Author's Notes: Well, this is it. To make up for the long wait, here are the last two chapters in one go. Thirteen's really short anyway, so... Yeah. By the way, this is well bloody. Just in case there was any room for doubt there.
Review Replies:
Smoke: I know Turel has often been accused of having sea-green as his colour, but on my screen he is quite definately dark, forest green. Zephon wears a cape of torquis, or sea-green, and that's the colour I've gone with. So there.
Basically, the intimation is that everyone's been sent 'home' as it were, and that all the Razelim are in one place. It's kind of a trick, to make it neat, you know? But, yeah, whoever would be left would die soon enough, I think.
Semdai: thank you. bows I tend to go for Razelim, but as far as I know, there's no official spelling.
Schuldig: I don't blame you for missing Sonny's rewritten ending. There's a little more of Zephon in this and the next chapter, so enjoy. (He is not a nice man.)
Ardeth Sivereni: I like what you said about Kain. Yes, he is really really offering them the chance to take revenge, but they won't hear of it.
"Your lifespan is a flicker compared to the mass of doubt and regret that I have born since Mortanius first turned me from the light."
Don't you just love that messed up little paradox of conflicting loyalties, vengeance and innocence dying? Yah!
Pinky: you were expecting something else from Kain, perhaps?
Varyssa: Don't worry, it's not quite over yet. I'm still writing Hengest and Horsa, and there's a tiny little more to come before I can say goodbye to LOK fanfiction with a clear heart. And even then, I might come back to this, it's pretty captivating stuff, you know?
And now, without further ado, the end of 'An Upstart Inheritance'. And the end of the Razelim, but that's should be no surprise by now.
...
AN UPSTART INHERITANCE, XII: SLAUGHTER
Sanchenna's breath caught in his throat when he saw his former captain impaled on the Soul Reaver. He had always held Marius in the deepest respect. He was one of Raziel's best, over 900 years old, and he had always seemed indestructible to his young followers. But then, had Raziel not seemed to be beyond death, too?
"Fight!" Harald bellowed, and then died. Sanchenna watched, frozen, as the entire Razelim clan fell on Kain like a flock of carrion-birds descending on a fresh corpse. They might as well have been flies.
Kain could not be touched, his Soul Reaver claimed the life of every man it crossed, and Kain was so powerful he slashed right through the defences of even their strongest warriors. Dumah and Turel flanked him, keeping their Lord from being swarmed. They fought without mercy; Dumah used his thin-bladed polearm to take off the heads of the Razelim soldiers before he was even within their reach. Turel had not bothered to bring a weapon, but his claws rent through flesh with ease, and he ripped his opponents apart with an animalistic eagerness. Sanchenna felt as if his skin was on fire. He knew the men they were tearing apart. They used to be his brothers.
His new companions, dressed in white and sea-green, rushed past him into the fray, roaring their bloodlust. The courtyard was packed so tightly there was barely any room to fight. The Razelim were forced back, away from the gate, their attackers stumbling over the slain, led by their incensed leader, Zephon.
A group of Razelim tried to fight their way to the gate, to escape. Cowin led them, in so far as any could lead in this chaos. His efforts were wasted, the gate was held by the Rahabim, who were more than happy to hack their way into Razelim flesh. They didn't stand a chance. Sanchenna stood motionless in the centre of the courtyard, surrounded by the fallen, his pristine armour gleaming in the torchlight. He could not even bring himself to draw his sword -- he didn't know who to fight.
Suddenly, one of Raziel's men emerged from the crowd and rushed at him. He had been wounded, his face was covered in blood. Sanchenna put an arm up in defence, but the man stopped dead in his tracks.
"Sonny?"
Sonny recognised him only by his strawy hair. God, he thought, little Nort. Nort had been his brother, one of Marius' men. He was older than Sonny, but not as brave and Sonny had often looked out for him in the field. Sonny had.
Warm, dark blood splashed in his face and suddenly he was staring into the narrowed eyes of Yuriah, Zephon's son, whose sword had just cut clean through Nort's neck. For a moment, Sanchenna thought he was going to die, but Yuriah merely grinned widely at him.
"Sweet." He turned back to the fray, and Sanchenna found himself stumbling a step back. Nort's life blood was running down his face, soiling his white breastplate. He was biting his lip, one fang digging into the delicate skin. He tasted his own blood, and it slowly filtered through to him that that was what Yuriah had meant. Sweet. This genocide was "sweet" to him, a pleasant diversion -- a feast.
The number of fighting Razelim was decreasing rapidly. Over the general roar and clank of battle the unholy shrieks of the Soul Reaver almost blended together, as Lord Kain cut a swath through the remaining, fleeing warriors. Sanchenna stared up at the dais. The courtyard, meant as a defensive feature, had become their deathtrap. There were only two mansized doors out deeper into the castle, and there were too many of them to get away. They were doomed.
Sanchenna found himself gasping for breath, and he realised he was crying.
---
"Fight!" she heard Harald shout, and again, that horrible, unearthly shriek. Adoile was jostled and almost trampled underfoot as the army rushed forward, at Kain. Kain, their Lord and Master, their God. She wrestled through the crowd in the opposite direction; away. Away from this nightmare, this orgy of blood and stolen souls. She was one of the first to escape the courtyard.
She ran through the keep, along with a few others who lacked the ability or the intention to follow Harald's last order. They rushed to the great hall on the west side. There was a staircase there, and up those stairs there were large, gothic windows looking out at the cemetery in the west. Who knew, perhaps they could stay hidden in those mausolea, escape their doom a little longer, perhaps even outlast Kain's rage. She ran up the stairs, but stopped at the balustrade. In the dark, not far beyond the walls of the castle, was a line of vampire warriors, at least two deep, their spears and gleaming armour lit by the torches they carried. A strange, deep noise rang out from their shadowy ranks, and it took her a short time to realise they were singing. The tune was slow and heavy, and she could not make out the words from that many mouths. It sounded like a dirge.
Someone was shouting, one of her clansmen. Damon tried to pull them together, to make some attempt at an organised attack. She turned and ran, there was nothing she could do. Nothing that could be done. She ran through the dark and empty corridors of the upper floor, to his rooms.
She locked the door behind her and looked around. There was nothing here to reflect the horrors that were taking place outside. Papers lay stacked on the writing-desk, the blood-cabinet stood still and unbreached in the corner, Raziel's portrait looked out at a room that was empty and peaceful but for her, a proud smile on its face.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered to it. "I'm sorry." She took a few paces into the room, then sank to her knees on the lush red carped she had swept and brushed so often in happier times. Everything was ending now. All would have to die -- every last trace of his existence wiped from the world.
She closed her hand around his signet ring, and wondered how long she'd have to wait.
---
Rahab made his way through the castle by ear. Running feet, whispered curses, desperately beating hearts. The ones that had escaped the general doom so far, by chance or by craft, he found them guided by his senses and his instinct, and he ran them through. Some begged, some tried to run, some tried to fight. He did not care, he found them and he killed them as he had been ordered.
"Get them!"
It was but a small number that had escaped the courtyard, but Kain clearly wanted none to survive. Sometime early on in the battle, if that was what it was, Rahab's thoughts had stopped. His mind was a curious blank as he reached out with his mind to slide away the bar on the steel doors to the crypt and kicked them open. Not the whisper of a thought as they attacked, their bravery born out of despair, and he cut them down. He knelt over their bleeding bodies to dig out the hearts of the ones that yet had their heads. Their flesh was tough, blood stained his hands up to the elbow, but he did it without thought and turned back up the dark steps when it was done.
The keep was quiet, like his mind, the noise from the courtyard did not penetrate. Or perhaps it was already over. A small group of Zephonim stood aside for him in the bloodstained corridor. They grinned widely, greedily. Rahab's mental composure wavered only slightly.
He made his way up the curious flight of stairs that snaked around the central tower and crossed the walkway into the most lavishly decorated part of Raziel's castle. There were more of them, here. He knew without knowing how.
He halted at the door to his brother's private chambers. In there, he sensed. He knew the rooms that lay beyond this door well; how often had he not been there, drinking, arguing, playing chess. Raziel had been his match at chess...
He forced these thoughts back and shouldered open the door. There was only a girl, kneeling in the middle of the floor. She turned round, startled, her luscious curls dancing around her fine face. Raziel's own, he knew. His brother had raised her because of her pretty face, he had admitted to that at last, laughing at Rahab's taunts. Rahab looked at her. He hesitated.
"Oh. It's you..." she said, sounding almost relieved. Rahab glanced around. These rooms looked very much the way they did when he last saw them. What was it they had argued over then? The girl was holding something out to him. He took it, his gored claws brushing the palm of her hand.
Raziel's signet ring. He studied its face, an insuppressible chill now running through his body. It was a masterpiece of steelworking, Raziel's namesign rendered perfectly to the last, razorsharp detail. Tears were in his eyes when he closed his hand around it and looked up at the girl, who had shut her eyes and bared her chest for him.
He swallowed. She had the face of an angel, a face her sire had fallen for, and would he be the one to destroy it? He remembered Raziel's cry as he sailed down on those useless, broken wings, and he wished nothing more than to turn away, to leave this nightmare, to seclude himself in the darkest place he could find and never to come out again.
She opened her eyes and growled. "Do it!"
And he did.
---
Just as Rahab plunged his blood-slicked steel into Adoile's breast, Zephon turned to Sanchenna, and smiled. Sanchenna was still standing, alone, in the centre of the courtyard. Zephon and his men had been scouring the floor looking for the last survivors, ripping off their heads and drinking deeply from the fountains of blood. Sanchenna had watched, helpless, feeling sick to his stomach. Behind him, from the circle of Dumahim beyond the gate a victory cry rang out. For Kain! Zephon closed his jaws around Jens's throat and plunged his claws into his chest. Jens died, his blood painting the clan-leader's lips and Zephon turned around, still half-crouched, and flashed a blood-besmirched smile at Sanchenna.
Sanchenna felt his heart speed up. There was nothing left of the fatherly appreciation in Zephon's eyes, only madness lived there now. He took a careful step back, as Zephon raised himself and came at him in a half-crouching run.
"Sonny..." he sang, and crawled over the fallen, headless bodies.
Sanchenna shook his head.
"You're the last, Sonny..."
"No..." Sanchenna croaked through a stifled throat. I'm Sanchenna, he wanted to say, your servant! but all he managed was a high-pitched groan. And when Zephon cleared the last hurdle towards him, bounding over the brittle, black-veined corpse of Rusanna, he turned and ran.
He made towards Yuriah, who was standing by the gate, surrounded by his company. They stared at him impassively. Sanchenna slipped on the nightmarish tapestry of gore covering the flagstones and Zephon fell on him like a screeching bird dropping from the sky. Sanchenna fell forwards into the muck, his face grazing the rough stone. He struggled desperately, managed to turn around and tried to kick Zephon off, but his master pinned him down, his arms forced down to the floor by Zephon's vice-like talons. He looked up into his blood-crazed eyes, and pulled his head down to protect his throat.
"Zephon, no! It's me!" His master's lips split into an obscene grin, his exposed fangs dripping blood onto Sanchenna's face. "I'm not Sonny!"
His plea turned into an inarticulate scream as Zephon snapped his head down and sliced his fangs through the skin on Sanchenna's face.
Yuriah looked on as his sire mauled the last of the Razelim to death, a mildly disgusted sneer on his face.
Review Replies:
Smoke: I know Turel has often been accused of having sea-green as his colour, but on my screen he is quite definately dark, forest green. Zephon wears a cape of torquis, or sea-green, and that's the colour I've gone with. So there.
Basically, the intimation is that everyone's been sent 'home' as it were, and that all the Razelim are in one place. It's kind of a trick, to make it neat, you know? But, yeah, whoever would be left would die soon enough, I think.
Semdai: thank you. bows I tend to go for Razelim, but as far as I know, there's no official spelling.
Schuldig: I don't blame you for missing Sonny's rewritten ending. There's a little more of Zephon in this and the next chapter, so enjoy. (He is not a nice man.)
Ardeth Sivereni: I like what you said about Kain. Yes, he is really really offering them the chance to take revenge, but they won't hear of it.
"Your lifespan is a flicker compared to the mass of doubt and regret that I have born since Mortanius first turned me from the light."
Don't you just love that messed up little paradox of conflicting loyalties, vengeance and innocence dying? Yah!
Pinky: you were expecting something else from Kain, perhaps?
Varyssa: Don't worry, it's not quite over yet. I'm still writing Hengest and Horsa, and there's a tiny little more to come before I can say goodbye to LOK fanfiction with a clear heart. And even then, I might come back to this, it's pretty captivating stuff, you know?
And now, without further ado, the end of 'An Upstart Inheritance'. And the end of the Razelim, but that's should be no surprise by now.
...
AN UPSTART INHERITANCE, XII: SLAUGHTER
Sanchenna's breath caught in his throat when he saw his former captain impaled on the Soul Reaver. He had always held Marius in the deepest respect. He was one of Raziel's best, over 900 years old, and he had always seemed indestructible to his young followers. But then, had Raziel not seemed to be beyond death, too?
"Fight!" Harald bellowed, and then died. Sanchenna watched, frozen, as the entire Razelim clan fell on Kain like a flock of carrion-birds descending on a fresh corpse. They might as well have been flies.
Kain could not be touched, his Soul Reaver claimed the life of every man it crossed, and Kain was so powerful he slashed right through the defences of even their strongest warriors. Dumah and Turel flanked him, keeping their Lord from being swarmed. They fought without mercy; Dumah used his thin-bladed polearm to take off the heads of the Razelim soldiers before he was even within their reach. Turel had not bothered to bring a weapon, but his claws rent through flesh with ease, and he ripped his opponents apart with an animalistic eagerness. Sanchenna felt as if his skin was on fire. He knew the men they were tearing apart. They used to be his brothers.
His new companions, dressed in white and sea-green, rushed past him into the fray, roaring their bloodlust. The courtyard was packed so tightly there was barely any room to fight. The Razelim were forced back, away from the gate, their attackers stumbling over the slain, led by their incensed leader, Zephon.
A group of Razelim tried to fight their way to the gate, to escape. Cowin led them, in so far as any could lead in this chaos. His efforts were wasted, the gate was held by the Rahabim, who were more than happy to hack their way into Razelim flesh. They didn't stand a chance. Sanchenna stood motionless in the centre of the courtyard, surrounded by the fallen, his pristine armour gleaming in the torchlight. He could not even bring himself to draw his sword -- he didn't know who to fight.
Suddenly, one of Raziel's men emerged from the crowd and rushed at him. He had been wounded, his face was covered in blood. Sanchenna put an arm up in defence, but the man stopped dead in his tracks.
"Sonny?"
Sonny recognised him only by his strawy hair. God, he thought, little Nort. Nort had been his brother, one of Marius' men. He was older than Sonny, but not as brave and Sonny had often looked out for him in the field. Sonny had.
Warm, dark blood splashed in his face and suddenly he was staring into the narrowed eyes of Yuriah, Zephon's son, whose sword had just cut clean through Nort's neck. For a moment, Sanchenna thought he was going to die, but Yuriah merely grinned widely at him.
"Sweet." He turned back to the fray, and Sanchenna found himself stumbling a step back. Nort's life blood was running down his face, soiling his white breastplate. He was biting his lip, one fang digging into the delicate skin. He tasted his own blood, and it slowly filtered through to him that that was what Yuriah had meant. Sweet. This genocide was "sweet" to him, a pleasant diversion -- a feast.
The number of fighting Razelim was decreasing rapidly. Over the general roar and clank of battle the unholy shrieks of the Soul Reaver almost blended together, as Lord Kain cut a swath through the remaining, fleeing warriors. Sanchenna stared up at the dais. The courtyard, meant as a defensive feature, had become their deathtrap. There were only two mansized doors out deeper into the castle, and there were too many of them to get away. They were doomed.
Sanchenna found himself gasping for breath, and he realised he was crying.
"Fight!" she heard Harald shout, and again, that horrible, unearthly shriek. Adoile was jostled and almost trampled underfoot as the army rushed forward, at Kain. Kain, their Lord and Master, their God. She wrestled through the crowd in the opposite direction; away. Away from this nightmare, this orgy of blood and stolen souls. She was one of the first to escape the courtyard.
She ran through the keep, along with a few others who lacked the ability or the intention to follow Harald's last order. They rushed to the great hall on the west side. There was a staircase there, and up those stairs there were large, gothic windows looking out at the cemetery in the west. Who knew, perhaps they could stay hidden in those mausolea, escape their doom a little longer, perhaps even outlast Kain's rage. She ran up the stairs, but stopped at the balustrade. In the dark, not far beyond the walls of the castle, was a line of vampire warriors, at least two deep, their spears and gleaming armour lit by the torches they carried. A strange, deep noise rang out from their shadowy ranks, and it took her a short time to realise they were singing. The tune was slow and heavy, and she could not make out the words from that many mouths. It sounded like a dirge.
Someone was shouting, one of her clansmen. Damon tried to pull them together, to make some attempt at an organised attack. She turned and ran, there was nothing she could do. Nothing that could be done. She ran through the dark and empty corridors of the upper floor, to his rooms.
She locked the door behind her and looked around. There was nothing here to reflect the horrors that were taking place outside. Papers lay stacked on the writing-desk, the blood-cabinet stood still and unbreached in the corner, Raziel's portrait looked out at a room that was empty and peaceful but for her, a proud smile on its face.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered to it. "I'm sorry." She took a few paces into the room, then sank to her knees on the lush red carped she had swept and brushed so often in happier times. Everything was ending now. All would have to die -- every last trace of his existence wiped from the world.
She closed her hand around his signet ring, and wondered how long she'd have to wait.
Rahab made his way through the castle by ear. Running feet, whispered curses, desperately beating hearts. The ones that had escaped the general doom so far, by chance or by craft, he found them guided by his senses and his instinct, and he ran them through. Some begged, some tried to run, some tried to fight. He did not care, he found them and he killed them as he had been ordered.
"Get them!"
It was but a small number that had escaped the courtyard, but Kain clearly wanted none to survive. Sometime early on in the battle, if that was what it was, Rahab's thoughts had stopped. His mind was a curious blank as he reached out with his mind to slide away the bar on the steel doors to the crypt and kicked them open. Not the whisper of a thought as they attacked, their bravery born out of despair, and he cut them down. He knelt over their bleeding bodies to dig out the hearts of the ones that yet had their heads. Their flesh was tough, blood stained his hands up to the elbow, but he did it without thought and turned back up the dark steps when it was done.
The keep was quiet, like his mind, the noise from the courtyard did not penetrate. Or perhaps it was already over. A small group of Zephonim stood aside for him in the bloodstained corridor. They grinned widely, greedily. Rahab's mental composure wavered only slightly.
He made his way up the curious flight of stairs that snaked around the central tower and crossed the walkway into the most lavishly decorated part of Raziel's castle. There were more of them, here. He knew without knowing how.
He halted at the door to his brother's private chambers. In there, he sensed. He knew the rooms that lay beyond this door well; how often had he not been there, drinking, arguing, playing chess. Raziel had been his match at chess...
He forced these thoughts back and shouldered open the door. There was only a girl, kneeling in the middle of the floor. She turned round, startled, her luscious curls dancing around her fine face. Raziel's own, he knew. His brother had raised her because of her pretty face, he had admitted to that at last, laughing at Rahab's taunts. Rahab looked at her. He hesitated.
"Oh. It's you..." she said, sounding almost relieved. Rahab glanced around. These rooms looked very much the way they did when he last saw them. What was it they had argued over then? The girl was holding something out to him. He took it, his gored claws brushing the palm of her hand.
Raziel's signet ring. He studied its face, an insuppressible chill now running through his body. It was a masterpiece of steelworking, Raziel's namesign rendered perfectly to the last, razorsharp detail. Tears were in his eyes when he closed his hand around it and looked up at the girl, who had shut her eyes and bared her chest for him.
He swallowed. She had the face of an angel, a face her sire had fallen for, and would he be the one to destroy it? He remembered Raziel's cry as he sailed down on those useless, broken wings, and he wished nothing more than to turn away, to leave this nightmare, to seclude himself in the darkest place he could find and never to come out again.
She opened her eyes and growled. "Do it!"
And he did.
Just as Rahab plunged his blood-slicked steel into Adoile's breast, Zephon turned to Sanchenna, and smiled. Sanchenna was still standing, alone, in the centre of the courtyard. Zephon and his men had been scouring the floor looking for the last survivors, ripping off their heads and drinking deeply from the fountains of blood. Sanchenna had watched, helpless, feeling sick to his stomach. Behind him, from the circle of Dumahim beyond the gate a victory cry rang out. For Kain! Zephon closed his jaws around Jens's throat and plunged his claws into his chest. Jens died, his blood painting the clan-leader's lips and Zephon turned around, still half-crouched, and flashed a blood-besmirched smile at Sanchenna.
Sanchenna felt his heart speed up. There was nothing left of the fatherly appreciation in Zephon's eyes, only madness lived there now. He took a careful step back, as Zephon raised himself and came at him in a half-crouching run.
"Sonny..." he sang, and crawled over the fallen, headless bodies.
Sanchenna shook his head.
"You're the last, Sonny..."
"No..." Sanchenna croaked through a stifled throat. I'm Sanchenna, he wanted to say, your servant! but all he managed was a high-pitched groan. And when Zephon cleared the last hurdle towards him, bounding over the brittle, black-veined corpse of Rusanna, he turned and ran.
He made towards Yuriah, who was standing by the gate, surrounded by his company. They stared at him impassively. Sanchenna slipped on the nightmarish tapestry of gore covering the flagstones and Zephon fell on him like a screeching bird dropping from the sky. Sanchenna fell forwards into the muck, his face grazing the rough stone. He struggled desperately, managed to turn around and tried to kick Zephon off, but his master pinned him down, his arms forced down to the floor by Zephon's vice-like talons. He looked up into his blood-crazed eyes, and pulled his head down to protect his throat.
"Zephon, no! It's me!" His master's lips split into an obscene grin, his exposed fangs dripping blood onto Sanchenna's face. "I'm not Sonny!"
His plea turned into an inarticulate scream as Zephon snapped his head down and sliced his fangs through the skin on Sanchenna's face.
Yuriah looked on as his sire mauled the last of the Razelim to death, a mildly disgusted sneer on his face.