"I was born in rage and fire, like every vampire.
But I was born unique.
I was born.
My mother was a Slayer. She knew nothing about her calling, until all of a sudden she became strong, untill all of a sudden it came to her. She was a potential all her life without knowing. She was pregnant with me. It would have been fine, I would have been born, she would have fought.
But she was sired.
When a vampire restrains from the bliss that is the blood of a slayer, when he cuts himself open and gives himself to her, she becomes a Vampire. Armed with tenfold a normal vampire's strength, but rid of the morals that once bound her. She becomes hell.
And her son?
Unprecidented.
I was a first.
I am a first.
Under normal circumstances of pregnant vampires, the child will die, and after some unpleasant business, his former mother will be rid of it. Only my mother's twice inhuman strength brought me into this world.
Only my thrice inhuman strength let me survive in it.
I ow it all to my mother.
For whatever reason, she kept me. I couldn't tell you why. At first, I must have been a hindrence. A babey with a thirst for blood. But, I suppose, as I grew, I became helpful. And I did grow. I can't be sure, because back then we didn't keep track of time, But I'm almost sure I had the body of a sixteen year old when I was four.
Come to mention it, I can see how I would have been useful. Show me, a tiny kid, first six, then eight, then ten, then twelve, and not a single person would refuse to let me in. Even then, I could deal damage. I would push them out, at the worst, drive them to the ground, whenever.
I tried to avoid spilling blood. But the lust always won out. I would drink, be lost in the bliss, the animalistic bliss of taking their life and bringing it into my veins. But there was a price later. Because I felt it. Every death, every scream, every beg for mercy, every cry for their mother, everything my mother could just wave away-no, everything she could enjoy, I felt it in my heart.
My soul.
Cause that's the problem, isn't it?
My soul. God, all the times I tried to rip it out...
Until I said no more. Until years of dealing death drove me to it.
I challenged my mother.
I challenged her.
I told her this was wrong.
She looked at me with disgust and tried to kill me.
But I watched her for years, for all my life, and taken from the leftovers. I'd seen how she faught, studied her, watched her because she was all I had, all my soul had clung onto. I didn't win that fight because I was better. I won the fight because I knew her and she hadn't even looked at me. She was just using me. I was a tool, used to get food, nothing more.
I'd never faught before. It came naturaly. Guess I have her to thank for that to. But it did leave me in a bad place. Left in a dark alley, with nothing but dust to cling on to. Happy times. A changing point. I don't remember much after that. Dark times, repressed memories, and all that. I'm pretty glad. As far as those memories go, I'm glad I forgot them. The last thing I need is that.
For a while I was aimless. Purposeless. Just scrounging up the money to pay for the butchers' blood. Worthless. I had nothing to live for, I was just existing.
I can't really remember when I started saving people. It was something I just did, I guess. I've been doing it for years. It's habit. And it's the right thing to do. What else could I have? What other path could I have taken?"
"You could have been rich. Eaten everyone you ever saw, killed them all, taken everything, killed everything" he says, pressing the blade to my throat. His foot crushes my ankle painfuly, and his left hand is bathed in my blood. Blood is seeping into his left eye from that cut I left on his forehead, but his right seems to make up for it, with it's smooth alertness.
"You expect me to believe you'd fight the good fight for the fun of it?"
I shrug. "Yeah"
"And you've left nothin' out?" he asks, unsurprisingly doubtful. "Because, as long as that was, I can't imagine that's your whole life"
"Well" I laugh. "The reason I answered 'Any last words?' with a life story isn't because I'm feeling existential. I'm stalling. And there is one thing I left out"
He cocks his head, black mangled hair falling over his wound.
"And what would that be?"
"Anna-Marie" I smile.
He grunts. "Why you smilin'? I look-"
He's cut short by a flinch-incurring crack, and the sword that's pressed against my throat gives way. To the guy's credit, he's immediately trying to get an elbow into that lovely nose of the lovely Anna, but the girl's to experienced for that. With a twist of her arm, she has both of his locked behind his back.
I give him a punch in the cheek, and when he still stays standing, give him another. He goes down.
"Hey" I welcome Anna.
"Hey" She smiles back. "What's happening?"
I snatch a drawer open and take out some cord, grabbing his arms and tie his unconcious wrists together.
"Oh, nothing much. The usual"