PRIORITIES
My other half and I were having a conversation about Kain in Blood Omen 2. He mentioned that it was rather fun to play someone whose actual objective is to, and I quote, "kill every last insert derogative term here in the room". The scribble that follows is just something I wrote after that conversation. It's incredibly short, even for me, and it's not even very good, but here you go anyway. This is Kain, on his first night back in Meridian, getting his priorities in order.
Disclaimer: Kain is the property of Eidos and all the good folks who made Blood Omen.
It doesn't matter, because tonight I kill everybody.
My body may ache like no time it has ever ached before, not since I was human. My senses may feel swathed in cotton wool, hidden from me by hunger and my too-long sleep. But I still know my name, I know who I am, and no-one can hide that fact from me.
There are people out there who have done me great wrong in underestimating my strength, both human and vampire. Left me for dead? Hah! They should have forgotten their misconceptions – I am already dead, dead long years ago. I just have not stopped moving yet.
And now I see what they have done to my world and I pity them both. I pity the vampires, for once I am back in my place at their head they will suffer for their betrayal, their weakness. And I pity the Sarafan, for they think they have tasted victory.
I can afford to use my pity generously, for I have no real personal use for it.
The dizziness is a minor inconvenience: the weakness I am feeling in arms and muscles that should be powerful enough to tear down walls is surely an illusion. And Umah, this ill-mannered girl who would presume to test me, train me, if you will? She thinks I am a pet. A cherished artefact, outdated and quaint, fit only to bring out when the plans of the younger, more modern world fall apart. A stop-gap only. I am sure she means to topple me as soon as her aims are accomplished.
She will be among those who die, unless her attitude mends itself by our next conversation.
The last time I opened my eyes on this world, it belonged to me. In terms of my existence, I have only been away for an eyeblink, and nothing has really changed. Nosgoth is still mine, it has merely contracted a case of ill-informed and unwelcome squatters.
And so now it seems I must skulk like a fledgeling at this woman's side, told when and where I may feed, where and how I should go. She is treating me as if I am fine china that will break.
She should be wary, lest when I break the splinters cut her deeply.
I watch her as she leads me forward, and I know that she is beautiful. She thinks that I desire her, but she is wrong. She thinks that I am jealous of her, because she has her strength, her skills, her Dark Gifts. And again, she is wrong. She may be beautiful, but she will never be as powerful as I am, not if she lives for a thousand more years (and if she continues in the same vein as she has begun with me, that is unlikely).
I am allowing myself to become angry, because anger is strength in any situation. I taunt myself, recalling the Sarafan Lord, nursing my anger like a mother with her child, using it to drive my reluctant, ridiculously powerless body forward. Because angry as I am, the anger never truly touches me, never truly fires my heart and consumes it. It is a power source, my rage, something to be poured into my dead body to make it move and return to my control.
Rage should not control you: you control it. I am angry, but I am also calm as moonlight on water.
The loss of the sword is the only thing that grieves me sorely.
But it doesn't matter, because tonight I kill everybody.