Number sixteen: Paradise.
Pairing: None.
Disclaimer: See chapter one.
...
Kurda was seething with anger, only barely able to restrain his emotions.
He accepted the fact that they had to kill him – he had betrayed the clan after all – but for them to cut up his body afterwards, rendering unable to get to Paradise. That was too far, too unfair.
All in all, he had lived a very good life: never killing unless absolutely necessary, never fighting, striving for peace between the two clans... He had hoped all of this would be taken into account, but the Princes had overlooked all of it. Dismissed it all with a wave of the hand.
Yes, he was a traitor, but he was only one for the good of everybody else – they just couldn't see it. He risked it all so the two clans could live in peace, could live with no more fighting or wars, with no more hatred. This, he thought, warranted a place in Paradise. At the very end he had sinned, yes, but throughout the rest of his life he had been good – better than good. Almost a saint among the unholy creatures of the night.
Nobody saw it that way.
They all believed he deserved to suffer, all believed he should be punished, that the only thing he had to look forward to after death was an eternity of endless roaming through the tunnels of his place of betrayal. So he never forgot, so he would know that nobody would ever forgive him, that they'd always hate him.
Some wanted a harsher punishment – the Lake of Souls. To float in near pitch dark for all of time. Kurda smirked slightly as he was pushed roughly into the Hall of Death, the anger fading from him slowly. Some thought he was evil, but he wasn't even close to it. Only the true evil ended up in the Lake of Souls. And he would avoid it.
Kurda's eyes took in the sight of an angry Vampire clan and he suddenly realised he was being strapped into the cage that would soon be dropped onto the stakes in the pit below. He glanced down, saw the sharp, glittering points of the many stakes, and grinned, the last of the anger washing away, being replaced by a insane joy.
Paradise eluded him.
But he was content in the knowledge that the shouting crowd of Vampires below him would soon destroy themselves in a pointless, ridiculous war. The cage jolting up above the pit brought him back to reality, and he cast his eyes around the Hall. Past the crowd of Vampires were a group of faint figures. Figures that he knew had been killed brutally. Figures with a purple aura to them.
Kurda smiled – at least he wouldn't be alone as he wandered the mountain for eternity.
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A/N: Did I just take rambling to a whole new extreme? Did I just take writing short chapters to a whole new extreme?