Disclaimer: I am not Darren Shan; therefore, I own none of the characters in this fanfiction.
The Prophecy, Fulfilled.
I look at the twisted, unrecognisable creature lounging on his throne. He has dark brown hair, part of which falls over his left eye, and a mouth slightly curled downwards at the corners from all of the times he had snarled, or scowled, or made any other ugly, grotesque expressions that marked the certain death of anyone who got in his way.
The twisted, monstrous creature is Darren Shan.
It has been two years since Darren killed Steve Leonard and won the title as The Lord of The Shadows. Desmond Tiny's prophecy has come true--Darren has become a vicious, insane murderer and driven humanity to ruin. Even ninety-five percent of the vampaneze, my clan, has been brutally murdered. Yet the remaining five percent hide. They survive, in hiding, starving half to death, and the same goes for most vampires(the ones who know that there is no point, no success promised in trying to stop their once-innocent Prince).
I am the only one Darren Shan has spared so far.
He doesn't forgive people who try to stop him--he has murdered Evra Von, Mika Ver Leth and Vanez Blane--but for some reason, he spared I, Gannen Harst. Perhaps he wants me to live in fear and terrible regret of what I have done. His plan is working. I cannot forget all of the people I have allowed him to murder so far--many of my fellow vampaneze; his own nephew, Darius; Alice Burgess, many of the vampirites and vampets, and even his sister Annie.
I can never forgive myself for aiding him in all of this.
But I will quit when I feel miserable enough to die.
For dying is surely the punishment.
"Aiding him?", did you ask? Yes, I begged for forgiveness. I told him I didn't want to die, that I would become his prime protector and advisor, that I would never leave his side. He must have liked the sound of that. My life was spared.
He dresses in red, like Larten Crepsley.
His eyes, ablaze with the fires of hatred and insanity, are two dark windows into what must be Hell.
There is a knock on the door. Darren looks up lazily.
"Go get it, Harst," he says, waving me away with a lazy hand. I jump to it and rush to the door. I open it to reveal my brother, Vancha March, with a badly cut lip and many long red scars along his collar. He gives me a brief hug and turns to Darren.
"Darren," he says, voice thick with emotion. Evidently, he has just heard about the murder of Harkat Mulds. I couldn't believe it when Darren killed the Little Person, either.
Red blood dripped onto the floor like a leaky faucet. The Lord of The Shadows was standing over the body of Vanez Blane--even in death, may you be triumphant, Vanez! for you were brave in trying to bring Darren to his senses--and brandishing his blood-saturated knife, when Harkat Mulds, his best friend, burst in.
The Little Person's round green eyes went even bigger, when he saw Darren standing over what used to be the Vampire Mountain gamesmaster. "Darren!" he gasped, and green tears rolled down his grey, stitched-up face.
"Why, Harkat," Darren said. For a fleeting moment, I thought I could hear the young, innocent Darren of the past. "I haven't seen you in ages." He stepped over Blane's body and went to give his old friend a proper greeting.
Harkat shook his deformed head. "I've ... heard of ... what you've been doing ... Darren," he gasped. Shock and grief had reduced him to his former speech. "I couldn't believe ... any of it ... at first. Now ... I see ... that you're even worse ... than those stories."
Darren's smile vanished suddenly, as though it had been nothing but a hallucination. "Shut up," he growled.
The Little Person was utterly destroyed. "You killed Annie. You killed ... everyone."
Darren suddenly let out a vicious roar and stabbed at Harkat's stomach with his bloodied blade. For a second, it was as though the knife had missed the Little Person completely--but then poor, heartbroken Harkat Mulds keeled over and fell to the floor. Darren gazed at the friend he had just murdered in cold blood, then turned to me and croaked, "Clean that up." He tossed his blade aside and sat himself on his throne, caressing the edges of the armrests with slim, trembling fingers.
Vancha's reaction is different to Harkat's. Instead of just standing there and sobbing, he roars with pure fury and grief, draws a shuriken and sends it flying at Darren.
I try to stop him. I cry out, "Vancha! No!" But in all his fury, he never hears me. He never hears me, even though it is the last thing he can hear from me.
Darren unsheathes his sword, swings it like a baseball bat at the shuriken zooming towards him. The blade connects with the shuriken and sends it hurtling back at my brother.
It's too fast for Vancha. The shuriken buries itself where his heart is and stays there. He doesn't pull it out. All he does is look at Darren and say, "Larten said not to waste yourself on hatred ..."
He staggers backward and crumples.
With a howl that echoes around the vast, spacious room, I rush to my brother's side. The life had faded from his eyes.
Moments pass before I register what has happened, and what must now be done. I slowly get to my feet and turn to face The Lord of the Shadows.
He's glaring at me. "Just try it, Harst," he whispers. I reach for the sword tucked into my belt.
Before I know it, there is a sharp, whizzing sound and a knife buries itself in my stomach. I close my eyes and open them again. The pain darkens my vision.
Everything is dim and quiet, but I can just vaguely make out the silhouette that is Darren standing over me, nudging me with his foot.
A/N: Bit different from last time, yeah? It'd help a lot if you clicked that review button - riiiight down there - and told me what you think of it. :] Please and thank you.