Destiny was a heartless mistress.
Fallen from Dark God to Angel of Vengeance; manipulated as a pawn by Vampire, Time Streamer and Elder God alike; hounded by humans in every century of existence; guilty of fratricide, pride and overconfidence - he had been bested at the last not by any of these events nor the individuals who wrought them, but by fate itself. It was no coincidence that he found himself here in this final moment of paradox, kneeling within the Ouroboros carved with remarkable premonition into the floor of the Sarafan Sanctuary. His inescapable destiny hurtled towards him with every passing second. Defeated, weak beyond all comparison, he knelt with head bowed, glaring impotently at the ever-present wraith blade, the symbiont bound to his arm as always in the spectral realm. Despair consumed him: even the option of suicide was beyond his reach for the cruel trick the Elder God had played on him. He had no choice but to eternally tread the path destiny had laid before him.
Kain was correct - free will was an illusion.
Outside, the sun had finally deigned to put in an appearance, her first glorious rays even now warming the cold dead skin of the fallen, assisting here and there with the drying of the large pools of congealing blood that mottled the courtyard floor. Freya sat up from where she lay next to Isca on the paved ground, quickly guessing the cause of the recent disruption. Well, whatever changes Kain had forced in the path of history, and thereby the future, it was evident that his Vampire Empire would still flourish: the continued existence of Isca and the Razielim were proof of that. She poked her companion in the arm just to be sure.
As his golden eyes turned their piercing gaze on her, reminding her in that instant so much of his sire, Freya realised with a start that they could now find the Soul Reaver - in fact, at this very moment he would be within the Stronghold itself. A sudden look of revelation lighting her features, she addressed the vampire.
"Isca - Raziel is here."
He regarded her with suspicion and not a little frustration. "You might have mentioned that when we arrived. Are we to be too late to save him once again?"
His caustic tone stung, but preferring action to explanations for the moment, she clambered to her feet and started towards the door at the farthest corner of the courtyard, turning back as she reached it to check whether the others were following. Seeing that his men had dispatched the remaining knights in the calm that had followed the energy wave, Isca called them together and resignedly followed Freya into the Stronghold. Her steps led them unerringly along grey, candlelit corridors, the slowly rising sun painting the floor with patches of emerald, ruby and sapphire as it filtered through the stained-glass windows. At length, they reached the door that opened into the inner sanctum of the Sarafan Sanctuary, and Freya paused to cross her fingers in the fervent hope that the Soul Reaver was still here, and had not decided to go off time-streaming in search of his manipulative sire - she preferred not to imagine Isca's reaction if her information should prove false.
As Raziel knelt in utter despondency in the cobalt cold of the Spectral Realm, he became dimly aware of an approaching presence, the proximity of which awoke long-buried memories, along with a poignant and inexplicable sense of belonging. Raising his head wearily, he crawled laboriously towards the nearest conduit that would allow his return to the Material Realm. He remained on his knees within the softly-glowing circle, minutes passing painfully as he attempted to summon the energy needed to lower his cowl to feed. This done, he spread his arms to begin the motion that would allow his passing from one realm to the next, this one act draining him almost to the point of dissipation once again.
Freya's heart sank as they entered the room. It was empty. No Kain, no Soul Reaver, just the bloodless corpse of the Sarafan Raziel, slumped in defeat at the edge of the serpentine design on the floor. Steeling herself for whatever retribution might be coming, she spoke, confusion tingeing her tone:
"I don't understand it - he should be here."
Isca stepped forward hesitantly, a frown momentarily creasing his brow, although his eyes remained wide in expectancy as he sensed the almost palpable presence of his sire in the room.
"He is," replied the vampire in a hushed voice.
A glowing disc erupted of a sudden in the centre of the room, scintillant sparks swirling erratically around the emanation of energy that heralded the Soul Reaver's return to the Material Realm. A dark silhouette began to form in the centre of the dance of light, arms extended to either side as the barrier between the Spectral and Material Realms was forced apart by its will. Exhausted once more, Raziel pitched forward to steady himself on all fours and wait until the world should cease its remorseless spinning. Isca's jaw dropped. Although he had seen the Soul Reaver in passing at the Pillars, he had not fully comprehended just how drastic was the change in his Lord's appearance. Overcoming his hesitancy, the vampire advanced slowly to stand before his sire, striving valiantly to conceal the horror that was threatening to overload his mind.
Raziel, at the limit of his strength, perceived that a figure stood before him. His gaze travelled up over the bronze greaves, so like those he had once worn as Lieutenant, to take in the leather trousers and red, clenched talons. Wholly puzzled by now but unable to raise his head any further, Raziel made some attempt at speech.
"Who . . .?"
At the sound of his master's voice, Isca sank to his knees, all doubt forever banished. As the vampire's upper body came into Raziel's line of vision, he was able to make out the Clan symbol that decorated the cloak thrown over Isca's shoulder. Surprise overcame weakness, and the Soul Reaver pushed himself upright to take in the sight before him in its entirety, his voice faltering as he addressed the offspring he thought long ago corrupted and devolved:
"Isca?"
Overcome with nameless emotions, Isca bowed his head. The assembled Razielim followed suit, emulating their leader's actions and sinking to their knees. The movement caught the Soul Reaver's attention, and his wonder at seeing even one of his Clan alive and flourishing was increased tenfold as he drank in the sight of a small battalion of warriors, all sporting his insignia. His former despondency faded to the status of a nightmare when dawn's warming rays banish the dark thoughts of the night, as it was brought home to the one-time Vampire that his Clan lived on. The knowledge that his bloodline had not been extinguished rallied his flagging spirits, and with a concerted effort, the Soul Reaver forced himself to his feet, Isca offering support as he did so. As the glowing white eyes indulged themselves in a second feast on the room's occupants, the Soul Reaver noticed the presence of Freya, who was standing incongruously a little way behind the kneeling Razielim, an almost apologetic smile on her face as she wiggled her fingers in greeting.
Raziel turned to Isca, one blue brow-muscle raised in surprise. "You brought the P'ramma?"
"She was here when we arrived." Replied Isca in a faint voice, his mind yet in shock.
Still confounded by the inexplicable presence of his vampire troops, Raziel asked, "How is it that you come to be in this time? Did Kain's foolish attempts at manipulating history bring about such drastic changes?"
Isca recounted his story in much the same way as he had told Freya, informing his emaciated Lord about Turel's attempts to gain dominion of the Clan, and their subsequent attempt at hunting him down. He omitted any mention of his punishment at the Vampire Lieutenant's hands, not wishing to sound like a martyr. As he recounted the incident where they had followed Turel into the Chronoplast, Raziel's head snapped towards him, his manner vengeful and urgent.
"My brother is here? So it was time-streaming that allowed him to escape my wrath!" Raziel ignored Isca's puzzled look, his own story could be told later - the very thought that the vampire incarnation of Kain's second-born might yet be within reach took precedence, and acted as a powerful restorative to his weakened form. "Have you yet found the bastard?"
"No, Lord. But now that we have found you we will proceed with our original mission." A pointed throat-clearing prompted him to glance at Freya, her meaningful stare reminding him of their primary goal. " . . . Although we still need to find Kain."
Raziel glanced at him distractedly. "He has left - no doubt in an attempt to wrangle some other change of world-altering significance in the time- stream."
Isca shook his head. "I mean the child Kain. He was stolen by one of this era's vampires, and we've been trying to track him down."
Freya approached the blue-skinned Soul Reaver, noting as she drew nearer just how grim was the actuality of his condition - the muscles and sinews were revealed for all to see in their full textured detail, the curvature of the spine beneath the unsupported weight of the ribcage all too evident.
Swallowing to moisten her suddenly dry throat, Freya commented, "Someone is trying to prevent Kain from fulfilling his destiny."
The Soul Reaver gave a hollow laugh. "It would make a refreshing change from people interfering with mine!"
"We think someone may be trying to wipe out Vampirekind." Insisted the woman.
"By killing Kain as a child?" Raziel shook his head. "Kain is embroiled so deeply in Nosgoth's past, present and future that simply removing him from the timeline . . ."
Isca and Freya waited expectantly for the Soul Reaver to continue, but Raziel had fallen silent, lost in impossible temporal calculations. Eventually, even he had to admit defeat, and he turned his glowing gaze on the two before him - human and vampire. Indecision enveloped him anew. It was not so very long ago that he had cursed Kain for his 'gift' of immortality, and more recently still that he had renounced his Sarafan self. The Soul Reaver was unique, his new loyalties lying with neither human- nor vampire-kind. However, a turning-point had been reached with the unexpected return of his Clan, and despite efforts to resist, Raziel still found himself kindly disposed to his vampire children. He would aid them.
"Who took him?"
Isca scowled. "A vampire wretch we came upon recently."
Raziel considered this. "It is unlikely that he would wish to eliminate his own species. We should assume he works for someone else."
Isca and Freya cast annoyed glances at each other, both looks implying the same accusatory thought: 'You should have thought of that'.
"Very well," said Raziel, eyes flaring briefly with the conviction of his words. "First we find Kain . . . then we go after Turel."
If the Vampire Lieutenant in question could have heard the tone of his brother's voice at that moment, he would have turned tail and fled Nosgoth forever in favour of safer climes - Hell, for example.
Without so much as a backwards glance at the fallen body of his former self, Raziel strode, his Clan behind him once again, from the confines of the Sarafan Stronghold.
Author's Note
Aw, nuts! I replayed the end of SR2 today to get my bearings on the rest of this story and realised I'm made a major cock-up with the timeline. Sorry folks, let's just put it down to artistic licence shall we? Hehe . . . *nervous titter*
Shadow Dragon: Er. . .thanks for the review *blush*. Glad you like it!
Fallen from Dark God to Angel of Vengeance; manipulated as a pawn by Vampire, Time Streamer and Elder God alike; hounded by humans in every century of existence; guilty of fratricide, pride and overconfidence - he had been bested at the last not by any of these events nor the individuals who wrought them, but by fate itself. It was no coincidence that he found himself here in this final moment of paradox, kneeling within the Ouroboros carved with remarkable premonition into the floor of the Sarafan Sanctuary. His inescapable destiny hurtled towards him with every passing second. Defeated, weak beyond all comparison, he knelt with head bowed, glaring impotently at the ever-present wraith blade, the symbiont bound to his arm as always in the spectral realm. Despair consumed him: even the option of suicide was beyond his reach for the cruel trick the Elder God had played on him. He had no choice but to eternally tread the path destiny had laid before him.
Kain was correct - free will was an illusion.
Outside, the sun had finally deigned to put in an appearance, her first glorious rays even now warming the cold dead skin of the fallen, assisting here and there with the drying of the large pools of congealing blood that mottled the courtyard floor. Freya sat up from where she lay next to Isca on the paved ground, quickly guessing the cause of the recent disruption. Well, whatever changes Kain had forced in the path of history, and thereby the future, it was evident that his Vampire Empire would still flourish: the continued existence of Isca and the Razielim were proof of that. She poked her companion in the arm just to be sure.
As his golden eyes turned their piercing gaze on her, reminding her in that instant so much of his sire, Freya realised with a start that they could now find the Soul Reaver - in fact, at this very moment he would be within the Stronghold itself. A sudden look of revelation lighting her features, she addressed the vampire.
"Isca - Raziel is here."
He regarded her with suspicion and not a little frustration. "You might have mentioned that when we arrived. Are we to be too late to save him once again?"
His caustic tone stung, but preferring action to explanations for the moment, she clambered to her feet and started towards the door at the farthest corner of the courtyard, turning back as she reached it to check whether the others were following. Seeing that his men had dispatched the remaining knights in the calm that had followed the energy wave, Isca called them together and resignedly followed Freya into the Stronghold. Her steps led them unerringly along grey, candlelit corridors, the slowly rising sun painting the floor with patches of emerald, ruby and sapphire as it filtered through the stained-glass windows. At length, they reached the door that opened into the inner sanctum of the Sarafan Sanctuary, and Freya paused to cross her fingers in the fervent hope that the Soul Reaver was still here, and had not decided to go off time-streaming in search of his manipulative sire - she preferred not to imagine Isca's reaction if her information should prove false.
As Raziel knelt in utter despondency in the cobalt cold of the Spectral Realm, he became dimly aware of an approaching presence, the proximity of which awoke long-buried memories, along with a poignant and inexplicable sense of belonging. Raising his head wearily, he crawled laboriously towards the nearest conduit that would allow his return to the Material Realm. He remained on his knees within the softly-glowing circle, minutes passing painfully as he attempted to summon the energy needed to lower his cowl to feed. This done, he spread his arms to begin the motion that would allow his passing from one realm to the next, this one act draining him almost to the point of dissipation once again.
Freya's heart sank as they entered the room. It was empty. No Kain, no Soul Reaver, just the bloodless corpse of the Sarafan Raziel, slumped in defeat at the edge of the serpentine design on the floor. Steeling herself for whatever retribution might be coming, she spoke, confusion tingeing her tone:
"I don't understand it - he should be here."
Isca stepped forward hesitantly, a frown momentarily creasing his brow, although his eyes remained wide in expectancy as he sensed the almost palpable presence of his sire in the room.
"He is," replied the vampire in a hushed voice.
A glowing disc erupted of a sudden in the centre of the room, scintillant sparks swirling erratically around the emanation of energy that heralded the Soul Reaver's return to the Material Realm. A dark silhouette began to form in the centre of the dance of light, arms extended to either side as the barrier between the Spectral and Material Realms was forced apart by its will. Exhausted once more, Raziel pitched forward to steady himself on all fours and wait until the world should cease its remorseless spinning. Isca's jaw dropped. Although he had seen the Soul Reaver in passing at the Pillars, he had not fully comprehended just how drastic was the change in his Lord's appearance. Overcoming his hesitancy, the vampire advanced slowly to stand before his sire, striving valiantly to conceal the horror that was threatening to overload his mind.
Raziel, at the limit of his strength, perceived that a figure stood before him. His gaze travelled up over the bronze greaves, so like those he had once worn as Lieutenant, to take in the leather trousers and red, clenched talons. Wholly puzzled by now but unable to raise his head any further, Raziel made some attempt at speech.
"Who . . .?"
At the sound of his master's voice, Isca sank to his knees, all doubt forever banished. As the vampire's upper body came into Raziel's line of vision, he was able to make out the Clan symbol that decorated the cloak thrown over Isca's shoulder. Surprise overcame weakness, and the Soul Reaver pushed himself upright to take in the sight before him in its entirety, his voice faltering as he addressed the offspring he thought long ago corrupted and devolved:
"Isca?"
Overcome with nameless emotions, Isca bowed his head. The assembled Razielim followed suit, emulating their leader's actions and sinking to their knees. The movement caught the Soul Reaver's attention, and his wonder at seeing even one of his Clan alive and flourishing was increased tenfold as he drank in the sight of a small battalion of warriors, all sporting his insignia. His former despondency faded to the status of a nightmare when dawn's warming rays banish the dark thoughts of the night, as it was brought home to the one-time Vampire that his Clan lived on. The knowledge that his bloodline had not been extinguished rallied his flagging spirits, and with a concerted effort, the Soul Reaver forced himself to his feet, Isca offering support as he did so. As the glowing white eyes indulged themselves in a second feast on the room's occupants, the Soul Reaver noticed the presence of Freya, who was standing incongruously a little way behind the kneeling Razielim, an almost apologetic smile on her face as she wiggled her fingers in greeting.
Raziel turned to Isca, one blue brow-muscle raised in surprise. "You brought the P'ramma?"
"She was here when we arrived." Replied Isca in a faint voice, his mind yet in shock.
Still confounded by the inexplicable presence of his vampire troops, Raziel asked, "How is it that you come to be in this time? Did Kain's foolish attempts at manipulating history bring about such drastic changes?"
Isca recounted his story in much the same way as he had told Freya, informing his emaciated Lord about Turel's attempts to gain dominion of the Clan, and their subsequent attempt at hunting him down. He omitted any mention of his punishment at the Vampire Lieutenant's hands, not wishing to sound like a martyr. As he recounted the incident where they had followed Turel into the Chronoplast, Raziel's head snapped towards him, his manner vengeful and urgent.
"My brother is here? So it was time-streaming that allowed him to escape my wrath!" Raziel ignored Isca's puzzled look, his own story could be told later - the very thought that the vampire incarnation of Kain's second-born might yet be within reach took precedence, and acted as a powerful restorative to his weakened form. "Have you yet found the bastard?"
"No, Lord. But now that we have found you we will proceed with our original mission." A pointed throat-clearing prompted him to glance at Freya, her meaningful stare reminding him of their primary goal. " . . . Although we still need to find Kain."
Raziel glanced at him distractedly. "He has left - no doubt in an attempt to wrangle some other change of world-altering significance in the time- stream."
Isca shook his head. "I mean the child Kain. He was stolen by one of this era's vampires, and we've been trying to track him down."
Freya approached the blue-skinned Soul Reaver, noting as she drew nearer just how grim was the actuality of his condition - the muscles and sinews were revealed for all to see in their full textured detail, the curvature of the spine beneath the unsupported weight of the ribcage all too evident.
Swallowing to moisten her suddenly dry throat, Freya commented, "Someone is trying to prevent Kain from fulfilling his destiny."
The Soul Reaver gave a hollow laugh. "It would make a refreshing change from people interfering with mine!"
"We think someone may be trying to wipe out Vampirekind." Insisted the woman.
"By killing Kain as a child?" Raziel shook his head. "Kain is embroiled so deeply in Nosgoth's past, present and future that simply removing him from the timeline . . ."
Isca and Freya waited expectantly for the Soul Reaver to continue, but Raziel had fallen silent, lost in impossible temporal calculations. Eventually, even he had to admit defeat, and he turned his glowing gaze on the two before him - human and vampire. Indecision enveloped him anew. It was not so very long ago that he had cursed Kain for his 'gift' of immortality, and more recently still that he had renounced his Sarafan self. The Soul Reaver was unique, his new loyalties lying with neither human- nor vampire-kind. However, a turning-point had been reached with the unexpected return of his Clan, and despite efforts to resist, Raziel still found himself kindly disposed to his vampire children. He would aid them.
"Who took him?"
Isca scowled. "A vampire wretch we came upon recently."
Raziel considered this. "It is unlikely that he would wish to eliminate his own species. We should assume he works for someone else."
Isca and Freya cast annoyed glances at each other, both looks implying the same accusatory thought: 'You should have thought of that'.
"Very well," said Raziel, eyes flaring briefly with the conviction of his words. "First we find Kain . . . then we go after Turel."
If the Vampire Lieutenant in question could have heard the tone of his brother's voice at that moment, he would have turned tail and fled Nosgoth forever in favour of safer climes - Hell, for example.
Without so much as a backwards glance at the fallen body of his former self, Raziel strode, his Clan behind him once again, from the confines of the Sarafan Stronghold.
Author's Note
Aw, nuts! I replayed the end of SR2 today to get my bearings on the rest of this story and realised I'm made a major cock-up with the timeline. Sorry folks, let's just put it down to artistic licence shall we? Hehe . . . *nervous titter*
Shadow Dragon: Er. . .thanks for the review *blush*. Glad you like it!