Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Hunter D.
Author's Note: Hello, I'm D-Scythe, and this is my first foray into the VHD section. Though I'm sure it has been done before, this is my telling of D's origins. This fic will cover important events in D's life as a hunter, hopefully without infringing too much on the movies. As to why I chose to do something which has been done before, I felt I had a story worth telling. One further note, I've never read any of the D novels, so I'm sorry for any major contradictions, but I don't really care. I hope you enjoy.
Vampire Hunter D: Ageless Stranger
Prelude
For two thousand years, Man held sway on the blue jewel known as Earth. They created great marvels, the splitting of the Aetom and touching the stars themselves in silvery ships which flashed through the endless night like torches hurled into the abyss. The colonists did not return, and no word ever came of their fates.
Disheartened by the failure of space, Man returned to his favorite and best occupation. Man made war within himself. Using the power of the Aetom and the technology of the stars, Man caused pillars of light to fall upon the cities oh his own brethren. The brethren retaliated, sending Aetomic and Alchemic weapons of their own to fall upon Man.
Thus did Man destroy himself, and as was he, his order was broken. Into his place rose the creatures which Man had forgotten, having no place in the Book of Man. The things which survived in the night, safe only because those that walked the day did not believe in them, rose to form a new aristocracy. Vampires became the most powerful beings on Earth, and one became its King.
In the two thousand years since Man was born, died, and resurrected, one Vampire remained powerful enough that even Man knew his name. When Man fell and the Night began, a tide of blood swelled and brought the Count to the highest throne, where all the creatures of the night swore allegiance to him.
Every hundred years he took a mortal wife and created Dampier offspring, killing the woman when he tired of her. So it was that two thousand years after the fall of Man, his wife gave birth to a son who he named Deschain. Deschain was different from his brothers and sisters. He fought his bloodlust and despised his father. One day, on the eve of his mother's death at the hands of his father, Deschain took up his sword and went to the Crimson court where Count Dracula, King of the Night, held sway from the Blood Throne.
I. The Casting of Deschain
The Blood Throne stood in pooling crimson shadows. Two red eyes gleamed dully from the hulking gloom, flashing occasionally in amusement. Beneath them, long fangs glimmered faintly in the flickering sulfurous torch-glow which stretched feebly to the base of the throne, but could not seem to summon the strength to surmount the spiked monolith.
A voice flitted from the dimness, silky and barbed, dangerous as an assassin's blade. "You hate me, don't you?" The tone was serious, but there was something mocking in the cadence. As he kneeled before the throne, Deschain gritted his teeth and said nothing. The courtiers might question, but he had no doubts, his father was toying with him.
More fangs again, stretching to an obvious grin. "'Honor thy father,' isn't that what the Book of Man says?" Perhaps now would be a safe time to answer, but Deschain held, suspecting a lethal barb hidden in the bait.
Moments stretched with stiffening strain until a lilting sigh escaped the obscured figure. The sigh conceded defeat, but Deschain knew it was yet another trap. The next words were uttered as though they held no import and were nothing more than the odd musings of the bored Count. Deschain knew better, the knife was back in the Count's voice and the duel of words had reached its next level. "Or," The Count drew the r sound in a thin aristocratic drawl, "perhaps you wish to honor your mother."
Deschain said nothing.
"It bothers you, to have her dead?" There was a rustling of cloaks as the Count shook his head. "She was mortal, what else could be expected from something so fragile? Perhaps your grievance comes from the fact that it was I who took her life from her. What else could you have expected from one such as myself. Surely you do not feel that because you have thus far managed to ignore your urging for blood, I should forsake that which gives me the power to exist?"
Courtiers shuffled nervously. The Count was unpredictable in this mood. It was pointless to say the Count was also dangerous in this mood, the Count was always dangerous. Deschain kneeled in stony silence.
The lilting, playful cadence dropped away. "I tire of your silence, as your father, I command you to answer me."
Deschain raised his head and met the gleaming, blood-filled gaze, "It is strange to hear you quote the Book of Man."
The Count loosed a long laugh. "Why so strange? Surely you are acquainted with your own family history. That is to say, my history. I have lived all the ages of Man, and in his time, before my Night began, I myself fought for the Book and Cross of Man. I have watched Man split nations and split Aetoms. I lived in the night when Man touched the moon and when Man rained fire from the stars. I have existed through all the works of Man, and remember the world of Man better than any of his pathetic descendants will ever hope to. Why so strange indeed, that I should look to my own past for counsel?"
Deschain slipped, and undid himself. "You look only to your own greed and desires for counsel. Nothing that was once good or holy remains uncorrupted in your grasp." The words bolted from his mouth before he could stop them. The gleaming grin widened further still. Sensing that all was lost one way or the other, Deschain rose with dignity and faced his father.
"Insolence upon insolence!" the count crowed, "You condemn all that I have made? You condemn yourself! By your own declaration there is nothing in you but corruption. Yet still you stand before me, hoping to avenge the mortal flower that spawned you."
Deschain raised his chin, "You will die by my hand."
"You won't even call me Father. such disrespect. Listen well boy, whole families once dedicated themselves to my destruction. I've outlived the Harkers, the Belmonts, and the Somas, I rule as King while their bones rot, forgotten in the oozing places of the Earth. Each time they thought me broken, each time I returned stronger. Steel nor stake can end my life, how do you propose to kill me?"
Deschain held forth his right hand, "I will kill you with this hand."
"You will kill me with your right hand? I think not. But I'll use your left hand to keep an eye on you." There was a sharp hiss as silvery blade whipped from the shadows, slicing cleanly through Deschain's wrist. His left hand thudded against the cold stone floor and rivulets of blood streamed from the wound to pool around the twitching appendage. Deschain looked down at the twitching hand and the pooling blood, the scent of which awakened a keening voice in his head. Feeeeeed...Feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed .the voice wailed, but Deschain ignored it, despite his reeling senses, and locked eyes with his father once more.
The shuffling was growing more agitated among the courtiers, fresh blood was cooling on the open stones. Though it would be certain death to venture into the open, some of the weaker demons would soon have no control over their bloodlust. Seconds passed as still more blood poured from the wound.
The Count waited silently, neither he nor Deschain moved.
A desperate cry ripped the silence as an imp dived forward, collapsing on the hand and lapping at it fervently. Black lighting blasted from the figure on the shadowed throne, wreathing the imp in writhing darkness. The severed hand spasmed, fairly leaping from the floor to clench tightly about the imps neck. A horrible crunching and sucking sound began, and the hand started to clench and unclench, almost as if it was chewing. The imp was slowly being sucked into the grasping hand.
"Imp," The count spoke imperiously, "you're going to make yourself useful." It was doubtful that the imp was paying attention, its squeals of pain nearly drowned out the Count's heavy voice. The Count continued anyway, "You're going to keep an eye on my spawn here. You're going to make sure he behaves."
The ingestion of the squealing minion sped dramatically as more and more of the pathetic creature was jerked into the groping hand with snapping sounds which could only be the breaking of bone. With a final withering scream, the imp disappeared completely and the hand twitched subtly.
A clawed hand flung outward from the shadows, "Take back your hand, poisonous spawn!" Pale yellow ligaments sprang from Deschain's hand and plunged up into the gaping wound at his wrist. Pain lanced up his arm and ice exploded behind his eyes. With a gasp, Deschain crumpled to his knees. The severed hand sprang upward and slammed against the stump with a wet thud. The ice turned to fire and the pain spiked again. The blood clotted instantly in spiky black masses which painfully stitched the flesh together.
The wrist twisted toward the throne, and a face stretched from the lined flesh. "Maaaaaaaaster.." It moaned. Deschain sucked in his breath as the pain redoubled.
"Pay attention imp. You're going to watch this whelp. After he leaves this night, you will warn me if he ever plans to return, if he ever dares to raise his sword against me again." The Count rose and stepped into the torchlight. His thin white features rose proudly above his red armored and black caped body. "As for you spawn, I cast you. I strip you of your titles and your name. The name Deschain will from this day forth be stricken from the scroll of the House of Dracula. I send you from my sight nameless."
The Count's nameless son rose, trembling, to his feet. "I will destroy you Dracula."
The Count stepped back into the shadows and sat once more. "Melth, Nagda, return the spawn's sword and escort him from my sight. Give him a horse from the livery and three days of food, but no blood. I do not kill him because blood can not be wasted, and stricken though he is, he remains kin. But I will waste no blood on him. See that he is on his way at first light.
"Listen well, disgraced one, I give you three days to leave the borders of my estates. Kin will reject you, Vampires will scorn you at my command, and if you ever turn your gaze back upon me, your very flesh will betray you. Isn't that right imp?"
The face stretched from the hand once more. "Yes. master."
"This is concluded, get him out of my sight."
Two large Dampiers strode to flank the outcast, one male and one female.
The Count spoke one last time, "None are to harm him as he leaves."
The female Dampier, Melth, inclined her head, "Yes father." Nagda placed a heavy hand on the outcast's left shoulder and turned him around. The two led him from the hall of the Blood Throne. The outcast was slowly fighting off the waves of pain radiating from his arm, his gasping breath began to slow as he regained his composure. When they were several floors below the throne room, Nagda handed the outcast his sheathed sword. Melth shook her head sadly, "Unwise to have risen against Father like that."
Nagda nodded agreement, "You were lucky brother, he says kin are immune, but I doubt that was his reason for sparing your life."
"He always thought you were interesting," Melth mused, "Father never could destroy something once it had caught his interest."
The outcast remained stonily silent and his sibling subsided. Through level after level of stone passage and mechanical lift, they continued to descend towards the base of the castle where supplies and a fresh horse were already waiting. The trio passes in silence to the front gate, where the horse had been tied by an alerted servant, the bag of supplies sagged by its feet. As the siblings strode onto the ledge, hidden machines began to lower the massive obsidian drawbridge. Gray was beginning to creep into the night, dawn would not be far off.
Nagda helped him onto his horse and Melth handed him his supplies. Melth shook her head once more. "Unwise, brother."
Nagda reached up and clasped the outcast's arm, "This is the last time I will call you brother, so I say fare thee well."
The outcast nodded and slipped his feet into the stirrups. The horse snorted and canted a bit, sensing that the time to depart was almost at hand. Nagda removed his hand and both he and Melth stepped back.
The bridge settled with a heavy clang which tolled through the broken valley and rolled away towards the crumbling mountains in the distance. A bit more light stole across the landscape. The outcast dug his heels into the sides of his mount and began to move across the bridge. The hoofs cracked sharply as they struck the obsidian surface.
"Wait!" Melth called.
The outcast drew his horse to a halt and half turned to look back at his siblings. The first ray of dawn broke the horizon and splashed his face with red light.
"What is your name, stranger?"
The outcast settled his cloak about him, and drew his wide brimmed hat forward from where it had rested on a string about his neck. The brim descended over his eyes, leaving only the pale skin about his mouth to be shaded by the dawn. He turned back towards the western end of the bridge and the exit to his father's lands. "I am D," his response rolled back on the wind. The words sounded heavy, like stones falling into a deep pool. "I hunt vampires."
The outcast rode away. ___________________________________________________________________
End Note: I hope you enjoyed that. Due to the sporadic nature of my writing, posts will be released at odd intervals. Because of this, I will attempt to make each chapter a self contained story within the larger epic. If I get good response from this story, another chapter will follow. Please review, flamers accepted.
Author's Note: Hello, I'm D-Scythe, and this is my first foray into the VHD section. Though I'm sure it has been done before, this is my telling of D's origins. This fic will cover important events in D's life as a hunter, hopefully without infringing too much on the movies. As to why I chose to do something which has been done before, I felt I had a story worth telling. One further note, I've never read any of the D novels, so I'm sorry for any major contradictions, but I don't really care. I hope you enjoy.
Vampire Hunter D: Ageless Stranger
Prelude
For two thousand years, Man held sway on the blue jewel known as Earth. They created great marvels, the splitting of the Aetom and touching the stars themselves in silvery ships which flashed through the endless night like torches hurled into the abyss. The colonists did not return, and no word ever came of their fates.
Disheartened by the failure of space, Man returned to his favorite and best occupation. Man made war within himself. Using the power of the Aetom and the technology of the stars, Man caused pillars of light to fall upon the cities oh his own brethren. The brethren retaliated, sending Aetomic and Alchemic weapons of their own to fall upon Man.
Thus did Man destroy himself, and as was he, his order was broken. Into his place rose the creatures which Man had forgotten, having no place in the Book of Man. The things which survived in the night, safe only because those that walked the day did not believe in them, rose to form a new aristocracy. Vampires became the most powerful beings on Earth, and one became its King.
In the two thousand years since Man was born, died, and resurrected, one Vampire remained powerful enough that even Man knew his name. When Man fell and the Night began, a tide of blood swelled and brought the Count to the highest throne, where all the creatures of the night swore allegiance to him.
Every hundred years he took a mortal wife and created Dampier offspring, killing the woman when he tired of her. So it was that two thousand years after the fall of Man, his wife gave birth to a son who he named Deschain. Deschain was different from his brothers and sisters. He fought his bloodlust and despised his father. One day, on the eve of his mother's death at the hands of his father, Deschain took up his sword and went to the Crimson court where Count Dracula, King of the Night, held sway from the Blood Throne.
I. The Casting of Deschain
The Blood Throne stood in pooling crimson shadows. Two red eyes gleamed dully from the hulking gloom, flashing occasionally in amusement. Beneath them, long fangs glimmered faintly in the flickering sulfurous torch-glow which stretched feebly to the base of the throne, but could not seem to summon the strength to surmount the spiked monolith.
A voice flitted from the dimness, silky and barbed, dangerous as an assassin's blade. "You hate me, don't you?" The tone was serious, but there was something mocking in the cadence. As he kneeled before the throne, Deschain gritted his teeth and said nothing. The courtiers might question, but he had no doubts, his father was toying with him.
More fangs again, stretching to an obvious grin. "'Honor thy father,' isn't that what the Book of Man says?" Perhaps now would be a safe time to answer, but Deschain held, suspecting a lethal barb hidden in the bait.
Moments stretched with stiffening strain until a lilting sigh escaped the obscured figure. The sigh conceded defeat, but Deschain knew it was yet another trap. The next words were uttered as though they held no import and were nothing more than the odd musings of the bored Count. Deschain knew better, the knife was back in the Count's voice and the duel of words had reached its next level. "Or," The Count drew the r sound in a thin aristocratic drawl, "perhaps you wish to honor your mother."
Deschain said nothing.
"It bothers you, to have her dead?" There was a rustling of cloaks as the Count shook his head. "She was mortal, what else could be expected from something so fragile? Perhaps your grievance comes from the fact that it was I who took her life from her. What else could you have expected from one such as myself. Surely you do not feel that because you have thus far managed to ignore your urging for blood, I should forsake that which gives me the power to exist?"
Courtiers shuffled nervously. The Count was unpredictable in this mood. It was pointless to say the Count was also dangerous in this mood, the Count was always dangerous. Deschain kneeled in stony silence.
The lilting, playful cadence dropped away. "I tire of your silence, as your father, I command you to answer me."
Deschain raised his head and met the gleaming, blood-filled gaze, "It is strange to hear you quote the Book of Man."
The Count loosed a long laugh. "Why so strange? Surely you are acquainted with your own family history. That is to say, my history. I have lived all the ages of Man, and in his time, before my Night began, I myself fought for the Book and Cross of Man. I have watched Man split nations and split Aetoms. I lived in the night when Man touched the moon and when Man rained fire from the stars. I have existed through all the works of Man, and remember the world of Man better than any of his pathetic descendants will ever hope to. Why so strange indeed, that I should look to my own past for counsel?"
Deschain slipped, and undid himself. "You look only to your own greed and desires for counsel. Nothing that was once good or holy remains uncorrupted in your grasp." The words bolted from his mouth before he could stop them. The gleaming grin widened further still. Sensing that all was lost one way or the other, Deschain rose with dignity and faced his father.
"Insolence upon insolence!" the count crowed, "You condemn all that I have made? You condemn yourself! By your own declaration there is nothing in you but corruption. Yet still you stand before me, hoping to avenge the mortal flower that spawned you."
Deschain raised his chin, "You will die by my hand."
"You won't even call me Father. such disrespect. Listen well boy, whole families once dedicated themselves to my destruction. I've outlived the Harkers, the Belmonts, and the Somas, I rule as King while their bones rot, forgotten in the oozing places of the Earth. Each time they thought me broken, each time I returned stronger. Steel nor stake can end my life, how do you propose to kill me?"
Deschain held forth his right hand, "I will kill you with this hand."
"You will kill me with your right hand? I think not. But I'll use your left hand to keep an eye on you." There was a sharp hiss as silvery blade whipped from the shadows, slicing cleanly through Deschain's wrist. His left hand thudded against the cold stone floor and rivulets of blood streamed from the wound to pool around the twitching appendage. Deschain looked down at the twitching hand and the pooling blood, the scent of which awakened a keening voice in his head. Feeeeeed...Feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed .the voice wailed, but Deschain ignored it, despite his reeling senses, and locked eyes with his father once more.
The shuffling was growing more agitated among the courtiers, fresh blood was cooling on the open stones. Though it would be certain death to venture into the open, some of the weaker demons would soon have no control over their bloodlust. Seconds passed as still more blood poured from the wound.
The Count waited silently, neither he nor Deschain moved.
A desperate cry ripped the silence as an imp dived forward, collapsing on the hand and lapping at it fervently. Black lighting blasted from the figure on the shadowed throne, wreathing the imp in writhing darkness. The severed hand spasmed, fairly leaping from the floor to clench tightly about the imps neck. A horrible crunching and sucking sound began, and the hand started to clench and unclench, almost as if it was chewing. The imp was slowly being sucked into the grasping hand.
"Imp," The count spoke imperiously, "you're going to make yourself useful." It was doubtful that the imp was paying attention, its squeals of pain nearly drowned out the Count's heavy voice. The Count continued anyway, "You're going to keep an eye on my spawn here. You're going to make sure he behaves."
The ingestion of the squealing minion sped dramatically as more and more of the pathetic creature was jerked into the groping hand with snapping sounds which could only be the breaking of bone. With a final withering scream, the imp disappeared completely and the hand twitched subtly.
A clawed hand flung outward from the shadows, "Take back your hand, poisonous spawn!" Pale yellow ligaments sprang from Deschain's hand and plunged up into the gaping wound at his wrist. Pain lanced up his arm and ice exploded behind his eyes. With a gasp, Deschain crumpled to his knees. The severed hand sprang upward and slammed against the stump with a wet thud. The ice turned to fire and the pain spiked again. The blood clotted instantly in spiky black masses which painfully stitched the flesh together.
The wrist twisted toward the throne, and a face stretched from the lined flesh. "Maaaaaaaaster.." It moaned. Deschain sucked in his breath as the pain redoubled.
"Pay attention imp. You're going to watch this whelp. After he leaves this night, you will warn me if he ever plans to return, if he ever dares to raise his sword against me again." The Count rose and stepped into the torchlight. His thin white features rose proudly above his red armored and black caped body. "As for you spawn, I cast you. I strip you of your titles and your name. The name Deschain will from this day forth be stricken from the scroll of the House of Dracula. I send you from my sight nameless."
The Count's nameless son rose, trembling, to his feet. "I will destroy you Dracula."
The Count stepped back into the shadows and sat once more. "Melth, Nagda, return the spawn's sword and escort him from my sight. Give him a horse from the livery and three days of food, but no blood. I do not kill him because blood can not be wasted, and stricken though he is, he remains kin. But I will waste no blood on him. See that he is on his way at first light.
"Listen well, disgraced one, I give you three days to leave the borders of my estates. Kin will reject you, Vampires will scorn you at my command, and if you ever turn your gaze back upon me, your very flesh will betray you. Isn't that right imp?"
The face stretched from the hand once more. "Yes. master."
"This is concluded, get him out of my sight."
Two large Dampiers strode to flank the outcast, one male and one female.
The Count spoke one last time, "None are to harm him as he leaves."
The female Dampier, Melth, inclined her head, "Yes father." Nagda placed a heavy hand on the outcast's left shoulder and turned him around. The two led him from the hall of the Blood Throne. The outcast was slowly fighting off the waves of pain radiating from his arm, his gasping breath began to slow as he regained his composure. When they were several floors below the throne room, Nagda handed the outcast his sheathed sword. Melth shook her head sadly, "Unwise to have risen against Father like that."
Nagda nodded agreement, "You were lucky brother, he says kin are immune, but I doubt that was his reason for sparing your life."
"He always thought you were interesting," Melth mused, "Father never could destroy something once it had caught his interest."
The outcast remained stonily silent and his sibling subsided. Through level after level of stone passage and mechanical lift, they continued to descend towards the base of the castle where supplies and a fresh horse were already waiting. The trio passes in silence to the front gate, where the horse had been tied by an alerted servant, the bag of supplies sagged by its feet. As the siblings strode onto the ledge, hidden machines began to lower the massive obsidian drawbridge. Gray was beginning to creep into the night, dawn would not be far off.
Nagda helped him onto his horse and Melth handed him his supplies. Melth shook her head once more. "Unwise, brother."
Nagda reached up and clasped the outcast's arm, "This is the last time I will call you brother, so I say fare thee well."
The outcast nodded and slipped his feet into the stirrups. The horse snorted and canted a bit, sensing that the time to depart was almost at hand. Nagda removed his hand and both he and Melth stepped back.
The bridge settled with a heavy clang which tolled through the broken valley and rolled away towards the crumbling mountains in the distance. A bit more light stole across the landscape. The outcast dug his heels into the sides of his mount and began to move across the bridge. The hoofs cracked sharply as they struck the obsidian surface.
"Wait!" Melth called.
The outcast drew his horse to a halt and half turned to look back at his siblings. The first ray of dawn broke the horizon and splashed his face with red light.
"What is your name, stranger?"
The outcast settled his cloak about him, and drew his wide brimmed hat forward from where it had rested on a string about his neck. The brim descended over his eyes, leaving only the pale skin about his mouth to be shaded by the dawn. He turned back towards the western end of the bridge and the exit to his father's lands. "I am D," his response rolled back on the wind. The words sounded heavy, like stones falling into a deep pool. "I hunt vampires."
The outcast rode away. ___________________________________________________________________
End Note: I hope you enjoyed that. Due to the sporadic nature of my writing, posts will be released at odd intervals. Because of this, I will attempt to make each chapter a self contained story within the larger epic. If I get good response from this story, another chapter will follow. Please review, flamers accepted.