgusting. But it is all that I get. And I must take it, to survive. To live as much as the undead can.

All for vengeance. Also be aware, dear reader, that I do in fact know you are reading this. And that you are judging me based on what you read. I am also aware that you may very well be one of the Vatican dogs that have imprisoned me. If that's the case, I hope you realize that when I escape, (not if. When.) you will undoubtedly feel my wrath. Not only for the crap you and your superiors have put me through, but tenfold retribution for whatever you have done to my fledgling. Looks are incredibly deceiving. For your own safety, though I care nothing for it, I implore you to remember that.

You didn't complete the ritual.

The seals can be broken.

And when they do, you will know the fury of those whose tastes lie in the macabre.

Blood is what you are made of.

And blood is what I desire.

No bonds can hold me for long. You should know that. You would know that, had you bothered to research me.

But you didn't.

And that, my dear, dear, blood-filled reader, was the first mistake you made when it came to me.

Dark of the Fey

And with that, the female writing snapped the flimsy notebook shut, creating that distinctive clapping sound that accompanied any book being shut. The person nearest here started at the sound, which earned him a derisive and fanged snarl. The girl stood, uncoiling her lithe body to it's full height. She wore a Vatican-approved outfit, all robes and ties and hoods. Nothing brilliant nor terrifying. It really just made her look like an overly effeminate priest. Which really, really annoyed the girl. There was a freaking rosary around her waist for Satan's sake. She wasn't a holy woman, so why was she being made to look like one?

Snarling again, the girl stretched her arms out, relishing the sounds of her cramped muscles and bones cracking loudly. She wasn't allowed to break anything anymore, not since the "unfortunate" incident with Father Anderson a while back. The popping sounds of her bones was enough to satiate her need to destroy. For the moment. But she wasn't one to be fully pleased with the sounds of her own body shifting around. She needed to kill something. Many somethings. Preferably Vatican somethings. Like that stupid prat of Father Anderson. Oh, how she loathed that man.

"Dark," Someone said blandly. A someone with a rather stupid Scottish accent.

Father Freaking Anderson.

"Whaddaya want now?" Dark demanded angrily, whirling on the object of a vast majority of her hatred.

He was lucky today. Dark was in a reasonably good mood, for the moment at least, and she hadn't tried to make an attempt on his life. Yet. Her robes settled back down around her ankles. She glared at the green-eyed Scotsman, her posture and fierce stance oozing hatred and loathing for the man in front of her. At the same time she opened her mouth to further annoy and heckle the Judas Priest man, her palms began to burn. A precursor to something far more painful than a slight burning sensation on her hands.

Her posture and stance changed immediately. Her arms uncrossed themselves, her shoulders relaxed, and her glare softened into something passable as a pleasant stare. Father Anderson grinned, and Dark was hard pressed to not leap forward and maul that grin off his face.

"Ah was under the impression that ye wanted yer dahlin' fledgling back," the Scot drawled out.

Any residual fight left in her stance, and Dark's eyes dropped to the floor. Her back slouched a bit. Anderson grinned at her sudden loss of bloodlust. It was an act, for underneath the surface, Dark's emotions raged out of control. Not like Anderson noticed. He, and the others in the Vatican only tended to notice what they wanted too, especially when it came to vampires. Every motion she made was carefully constructed and manicured to make it seem as if she had suddenly given up on fighting the Scotsman, when she was already plotting his demise.

"Please, Father….please just let me see her," Dark said softly, trying to add a note of hopelessness and longing into her voice. Both emotions, she was wholly unfamiliar with and didn't actually feel. But she could pretend and make it so Anderson let her see her beloved fledgling.

Anderson grinned, but didn't shake his head no, and Dark, being as cunning as she was, took the fact that he hadn't explicitly denied her the chance to see her fledgling as reason enough to go and see her. It took only a moment for Dark to arrive at this decision, and after that moment passed, she was gone. Using her vampiric speed, she rushed past him and went straight to where her fledgling was being held. She stopped suddenly, her hands wrapping about the bars, only to draw them back as soon as she touched them. Silver. Lots of it. It usually wouldn't bother her, but being as weak as she was it hurt like hell. She peered into the darkness, trying to make her eyes focus enough to make out the form of her fledgling.

The Vatican hadn't ever done anything to her fledgling, for fear of loosing their one and only bargaining chip. That, and threatening the fledgling often made Dark do their bidding, and most of the stipulations about the threats brought up against the fledgling made it so the fledgling remained unharmed as Dark did the dirty work of the Vatican. Dark only had to stand there for a moment before the joyous cry of "Master!" met her ears.

"Jackie!"

Dark stuck an arm through the bars, ignoring the searing pain that ripped though her body and reached out for her fledgling. Silver burned marks into her flesh, steam rising from the intense burn wounds Dark was practically inflicting upon herself. She felt the cold flesh of her fledgling meet hers, and breathed a sigh of relief. She was still safe, though a captive. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air around Dark, and Jackie's words broke the relative silence.

"Master, you're burning. Let go. Please. Stop, master. You're hurting yourself. MASTER!" Jackie screamed to get Dark's attention.

Dark re-opened her eyes. The pain had made her close them for some reason. Dark quickly retracted her arm and let go of the bars. She could barely make out the outline of her dearly beloved fledgling, but it was enough.

"You okay?" Dark asked, her voice flooded with concern.

She took the fact that Jackie was her fledgling incredibly seriously. Jackie was the skin of her skin, the flesh of her flesh, the bone of her bone, her very blood and livelihood. Everything was for her, and for her alone. Jackie was the daughter that Dark never wanted, but cherished nonetheless.

Jackie nodded, a movement Dark could pick up, even with her eyesight as poor as it had become. Dark grinned, her fangs, as permanently elongated as they were, glistening in the light outside of the cell.

"Make sure they treat you well, little one-it's the only thing that keeps me bound. Are they feeding you well?"

Jackie nodded again, and Dark's stomach growled loudly. She didn't think that undead organs could grumble so, but apparently they could, and her stomach's angered grumblings made her remember just how starved she was. Her skin was an awful pasty white color, and her eyes had shifted from deep crimson to a softer violet. If she didn't get a proper feed in soon, they'd most likely revert back to a more human blue color. The same shade it had been when Dark was living. Jackie looked concerned at the growling of Dark's stomach, but Dark wasn't about to worry her little one with her practical starvation.

Footsteps sounded from down the hallway, and Dark drew back from the cell even further until her back hit the opposite wall. She bent her right knee and placed her booted foot upon the wall her back was resting on. Jackie took the hint and drew back into the confines of her cell. Dark lazily turned her head towards the approaching person, her violet eyes lidded and unfocused. To anyone unfamiliar with the art of reading nearly-immortal vampires, it would appear that Dark, dressed as she was in priestly garments and a few footsteps away from her fledgling just didn't give a damn.

Which was really close to the truth.

But at the same time, it wasn't truth.

Anderson rounded the corner and Dark took as a cue to leave, turning her back to both Anderson and her fledgling, she walked away, shoulders back and her back ramrod straight. Show no weakness. None at all. Anderson, with his stupid long Scottish legs caught up to her easily, and began blathering on and on about what the two of them were being sent out to do. Dark tuned him out, knowing full well that the only reason the Vatican bothered to keep her around was that she was one of the very few fighting full-blooded vampires left. Full-blooded being used loosely here. Dark was full-blooded in the sense that she was not a FREAK, nor was she a fledgling. And the Vatican needed something like that on their side.

'Cause the Protestants had a freaking full-blooded vampire. Alucard. Dark knew she'd stand no chance against him in her current condition. Actually, if she was being truthful with herself, she would admit that it'd take an incredible set of circumstances for her to even come close to his power. Even full, and fully armed, and in her own element, Dark knew that the battle between the two of them, if it ever came to that, would be long-and drawn out. And that she'd probably lose. She had heard that others had presumed that they had similar power, but Dark knew that being conceited like that often led to getting killed.

Nosferatu, some called her. Like Dark actually knew that that meant. Like she cared, either. Anderson and her walked along together, Dark's mood fouling with every extra step she had to take to keep up with the Scottsman, and Anderson just walking along talking nonsense about the "mission of the Vatican" and "the will of the Holy Father". Old stuff. Stuff Dark had heard all to many times before. But something towards the end of his long winded tirade caught Dark's attention. How'd it go? Something like:

"Blah blah blah…Vatican…blah…Holy See….Blah blah blah….Eef Alucahd dies or is eencapacitated durihn this mission, you'll be free tae leave with yar'h fledglin'."

Or something like that.

Dark looked up, her eyes narrowed and turning a slightly more crimson shade. She wanted to make sure she had heard right.

"'Scuse me?"

Anderson grinned down at her like he had just caught some sort of helpless animal.

"If'n ya help us with the detain'in or death of Alucahd on this mission, ya'll be free tae go."

Dark couldn't help but grin. But Anderson wasn't done.

"But if'n yah fail…" Anderson let the sentence hang, knowing that Dark'd probably find something awful to fill in the blank.

"Understood. Will I be able to change clothing and have my weapons back?"

Anderson nodeed.

"If'n it'll help yeh, sure."

Dark smiled.

"As you wish then, Father Anderson."

"As you wish."

Dark grinned and vanished from her spot next to Anderson. With his permission she began to get ready for the next mission. And this time, she wouldn't be wearing those stupid robes. She'd be in full regalia, ready for nearly anything as long as she could get a good drink in. The thought gladdened her heart. Her undead, rotting, blackened heart.