Chapter Nine: Endings
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Raziel felt in many ways, betrayed, not through the various actions of his sire, but the harsh realities of fate. Each of his brethren, calmly knelt before the hand of death, unaware of the cool wrath, that the wraith wished to personally deliver. All that remained was a grim finale, to be orchestrated against that vile fiend he loathed the most, himself.
Raziel took a gander down, towards Turels remains and decided in this state, the Sarafans personality was most likable. In life, the incurable womanizer was a self righteous pain in the lower back region. Well, that was the conclusion Raziel drew from the vampire version of this deviant.
There was a small scuffling noise behind Raziel, as he heard a voice oh so familiar.
Sarafan Raziel: Oh, Turel, Turel, Turel. If only you had stayed away from the women folk, like a good little soldier. Lord Moebius always said, nothing wonderful ever came from fraternizing with the enemies wives.
The warrior continued through a door to the corpses right, completely ignoring his wraith form. Raziel stood for a moment bewildered, wondering why the fiend failed to take up arms against his person. With a quick bolt Raziel headed to a nearby chamber housing the fiend.
Raziel: Foul monster, hasten your retreat and prepare for your gruesome demise.
Sarafan Raziel: Listen dear, your dilemma finished with the spirited execution of my 'brother'. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a relic to guard.
The wraith was clearly bewildered, watching the Sarafan casually file his nails, whilst checking out his physique in a nearby pool of water. Raziel couldn't help but wonder the tactical advantage behind such a move, as he'd done the exact same thing at Janos's aerie.
Raziel: I have come to help enlist your end.
Sarafan Raziel: For crying out loud, I'm not Turel, he's embracing the good night slumber as we speak.
Raziel: What in the seven hells do I appear to be?
Sarafan Raziel: Your the creature from that demonic feathered carcasses retreat, the strange woman fixated on my second in command. One of many, after the former Turel.
Raziel: Woman? I'll have you know, in this slightly degenerated state, missing several gender specific organs, I still emanate superior masculine traits than a certain remaining Sarafan.
With this statement Raziel whipped out the reaver in all it's glory and thrust it into the unsuspecting warriors chest. In a whole hearted attempt to demonstrate his point.
Raziel: In fact, I renounce you!
With that, the wraith breathed a sigh of relief, his former selfs body slumped to the ground and twitched for a moment. The humans last act was a feigned attempt to crawl to another nearby pool of water to ensure his hair was in perfect order, for when the others came to collect the body. Damned would he be if Turel appeared handsomer than he in death.
The reaver then turned ready to devour the tiresome wraith. As the sword plunged itself into the walking corpses chest, Raziel wondered if somebody would be so inclined to turn up to ensure he wasn't absorbed. Sadly this certain someone was still off on a quest to find his three sided coin. After Raziel uttered a few choice words, he was engulfed by the sword.
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In some minute way, Kain was satisfied. This warm fuzzy feeling derived its meaning from the historical certainties that were about to unfold. The vampire lord may of just wrenched himself out of a certain inert son, whom was suffering from a slight case of death, however this failed to stop his abundant feeling of joy. His 'father' was about to face the ever effective pointy end of the infamous Soul Reaver. There was no way the bastard could even escape this fate. In the past, Kain tolerated the Necromancer, the fellow was an aid and even a mentor back in the old human circle ridden days of Nosgoth. Yet, there were certain concepts that hastened the rulers rage and the petty theft of a three sided artifact fell on the grudge bearing list.
Despite his prey being the trustworthy blue endowed variety of supreme cuteness, the vampire was not known to relent in the face of public opinion. The Ancient would suffer the full extent of his egomanical fury and quickly hand over that beloved trinket. After all, this was a man who quite happily threw his first born into a fiery pit of unspeakable agony as a diplomatic solution. Ah, yes, that prancing fairy shall soon realize that trusting pupil-less men in bingo matches, to be honest, was not the most brain cell injected idea.
Kain easily immersed himself within the fiery demon dimension. Thankfully Hash was now being dismantled by his younger self and therefore not around to annoy the agitated warlord. He wondered why the demon even bothered following this decadent oroborus cycle, then again Hashy didn't sport the brightest green pair of glowing eye balls. Which in retrospect explained the oh so special nature of that ridiculous flaming hairdo.
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Steve was considered by most accounts, a friendly Hylden. He regarded himself as a man of the people, refusing to possess the dead, as this was considered quite distasteful and god forbid, rude. Instead the living were proffered, for instance, how could this be considered ill mannered, if said living, was stupid enough to invite them in? Plus free will was an illusion, therefore this act was destined to transpire. Under his theory, Steve was really a gentleman. Certain standards had to be maintained, children and old folk were never used as vessels. There was tyranny and tacky useless misdirection. Unfortunately the creatures only crime was being on duty when Kain, prince of darkness, arrived.
Steve: Come to face your demise, vam-urk!
Kain was an equal opportunity disgruntler, rage felt for one, easily translated onto the mass of civilization. For instance, after Raziel's execution, it was decided that all clans were to wash their own garments. Rahab was on the verge of a very inappropriate emancipation. The ghastly task was often passed on to the fledglings. The general thinking behind this fell as such, if they can survive the acidic touch of water dripping upon their cuticles twice a week, hoards of human resisters should be a walk in a vampire hunter infested swamp.
Kain: Where is, JANOS AUDRON?
Though outwardly vile, Kain's tone dripped of the sickly sweet variety. One often used such a tone on the meek of mind or naughty children.
Steve: Oh Janos, well, he he, um...
Kain: Quickly, Hylden.
Steve: Over there...
The Hylden pointed with one electrically engulfed claw, towards the left hand side of the large pit. The amazing ability for a seven foot demon to give in to a smaller individual, can often be attributed to the positioning of one soul devouring sword.
Janos remained seated in the corner talking to a strange uninhibited statue. Which managed to sport a stony expression capturing Kain's exact feelings towards the situation.
Janos: It's not that I really approve or disapprove, it's just, I don't see the point. Those buxom beauties run about the place, honestly its unnerving. I raised the lad with a sense of civic duty, to uphold the ancient traditions. The poor male fledglings remain outside, pruning trees and shivering their backsides off. I mean practicalities, I'm surprised there's enough room to store those female interlopers, after all there are only three bedrooms in the entire place! Now I say Vora-...
Kain: Ahem.
Janos: Kain! When did you return? I've just been sharing with Raziel here, my views on the moral decadence of society.
Kain staired at the statue, realizing there was a certain degree of resemblance to the wraith. Provided the fellow gained several pounds, a jaw and received some major gender reassignment surgery. Then again in his current state, who would be any the wiser?
Kain: I understand that recently, you have acquired something of mine, a small trinket if you will.
Janos staired at Kain for a moment, digesting this statement, wondering what could possibly be so important. After all, the vampire lord had felt a sudden inclination, regarding the placement of his hand in conjunction with Janos's throat. Was this thing so important, that this man would take to such physical force?
Janos: (Still chirpy as ever, though slightly strained) Kain, to what do you refer?
Kain: It's three sided during paradoxes, has King Ottomar's royal seal and can time travel.
Janos: What?
Kain: The coin, MY coin. A certain trinket, you won in an uninspired game of bingo.
For the life of him Kain could barely imagine the Ancient playing such a ridiculous game. Then again there were many aspects that covered the creature in a veil of secrecy. One nagging thought had possessed the Scion of Balance for the better part of the year. How for all that was holy, did Janos place those robes around his wings? There was barely enough room for a hand let alone a gigantic feathered apparatus, to get through those minuscule openings. Yet somehow, beyond all known logic, the Ancients mastered the technique. Maybe the damned things were detachable? Whatever the case, Kain had more pressing matters to attend to.
Janos: Coin? Are you insane?
This came from a creature, who a mere moments ago was discussing the decay of moral decency, to a statuette resembling a rather large bosomed Harpy. Kain sighed in utter disbelief, this day had been truly taxing.
Kain: Though the centuries have laid waste to that thing you call a mind, I shall show a degree of restraint. This item is quite precious, if it's not returned in due haste, I may feel slightly inclined to...do something harsh.
Janos for a moment, felt into his robes and produced a small bag.
Janos: There were, certain items acquired during the match, however you may be slightly disappointed.
Kain quickly grabbed the pouch and poured its contents upon the pavement bellow. Coins of every seal, shape and disposition clanged together in a disharmonious heap. The warlord dropped to his knees and began to sift through the coinage. In midst of all this chaos, Janos turned and nodded towards the statue in a kind of meek understanding of this predicament.
Janos: Ah, Raziel, no wonder Nosgothian balance is an ill fated desire.
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It had taken the better part of the day, but Kain found his annoying farthing. That big blue fairy hardly helped at all, however the thing was once again, his. Now all that remained was to journey back to the Sarafan keep, some five hundred years ago.
By the time Kain returned to the nearest chronoplast chamber, he uttered a cry of dismay. In typical Sarafan tradition, a note lay nearby declaring the improbable. Those dreadful words that inspired despair in the strongest of creatures:
Out of order, sorry for the delay.
,housekeeping.
Clearly this was bitter trickery, otherwise how would his future self arrive at this moment? Then a bitter thought occurred to the vampire, of course, the man was after all, The Time Streamer. The bastard could make the damned thing work during any period. There was only one solution for this, Kain needed a fine tailer and directions to a recently departed old mans grave site. Looking back on it, maybe the killing blow would have been less counterproductive if it had been a quick stab in the gut. On the bright side, Vorador had proven that a souped up sewing kit was quite capable of preforming otherworldly miracles.
No matter, the coin had been returned, laying lovingly between the creatures cloven hands. This final gift, one delivered at such a high cost, filled the vampire with an unspeakable sense of that dreaded illusion, hope.
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