One
The Sweetest Blood

I am going to take you back to the beginning. Not the very beginning, nay, that is for another time, and if time permits, another story. Instead I am going to take you briefly back to one point of the establishment of Lord Kain's empire. Near to the end when it was the last of the human towns and cities were falling, and Lord Kain's empire was forever rising. When it was the clans began to establish their own territories. When it was the humans tried to resist us, and when it was we tried to silence such a resistance. It matters not which point, it is purely to set the scene, to create the atmosphere of this story and to give you some background to the events that will transpire.

This is the beginning of change – my change, their change, his change, our change – in which I would become gifted, and yet so cursed. In which Raziel would be lifted to a height that none of us could reach, and yet fall and become one of the damned. This is our elegy, Lord Kain's finest, and yet now, we are once again the lost.

)-(

"And that, my brothers..." Zephon allowed the mortal's head to droop to one side as if to prove a point. "...Is why a female's blood is all that more sweeter." He smiled in a cruel manner and discarded the corpse to the floor, allowing the body to drop from his claws in a careless manner. Melchiah, the youngest of us, watched him in a disapproving manner, as it was Zephon wiped the blood from his lips. I myself regarded the situation with a blank expression.

The body lay on the floor, a lifeless husk. Peculiar how silently it now lay, whilst moments before the female had put up quite the fight. And Zephon had stood, his claws clamped tight around her, soothing her with his very words, and seducing her with darkness. His one set of claws he had run softly and gently, almost lovingly, through her hair, embracing her tightly as if to sooth her of all terror and fear. And he wiped away the tears that had fallen down her face with the back of one of his claws, whilst whispering 'hush' into one of her ears every now and then.

Yet the predator in him was working all the time. Slowly he had tilted her head backwards, her confidence gained and then... And then there was silence, her cries lulled to the sweet and gentle quietness of peace. Afterwards Zephon had laughed. Zephon loved mortals in many ways. More so he loved to kill them.

"Ah, such a sweet lament, how it befalls me," mocked the Zephonim Lord. He smirked. "For Lord Kain," he stated, leaving the others and myself alone.

"Nay, for yourself," I muttered, wiping the remains of blood from my sword. I wondered, since when had Zephon done anything for anyone, other than himself?

It was with morbid fascination, and curiosity, that I approached the body, and prodded it with a foot. There was no response, and of course, I had not expected there to be one.

Swiftly I descended and knelt next to her, tilting her head slightly, and brushing away the strands of hair so as to expose her neck. Delicate pale skin infiltrated by Zephon's canines. Two puncture wounds now remained to be the only evidence left of the enjoyment Zephon had had in taking her life, drinking her blood, reading her thoughts – including those deep and hidden. He had enjoyed the process of soothing her, and yet secretly mocking her, feeling the dominance he upheld, knowing that only he held sway over her life. A simple gesture with his claws, and she would die. A simple kiss, and she could live forever.

I have to be swift to admit that the fulfilment of power did excite me. And, in a way, I envied the feed that Zephon had just had.

I barely noticed that the other had left. Dumah had departed in search of Raziel, and now only Turel, Melchiah, and I remained. My eyes still remained on the body, as I stood up. That one scene still remained fresh within my mind. How it was we had hunted out those we took a liking to in tormenting, goading each other onwards as it is brothers often do, and smiling at each one we had caught. The hunt had been delectable.

The night had been fresh, our own clans readied in battle – to take what land we lay claim to. We seized hold of any towns or dwellings that got in our way, the lands of Lord Kain's empire forever spreading, until it was that a majority of settlements were consumed by our forever swelling kingdoms, with no mercy for any that got in the way.

And with the entire ruckus of battle going on around me, I stood there contemplating Zephon's actions, debating them, debating him, and concluding bloodlust. In all honesty I was being foolish, for it is never wise to question ones vampiric nature, especially around your creator or brethren.

"And why, do you think he did that?" It was merely a question I asked myself, and no one else. But it was a question created in thought yet spoken aloud, and Turel felt the need to respond.

"I am certain our little wretch of a brother enjoys the attention it brings him." Turel narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. "Why Rahab, does it bother you so?"

Bother me? Imagine that, the Rahabim Lord taking pity on humanity. Imagine, a vampire sympathising with a mortal! What such ludicrous thoughts... I did not reply, but merely placed a hand to my face and pulled at my lower lip, deep in thought.

We could hear the sounds from outside. The background was very much alive. One could hear the sound of flames, as our legions seized a final hold over the town.

Soon I knew we would have to go back outside, reorganise our clan's armies, pass on orders, and bring order to chaos – the chaos we had created.

Turel left to do this, deciding that perhaps I was not to answer him, and maybe that was for the best.

I retreated to one of the windows and looked out at the scene before me. Our clans divided into groups, but all working together, each one told apart by the clan drapes that they wore. It was at this point I readjusted mine, altering one of the pauldron's straps so that it sat upon my shoulder more comfortably.

From the window I could see that upon one of the hills our clan flags were being raised. We had laid claim to this town, to this land, and the flags being hoisted proved that we had been successful. Everything here now belonged to us, to Lord Kain. Would anyone dare be foolish enough to question our claim?

Upon a pinnacle of rock, upon the hill that overshadowed the town, so the clan flags upon their poles were raised. Lord Kain's insignia billowed out upon its flag canvas; it was the first to be seen. Then following it was Raziel's, red material contrasting with the woven white of the Razielim crest. Afterwards in rank order the other clan flags were hoisted high, flapping proudly on their poles. Melchiah's was last.

As each flag was unfurled and displayed so it was the clans called out, 'for Lord Kain!' I too, unsheathing my sword and placing myself in a manner of respect, my head bowed. "For Lord Kain," I said, adding my voice to the many vocals of my vampire kin, knowing that through my words so my loyalty was fortified to my lord, master, and sire – Kain.

The clans calls continued, each one of them calling to their own lord's, calling each one of our names as each one of our insignia's were displayed. I heard my own children call, their voices carried on the nightly breeze, "For Lord Rahab!" and smiled inwardly. No one could replace the pride I felt for them.

Through the rising of our flags, our insignia's displaced, so it was this land was indeed ours. Our territory spread.

"Why is your soul darkened so, Melchiah?" I asked in turning to him. For I had noticed how much little attention he had paid to our victorious cries, not even giving a smile when his children called to him. Now he knelt next to the body of Zephon's last victim, it was almost a mirror image of how I had been moments before. I could see the questions he posed, the questions that probably ran through his mind.

"Melchiah, come, the mortal is dead."

"But, do you not see the waste?" he replied, wanting to prove a point.

"Waste?"

Melchiah, how fond I was of him. He was always the one who did not waste anything. He was the youngest of Lord Kain's sons, and the one who had received the smallest and last proportion of power from our sire. Therefore he was always putting things to use, as if it were he had to make do with what there was, whilst the older ones and I, took things in plenty. It is true that Melchiah certainly appreciated things more then what we ever did.

At this point in time, Melchiah was still undeveloped. He looked more like a freshly risen corpse then that of vampiric essence – a mortal who had been, but was no longer. Melchiah was always the last one to evolve, and his evolution was always a slow and highly agonising process, drawn out in the most enduring ways. Out of all of us, it was dear Melchiah who suffered the most.

Remembering the occasion when I had been there for his first state of metamorphosis, I found it easy to pity our younger brother. How fearful he had looked in those darkened chambers of his, choosing to have no candlelight within his quarters, for he explained to me that he could not stand to glance upon himself. And so, at times, he hid away. Hid away from everyone, including himself. Hiding behind his own forged mask of wanting to be like his older brethren.

Yet he remained blind to how much his own children loved his so, and how my own clan respected him through their own acknowledgement of my sympathy towards him.

How it was I had entered at that time of his first stage of metamorphosis. In speaking to some of his children, they had told me how he had locked himself within his own quarters, and that he had not been seen for a few nights. Of course I understood that he had moments like this. He could be so withdrawn at times, only emerging in summons of council, and dealing with his own clan affairs from the depths of his darkened chambers. This time, however, they said it was different. This time Melchiah would not allow any of his children to enter his quarters, or go near him. So it took me by surprise that the door opened when I had requested it to be.

Slowly I had entered, closing the door behind me and locking it so that none of his fledglings could follow. I knew that if they came to him they would only annoy him. Although his fledglings intentions were only ones of good – where it is they wished to comfort him, they would only irritate him. I knew this myself, having been in the situation that Melchiah was now in and experiencing, and yet not understanding.

"Melchiah!" I called out his name into the stale darkness. It was a silly gesture, for I knew all too well that he was there, somewhere. In glancing around I was only too thankful that my eyesight was sufficient enough to pierce the darkness of the room's overwhelming shadows.

"It is the change Melchiah. It happens to us all, including Lord Kain." I crept around a corner, my claws holding onto the wall as an extra guide in the gloom, and entered the main area of his chambers. "Fear it not, gentle brother! Come, tell me where you are!"

I stood still. As if to answer my calling, a door nearby opened. Thus I approached, entering the inner sanctum of Melchiah's chambers.

Upon an unclean bed of filth I found him, sweating and restless, sprawled out upon his back and desperate to find consolation. Deep in the heart of his own world, secluded from all that was going on outside. Secluded due to the shame he felt for himself, and choosing the stiff and forced darkness of his quarters, compared to that of the beautiful night.

"I do not think I can go through this, brother." The word 'brother' hung limply in the air, a word he was only just getting used to using.

"Be still, Melchiah. You can... You must." I had paused, thinking upon my words with care. "The change will empower you," I said. "It will make you stronger."

Melchiah's reply had been made in one that seemed much like the truth, and the threads of sadness clinging desperately to it. "But not so strong, and never strong enough. Not as strong as the others," he had said. "Not as strong as Dumah. Not as strong as Raziel."

"But strong enough, little brother. Strong enough..." That was my attempt to reassure him, and then to lay him back into the embracing arms of darkness, whilst removing the filth that he had lay in, and replacing them with cleaner blankets.

I did everything a servant should have been doing, and I am not sure why. Why was I not cruel and unforgiving, like Zephon? Or arrogant and egotistical like Dumah? Or wise and careful like Turel? And I certainly was not anything like our eldest – Raziel... loyal, proud, highly looked upon.

For a while I had remained with him, until I was certain that he was within rest. And upon leaving the inner chambers and residing within a courtyard, I approached one of his children. "Your Lord is within the grasps of rest," I spoke, whilst giving the Melchiahim a reassuring pat upon his shoulder. "Be at peace youngling, and tell the others, for when your master awakes he will be regained in his nobility."

I looked upon Melchiah now as he knelt next to the corpse, and repeated that same sentence within my mind. He was not as grand looking, or as strong as the rest of Lord Kain's sons, but the nobility was there.

Gently I knelt next to him, getting his attention by placing a set of claws upon his shoulder. "You cannot take her," I whispered, and lifted a stiff arm to prove my point. "Death has already claimed her. Nay little brother, she is too far gone."

There was reluctance there, but it was met with understanding. He could not make every dead corpse into a child of his own... It just did not work that way, no matter how much Melchiah wished it to be so.

We were all ready to leave; yet our process of leaving the building was only made swifter when from down below there was a sudden serge of noise, followed by a clatter – which suggested something had just fallen over, and then a scream.

"Zephon..." I hissed. For mortals normally only screamed like that when they had just come into contact with the Zephonim Lord, a sort of 'strangled' scream.

With Melchiah following behind me, we made haste down the stairs, out the door, and into the tiny courtyard below. What greeted us was but a collaboration of chaos, a scene of fierceness and confusion.

The predatory essence of all was apparent, a gathering made up of Zephon and an assortment of fierce fledglings from different clans. My own children were present, hissing with disgust at the captive that Zephon held onto tightly, as the mortal flayed and struggled within his ironclad grip.

And what prey had that vampiric lord caught now? A young woman trapped within the grips of Zephon's claws, like a fly caught in the web of a spider. She struggled constantly, whilst he held her firm, a twisted smile upon his face. But then Zephon cursed when the woman managed to strike him, and for but a split second she was free.

The gathering surged forwards, all reaching out for her, but grasping at nothing but the emptiness of air. Yet the Zephonim Lord was quick in his reaction, and suddenly achieved what the others had failed, grasping a hold of her arm and pulling her mercilessly back to him.

I was intrigued by this situation, and curious to find out what had caused this mêlée, whether Zephon had chosen her for another moment of jest and a bitter feed, or whether it was something more. Soon I was to get my answer.

Tightly within her hands she gripped onto one of the clans flags. It was frayed and in slight disarray. Compared to that of its former glory it was now nothing but a mere shadow of its former self.

The image of what had happened was swift to immerge, from sensing from the minds of others and her, of what exactly had happened.

Imagine, if you will, a scene where our clan flags dominate the hill next to the town. They are there to remind its people of those who now have say over this land. Yet in the ever-growing darkness, somehow, a figure manages to approach them and pull one from its pole.

The flag the woman held onto had one scorched corner. It suggested that she had hoped to burn it in a foolish moment to dishonour us. I chuckled in bitter distaste, for her plan had obviously failed. The wraith from whichever lord, whose flag she had attempted to destroy, would not be pleasant.

The flag waved in her hands. One of the Zephonim, in an attempt to assist his lord, tried to take it from her. Yet she would not let go. The majority of the flag was bundled into her arms, whilst the Zephonim only had a hold of one of its corners, his claws digging deeply into the material.

Zephon snarled in annoyance, and his child let go very quickly, backing away, knowing full well that his lord was not one to annoy. Thus it was then that I noticed whose flag it was. Upon the material, as the flag unravelled from her arms, was but my own insignia, the symbol of my clan – the Rahabim.

She had intended to burn my flag, and in doing so disgrace my clan and myself. The punishment was unquestionable and absolute.

Without hesitation I drew my blade. The long, silvery cold point, shined with a gleam of anticipation. Zephon's face as he held the young woman showed exactly what he was thinking. A sinister smile, which suggested he was awaiting blood to be spilt, as he quelled all resistance that she fought, restraining her hands, which was small compared to his, in the grip of his left claws.

I knew what he was thinking, for he allowed me glimpses of his thoughts. His voice crept nimbly into the chambers of my mind, and at that time it was not welcome there.

'Look at her Rahab. Look at her and despise her. See not what she has done? Insulted you and your clan... You know what must be done...'

It was but my decision, and only mine.Only I had the rights to say whether she was to live or die, for it had been my flag she had intended to burn. To burn... she loathed us, there was no doubts in that. Perhaps then, I should make her loath us more.

Without hesitation I placed the blade of my sword close to her throat.