Seeing that his adversary had still not managed to find himself a weapon, Raziel leaped from the steps below the Pillars to press home his advantage, the rolling curves of the Reaver's blade emitting a whistling hum as it soughed through the air. Kain ducked the first slash with inches to spare, throwing his massive frame into a sideways roll which brought him to the burning bodies of the Razielim guard. Groping amongst the solidifying remains, he brought out a scimitar, its blade still aflame with the melted fat of its owner's body, and raised it horizontally over his head in anticipation of the brutal downstroke he knew was coming from behind. The Reaver rebounded from the flaming scimitar and Kain regained his feet, twirling the sword in eager readiness, creating a small wheel of fire at his side as he did so.
"You cannot win this, Raziel. We both know there is no way you can best me in single combat - I created you."
"A mistake for which you will pay with your own worthless life, Kain." retorted the Dark Lord, launching a second attack, the rippling edge of the blade - already blurred by the speed of his blows - making it a more uncertain target for parrying. Nonetheless, Kain held his ground, matching the angered strokes of his son blow for blow, until at last the inferior metal of the Razielim blade yielded before the undiminished edge of the ancient Soul Reaver. Feinting to the left as Raziel attempted to force his way through his breached guard, the Master Vampire managed to slash at his opponent's wings with the remains of his shattered weapon. Feathers ignited. It was now Raziel's turn to roll along the ground, as he twisted violently in a desperate attempt to extinguish the ravenous flames before they could take hold - and allow Kain to destroy his appendages of flight for a second time.
The danger passed, Raziel rose slowly to his feet, his lowered head steeped in sinister shadow, to see that Kain had appropriated a pronged staff from a niche on the wall, and stood waiting for him before his throne, the weapon clasped in a two-handed grip. His scowl faded to an unpleasant smile – what a fitting place for the death of the Master Vampire. He would kill Kain where he stood, drain his blood and leave his carcass rotting on his throne for eternity. The Dark Lord could hardly contain his excitement, and with this thought in mind, he threw himself into a final, destructive attack.
From where Freya knelt at Isca's side, she could see every second of the divine duel with crystal clarity, almost as though it was an ecclesiastical image from a stained-glass window, portraying an age-old and eternal struggle. Every few moments, she tore her gaze away to check on her unconscious companion – the inch-deep wounds across his chest were healing, slowly but surely: Freya hoped fervently that he would recover before this battle between immortals brought the Sanctuary down on their heads. A thunderous crash snapped her attention back to the fight, where Raziel had just thrown Kain against one of the Pillars and was racing forward with the Reaver raised for the kill.
Kain felt something crack as his back connected with the Pillar of Balance – his spine, perhaps. Not that it mattered. Whatever injury he sustained would soon be gone – that was one of the undiminished pleasures of undeath - even after so many centuries - to be safe in the knowledge that scars would heal, that broken bones would mend, that quasi-indestructibility was a great foil for immortality. The jolt had, however, disoriented him slightly, and so it was that when Raziel lunged forward with the Reaver, his defence with the staff started a few inches too low, allowing his son the opportunity to thrust the point of the blade straight through his heart.
Silence pervaded the Sanctuary. A titanic heartbeat slowed. Kain raised his bemused eyes to meet those of his first-born, filled with fury and the indescribable ecstasy of a long-pursued goal finally achieved. The look of jubilation shortly faded to uncertainty as Raziel glanced around the Sanctuary. Nothing had changed. Kain's blood had been spilled on the Pillar of Balance with the Reaver – his own private solution for restoring Nosgoth – but the world remained the same.
Kain, knowing he had been dealt a mortal blow, uttered a low chuckle as he watched the Reaver draw in his own blood – he had never seen the blade's unique capability from this angle before.
"Accept it, Raziel. You are Nosgoth's last Balance Guardian." The Emperor's eyes sought those of his son one final time, the expression in them one Raziel had never seen before. Pleading?
"Make the decision I could not, and restore the balance."
Raziel remained irresolute. Was this some new trickery?. He yanked the blade free from his sire's chest, watching emotionlessly as the mighty form of the Conqueror fell to its knees, one clawed hand clutching at the devastating wound.
Kain raised his head weakly to address his son one last time. "What Janos told you was true, Raziel: the Pillars are the lock, and the Reaver is the key – but the sword needs the blood of its twinned soul to activate the arcane magicks of the Pillars.
"You must use it to spill your own blood."
Kain keeled over to one side, his knees no longer able to support him, and watched the drama unfold: Would Raziel be able to make the decision, or would history's vicious circle play out its cycle once again - with him as the protagonist? Nosgoth's self-proclaimed Emperor watched as the coin spun in the air again – how would it land for Raziel? He, Kain, had been defeated at the end, and he prayed in these, his last moments, that his son would be able to complete the task that he could not.
Raziel stared numbly at his own hand, sullied with the blood of his sire, as the truth he had kept from himself became undeniable.
'I had become what I despised, what I had crossed time to defeat. I saw the torn body of my son, the battered husk of my father and I knew what I had to do. This soulless beast, born of Kain's vanity and my own lust for power, had to die. I gazed in my final moments at the Reaver, at various times and in various forms my symbiont, my weapon of destruction, my soul, and realised that in truth it was nothing but a length of metal – after all, what was a blade compared to the mind that controlled it? It could be my damnation – or my salvation.
'In a moment of incomparable lucidity, I found myself ready to take the final step, and, turning the Reaver's wicked tip towards me, a point that had tasted oceans of blood, both vampire and human, I fell onto the blade. In that ultimate moment, I appreciated that despite my vain attempts to convince myself otherwise, I had never escaped my destiny as Nosgoth's saviour – I had only postponed it, and so it was that I found myself on my knees again, with the Reaver penetrating my chest.
'Agony.
'Epiphany.
'I fell, as I had once fallen into the chasm of the abyss, endlessly tumbling through a sea of a myriad lights until the Pillars' energy began to absorb my lifeforce – the lifeforce of the last guardian. From a vantage point somewhere above and beyond the skyward-bound columns, I witnessed at last the restoration of the land. Where Kain's influence had given birth to an arid wasteland, now bloomed a young, green world, rich in the diversity of life. With what little remained of my rapidly discorporating essence, I smiled. Far below, in the open space before the ever-dwindling forms of the Pillars, I perceived two figures, bending over the corpses of myself and my father: the saint and the sinner – even as my consciousness evanesced, I was still unsure as to which role I had played.'
*
Two survivors of the atrocious events of an alternate timeline stood alone before the Pillars of Nosgoth as their full glorious majesty was restored. Isca, the wounds on his chest all but closed by now, slipped an arm around his companion's shoulders, surprised that he felt so little remorse at the death of his sire. He glanced down at Freya so see the woman at his side looking distinctly unhappy.
Isca began to feel a little upset at her apparent display of sadness at the Vampires' passing.
"Were they so much to you?"
The woman shook her head, lost in thought.
"Then why the long face? The world is set to rights – Raziel finally attained the goal denied this land throughout the centuries of Kain's corruption - surely this is cause for celebration?"
Abruptly, Freya rounded on him with a completely unexpected look of discontent.
"Take a look outside, Isca. Peace and harmony reign." Isca regarded his fledge with unease, unsure as to what might be affecting her mood.
"Just what do you think we're going to do here? Settle down? Build a house? Raise a brood of fledglings? There's no place for creatures such as us in a time of peace." She replied, her tone disconsolate.
Freya returned to her thoughts: one of the ironic downfalls of those accustomed to living in war-torn times was that he or she was almost always at least half in love with the chaos they helped to control. Without that raison d'etre, what was there? For her part, she was reasonably sure she could live without the ordeals of war, but Isca. . . since his Vampiric rebirth, Freya was well aware that he had been born and bred for battle, fed and nurtured on the trials of combat - it was for him she feared.
Isca stepped towards her, taking her in his arms and raising her chin to look at him. Freya looked up reluctantly to see her lover's face lit by that inimitable grin; the one that was half-way between wolf sighting prey, and imp sighting an opportunity for mischief; the one she knew was reserved for her and her alone; the one that was always contagious; the one that finally reassured her that everything was going to be alright. She chuckled despite herself as they departed the rapidly dissolving interior of the Sanctuary of the Clans, the Pillars, pristine in their recent restoration, reaching proudly for the star-spangled skies. As they emerged into the temperate warmth of the night air, ready to face whatever new challenges might await them, Isca asked a final question that reminded Freya why she loved the unpredictable, enigmatic vampire so:
"Do you really think things are going to be peaceful with me around?"
Author's Notes:
Anyone who wants to sign up for the Invasion of Nosgoth had better do so now – it's the next fic, and it's locked, loaded and ready for posting (if I can just remember the name of the tavern in Meridian – anyone?). And if any reviewers object to being portrayed in said fic, please let me know and I'll write you out.