Author's Notes: Okay... Kain time. Thank you for reviewing. And...yeah, 'that ugly squid guy' isn't dead yet. Just parts of him. It's weird to write... knowing that Kain will have to lay siege to more of the Squid Man's little dens. But here is Kain, doing his civic duties.

--Kain--

I counted myself extraordinarily lucky that when it rained, I was not caught in it at my life's expense. It didn't even so much as sting except when it tried to get into my eyes. I pilfered a cloak from a wagon and left a gold coin in its stead and drew it around my shoulders anyway, because there was a town to visit and I needed to hear some news.

The path quickly became entrenched with thick, clumpy mud. My boots got stuck more than once but I at least reached the cobbled, rain-slicked stones of Agden. The Silver Knight, the tavern where I'd visited often to gather news from other places across Nosgoth. In the gathering gloom, I recalled a moment in my life where I'd once been in a tavern, drinking away my sorrows... it was so long ago I hardly could stand remembering it at all. It wasn't important.

I slipped into a darkened corner next to a group of hardened mountain men who stank of booze and blood and sweet sweat and leather. Their heartbeats, and that of the bartender, were sub-level. I had fed earlier; I needn't risk discovery now.

"That wolf was big," a big man, cloaked in wolverine skin, mumbled. "I'm sure it was almost half the size of Orion's bear he killed last year. I finally have his pelt mounted on my wall! Kryton's sheep are safe now."

A man I'd seen often in the past three years in this tavern, named Tarn, spoke up. "Kryton's always been hollerin' about wolves on his sheep. Will tha' listen to naught one word more of it! Cry 'wolf' one more time.."

I tuned him out. Their conversation did not turn from hunting and their dogs for some time, until someone spoke up from the bar, who wasn't even apart of their group. He had a shock of graying hair, peppered with black, his face craggy with travel. "There was an earthquake by the Lake, didja know?"

I perked my ears slightly. Near the front of the Inn, a figure in a deep burgundy cloak side-stepped out of the rain, into the torch-lit gloom. I didn't notice, intent upon hearing this news in full. Usually it was these drunken reports that gave me some clues to the whereabouts of trouble. Policing this realm was not easy on my own, but thankfully some teleportation portals survived the Elder God's wrath.

"Knocked the friar's fence down and scattered his ugly goats all over the hillside. Then his garden went bad, and his best goat fell ill and died. It was awful!"

I arched a brow. Weaving tapestries is something these men do best, and although they were amusing, I was not so thick-headed as to believe everything they said. Everyone nodded to the news of the earthquake. They might have felt it... was it caused by the Elder God, I wondered?

Suddenly a voice at my ear. I tensed, the Reaver Blade hidden in the folds of the cloak I'd borrowed. "Pay no attention to Tarn."

I turned my eyes carefully. There, the individual in the burgundy cloak, sat a woman, her slightly crinkly hair falling around her face from inside the satin-lined hood, her pale face strangely dark in another way, surreal as if it did not belong to the face of a mortal, but a real vampire. She smiled slightly, her rouge lips curving upward. "He likes to tell stories. But I can tell you something, stranger; there's never been someone quite like you in the Silver Knight before."

I immediately closed my mouth, hiding my prominent fangs, unwillingly the victim of this woman's alien beauty. "Who are you?" I managed to ask plainly.

"I might ask you the same, creature," she smiled. "Are you a man, or aren't you? You're supposed to introduce yourself first."

Heat grilled in my undead cheeks. If I could have blushed, I would have. Instead, I bristled. "You shouldn't talk to me," I whispered, reaching out to touch her hand. If I couldn't frighten her off, I'd be in trouble. She was a woman - she'd let out the cry of vampire to the entire pub, and these hunters would be on me like a bloodstain.

She looked down at my hand. Her eyes widened; so did her smile. "I was right," she whispered softly, and took my hand. Her fingers were warm from her body trying to fight the cold rain. She looked back up into my face, and saw that I was horrified. "Don't worry. Please, I won't tell anyone. Come outside with me."

That moment, she stood again and nodded to the bartender before leaving. Shortly after, I stepped out as well, keeping the hood safe around my ghastly features. She was there under the eaves to avoid getting wet. "Now tell me who you are," she said quietly, her hood drawn back, and her mane of bright red hair falling around her face.

"I am Kain," I answered slowly, arching a brow at her. My eyes, burning from their sockets with that peculiar yellow fire, probably made her look at me more closely to see it in this light. I was taken aback by her stark beauty. Her lips were even a darker red than I had thought, her oval-shaped eyes almost exotic, outlined in black liner. Her face was very easy to look at. In fact, it was difficult not to.

"Morgana," she replied. "I'm a gypsy... a witch, if you will. I sensed you before I could walk into the door." Unexpectedly, this did not surprise me. Anyone with one whit of psychic ability could have sensed me a mile away. She continued softly, her eyes casting about warily. "You are the Lord Kain, yes? You are vempari." She used the word of those people at the Vampire Citadel. I smiled, nodding slowly.

She bowed her head, whispering something then peered up at me again, laughing with joy. "You are! My goodness, I've been waiting for months to catch a glimpse of you!"

"All you wanted was a glimpse? Of the great Kain? Get away from me!" My smile disintigrated into a snarl of contempt. I shoved her back, but all she did was catch the wall and laugh with a woman's joy. I struggled to ignore it, turning away as I drew the darkness around my face with hood and shadows. "I have more pressing matters, woman. Go back to your husband. If you approach me again, I'll kill you."

Out into the rain I went. The night was drawing close, the sunlight's rays barely squeezing through the cracks in the clouds made by storm and fog. To my utter disbelief, I heard her squelching footsteps behind me as she followed, warily, at a distance. I needed to visit the lord of Agden, to remind him of his loyalty to me and what he owed me for my protection. But I couldn't go visit him with this infernal woman tagging along. Whatever she wanted, her priorities were about as convoluted as time itself in Nosgoth.

Gradually, her footsteps receded and I was free to invade Lord Sparda's mansion. All it was, really, was a squatty-looking building amidst the mud, three stories tall, made of brick and stone. A great wall surrounded it to keep out monsters and thieves. But not I. There was a gate for the garden around the back of the massive structure, not nearly as large as my fortress, but for a sich, pompous doddering idiot, it was just fine. In a cloud of mist, I slipped through the metal gate and into the rain-drenched backyard of Lord Sparda.

Doffing the cloak in the rose bushes, I walked down a stone path; round marble steps winding between the puddles. The rain dripped down my arms, legs, making me proposterously uncomfortable. Every time I moved, my clothing made a horrid squeaking like leather being rubbed together.

The door in the back was not guarded. Why would it be? The gate was still locked. Lord Sparda obviously hadn't learned his lesson about vampires. I opened the door and realized I was dripping wet - no matter. The rouge carpet would suffer a bit of a drenching during these visits, but not every house could remain perfect forever. On the walls were portriats of Sparda and his family. One portrait of himself was in the large common room which was the largest room in the house, with a voluminous kitchen setting to one side. A kitchen right in the midst of things was not a traditional means to build a house, but then again, Sparda was a little crazy.

By the hearth, one of his wolfhounds was asleep by the fire. It did not stir as I stepped lightly past, the squeaking having by now stopped. I examined the portrait with a sneer. Sparda was fat, ugly, with dark bags under both of his eyes from drinking and staying awake all of the time. He fashioned himself a ladies' man, but he was a disgusting breed of human that I couldn't fathom even if I was trying to keep the humans fearing vampires.

Thankfully, his eldest son, Dell, was nearly of age when he would take over lordship of Agden and the surrounding environs. The young man was a great shot more handsome and responsible than his father. He looked absolutely nothing like him. It was probably due to infidelity on the wife's part. Dell's acute gaze and willingness to learn was admirable - I was longing for the day when he would take over. He was not as impressionable and suspicious as his so-called father, which granted an easier time of discussing matters involving protection and payment.

A voice cried softly behind me. While I'd been busy examining the portraits in the room, Dell himself had come. At the sound of his master's voice, the wolfhound lifted his head, then rose to his feet, running past me and jumping up against his master's shoulders, tail wagging with such power I was afraid he'd knock down one of the candles on the end table.

"Y-Your Majesty," Dell said, his dark brown hair combed back from a clear pale forehead. He wore a robe around himself, having readied himself for sleep. The surprise faded from his features and he hushed the wolfhound, who padded around the room, sniffing things. The dogs were so used to my prowling they hardly noticed me anymore. "I was merely coming in to turn out the lights."

I smiled, and lifted a hand. He watched it quietly, as if he were watching a beetle devour its prey. "Let me help." A sleight of hand - a wind, strong enough to blow out candles, flew about the room, and doused the room into darkness. I walked toward Dell, chuckling. "Good boy. Now, tell me - where is your father?"

"The old monster is upstairs, drinking again. I don't think he'll be pleased to see you. He thinks each time you come will be his last moment on earth. Do you want me to come with you? I know how he can get..." Dell hesitated. Hardly was he so pleasant with me, but perhaps somehow tonight was different. Then I felt it - a moment of silence, a certain aroma. It smelled like death.

I thought about it, before giving a sniff nod of assent. Dell returned the nod and left, calling the dog and pulling him by his collar to take him outside. Such a mundane task I watched with a certain surrealistic clarity until Dell shut the door and he walked quickly toward the stair in the hall. He ascended, also quickly, casting wary glances over his shoulder at me. Perhaps he thought he wanted to outrun me, or he was going too slowly. Flashes of lightning filled the darkness, blinding every few seconds. Finally Dell arrived at the door I was familiar with - a gilded doorknob, even its own knocker. It was absurdly ornate for a mere village lord.

"In here," Dell said. He knocked. "Father... Father, it is Kain."

I listened. There was a racking, terrible coughing. Then a voice cried, "No! I will not see this demon again! Send him away!"

The young man hesitated, glancing at me, agitation etched on his clear features. I smirked, and motioned him aside. I spoke loudly and clearly. "Let me in, Sparda. The wolf is hungry." Cruel of me, but it was humorous to get such a reaction out of him. His scream only proved as much, until he started coughing violently... and did not stop. Dell pushed past me to open the door and flew into the room to the bedside.

The room was in such a state of disarray, I felt I'd stepped into another dimension. Sparda lay on the bed underneath blankets, nurses in white all around him like ghosts while Dell looked at his father, neither touching him nor worrying for him. Sparda was turned into the pillow, wheezing and shuddering.

All joking forgotten, I drew close. Sparda saw me and nearly went into fits again until one of the nurses had stilled his struggling. He sputtered, his face sallow and pale and apparently bloodless. "Get away," he hissed. "Vampire! I told you not to come here anymore!"

"I never was a good boy," I said, staring down at him. "I came to discuss things with you... but sad to find that you are not in good health."

"I told him to stop drinking," said a woman I hadn't noticed. She was Sparda's wife, an old, scrawny woman that had the look of one who had borne too many children or hadn't eaten enough in years. Her voice quavered and sunk and rose in different tones, her head shaking slowly back and forth. "I told him to stop drinking. Master Vampire, will you help him?"

Help him? What exactly did they expect me to do? The man was a disgusting pig, a drunk, and justly deserved the death he had earned for himself. I turned away from the woman and stared down at Sparda, who seemed to lack the strength to move his round body away any farther. Dell was silent, his eyes shadowed. The man seemed absolutely unable to care about what happened to this man who called himself his father.

"Sparda," I said at last. The man's eyes flickered to my face, and his breathing was labored even more. "Dell, your child, will take your place of the household. Do I speak truly?"

"Truly," he wheezed, although his eyes narrowed. "Although the bastard is no son of mine."

"Spare me," I snapped. I drew the Reaver. I began to smile. Thirst tugged at my body, but it was turned away the longer I stared at this creature. The nurses gasped. I looked at each one of them, the six women's eyes filled with fear and awe. "Leave," I growled at them, and they clucked and squealed as they fled in terror.

Finally Dell spoke, calmly and without emotion. "What are you going to do?"

The Soul Reaver hummed. The blade became warm at my touch, the sword's edges gleaming as waves of blue energy undulated imperceptibly beneath its surface. Rouse yourself, I thought hungrily, caught up in its growing fervor. Awaken...and feed.

"Get away from me," Sparda repeated once more, drawing his sheets up around his pudgy neck. I sneered, drawing closer. "G-Get away, damn you!"

"Yes... Damned. You are dying, fool. Your hatred and worries have made you witless, and you are wasting away before my eyes. If you could see what I see, Sparda, you would do the same as I."

"Wha--" "Quiet, mother!" Dell said sharply, backing away from the bed to hold onto her boney shoulders. "Be still."

"No!" she shouted as she struggled. "Oh, gods, no!"

I raised the Reaver and struck a blow, a clean blow, cutting off his head and his hands which had risen to shield his face. The Soul Reaver shrieked, unfettered joy in the feeding. I drew blood from the corpse to me, drinking it from the air, the body trembling as I willed it into my mouth and devoured it. Then when it was over, Dell was restrainig his weeping, terrified mother from leaping at me and clawing at me with her desperate fingers. Finally, Dell led her away, and pushed her out the door, shutting it, turning to me.

He smiled. "You did us all a favor at the mansion here, vampire. As my father before me, I will be in your service... was there anything you'd like to discuss?"

"Certainly," I replied, a pleasant smile on my face. "But let's find a suitable place to sit down, shall we?"