"Alive" is owned by Pearl Jam and its other owners. I make no profit from its use in this story.

"Hey! Stop fooling around. This isn't a playground!"

'Stupid kids. How did they get to come along on this trip?'

Gareth Magnusson scowled at the two laughing teenagers pitching stones at crows that had gathered to pick at the remains of a dead werewolf. A silversmith by trade, he was much out of his element here and wanted to be done with this trip as quickly as possible. A fair-complexioned, slim man of forty-two, and about 5'7" in height, he rarely spent much time out of doors, and today reminded him why.

A group of men from the village had braved the trip to what was left of the castle of Magnus Lee to scavenge for whatever loot they could find. Once word had come from the girl who hired the dhampire that the count was dead, the villagers breathed a collective sigh of relief even as they rejoiced. A noose had been lifted from their necks as hundreds of years of terror had come to an end. All the minions, lackeys, and even the count's daughter, Lamika, had died in the massive implosion, it was reported. The village was even planning a celebratory festival at the good news.

The men had gathered because the count was rumored to have kept a cache of rare jewels as well as a fortune in gold hidden in the castle. Gareth often thought it odd that one with such power needed to hoard wealth when he could take what he wanted, whenever he wanted. No matter. Now it would all find its way into the hands of he and his treasure hunting comrades, if fortune smiled upon them.

They had reached an agreement that whatever was found would be shared among them, and had split into three teams of four each.

Leaving the horses behind at the remains of the drawbridge, they then crossed the remains of the moat on foot, alongside mule teams pulling wagons ready for booty. The implosion had created a seventy-foot deep pit that the men had to rappel down into. The moat was still draining into the pit creating stretches of mud and muck that could only be traversed on foot.

Gareth looked up at the sun and squinted as he reached up to brush back his slightly thinning red hair with a gloved hand. It was approaching midday. The heat was going to make this even more difficult. They would have gotten here sooner, but the mechanical mules balked halfway to their destination, due to a bug in their team-coordination program, and they lost at least an hour.

The squawks of the mules could be heard over the rim as the mule team master sent down groups of tool sets tied in bundles. Pick axes, shovels, beacons, small charges including blasting caps, and firearms, just in case. Each man had a kerchief tied around his face in order to survive the stench of stale blood and decomposing bodies. Already, fat flies buzzed about in waves, working on the rotting carcasses when the crows had eaten their fill.

'What have I gotten myself into?' He sighed.

He made his way forward, the last one of his team, as they carefully approached the largest of the pits, driving stakes every twenty or so feet to hold the ropes down. The footholds were few, and it was slippery going. Bringing up the rear, one of Gareth's tasks was to remove the stakes used earliest and pass them forward to be recycled. The men moved slowly, methodically. The last thing they needed was a mudslide. Doran Kadecke, the leader of his team, stopped when he reached the edge of the pit and peered down into the depression. Water flowed from under the mud and cascaded down into the pit. This was where they would enter the remains of the castle.

Is something wrong, she said

Well of course there is

You're still alive, she said

Oh, and do I deserve to be

Is that the question

And if so...if so...who answers...who answers???

Initially, it was barely perceptible, like the sound a butterfly's wings make if one listens intently. Then it spread, slowly at first, then, once slipping past a threshold known only to the gods, it made quick, ragged moves until it infused her.

Lamika's consciousness had returned to her body. The spark awakened her mind, and she was sentient once more.

She inhaled sharply and as a result, coughed up dust and phlegm. She raised a hand to her mouth as a coughing fit seized her, sending spittle and blood to stain the back of her glove. She groggily opened her eyes and for a moment, tried to regulate her ragged breathing. Thin rays of light streamed down from an unknown source and created mottled patterns on the walls and floor. The light also illuminated the clouds of dust that hung suspended in the air.

Lamika tried to lift herself from her prone position before finding that the tail of her hair was caught under a pile of rubble just above her head. Twisting her body in an attempt to get to her hands and knees, she gasped aloud as a sharp pain shot through her left arm. She sensed that it was broken.

She was dizzy and her head throbbed from the effects of a concussion that she was not aware she had suffered. Using her good arm, she twisted in the opposite direction and steadied herself on her knees while thinking about how she would free herself. Pulling at her braid was not working; the end of it was caught tight under at least half a ton of rock. The fates were indeed cruel, mocking her. Had the stones fallen three feet closer, she would not be in this, or any predicament.

Trying as hard as she could to think through the throbbing in her head, an idea came to her. Gingerly holding her broken arm with her right forearm, she tentatively reached for her scabbard, thankful that it was still attached to her belt.

She would need to cut through her braid to free herself.

Grasping the knife, she moved to make the cut, but then hesitated just a moment. Her hair had always been a source of pride for her. She took great pains to keep it long and luxurious, as befitting the daughter of a powerful count. Now, it was the source of her imprisonment. Sighing her resignation, she weakly began to hack at it, finally succeeding in leaving an eight inch bolt of it under the stone, forever. Now, at least, she could stand.

Cradling her wounded arm on her thigh, Lamika shakily stood up and surveyed her surroundings. Cutting a strip from her cape, she created a sling for her injured arm, using her teeth to help make the knot. The coughing fit returned, as she could not escape the thick dust, and she reached for her kerchief, only to find it is gone. The stench was almost overwhelming. The minions serving her father had always remained within the lower levels of the castle, while her suite was located in the eastern tower, so she had little need or desire to deal with the disgusting wretches in the past. She covered her nose and mouth with her hand as she leaned back against a part of the wall that was still standing, desperately trying to reorient herself.

Through the haze of the pain in her head and arm, something comes to her. A voice.

"It's true, you are a dhampire, but like me, you can learn to live as a human..."

The voice was strong, a lot like her father's.

Her father.

Through the physical pain and misery, Lamika's body now quaked because of something else. She began to sob as the memories came flooding back. The memory of her father, a proud and strong man, albeit a foolish one. She had tried everything in her power to warn him against taking that girl.

That girl... what was..?

The effort to remember Doris' name bore no fruit. Lamika reached up with her good hand to wipe the tears and blood away from her face. Severe depression then seized her as she looked about the darkness. Only now had her attempt at suicide come back to her.

Why... why was she not dead?

"What curse is this? How has this happened?" She asked out loud.

Had she failed at that task as well? The memory of her father's mocking laughter as he berated her before she passed out from his spell returned to her as well. She had first failed to kill the dhampire. She failed to kill the girl. She squinted as she remembered that she too was a dhampire, according to her father.

Now, unable even to take her own life, she was less than useless. Tears again created muddy tracks through the dust and grime on her face. How in the seven hells had she fallen to such disgrace?

Suddenly, a series of sounds caught her attention. Someone or something was pounding away somewhere above her. The sharp sounds exacerbated the pain in her head, but she had to get away from where she was.

Whoever it was, she would find them, and then begin to put back the pieces of her life. The fates wanted her to live for a reason. She would discover that reason.

"I...am... Lamika Lee..." she gasped as she stumbled ever closer toward the sound.

I, oh, I'm still alive

Hey I, oh, I'm still alive

Hey I, but, I'm still alive

Yeah I, ooh, I'm still alive

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah!!!

To my reviewers:

Wolf-pup25: glad you like the story. I agree. Bloodlust is a great movie, but there is just something about the original VHD that I just can't put my finger on. Hopefully I'll work it out in this fic. Thanks.

Cynical Chaos: there are very few fics featuring Lamika, who I believe to be a tragic character, deserving of exposition. Thanks for following.

A/N: I likely won't insert another song as this fic continues. I was just cranking "Alive" out while I wrote this, and it seemed to fit. Anyway, thanks for reading.

Ja ne!