"I am so beastly tired of mankind and the world that nothing can interest me unless it contains a couple of murders on each page or deals with the horrors unnameable and unaccountable that leer down from the external universes."
― H.P. Lovecraft

The misguided are such pathetic beings. Humans needed guidance. It was why they created fictional creatures such as gods. That is why the development of hierarchy began. Those that never needed guidance were the superior beings of old. They were fallen from the sky from a place they could no longer remember. They crawled out of the mud from a darkness they didn't know. They slimed out of the seas from a depth they had forgotten. It was in them that many of the ancients - what humans consider ancient - traced their roots to. Those that remained at least. Angels some called them, demons to others, but they had other names. Old ones that couldn't be spoken in the languages of the modern world. Ones not even he knew. It was from them that the generations the first Sainook, the magical soldiers against darkness, with their thoughts of superiority and magic symbols, began to evolve from the races of humans. They believed themselves to be directly descendant from the beings of old, the gods and angels, charged with keeping balance among darker beings and the safety of non-magical humans, scornful of other human races with magic in their veins – the magical families of witchcraft that believed themselves to be born from the ground itself.

The origin of his kind though ... well, he was not a historian. Historians dug into the past for forgotten knowledge so it could be shared with those who didn't know any better. They loved history. He was history. When archaeologists uncovered ancient tombs and desecrated burial grounds of the land that had been his home, he turned away an uncaring eye. He had seen them when they were alive and new. Now he was too old to care and barely remembered, lacking the heart to be nostalgic, even when his mistress' resting place was uncovered. She was no longer his mistress, but he knew her by no other name. She was dead. He was dead. She lay in a maze tomb, buried with her worldly possession under a pyramid of stone built on the backs of servants and slaves less fortunate then himself and he walked free. The worldly possessions of her family assured that she would be prosperous in the afterlife. She was dead. He was dead, but he walked on. The pains of the world, the pains of humanity, passed over him like water over pebbles that could never erode. He met no pain of age. No suffering of loss. Not in millenniums had plague and sickness touched him. His years alive were so faded to him now they could no longer be recollected, but he did remember the last plagues he witnessed alive.

No one knew the origins of his kind, but it was during these plagues evoked by war between witch families that they began to surface in the desert that was his only home and prison near the shores of the great river, the call of blood flowing in rivers instead of water was something they couldn't resist. Stories of selkies and dryads with other names, men who howled at the full moon. These he'd heard in stories as a child, told to frighten children away from the deep rivers and to keep them in bed at night. Never did he hear of these walking dead that feasted on the blood of humans and hid from the sun. Not until the creature stood over his bed, looking down at his small diseased and dying frame stubbornly clinging to life, angry at being abandoned to death in the unnatural darkness that surrounded the land and blotted out the sun. The last plague he witnessed alive that inspired religions for millenniums. Darkness.

He could not see the creature there. The darkness shrouded even the candlelight that had burned to a small stump. He felt the creature there, a fear that had nothing to do with his blindness. "You smell faintly of magic, witchborn child," the creature murmured. "Why are you left here, clinging to life?"

"I do not want to end," he had replied, his voice ragged, lips cracked and parched for want of water.

"They will prepare your body for the afterlife."

"No, they will not."

"Eternal life is a gift of God."

"I do not believe in a God."

"Your masters taught you their gods?"

"I do not believe in them either."

"What do you believe in?"

"Myself."

"That is a lonely thing to believe in. You're so young to have such thoughts," the creature told him. He could not see, but felt him kneeling down next to his broken and useless body. "Do you not believe in your family? Your masters?"

"My mistress died of the wizard's plagues."

"Was she properly buried?"

"Yes."

"Why were you not buried with her to continue serving her?"

"Because she knew I would not serve her in death."

The creature chuckled softly. "Such an aggressive slave… Do you want to live forever?"

"Yes."

"I will give it to you, dear boy."

"I thought eternal life was a gift of god," he reminded him, managing a weak sneer. "You are no god."

The creature laughed at him.

That day, for day it was despite the darkness that lay over the desert, he died and became the creature that had visited him. There was no name for what they were yet. They just were. Before, he had walked this world short of eleven years, then he died and froze in time. Forever in the appearance of a child. A cold child. He had always been a cold child. Never been completely right. The slave traders would talk about him before he was sold to the Mistress's household. What child walked the earth with no regard to others? What slave child thought himself of more worth than his owners? They tried to beat it out of his skin. They did not succeed. Now he was something more than a cold child. The sickness that had been killing him was overtaken and dispersed and nothing touched him again. The clever wickedness in him manifested with his death and undeath. He woke to the wails of despair from the people that had raised him from the small child they had received from foreign slave traders. The people mourned for their first child cursed with death from blood magic and their stubborn ruler finally agreed to surrender to the opposition. The darkness lifted and they hid from the sun. His Maker reminded him that he would have died as well - and stayed dead, as if he owed his Maker for the favor.

There were many lessons he needed to learn about what he was. His Maker claimed to be one of the oldest, but where they came from he wouldn't say, nor did he ask. The world they traveled, hiding from the sun that burned them like hell fire. It was in the Far East that he found his name. His birth name, he never knew. His slave name, he was never called. In the East, the people gave him a name, whispering of a menace that haunted the streets at night, and he enjoyed the taste of it on his tongue. He told his name to his Maker who agreed the name suited him. The scorpion. Sasori. Sasori from the desert washed red in the blood of the victims he claimed with his fangs and his tongue that stung like poison rather than pleasure.

The older he got, the stronger he became. There were others Made just as he was, but even without his heavy ego, he knew he was different from them. He had powers over the ones he made himself, just as his Maker had over him. The other could hypnotize their victims to control them. He could force them while they were aware. Aware and terrified; something even his Maker could not do without brute strength. They were his puppets. The thought manifested into the perfection of his control. He was the master of puppets. Living marionettes that writhed under his bite of pain instead of pleasure. The bite of his Maker was sweet and injected his victims with a substance that would make even the Pharaohs consorts unfathomably weak. Sasori had no such ability, though every other creature like him did and even those he Made possessed the ability. His name matched him as if the word was created especially for him.

The years droned on and their species grew in numbers. Perhaps there had always been many, but he had never heard of them. Sasori created and killed, just as his Maker did. He relished the power he had over his subordinates, his children as his Maker called them. This name Sasori refused. He made them, not birthed them. Taught and controlled, not loved. His Maker loved. To Sasori, they were his as much as he had been his mistress' in life; his to use and to throw away, as he was regrettably now with his Maker. It was the only thing he disliked about his new life. Alive, he had a choice to obey his mistress, though disobedience would result in punishment. Undead, he had to obey a direct order from his Maker. Sasori despised him for this. The freedom he had found when he awoke in his new life came crashing down to despair when the demanding direct command came out and he was compelled to obey despite his freewill no matter how simple or terrible the request. And the commands would be terrible because his Maker was frustrated that he refused to submit to him, using the bond between Maker and Made to punish Sasori for his insolence.

Sasori was different than the others his Maker made. His powers made him defiant. The category the leaders of his kind, centuries later, label 'Master'. Just like the weres who cried at the changing moon, there were dominates and submissives. Sasori was as dominate as his Maker and despised the hold he had on Sasori. It didn't take long for the vampire child to begin plotting his Master's true death and his own freedom.

He had heard a rumor whispered among the undead that consuming the heart of your Maker makes you even stronger. The idea was most intriguing, but no one Sasori spoke to had done it. Most had a strong attachment to their Makers and found themselves unable to harm their Maker at all, almost as if it went against their very nature to do so. He had heard it from a man from a country he had yet to visit, but he was unaware if the fool was bragging or if it was truth. Power was something he wanted, something he craved. Freedom from his Maker was something he wanted more than anything he'd ever wanted in these last hundred years. When the rumor of Sasori's plans reached his Maker, he confronted Sasori, knowing that Sasori was beyond his control. Their kind gained comfort in others, just as they had in their human life. Sasori desired none of that, his power and his wickedness made him a candidate for a monster without the little control his Maker had on him. They fought heatedly for many nights, hiding during the day from the sun and the other's human subordinates who were not turned yet. In the end, Sasori was triumphant and greedily devoured the bloody, unbeating heart he dug out of his Maker's chest.

If his strength grew from the act, he told and showed no one. A wise decision, he praised himself for it and all his other decisions. Masters were rarely born, but Sasori wouldn't risk one finding out and attempting it.

After his released from his Maker, Sasori happily slaughtered his Maker's subordinates then traveled where he wanted with his gaggle of followers trailing behind him, craving the taste of power he held. Together they gorged themselves on the blood of helpless humans. Drunk off the different flavors, they raided and stole, kept humans as pets and gained in numbers. Some of their kind hated humans for being alive, but Sasori was indifferent to their life as he was everything. He found their habits fascinating. As humans grew in numbers – far faster than his kind – they began to develop more cities, intricate and beautiful, made to withstand years and he appreciated them and devoured their plans and languages. During their travels, they came across others of their kinds, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups. They called themselves anything from clans, to covens, to packs. Very few of the creatures leading these groups took him seriously. He was a child in their eyes and their minds still processed him as an adult would a child. They tried to speak to the older members of his followers instead of him, but they only laughed at them and inclined their heads respectfully to him. Knowledge of a Master with unique abilities in the body of a child spread quickly so that soon most recognized him before they were introduced.

In other parts of the world, others of his kind were forming their own kingdom. Like the humans themselves, a large group of such powerful beings such as themselves demanded a hierarchy. A major coven that would create rules for their kind and prevent chaos. The living were becoming aware of creatures that visited only at night to the unsuspecting households. Devouring adults and children alike, some taken away forever. Drained of blood with two faint scars nearly healed, yet freshly inflicted. There was safety in numbers and organization. Makers were no longer properly teaching their made. Newly made were dangerous and often were lost to blood starvation without proper care. Sasori didn't care for politics of the humans or paranormal. The strongest of their kind were being called to join and naturally they came to him with a request for his presence in the court chair. Yet he turned it down. He did not wish to be part of a coven, or rule over his kind with other mutually powered. He chose to live alone with those he made following after him like desperate puppies, craving his affection and attention while terrified of their possible death at his hand. A few departed from him to live on their own as well, but they would always come if Sasori called them as he would return to them if he sensed something amiss. Those that stayed happily called their group a clan, but only when they knew Sasori wasn't listening. He taught them and cared for them, but refused to consider them a family like clan or coven that depended on one another. When they tried to convince him, he killed them. He cared for nothing except his own pleasure.

Despite his dislike of companionship and covens, gain could be found in partnerships. One in particular sought him out wanting his crafty cruelty. Residing in the humid forests of India with his followers, Sasori was approached by another creature he had never seen before. It had no name, and like Sasori, it did not care. He just was. The man was generalized to the world as a half bred demon, a child of a witch seeking to breed more power. He wished to share the love of power and sadistic nature they both had and the two began their research of humans and paranormal alike. The first anatomic scientists. They dissected their bodies and their minds, keeping them alive through their terror and pain with the healing venom in Sasori's followers' fangs and blood. Sasori never shared his own.

Sasori found a new love in anatomy and could never get enough. People were so different. Yet so similar. Still, he liked to look into their insides, test their tolerance to pain. This testing turned into torture which even humans took interest in. Sasori didn't kill every human he came across, and sometimes he shared his research with them. The Chinese, the Greeks, the Romans. They all had their own gods they worshiped, their own methods of punishment for disobedience. He loved it. He moved among people, looked over because of his youth, watching societies develop and change. Cultures build up and empires fall. It fascinated him.

His new partner came from the countries in the Far East and called himself Orochimaru. Despite the magic in his veins, Orochimaru did not possess eternal life, not even the lengthily life of the witches who could live hundreds of years. His life was long, but not long enough. Youth slipped away from him, while Sasori remained unchangingly childlike. His undead followers changed much older than him, the humans that lived among them as food and day time servants were also much older than him in appearance; Orochimaru often pointed this out to him humorously. Sasori still appeared to be no older then ten or twelve – he was already forgetting his true age, and couldn't answer when asked what it was. Orochimaru craved this youth, but his blood wouldn't allow it. Seeking to right this, he began testing a new stem of experiments under Sasori's curious eye. By this time, the entire paranormal world had established its own government. Its own rulers according to each supernatural creature. The Vampires, as his kind were now called, had their head court in Rome, ruled by several Master Vampires that fought their way to the top. The shapeshifters had a similar system with their Alphas and Marroks. The witches had their head mothers and the fairies, their Kings and Queens. Sasori dealt very little with witches, but knew enough that the spells Orochimaru was weaving was against their laws. A body switching spell. One that removed the mind and soul of a being, leaving their body hollow and open to insert his own, gaining himself a youthful body once more. Once Sasori became aware of this, he observed but didn't intervene or aid unless specifically requested. Should the witch council learn of this work, it would be best to keep himself out of it.

The experiments ranged from human to paranormal; Sasori never allowed his own to be used, even if they offered themselves. He did not trust Orochimaru and since his vampires were already dead, their souls and minds leaving them might be disastrous. He had heard of zombies; mindless creatures that had died yet still walked the earth. They could not be controlled and Sasori would not want Orochimaru to be within his subordinates. Who knows what evil he would produce in them, destroying what Sasori had built. The only one allowed to do so was Sasori himself. His curiosity grew with the experiments. What was it that caused their minds to break and their souls to leave their bodies? Why did some die quickly while others clung to life? Humans were beginning to grow and overrun the world, so there was no harm in taking a few for their own gain. And the supernatural. Well, they should be better at taking care of themselves. The subjects Orochimaru no longer desired as vessels were given to Sasori's vampire subordinates for blood supplies when hunting couldn't be executed. It was quite a sufficient partnership. However, Sasori still wished to expand and stretch the abilities of his powers. Orochimaru didn't do that for him, and he grew bored of the creature's experiments, nothing he did even surprised him.

It was in the green provinces far north of his home country, across the deep sea of the Mediterranean, several centuries and some years after he and Orochimaru had started his experiments that he found the first creature that could.

Humans were beginning their own scientific studies at this time. Weak and pitiful though they were, always bound by the laws of society which looked down on the dissection of cadavers as a sin. There was also an intense fear of the paranormal, always trying to capture those that didn't belong, those who followed ways most men had forgotten. Witches especially, and their children, even half-bred children born from the union of Witch and Human. Some were born with unnatural life spans, others with powers that mimicked their ancestors but would never be as powerful as them. Psychics and telepaths. Humans feared them and persecuted them with cruelty that Sasori admired. Humans fascinated him. Pain often made their minds break, but sometimes they were born broken. Those who thought differently, who were slow, or truly crazy were given their own place to stay. A prison where they were closed off from the sunlight and left to dwell with their own insanity until it killed them.

Asylums they were called. Sasori loved them, and through him, his followers did as well. No one paid attention if the inhabitants screamed of night time visitors with cold skin and sharp teeth who chewed on the soft nooks of their skin and dug their fingers into their insides to learn their anatomy. In the green hills of a land called Germania, Sasori was stuck dumbfounded for the first time in his life. They opened the door to an asylum cell and the scent of the human inside of it hit him like a brick wall. He craved this human. He needed this human. Desire overwhelmed him that went beyond obsessive power. He forcefully threw his subordinates out and forbid them from entering this room or touching the human boy. He could taste the stubborn rage in the sticky sweetness of the boy who fought him violently. He could not remember any love of the sun, but he could taste it in this human's blood. Sunshine, springtime, joy, and the sky. He shook with the desire of this blood. Of all the inhabitants, this one was the sanest of the insane, but even crazier than the others. He was able to function without the use of the creative devices believed to cure insanity, but the humans that ran this asylum tortured him. Religious men tried to beat the devil out of him. Scientist playing doctor tore at his body trying to save his mind. Sadistic men took their frustrations out on him. Yet he remained mentally sound in his own insanity. His stubbornness was useless and yet he fought the redhead. Sasori was much stronger than the boy's frail, underfed body that couldn't possible fend him off. He had to force himself not to drink him to a dry death and even still Sasori's nails had clawed deep gashes into his body in his desperate feeding. He'd never fed desperately before and he shook with the feeling. This boy would die, leaving him unable to taste his blood again if he did not stop.

Sasori's venom didn't heal like other Vampires' did, so instead he gave the blond boy the gift of his own blood which did, sliced from his palm and pressed against his mouth finally silent rather than screaming at him. The boy didn't die that night and Sasori stayed with him for weeks, ignoring Orochimaru's calls sent by messengers to continue their work together and played with his new toy. Sometimes he just talked to him. Sometimes he tortured him worse than the scientists that visited during the day time. Only he did not leave any marks as they did. He cut him open, stretched out his organs, waiting to see if he'd die from shock alone, but he always gave him a little blood so that his insides would put themselves back together again perfectly. He knew his insides and outsides better than any other he'd played with before and was startled when he realized the blond knew things about him too.

"Who is the dark haired woman with the painted eyes, un? The one who calls you…" his mouth stumbled over the unknown language that was now lost to the world. He was lying on the bed while Sasori sat reading the book of notes the so called doctors kept on the boy's progress next to him, still debating on what he would do to him that night. "Slave-boy? Were you a slave once?"

The question startled him and in a rage he threw the boy away from him and left him unconscious for the attendants who monitored the asylum to find him as they made their rounds. How could he possibly know about her? His mistress from his life time in Egypt. He barely remembered her himself now. The word brought a flood of unwanted sparks of memories to him and the discovery that Sasori had been unaware of. He'd known that Vampires could taste each other's feelings in other Vampires blood, but he was unaware it did the same for humans. Of course, he returned to him, drawn to the scent and delicious taste of the human blood mixed with the terror made sweat. But the blood he had given so freely to save the blond's life gave him a strange understanding for his kind. At times, he dreamed things that only Sasori had seen, but he barely remembered small bits. Yet it didn't scare him. It made him bolder, more argumentative. He laughed at Sasori for his conversations, enraging the redhead until they were both shouting at each other. As much as he angered him, Sasori refused to kill him. His blood tastes too sweet for him to destroy him and when his comments became to bold, the redhead tore him to pieces, relishing in the boy's screams of pain that satisfied Sasori's anger.

When he had spent three full months there with the blond, Orochimaru came searching for him. Angry at being ignored, the man argued with Sasori who regarded him in annoyance. He mocked Sasori for his obsession with the human boy he had restrained with the invisible strings of power to keep him out of the conversation.

Obsession.

Sasori scoffed at the man's ignorance. Orochimaru didn't feed off the living as he did, he didn't understand the desires and cravings of humans and vampires. Too selfishly wrapped in his own obsession with youthful immortality to be bothered with such things as taste. The body transfer wasn't perfect; he needed Sasori's aid to continue. He'd been successful with his body transfers – fifty-three so far these past thousand years, but that was the problem. fifty-three. He desired a body that never died or decayed. One that lived forever. Orochimaru wasn't human, and vampires were created from the bodies of humans.

Enraged that Sasori wouldn't listen and do what he said, Orochimaru demanded Sasori give him the blond as his next body. When he refused, Orochimaru tried to kill the boy, attacking both he and Sasori with powerful magic of his kind. Sasori's subordinates fought him with Sasori, handfuls dying in the flames of his attacks, but the body Orochimaru possessed was not his own and wasn't able to withstand the strength of magic and began to fail. He pulled back and fled, leaving disaster, blood and the ashes of dead vampires in his wake. Even humans had some sense of something wrong and Sasori had to quickly gather what remained and fled, stealing the boy away with his flock.

They ran quickly away from the Germania lands, traveling far to hide away in a warm Asian country that many years later would be called Singapore. The boy fought him the whole way, he didn't want to leave his country and when Sasori was bored with his complaining he handed him off to his subordinates to make him quiet. They'd never seen one of their own die at the hand of someone other than their Maker. Permanently die. Leaving them with strict orders to not kill him, Sasori settled down to watch them relieve their stress and brood irritably. His fangs couldn't give pleasure, but his nest's did. The blond's moans and screams of painful pleasure they put him through was musical entertainment as he plotted, but it was unnecessary. Several weeks later he received word that the witches had caught up with Orochimaru.

"Please let me go," the boy whispered in a raw voice once when they all crawled up to pile on a nest of cushions to die together during the day. Sasori was using his bruised chest as a pillow, watching the boys shockingly clear face, untouched by the fading of his eyes with the rise of the sun. A body was curled against Sasori's back and a few legs were pressed against his. Sasori had been too young before he was changed to have any sexual desires or impulses as the others did, but even he couldn't deny there was something rejuvenating of naked bodies pressed together in sleep as they hid in their Suntime death. "Let me go or kill me, un."

"Why would I do that?" Sasori said quietly. "I would have you with me forever. Forever, unchanging. It would be beautiful."

He felt his body cringe and tighten in disagreement as he sometimes did. The blond was so expressive, not just with his face or voice, but his whole body. "What is beautiful about forever? Beauty ends, that's what makes it pretty, un."

Sasori's chest creaked at the slight laughter that came out. What a foolish statement. "What's beautiful about things that end? They're easily forgotten," Sasori mocked. He turned his head to the side to see him better. He should give him a name. "You think anyone back in your country even remembers that you exist? No one will remember you when you're dead."

His eyes as blue as the sky his blood tasted of stared down at him, but they weren't angry, they were amused. Downright snarky. "You will remember me when I'm dead, un," he sneered, his crooked grin showing his teeth. Sasori glared at him and sank his teeth into the boy's chest, too weak to strike him. The bodies around them stirred as they smelled the breaking of skin, the utopia of taste seeping into Sasori's mouth, his human's whimpering groans as he stretched and weakly fought, but the other vampires crawled closer, clutching his limbs and gummed his skin, waiting for Sasori to allow or deny their teeth. He denied them; the blond was already exhausted and didn't have enough blood to spare the masses.

Orochimaru had been correct about one thing. He was obsessed. Not with the boy himself, but with his blood. The blood of other humans now tasted bland and boring to him, he kept the blond for himself, only letting his nest of subordinates feed from him when he was feeling particularly cruel and the blond had gotten under his skin with his insufferable stubbornness. He was scared of Sasori, but not enough to humble himself and allow Sasori his way. Verbally and physically he exhausted both of them with his abrasion to Sasori's way of thinking; though Sasori wouldn't admit to it, he was enjoying himself more. No one ever had the balls to stand up to him. The boy was smart too, clever with his tongue and his hands and did not want to stay with him. Again and again he would try to run away and Sasori had to bring him back to him. He even tried bribing him with gifts of toys and games and it didn't satisfy the boy. Sasori named him Deidara, but the blond hated it. In fact, when Sasori told him, he created a bomb out of materials he had stolen from markets and traders during his trips out in the sun when Sasori couldn't stop him, and threw it at his face in midday, then ran away as far as he could while Sasori, in his day time death, was unable to do anything but lay there and smolder angrily while his Made panicked around him, unable to get away from the fire it caused.

It took him longer than he expected to find him; the clever boy had found a river to carry him very far downstream and had crawled into a sewer full of rats and feces and other disgusting things that burned his nose. Despite how badly it covered up his once euphoric scent, he found him three nights later, hungry and freezing in the decay. He dragged the blond out of the sewers to an empty basement apartment and spent hours scrubbing him clean, trying to get the filthy smell off of him. He whispered his new name in his ear and indulged himself on his body in way he never had with another before, forcing the boy - Deidara - to do the same. He desperately wanted him to stay with him, his toy that gave him life through his blood. He kept running away from him and he wouldn't allow it anymore. He changed him to a vampire that night, crooning together on the bed of thin pillows and blankets. He held him close, breathing in his perfect scent as he felt him die, his heart slowly nothing despite his fighting to stay alive. They died together as the sun rose, frozen in time as children. The unloved boy clutching his reluctant, abandoned toy. Deidara would never leave him again. Of that, he was sure.

When the sun left them, Sasori stirred and sat up, dragging Deidara up into his lap and gave him his first drink as a vampire of his own blood from his wrist torn with his fangs. He could feel the blond in his head, as he could all his Made. He'd be able to find him wherever he went now. Always. He felt the blond feeling things as he drank from him hungrily, and also felt his anger. Of all his Made, Deidara was one he would not dispose of. "Now I have you, forever," he murmured, nuzzling his nose into Deidara's neck while the blond drank. "You can never leave me again." He inhaled the wonderful scent of his skin and sank his teeth into his neck.

The blood that filled his mouth burned and turned to ash in his mouth. Shoving the blond away he hacked and gagged, clutching his throat as he tried to get it out of him. Terror gripped him as he vomited it out onto the floor. Lifting his head up, he stared at Deidara, his eyes wide and childlike in his panic. Deidara was staring back at him from the corner of the room where he'd fallen. What was wrong? What happened? He could still smell Deidara's blood, it still smelled the same, but why did it hurt him? He could feel his movements becoming more childlike, but he couldn't help himself, didn't even think to stop the pathetic whimper that fell from his lips. It was the nature of his being, changed so early in life. Like a brokenhearted creature, he held his hands out to the blond and waited for the blond to crawl back to him, wide eyed with his own confusion. The redhead held him close, trying again and again to feed off him, but the same reaction came.

If he could cry, he would be in tears. Tears of terror; tears of heart wrenching pain. He retched and dry heaved until it felt as though his organs would be ejected through his mouth. It burned. It burned so badly, eating his throat, slicing his stomach. Why? Why? How could this happen to him? This was impossible. All he had wanted to do was make sure this boy could never leave him again. The only thing he had ever wanted. It was right there and he tried and tried again to take it and it happened over and over until his insides felt like shards of glass. Deidara's mouth was stained with Sasori's own blood which had been gifted to him. He was a creature he didn't want to be, and he would never end. He hated Sasori for it, but the blood in his mouth gave him mouthfuls of information, gulps of emotions. He understood Sasori in ways no one else the redhead had met did having never shared his blood with anyone else. He could taste his anguish and swallow his current feelings of self-loathing, an emotion the redhead had never felt before. He allowed Sasori to crawl into his lap, trying again and again to swallow the elixir of blood, but the same result happened each time. He clung to him, crying tears that didn't fall. Torture. Absolute torture. Agony like he had never felt before ripped through him physically and mentally. He didn't know how to handle this and let the boy try to comfort him to no avail. He didn't know how to be comforted. He always got what he wanted and now he could no longer have it. The world was at his finger tips and the only thing on the entire planet he ever wanted was before him and he could never have it again. In spite of his anger, Deidara's pity made him stay with him, allowing his Maker to cast off the persona he displayed in front of others and curl into his lap as a child, desire filling his nostrils, but his blood was now toxic to him.

A Maker couldn't feed off of his Made.

Sasori finally took Deidara back to the nest with the others, if only to keep the blond from getting uncontrollable in his blood lust. It was hard to teach the newly made vampire how to correctly feed and contain himself when the very sight of him reminded him of what he'd lost in his mistake. His own selfish error to keep the boy to himself. Now he had him forever, but he could never taste him again. His subordinates were thrilled by the newcomer as they always were, but didn't understand Sasori's sudden withdrawal and lack of interest in their comings and goings. He no longer found pleasure in the torture of others, and it was only his own stubbornness to live forever as unchanging perfection that kept him from wasting away back to a true death.

After a month, Deidara stopped taking pity on him. His sharp temper with the redhead returned with a vengeance and, despite the other vampires' seniority over him, began asserting himself above them, refusing to listen to suggestions or orders. His clever tongue and hands didn't die with his human body, but grew in his death. His unnatural love of things that exploded with so called 'art' led to the death of one of Sasori's strongest Made along with several others. It was bloody and gruesome, and the blond only relished, giggling as the vampire's remains drenched the building they had been staying in. Those deaths made Sasori pay more attention to the blond again, dredging himself out of his depression and starvation to take charge of his vampires again. He retaught Deidara what the others had tried, how to hunt and feed and walk among humans without being one. The blond hated being a vampire and did everything in his power to make Sasori as miserable as he could. Not with his blood, no, never with his blood; the ties that bound them in the filthy room wouldn't let him be so cruel to the redhead. Deidara was a deja vu to Sasori. Not what he'd seen, but what he was. Deidara was strong and stubborn as he, growing stronger with each drink of human blood he took and each delightful explosion he made with the bodies that they gathered for feeding. He was becoming a Master Vampire such as himself. Though hyper active and insane, just as Sasori was calm and insane. No one had made rules of making Vampires yet, nor did anyone notice that the younger the human changed, the less stable they were.

He wasn't always though. Some nights as Sasori lay in wait for day time death to take him, Deidara would crawl to his side, calm and reserved to rest his temple against his so neither had to waste energy forcing air from their bodies. They would spend those day time hours in deep conversation. Sometimes those conversations had words, sometimes words weren't needed. At times they could hear each other's thoughts with no effort of their vocal cords. Sometimes it was just nice to hear the other's voice. Deidara loved to talk and at times Sasori enjoyed listening. Deidara told him about the green fields and lush trees and rivers that went on forever. How it felt to smell the first taste of spring and the joy of smearing your face with berries picked right off the bush. The desert Sasori came from had none of these things. None that he had been allowed to experience as a slave. He learned that Deidara's mind had never been right to the town he lived in, like others said of Sasori. Suffering souls tortured and possessed by demons to be so frightening. He thought differently, processed things differently and he had to same cruelness Sasori had, though it was not as menacing. Sasori enjoyed slow torture to obtain his goals, enjoying the pain and terror of his victims right up until he accomplished his goal. Deidara worked just as detailed, just as hard, but his enjoyment came only at the end goal, no feelings whatsoever towards his victim. In Deidara's mind, he improved their life. It was what got him locked in the darkness to begin with. He had killed another person trying to recreate the beautiful fireworks he had seen from a traveling carnival. He had blown the other child up. There had barely a piece of her to give to her family, but Deidara had been too young to be tried as a man and the new doctors of the institute had requested his being sent to be a test subject. To fix him. As if he was broken. Sasori assured him very firmly he wasn't broken.

Sasori adored Deidara, his lovely perfect toy despite the fact that he couldn't feed on him anymore. They traveled the world together. Played games together. Fought in wars together. Sasori had never wanted a companion before, but a toy that played back was something entirely different. He had never had a friend to play with, nor did he crave one, but no one was ever brave enough to play games with him for long. Deidara did not share his sentiment and when the blond told Sasori that he was leaving to go off on his own, Sasori outright refused him. It didn't matter that Deidara was a Master, Deidara was part of his collection; he didn't want to let him go. As a Master, Deidara had the right to leave, the right to challenge as he had once challenged his own Maker. He began pushing Sasori out of his mind, creating a barrier between their connection to keep the redhead from entering his thoughts and interfering with his decisions. Sasori would creep into his thoughts to remind him of the leash on him, but it became more and more difficult to enter. Finally, he found that he couldn't even stretch his fingers through the barrier between his mind and Deidara's. The blond had succeeded in baring him and would never invite him in again. Regardless of Sasori's refusal, Deidara left and eventually returned to his own country as he wanted, overthrowing the City Master there and gaining his foothold in the Vampire's political society.

It was because of Deidara that laws began to form around the Making of vampires. Those that held the council seats where Sasori had once been invited to had determined that to turn a human, they must be an adult – someone who has finished developing. They decided age twenty-three was the youngest to change. Nearly every vampire under that age was a liability for the Council. Vampires under the age of seventeen they found to be completely unstable. Trapped in the bodies of children forever, their minds, still developing themselves, could not adapt. They were all destroyed. Yet the two child vampires that had drawn this attention couldn't be killed. The Vampire Court tried to dispose of Deidara many times, but he was too strong. Both Sasori and Deidara were too powerful. Child vampires' minds broke from the change, their minds were already abnormal before their change. They were too powerful. Too dangerous. Too unpredictable. Yet no matter how they tried to take them down, the council was unable to do so. They expected a full overrule, but Deidara never tried to gain any more power than his title of City Master. He didn't want to rule over the vampires, he simply wanted to be home – despite that everyone he had once known was dead for nearly a century – and didn't want to live there under the thumb of another Master. He learned politics and created a small kingdom with vampires under him and connections to other species living in the city like no other Master had done.

Sasori followed his movements with detached interest from his own throne of blood and decay he supplied himself and his followers where they went. At times he would leave them to find Deidara again, at times Deidara found him on his own. They would spend the day understanding one another, but neither would bend to the other's will and so they always parted – often violently.

When Deidara was only a century old, Sasori grew tired of traveling. He laid waste to his followers and set up his own fortress located in a desert that was four days, as a vampire runs, away from the nearest city. And he slept. His slumber lasted a few years, waking only to feed and to check on the world itself. Humans only traveled there a few times a year, begging refuge in his mansion's oasis. The house was well stocked with human food and comfort in the gardens and pantries. Often times they stayed longer than they intended and suffered for it when Sasori awoke. Vampires didn't brave the desert or his company. He was left to himself until he saw fit to venture out into the real world to replenish himself of human contact. The world was changing more and more rapidly. War was in the air and it called to him. The promise of blood, torture and games. That, he couldn't resist.

He was too young to join ranks of humans in war, so he had to sneak into the thick of the battles. He viewed battle plans, whispered schemes and aided scientists in concentration camps. Deidara had been pulled to the call as well, joining the Luftwaffe for the glee of airships that he joyfully worked on and flew. The blond preferred the air and Sasori returned to the camps to revive his love of anatomical curiosity – though the human scientists and doctors were only beginning to understand what he did. It was still enjoyable to him and these humans didn't have reservations because they did not believe their subjects to be anything more than animals. Much like Sasori viewed them.

After the wars, Sasori slipped away from the world again, finding it dull without it. He still watched from afar, not wanting to fall behind on information, particularly technology, but stayed away from everything. Now alone without any followers, he began seeking Deidara out again for temporary companionship and an occasional argument. The blond had returned to his duties as City Master and worked with the Vampire Council, though he had not been offered a position on the council as he had. The Council was more aware of the dangers of the young vampires and Sasori suspected that Deidara and he were the last child vampires on the planet. It was impossible for any vampire who was not the two of them to escape capture.

He had been halfway through another long sleep when he was awoken by a strange feeling. His home was empty, he could feel the heat of the dessert sun brought through the open windows and doors by the wind. What had it been? It took him several minutes laying in the darkness of his bed to realize that it was Deidara. The blond had been keeping him out of his head for so long he barely recognized the feelings that slipped out from the closed door in his head. The blond was excited about something. So excited that he couldn't contain it, bursting with joy.

Curiosity sparked, he slipped from his desert home to intersect the blond in Greece to find out what it was. When he found his pet, he was disappointed to learn that his joy had been just another stray human he picked up. The blond loved picking up strays. This one he seemed overly protective of and he was startled when Deidara told him – apprehensively – that he had the same pull to the human's blood as Sasori had to his. That had been the joy. To find something that smelled so delicious and so tempting. He had trained the blond well to be able to not kill the human from the greed the blood creates.

He tried to feed on the human himself, wanting to know if his blood tasted as delicious as Deidara told him. The human did not give him the chance, shocking him by breaking his puppet master hold on him to escape. No one had ever been able to escape his hold before. Deidara had been the only one of his followers to really take him by surprise. Had his pet found another being that could? The only creatures who had ever escaped his strings had been Shadow Hunters, yet this boy smelled of human. Not a trace of magic on him. Perhaps if he tasted his blood he would know for sure, but Deidara was too possessive of him to share. He refused to share. None of his other vampires ever denied him something.

But he didn't force him.

He'd never do that. Not after his own Maker forced him into submission. Sasori didn't need to use that kind of force to get what he wanted; eventually, Deidara would give it to him. He decided to wait. Deidara might keep him out, but he still had his influence over him. The blond would not forget him. Despite the fact that his quiet pity made him angry, it had its advantages at times.

A mistake. He should have killed that stupid human before he gained confidence in the new world around him.

The night Deidara split his soul in half to give to the human, it felt as though someone had hit him in the back of his head. He toy fell from his hands, the sudden aloneness almost overwhelming. He was always alone. He liked being alone. But he had forgotten what it felt like to be truly alone. He had always had a presence in his mind for as long as he could remember. His Maker. His Made. But his Maker was dead. Deidara was the last of his Made that he kept track of.

And suddenly he was gone.

Just gone.

He scrambled to grab at the spider threads of his mind that had once led to his favorite Made as they fluttered to the floor of his thoughts. Gone. It was so quiet in his head. Too quiet. He liked being alone, but he hated the quiet. Worry swept over him. Had someone killed Deidara? If someone had their life was now forfeit. No one harmed his things. No one. But then he paused. Deidara wasn't dead… he could still tell… from somewhere far away he was still alive. But why couldn't he feel him? Something was keeping him from him. Why was he alone? Rage boiled from the pit of his stomach to the tips of his fingers.

That human.

That fucking human.

It was his fault. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it had something to do with him. In his anger, he left his home to return to Germany where the two of them lived and discovered that Deidara had discovered a way to keep his human with him forever. As if he was rubbing it in his face. Yet his human, Itachi, wasn't as useless as he originally thought and he quelled Sasori's rage with a strange calmness the redhead couldn't quite understand. Sasori enjoyed an audience and Itachi gave it to him. He decided to forgive him for the sake of entertainment, but if Deidara didn't open the connection, he would get rid of Itachi.

The decision to give Itachi a taste of his blood came when Sasori began to realize that Deidara was so content with his connection with the brunette that he would never return to him unless Itachi suggested it. He knew Itachi would feel guilty. Itachi was much softer than either of them. Far more gentle than the other humans Deidara had picked up. Deidara loved picking up strays, giving them a home, keeping them safe and presenting them with opportunity. He wanted friends, but they still served him like followers. Sasori was his real friend, always coming back to him when he wanted, but now Itachi was there and the redhead was not pleased by the shift of power. It hadn't been until Deidara that he realized his suffering could be used as a weapon against people and he used it carefully on Itachi. As soon as he felt it, Itachi was certain that Deidara should connect to him again. As planned, he got what he wanted and left to return to his sleep, yet he could not do so because of his pet and human once again.

No matter how hard Deidara kept him out, some things slipped through, particularly strong emotions. He was always a tiny shadow in the back of his mind that grew and faded depending on how hard the blond was trying to block him. One evening he couldn't feel him at all and it confused him. It wasn't sudden like when Itachi had severed their connection, but the blond was using all his willpower to seal off his own mind. It lasted for days, but something kept tickling the back of his mind and he couldn't figure what was causing the spider's threads to tremble from a distant disturbance. Not until he heard a familiar name echoing in a strange voice did he realize what it was.

"Sasori-danna"

Irritably, he threw his game onto the cushions of his chair and went down to his underground bedroom to lay in the dark. It was easier here to let his mind focus. He rarely needed much effort, but this was an entirely new experience and wasn't sure if it would work. Despite Deidara's threats against Sasori if he tried to get to Itachi through him, Sasori had indeed tried to get to the human that was indeed a child of a Shadow Hunter. He didn't know why he couldn't, but assumed that it was the strangeness of the bond they shared. That was the irritable name Deidara called him because he knew he hated it, but it hadn't been Deidara's voice. He couldn't reach Itachi, but it seemed as though Itachi could reach for himself. Following the strands of his mind, he passed through the spider web of connections and found himself in someone else's dream. It had been so long since he had dreamed that he couldn't remembered what it was like. Itachi was there as he expected and looked horribly distraught. He learned of the Shadow Hunters and the terrible plan the brunette had, but would he help them? He pondered that for a day, weighing his options and wondering if it was worth it. When the Hunters separated those two, they would attack Deidara. That notion is what roused him because he knew his toy and that stupid fool wouldn't fight back. He was too sentimental. He kept his pets too close and being broken away like that, he wouldn't even try to defend himself.

But he knew he couldn't go straight to intercept the Shadow Hunters. Sasori was powerful, but their numbers could overwhelm him. He had to succeed with cleverness. He decided to first travel to the Vampire Council in Rome to get another wronged person. The council was beside itself with terror at his sudden arrival. Most of the vampires there had only heard stories of him, and with their swollen egos, attacked him. He killed those who opposed his presence, but everyone quickly left him alone as he demanded the Council bring him the Human Servant of Kali.

The Indian man looked confused when he approached, but Sasori simply motioned for him to come with him and they began their journey to Asia. Deidara was still closed off to him, but since entering his dream Sasori was able to find Itachi if he concentrated hard enough, though that was the extent of their connection. While they were in the airport, Sasori explained to Tal what he was intending to do and instructed him to use his power as Kali's Human Servant to request the presence of the council in Japan. It was one of the council locations they could get to the fastest.

He knew the Shadow Hunters would not be kind, but even he was not expecting the sight he found in the Council hall. They arrived just as the man tried to kill Deidara and Itachi stepped in. Quick as he was, he was not fast enough to stop the Shadow Hunter from landing the blow. Deidara was starved and sewn together, Itachi dying. They had damaged his things and, in his anger, Sasori had simply killed him instead of just trying to stop him from harming the two more. Out of habit, he had tried to attach his controlling strings to the Shadow Hunter to stop him and to his surprise, they stayed attached after the man died. He had never been able to control Shadow Hunters with his strings before, yet this time he did. He used this new-found ability to gain the upper hand on the council, though he let Tal do the talking. Deidara was so out of his mind by Itachi's injury it was taking more of his power and focus to control him so that he didn't accidentally lose himself in Itachi's spilled blood. He wasn't dead, but he would need blood. Again, he would have to save these foolish thorns in his sides.

Sasori had never inquired magical wounds before. Shadow Hunters were so private that even he hadn't had much of a chance to explore them as much as he had humans and other paranormal beings. Force seemed too much of a hassle and his abilities couldn't control them, so he never felt the need to try. When Itachi wouldn't wake up and his wound wouldn't heal, Sasori felt like punching a wall in frustration. Deidara had never been so useless before that he remembered, but the blond was falling to pieces in hunger and in worry. Sasori had to physically restrain him and talk him out of his panic without beating him to a pulp because he might need the blond later. He didn't know much about Human Servants, so he listened closely to Tal as he explained the connection between Human Servants and their vampires. Tal was convinced Itachi should be healing because Deidara was fine and was just as concerned as the blond that he wasn't waking up. The redhead concluded that since Deidara was still weak, their connection couldn't help him. He needed stronger blood. He gave him his own, deciding to add it to the enormous list of favors the two of them would owe him now. Leaving Tal instructions to take care of the brunette, Sasori left the room where Deidara had waited miserably in his hunger and trust that his Maker would care for him as he had when he was newly Made.

"You need to feed," he told the blond. He didn't want to leave. He was fine. He was going to stay here until Itachi woke up. He was an idiot and Sasori told him so, dragging him by the arm to the elevator ignoring his fighting protests. The blond tried to argue that he wasn't safe to feed on anyone anyway due to his hunger and Sasori paused to glare at him. Did he think that he was beyond Sasori's control? Sasori had been the one to teach him how to feed in the first place. The countless Made Sasori had had over the years, did he think he had forgotten how to take care of them. Deidara seemed to sense that and backed down reluctantly respectful. As they descended, Sasori had Deidara feed off his own blood for safe measure. He whispered in his ear as he did. They would hunt again. Hunt anonymously in a crowd of a city teeming with possibilities. Together they would crawl through the alleyways looking for lost sheep like wolves. Deidara shivered with anticipation against him, following him willingly on the hunt, yet as soon as he felt Itachi awaken, he ran back to him.

The two of them were becoming a bigger thorn in his side than he ever anticipated. Of course, he had to help them get out of the trouble they were in. He had to call the werewolves and be clever while they mewled over one another. He had to go with them to get Kali. He had to baby sit them in secret while Deidara relearned to drink Itachi's blood. The debt they owed him ran high and while he led Kali through the snow, he began to think on a small idea he had. Would it work? He did the math and knew the chances were slim. Very slim. But there was little else he wanted and even less that they could give him in return. It took Deidara a few decades to begin showing his potential, who knew how long it would take Itachi to show some use.

Deidara would never agree to his plan, he knew, but Itachi might. Sasori and Deidara were apathetic, but Itachi was exactly the opposite. He was kind, gentle and would, with his human emotions, be sympathetic. His calculations were correct and though he couldn't hear their thoughts, he knew Itachi was trying to convince the blond simply by the venomous dangers being sent in his direction while they waited out the sun in Kali's cave.

But in the end, Itachi was successful. Because as apathetic as Deidara was, he had tasted his blood too. And though he tried to control the situation, Sasori got his way as he always did. When they arrived back to Deidara's mansion, Sasori lost his patience with them and made them feed. He watched Deidara bleed, the struggle to resist was hard. Sasori knew what would happen if he tried, but why did it have to still smell so marvelous. Jealously he watched Itachi drink what should be his and his alone.

He had been curious about Itachi's blood before the idea to try tasting Deidara's blood, but the blond had been too possessive to let him. The human did smell very nice, and as Itachi's blood poured into his mouth from Sasori's favorite biting area he got to put a flavor to the smell. The smell, he decided, was the Shadow Hunter blood. The magic made his blood sweeter with a slight tangy taste. He tasted his worry, his concern, the constant stress he'd been under. He tasted….

He froze, eyes closed. It was there. Almost there, but it wasn't real. It painfully wasn't real. A ghost.

He almost chocked. He heard Deidara whine and he stopped. He barely felt the blond shove him away so he could comfort Itachi. A ghost… it was a memory. But it was overlaid by Itachi's memories and feelings. Itachi's affection for Deidara, his concern for his safety, his sympathy for Sasori and his never-ending patience.

But Deidara's….it…. was there….

It was… just outside of his grasp…

diluted by Itachi's blood but…

it…

"Danna?"

He looked up in confusion. He had been certain that it had been Deidara calling to him. It had been Itachi, he could tell based on their expressions. Deidara's was too angry to make such a soft sound. He stared at Itachi. It had been there. There…. Right outside of his reach. He had been so close. Closer than he'd ever been before. He wanted to collapse like he had on the night he changed Deidara, but he would not. He would not. He would never let anyone see him like that ever again. He was Sasori. The oldest vampire that currently walked the planet. He was not weak. He was not pathetic.

Pushing himself off the bed, he walked to the door. He wanted to say something. A passing remark of sarcasm because he knew his expression had not been controlled and Itachi had seen it. He wasn't running. He was leaving. He was done with these two. For now. He would return when they had grown, when they were worth his time. He was not running away.

He returned to his home, not stopping for anything. He had his fill of the world. He was more active this year than he had been since the wars. And even then he had not been so active. He wanted rest, he wanted quiet.

Down in the tunnels under his oasis home, he crawled into the familiar nest of blankets and pillows. He fought to purge his mind. He would sleep. As close to sleep as a vampire could get. Drifting outside of the physical world, he let himself forget where his body was, forget when his body was. He slipped into his mind and walked along the catacombs, ignoring the hollowed-out rooms full of memories and past events. His fingers ran over the shelves that made the walls, the specimen jars that contained details. Some of their labels were clear and detailed, others faded and withered. He approached a chain linked fence in the darkest, most private part of his mind. His fingers slipped through the chains, but they couldn't go far. They touched an impenetrable barrier; the door that Deidara wouldn't let him through. He wouldn't be allowed through that door ever again. He wondered if Deidara would ever open it again now that he had Itachi's mind to protect.

Jerking his hands back, he found a suspended place of his mind where he could no longer remember what had been there. Empty of thoughts he hid from the world. Letting himself rest. Letting himself sleep. Letting himself forget the ghost that made him feel so unbearably helpless.

The world would know him again when he was finished. It was his play thing as everything in it was.

He was not helpless.