A/N: Hey, it's me again. You didn't think I abandoned this story, did you? No way. Not with reviews like the ones that I've received. They certainly were...colorful! Ehehe. Plus this story is just too fun to write. I'm still kind of nervous about this, though. It doesn't seem like it was that long ago that I was typing up 300 word stories that involved chat speak, gaping plot holes, and/or mistakes pertaining to certain facts. Hmm... But I think I've gotten better. I hope so, anyway!
PS: I think Kurda has blue eyes. Am I wrong? I don't think I am, but I couldn't find a mention of it in any of the books, so that makes me suspicious...hmm.
Disclaimer: See this? See the characters, the pretty vampires/vampanezes? Don't own 'em.
Kurda remained mute as he was dragged, none too lightly, onward. Previously, he would have done anything to be near the vampaneze - near anyone. In order to voice his complaints, to demand for more freedoms, or beg if necessary. Now that he was finally within their presence, however, he found he could think of nothing to say. The younger vampaneze started getting edgy by Kurda's silence after a short while.
"Sure he isn't planning to escape? He's awfully quiet." He demanded, speaking as though Kurda were not there, or was too stupid to understand him.
The elder one shook his head dismissively. "He's weak now; his food supply was cut off for a while. Besides, even if he managed to slip by us - " He snorted incredulously as he spoke. "- he wouldn't get very far. I suspect he's finally lost his voice. I daresay he had plenty to say beforehand." A dark smile crossed his amethyst face.
The younger one nodded, looking a bit more sure of himself. He gave Kurda's arm a rough shake. "Yeah. You hear that? You better not plan on doing anything stupid. It would be a waste of time - though it could be interesting... for us." He sneered.
"Stop taunting the vampire already, Tyros." The elder one said sternly. The younger one, Tyros, looked as though he would like to retaliate in some way. Clearly he wasn't used to being reprimanded in such a manner. But he never got the chance, as they finally reached their destination.
And it wasn't the Hall of Death at all. Kurda blinked owlishly when he found himself in the Hall of Perta Vin-Grahl. He gazed at the two roaring waterfalls uncomprehendingly, confusion dancing within his cerulean eyes. Did they intend to...drown him in the falls? That was the only logical thing he could think of. Because surely, surely they weren't seeking to bathe him. The idea was laughable.
A weak cry escaped Kurda's throat when his clothes were, literally, torn from his frame.
The faded rags had grown flimsy over time, and even someone who lacked the power of the creatures of the night would have mostlikely been able to rip them away, but it still caught Kurda by surprise.
"Wha -" He gasped, the first word - or, half word - that had passed his lips since the vampaneze appeared. Whatever Kurda had intended to exclaim was lost. Without warning, he was shoved beneath one of the icy falls.
Kurda didn't scream, though he longed to.
The sudden blast of water stunned him beyond vocalization...which was in a way, lucky; Kurda was atleast spared from accidentally inhaling a load of water during the excruciating process. He was in an ice-cold hell for nearly a full minute. And then rough hands seized him by the shoulders and, just as abruptly as they had shoved him in, tugged him clear of the onslaught of water. Kurda was only faintly aware that someone was toweling him dry.
Even though said person, Tyros, was muttering obscenities and cursing his name throughout the act - "Filthy git, don't know why we have to..." - he still felt strangely grateful.
The contact, though brief, was heavenly. In a time that might not have happened to begin with, for all the good it did him now, he remembered his mother used to do the exact same thing for him as a child. Towelled him dry after a nice, hot bath. "Don't even deserve..." he continued to mutter darkly. Given, she had been gentle and caring, whereas this man was being coarse and apathetic. But it was appreciated all the same.
And then it was over. The towel was tugged away the moment he was atleast half dry, though his long hair still trailed damp rivulets across his face.
The vampaneze tossed a deep blue garment at him. "Put that on. You'll need to look presentable for the Lord." He ordered gruffly. For...the Lord? Kurda wondered numbly. Tyros continued to glare at him coldly. "Unless you'd like to go starkers, of course? Heh. I've got no qualms with that. But it'll be your funeral." He grinned sadistically.
Kurda didn't hesitate after that. He pulled the robe on. The material was soft to the touch, almost like silk, and Kurda found himself inwardly marvelling at the feel of it.
Tyros looked him up and down, and grunted. "Better then what you looked like before, anyway. Let's just hope it's enough of a change for him, hmmm? Because if he's not pleased, then no one is, right?" He muttered angrily. He wasn't truly addressing to him, and so Kurda didn't feel obligated to respond.
"Come on! Don't stand around gawping all day - let's go. He's waiting!" Tyros said abruptly. Kurda refrained from pointing out that he wasn't the one that had been talking to himself.
He was dragged off again, away from the Hall of Perta Vin-Grahl with it's frigid sprays. The elder vampaneze was gone, Kurda noted. He must have slipped away during the time Kurda had been submerged in the waterfall.
"Oh hell, oh hell. If we're late... it's your arse and mine. We're both going down. HURRY UP!" Tyros barked, fire flaring within his crimson eyes. Kurda was astonished to see such abject terror in the vampaneze's eyes. What could inflict such fear in a man? He had spoken of a Lord, before...a Lord...at the time, Kurda was still too dazed to make any sense of it. But finally, it clicked.
Lord. The Lord. The Lord of the Vampaneze. Kurda's insides froze over instantly.
The Lord of the Vampaneze, the mythical tyrant that was said to be the harbinger of destruction for the vampire clan. No, not mythical. He was very real, he knew that by now. And, evidently, Kurda would be facing him in a few moments. Tyros, meanwhile, had gone berserk. During the entire time Kurda was frantically thinking, putting things together, he had been tugging frantically at Kurda's arm - and shouting. Kurda didn't move, nor did he seem to hear the vampaneze.
"You fool! Do you want to die? Are you trying to take me with you? Is that it? Is it, you - !" Finally, Tyros' patience - already so very short - snapped. He snatched Kurda up from the ground, as easily as though he were a small child, and threw him over his shoulder.
He fled, and was halfway down the corridor before Kurda was even able to choke out a disconcerted: "Eh?"
"Stupid - bloody - vampires. Stupid - bloody - vampires!" Tyros panted as he ran. Kurda barely heard him. He was too busy staring around. They were ascending through the tunnels. Kurda began to grow suspicious of their destination, and eventually his thoughts were confirmed. The glowing Hall of Princes loomed into view. Tyros dropped him instantly. Kurda landed on his feet, but lurched uncertainly to the side. The vampaneze caught his arm and steadied him.
"We're here. Well, what are you waiting for? Open the door. You are the Prince, aren't you? Yes? Then do it!" Tyros snarled. He sounded utterly mad now.
Kurda couldn't deny a demand like that. Nodding shakily, he placed his hand on the glowing pannels of the entrance. The warmth radiating from the dome seeped into his hand and crept gradually down his arm, until it felt as though it were coursing through his entire body. The doors slid open to admit them.
Tyros ushered him into the cavern. It looked the same as always. The only difference Kurda could see, and he didn't notice immediately, was that the four thrones, once occupied by Paris, Mika, Arrow, and Vancha, were gone. In their place was a single more throne, though it was more elaborate then the old wooden ones had ever been. It was made of what appeared to be silver, the interior of it covered with dark velvet.
And lounging in the grand throne was a man. Kurda took in his clothes first; trousers, smooth and jet black, a shirt the exact same shade. His hands were obscured by a pair of fine leather gloves. Almost everything about the man was dark; except for his hair, which was long, a few of the stark strands hanging carelessly over his face, and complexion which was also an untouchable ivory hue. Kurda couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight. He looked at completely at ease, lounging there in the throne, as though in his own element.
"You're late," He murmured. It was a simple enough statement, but there was a subtle force behind his words which caused the vampaneze at Kurda's side to flinch.
Tyros instantly threw himself into a ridiculously deep bow. "I know, my Lord. Please except this worthless creature's apologies...I was...held up." And at those words, he shot Kurda a cold glare. Kurda paid no mind to the vampaneze's glare, however. His attention was focused solely on the white-haired man. Kurda was struck by how normal he appeared. He was truly the Lord of the Vampaneze? Kurda had his doubts. But according to Tyros... he was.
The man abandoned his casual stance, now sitting up straight in his throne. He took to tapping his fingers idly against the arm rest of his throne, his gaze straying elsewhere as Tyros rambled. When the vampaneze was through, he leaned forward slightly, his expression entirely unreadable. "I didn't ask for your sorry apologies and petty lies, now did I? If I want them - I will say so," He said coolly. "Until then...keep it to yourself. Understood?"
He never once raised his voice, but his subject was quivering as though he were roaring. Tyros winced, standing properly by this point. "Yes." He said quietly.
"Good. Now get out of my sight." The man commanded pleasantly.
Tyros did not need to be told twice. He was gone in a second, leaving Kurda to whatever destiny had in store for him.
So this was it. He was finally going to be killed, after all this time. His imprisonment had just been a teaser, Kurda was certain. He sighed softly, attempting to mentally prepare himself for what was to come. He knew, though, that when this man... this monster, moved in for the kill he would resort to acting as the wreck he had become. Despite his efforts, he would beg for mercy - that was inevitable. It was easy to be fearful, but draining to try and put on a brave mask. Still, he would try.
"Whatever you intend to do, I can't stop it. I can try to withstand it, I'll do my damnedest at that atleast, but I'll probably fail. I just want you to know, before you kill me... while I'm still in my correct frame of mind; I. Don't. Care." Kurda said unflinchingly. Each word had been a struggle for him. But he had to fight that inner instinct to live, because that, by this point, was surely impossible. All he wished to do now was build atleast some sense of pride for himself, before he went down begging and crying shamelessly, as he knew he would.
Silence greeted his speech. Kurda finally glanced up, trying to read the Vampaneze Lord's expression, but it was impossible. It was as blank as ever.
And then, quite suddenly, the cavern was filled with laughter. Rich, mirthful laughter; laughter at Kurda's expense. Kurda felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach. He glared at the man in disbelief, his own face burning with shame. Was what he said that pathetic? He didn't think so. It was honest, yes, but it was necessary to say! So why was he being laughed at now?
The laughter ceased as abruptly as it started. "You know what's one thing I hate more then people grovelling to me?" He asked conversationally, his tone strangely friendly.
Kurda shook his head slowly. "No... what?" He asked quietly, unable to hide his bewilderment.
"People attempting to predict my intentions." And then the Vampaneze Lord vaulted out of his throne. Kurda, usually so alert, didn't even see him lunge forward. It simply appeared as though the man disappeared from the throne and reappeared directly before him. He gazed calmly at Kurda, a predatory smirk crossing his lips. "Would you like to know why?" He purred, his breath ghosting warmly across Kurda's cheek.
Kurda stared at him, captivated by his eyes. They were an impossible shade of onyx, and though he longed to run, Kurda found himself slipping farther into their pitch depths. "...Why?" He asked weakly, hardly aware of what he was saying.
"It never works." He replied simply. "There are things, so many other things, that are worse than death. The vampire race's flaw was just that. They believed death was the worst the world could throw at them. They were wrong. Kurda, this is one thing I can promise you now, atleast: You do not need to fear death when you are within my presence. Not yet."
Despite the promise, Kurda felt far from assured. If anything, he felt even more on edge, unnerved by those cutting words.
The Vampaneze Lord's expression brightened suddenly. "So! Are you hungry? I bet you are. You haven't eaten in days, after all. Come with me. I'll set you up with some food." He snickered, catching Kurda's hand and lacing his fingers with Kurda's own. He led a numb, confused Kurda Smahlt across the Hall of Princes.
He was so confusing. One moment, he might seem intense and forboding.The next, he was startlingly docile. Kurda couldn't figure him out at all.
Though he did know one thing. He would have to tread carefully around this man.
A/N: Hah! Chapter 2. Hope you liked it. Kurda's calmed down a little bit, though I can tell you now... Cuckoo!Kurda isn't out of the picture yet. He'll show up in later chapters again, trust me. Also, I'm sorry if Steve seems a bit tame. But I've got things planned... I won't tell you what. But if you're anticipating dark themes and a distressed Kurda, I don't think you'll be disappointed at all. If you're looking for 'I love you, Steve!', 'Oh, I love you too Kurda, so much!' I think you might be a little bit disappointed. Hmm. grins Enough of my ranting. I suppose you'll just have to read on to see if my style fits your