CHAPTER 5
Burning. Agony. Flaming spears roared through Raziel's ragged body as he dropped through the Abyss. Mad thoughts swam through his mind as he furiously fought the surging waters. It was too much. The acidic water tore at him, ripped his flesh away, melted his jaw, and stole his armor. It was unreal. He had no idea how long he had been falling, other than the pain was endless. Once more, the jagged teeth of insanity bit at him, making him replay the horrible mistakes he had made, one by one.
Raziel was in the throne room, standing with his brothers as a traitor was brought forward. How smug they were, staring down at this inferior vampire, as if they were dark gods. Instead of hanging his flag off one shoulder, like his brothers, he had it wrapped around his wings, to hide them. Turel turned to speak to him, and Raziel, startled, tried to flap his wings, creating a bulge underneath his wrappings. His brother gave him an odd stare-
Raziel was kneeling before Kain. He had found a way to fold his wings very tight and drape a cloth over them like a cloak, disguising them even further. Kain was speaking, but Raziel couldn't hear him; the pain from a cramp in his left wing was too great. A human slave passed by, and accidentally brushed against it. With a roar of pain, Raziel spun around and tore out the human's throat, Kain staring at him in surprise. Raziel blinked, tried to explain-
Under the cover of darkness, Raziel swooped down upon a human, quickly snapping its neck and dragging the body into the air. As he fed, he suddenly heard a cry and turned. Duma stood on a balcony, staring wide-eyed at him. Raziel tried to hide himself-
On and on the mistakes went, all because of his accursed wings. They were his doom, and the doom of his Clan, he was certain. And then, that horrible day when Kain called his brothers and him into the throne room for a short 'talk' and forced him to reveal his wings. And then, the Lake of the Dead rose to meet him. and this agony. Raziel's mind wandered back briefly to happier times, and a sane thought forced its way in: What has happened to my Clan?
Machel struggled against the stone that tightly held the vampiric blade in the middle of the Cathedral, but in his weakened state he was having no luck. Thorin and Mikael, exchanging their fledgling robes for discarded armor and clothing, looked at him curiously. After a few more tugs, Machel let go, but stared at the blade hungrily. A feverish light shone in his eyes, and he walked around to the other side of the pedestal, tugging and tugging all over again.
"Uncle.?" Mikael inquired, walking over to the struggling older vampire.
"Must. get the Redeemer." He muttered, pulling with all his might.
Mikael silently gestured to his brother, and with his aide, helped Machel free the dark blade from its stony sheath. Machel, grinning with an odd and sudden glee, rushed forward and plunged the blade into a vat of blood. Immediately, his more-or-less wiry frame began to fill out like a balloon: his muscles gained their former mass, and he grew and inch or two. Finally, the hollow look to his face disappeared, and once more his bold features stood out once more.
"Ah, how good it feels to be full again..." He sighed, and sheathed the wicked blade in a wide scabbard.
Thorin stared in open amazement. His brother, gathering a quiver of arrows and a crossbow, stopped in his work to gaze in admiration.
"Uncle... what is that sword? Your former glory is back again. Is it a relic of ancient gods or demons, to hold that power?" Thorin gasped, eyes glinting in the faint light.
Machel shook his head, rubbing the hilt fondly with one clawed hand. "It is a weapon forged by ancient vampires, back when the great Janos Audron was still a fledgling. It is vampiric in nature. When submerged in human blood, it feeds its wielder ten times the amount it absorbs. It is if I had fed on a whole family of humans, rather than the blood of just one." He grinned, a strange light entering his eyes.
"How do you know this, Uncle?" Mikael asked, testing the string on the crossbow he had so recently gained.
"It told me." Was the simple, cryptic reply.
A/N: I know this one took a long time, but the next few shouldn't. Look for 6, 7 and 8, coming soon!
Burning. Agony. Flaming spears roared through Raziel's ragged body as he dropped through the Abyss. Mad thoughts swam through his mind as he furiously fought the surging waters. It was too much. The acidic water tore at him, ripped his flesh away, melted his jaw, and stole his armor. It was unreal. He had no idea how long he had been falling, other than the pain was endless. Once more, the jagged teeth of insanity bit at him, making him replay the horrible mistakes he had made, one by one.
Raziel was in the throne room, standing with his brothers as a traitor was brought forward. How smug they were, staring down at this inferior vampire, as if they were dark gods. Instead of hanging his flag off one shoulder, like his brothers, he had it wrapped around his wings, to hide them. Turel turned to speak to him, and Raziel, startled, tried to flap his wings, creating a bulge underneath his wrappings. His brother gave him an odd stare-
Raziel was kneeling before Kain. He had found a way to fold his wings very tight and drape a cloth over them like a cloak, disguising them even further. Kain was speaking, but Raziel couldn't hear him; the pain from a cramp in his left wing was too great. A human slave passed by, and accidentally brushed against it. With a roar of pain, Raziel spun around and tore out the human's throat, Kain staring at him in surprise. Raziel blinked, tried to explain-
Under the cover of darkness, Raziel swooped down upon a human, quickly snapping its neck and dragging the body into the air. As he fed, he suddenly heard a cry and turned. Duma stood on a balcony, staring wide-eyed at him. Raziel tried to hide himself-
On and on the mistakes went, all because of his accursed wings. They were his doom, and the doom of his Clan, he was certain. And then, that horrible day when Kain called his brothers and him into the throne room for a short 'talk' and forced him to reveal his wings. And then, the Lake of the Dead rose to meet him. and this agony. Raziel's mind wandered back briefly to happier times, and a sane thought forced its way in: What has happened to my Clan?
Machel struggled against the stone that tightly held the vampiric blade in the middle of the Cathedral, but in his weakened state he was having no luck. Thorin and Mikael, exchanging their fledgling robes for discarded armor and clothing, looked at him curiously. After a few more tugs, Machel let go, but stared at the blade hungrily. A feverish light shone in his eyes, and he walked around to the other side of the pedestal, tugging and tugging all over again.
"Uncle.?" Mikael inquired, walking over to the struggling older vampire.
"Must. get the Redeemer." He muttered, pulling with all his might.
Mikael silently gestured to his brother, and with his aide, helped Machel free the dark blade from its stony sheath. Machel, grinning with an odd and sudden glee, rushed forward and plunged the blade into a vat of blood. Immediately, his more-or-less wiry frame began to fill out like a balloon: his muscles gained their former mass, and he grew and inch or two. Finally, the hollow look to his face disappeared, and once more his bold features stood out once more.
"Ah, how good it feels to be full again..." He sighed, and sheathed the wicked blade in a wide scabbard.
Thorin stared in open amazement. His brother, gathering a quiver of arrows and a crossbow, stopped in his work to gaze in admiration.
"Uncle... what is that sword? Your former glory is back again. Is it a relic of ancient gods or demons, to hold that power?" Thorin gasped, eyes glinting in the faint light.
Machel shook his head, rubbing the hilt fondly with one clawed hand. "It is a weapon forged by ancient vampires, back when the great Janos Audron was still a fledgling. It is vampiric in nature. When submerged in human blood, it feeds its wielder ten times the amount it absorbs. It is if I had fed on a whole family of humans, rather than the blood of just one." He grinned, a strange light entering his eyes.
"How do you know this, Uncle?" Mikael asked, testing the string on the crossbow he had so recently gained.
"It told me." Was the simple, cryptic reply.
A/N: I know this one took a long time, but the next few shouldn't. Look for 6, 7 and 8, coming soon!