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"Damn you," I cried, straining against the cold fetters that bound me.
Erebus, my superior and mentor, looked on as I went through my hell. Deep gashes rent my bare chest from where I had torn at my skin, delusional and frenzied. The pain offered no distraction as I struggled to reach the temple that housed the hot, sweet meal that waited for me, kicking and screaming, making the syrupy liquid that would sustain me swirl and flow in her veins, rising to the top of the skin. Her heartbeat stuttered wildly, threatening to give out at any moment.
Erebus tutted, disappointed. "Control, Edward. Control is the key to survival, to supremacy. All that land, all those humans out there for us. Together, we can forge a unified community and revolutionise the world! But if you slip up, even once, the Volturi will descend upon us like vultures."
I shivered instinctively at the dreaded name. The Volturi, the ancients who all feared. And Erebus was right – there was every chance that he would be discovered and killed. Even in the throes of bloodlust, I did not want to die, a blight on the face of the world. Before that final moment, I wanted to see apologise to my maker. Erebus was not the one who saved my life and snatched me from the gates of Death. But if the one who had could know, could see the suffering and murder I had caused....
Erebus' eyes shone with the gleam of a fanatic. His irises were a dull crimson, and the colour reminded me of blood. I couldn't think of anything but the blood, the pounding blood that was so loud, throbbing in my brain. How I longed for just a little sip, the death, the vibrant life transferring into my body.
The woman – in her early twenties – writhed desperately. Erebus had garbed her in a silken white shift and bound her with his snowy hands. The pale blonde of her hair cascaded down in rivulets, flung into disarray by her struggles. The vivid green of her eyes stood out in her ghostly face. They darted all around, but she was blinded by terror. Terror that I was causing her. I was hurting her, but I couldn't stop.
The back of my throat burned like an arid plain, and I strained for the precious ruby-red oasis, but it lay just out of reach. Desperate, I tried to bite at the chains yet again, but they were still too far away for my seeking teeth. I tried to gnaw my restrained arms off – they could be reattached later – but the long fingers around my neck bit cruelly into the flesh of my throat, preventing me from reaching my limbs.
I attempted to break my bonds, but even the blood madness didn't lend me strength enough to shatter the restraints my master bound me with. The indefatigable hands that held me maintained their grip, the pressure increasing when I struggled, digging deep into my hands, legs, and neck.
Howling, red pulsating against my vision, I cursed Erebus. I had been like this, restrained and starving, for days, while he flaunted a new young victim before me every night. Gender didn't matter. Before each new sunrise he drained each in front of me. Each one was innocent, that forbidden fruit which I had never fed off, but I no longer cared. I couldn't care any longer; I was past the point where such things mattered to me.
The moment that thought arose in me, I mentally flinched away from myself. I remembered the faint memory of the kind eyes of my maker, as bright and golden as his heart was. I recalled the ghostly murmur of his gentle hands touching my skin, so much colder and paler than mine, yet able to express so much warmth. I recalled his adamant revulsion to feeding off humans, his explanation why in the hours that I was a newborn, as filled with bloodlust. I reminisced about him when he was pointing out the little details that made humans so charming, so unique, willing me to see what he saw.
And I did see, eventually.
And yet, like the fool I was, I had rebelled and ran away from his gentle and understanding tutoring. And I had fallen into the dark, deep trap that my life was now in. How I loathed myself. I had so many deaths etched into the face of my damned soul.
Flashback
A man, tall and slender, dug his hands deep into a black coat, leaning lightly against a damp brick wall. The upturned collar hid his lower face, the rest being obscured by the deep shadow that fell from his hat. His face was downturned, blank and expressionless as he stared at the ground.
A slight sliver of light fell into his eyes when he upturned his face for a moment, looking to the heavens above. His eyes could be slightly seen in the bare second they were unveiled, shining unnaturally out of the shadows. They seemed to have a faint glow to them, a feral red sheen that seemed out of place on the man's angelic face.
A passerby shuddered lightly, unconsciously, as he hurried by. Even in the dark, perhaps especially in the dark, where the passerby knew the devil reigned, the man seemed to elude an aura of unwelcome, perhaps even menace.
The man's coat was finely cut, his outfit stylish and trendy, if somewhat outdated. Still, the passerby knew this was yet another sign of the devil, for temptation and greed were Satan's delights.
The passerby self-consciously smoothed down his own dark attire, slightly ragged with frayed hems that dragged along the ground. His heart started to beat a bit faster as he approached the figure leaning against the wall, his face becoming slightly pale with what might have been foreboding. He toyed nervously with the piece of paper in his hands.
The man grinned, the smile unnoticed, covered by his collar. Glancing up, the faint moonlight, diluted by the omnipresent lights of the city, fell on his face. The spectacular beauty of the man's features drew the man closer, despite his fear. The man's face was structured like an archangel, high and regal. A straight, aristocratic nose was perfectly in proportion with his other features.
The deep red eyes were slightly angular, beautiful, but in a wicked way. Their colour was darkened, until a hoop of ruby was squashed between the pitch centre and black ring around the iris. Faultless lips curved up in a hint of a cold, predatory smile that didn't warm his dispassionate face. His white skin glittered slightly where the light struck it.
A deep craving awoke in the passerby, drawing him closer to the man. He walked towards the man, in a trance-like state.
The man's glowing crimson eyes twinkled as the passerby crossed the street. He tipped his hat in a mockery of a polite, gentlemanly greeting, revealing a shock of glossy bronze hair. He spread his arms wide, in a gesture that could have meant many things, including 'welcome, my brother, to Hell,' before taking the passerby into his deadly embrace. Sharp teeth grazed the passerby's neck, not breaking the skin.
"Who's been a naughty little boy, hmmm?"
His voice was hypnotic, smooth and silky, rolling into the passerby's ears like honey. The passerby finally realised what words the man had spoken and, breaking through his daze, he started to thrash and struggle to be free. The man's grip held him, however. It was impossible to escape. The man trailed soft kisses slowly down his neck, leaving behind a faint shimmer of iridescent liquid. Pausing just below the jugular, the man felt the passerby shiver as his cold lips hesitated.
Then sharp, shocking, luscious pain sunk into the passerby, shooting out and wrapping around his torso. He stilled as it spread from his neck, all through his bloodstream. Then, a strange pulling extended through him, tugging on his veins and arteries. The pain intensified, and the passerby became aware of his shrieks, muffled against the man's shirt. His body began to spasm, and he dropped the paper that he had held in his hand.
As he lost blood and strength, silent screams turned into soft whimpers, and thrashing limbs slowed into gentle shudders. The pain faded; or rather he faded from the pain, drifting off into the dreamlike state between awareness and unconsciousness. Softly, he was lowered onto the ground. He saw the man, blood around his mouth, staining his grinning teeth. My blood, he realised with what was left of his sanity.
"Father, you have sinned."
The passerby found that he couldn't move his body, couldn't speak, couldn't beg for mercy. Crying in his mind, he threaded an invisible rosary, begging for forgiveness, trying to atone for his sins. The man knelt slowly, picking the passerby up again and drawing him into a tight embrace. The passerby's vision blackened, red splotches exploding inside his eyes before he passed out, barely aware of the enormous pressure compressing his body.
Edward dumped the hideously crushed and mutilated body outside the city, wiping his mouth free of blood. His coat was ruined, but the dark stains where stray droplets of blood had soaked in wouldn't show on the black material in the dim light of the night-time city. He examined the piece of paper that the man had been holding. It was a receipt for a plane ticket. Edward dropped it, thinking. He might just buy his own plane ticket. Getting out of Chicago might be a good idea. He had come back to the place of his birth, death, and re-birth, drawn by the past. But he wanted to forget the past now, and get away from the ghosts inside his head: the ghosts of those he had killed.
He pretended that he didn't feel an ounce of pity for the humans whose life he had taken. The slight twinge in his heart that reminded him that he was monster for killing at all flickered and was crushed ruthlessly. He must view it as saving others lives, or else he'd go insane. It was marvellous and also sickening, how in their last few moments all the humans whom he had feed on prayed to the god that they had forgotten in daily life.
Or, he thought, looking nonchalantly at the body of the dead pastor, disregarded. The corrupt preacher's thoughts had leapt out at him as he went about his nightly prowl, looking for a feed. The atrocity of lecturing people on sinful behaviour, then going out to deliberately commit a crime was, to him, almost worse than the felony itself. He himself was religious, even though he knew that he was damned by his very existence, by what he was.
So, he concluded, the pastor had been perfect prey, immoral, and unrepentant until his life began to fade. He doubted that many would miss the pastor. He had had no family and no friends. His little flock might worry for a bit, then they would go to someone else to tell them that Jesus suffered so that they had the chance to sin. Ah, that reprehensive act – the murder of an innocent, taking the place of the guilty.
They would forget the pastor nearly as quickly as they forgot the preaching. Humans always did. Sinning and disappearances were part of everyday life in a large city.
Life moved on.
End flashback
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NS-SS: This fanfic is being handed over to a lovely friend of mine, Jaide. She is the one who changed this, and she is working on the next chapter. If you want to read what is going on and why this is happening, you can check out the update posted in Queen of Night, which also contains a piece of my work that Jaide has tweaked.
The existing chapters will be altered and lengthened, hopefully, then updates will happen. Keep your eyes out!
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Jaide: So, there are a few reviews. Dunno why there is only a couple of them. It makes me sad, because I actually like writing this piece, and I sure as hell enjoyed reading it. Although, it seems that very few of you actually like reading it.
So if it doesn't get more reviews and attention, I may be forced to abandon it, which I think would be a shame. I have Queen of Night to overhaul and edit, which is going to take a while to do.
But it is you, the reader, whose opinions really matter. So if you want more, please show your support and review, alright? It only takes a moment, and you can say something completely random. I just want a sign of whether this is a complete waste of time, so that I will dedicate spare time to QN or divide time between SS and QN. I'd personally prefer to write them both. And this is the end of a ridiculously long rant.
