Transcendence
Chapter 1: Damned
Then
From the moment he first laid his eyes on the woman at the church, Carlisle knew that she would be his undoing.
To merely say she was beautiful would be a disservice to her, as the word could not hope to cover her charm, even without her uttering a single word. Carlisle's gaze could not help but follow her figure as she gracefully entered and sat herself down on the third row pew.
The first sign was because she did not come alone. No, her escort was a familiar man from the county government. While the man maintained a respectful distance from the woman, his countenance was protective around her––not in a fatherly or familial way, but in the way gentlemen were raised to regard their betrothed.
The second sign involved his focus, which had all but gone throughout the mass. In fact, he had no memory at all as to what his father's sermon that day was even about. Hopelessly and against his own will, Carlisle's mind wandered to an inconceivable fantasy, where it was he who sat next to this strange, alluring woman in the blue silk dress. It was ludicrous, as Carlisle had never had the affinity for romance before. He'd thought his heart and mind had no capacity left for it, outside the raids.
The third sign came after the mass. As soon as the churchgoers were granted leave, Carlisle stepped out of the doors immediately, to clear his head from the daydream. However, he was not able to even take ten steps away from the church when he heard his name being called out from behind him.
"Sir Carlisle Cullen!"
He turned towards the voice and swallowed as he regarded once more the beauty in the blue dress. There was a soft, gentle smile on her pink lips as she approached in a brisk manner. How the woman knew his name was a mystery, as he was sure he had never encountered her before.
He would be sure to remember if he had.
"Ms. Blackwood," her escort––partner––called out as he tailed her. "This is––"
"I only care to meet the man in charge of the raids," the woman cut off quickly, her warm brown eyes narrowing towards her partner. Her smile returned when she faced Carlisle once more. "Isabella Blackwood," she murmured, gracefully stretching out a slender arm.
Blackwood. She was a noble. The final sign of his undoing.
Carlisle was quick to receive her hand regardless. "Ma'am."
"I have heard many tales about your exploits, sir," she continued, a curious expression on her pale face. "Some are…beyond belief. I would be very interested in discussing the matter with you, if you would have the time."
The blond pursed his lips momentarily, hesitating. "Forgive me. I believe my father would be most suited––"
"The invitation is only extended to you." The woman was very comfortable in interrupting men's speech, Carlisle vaguely noticed. "Or are you rejecting an offer from the Blackwood estate?"
"Isabella," her partner tried once more. "My lady, this is unbecoming––"
The woman merely raised a gloved hand in his direction, her gaze still fixed on Carlisle.
He had no choice, then. "I can make the time, ma'am."
"Lovely," she said sweetly, clasping her hands together before her. "Come by the estate for tea tomorrow afternoon. I will be waiting."
Ms. Blackwood apparently did not need his response, as she swiftly turned and began to walk away in her brisk pace. Her partner merely nodded awkwardly in his direction before practically running after the woman.
Carlisle remained there for a long while, fixed in his place outside the church grounds, his thoughts befuddled from the strange invitation. Despite himself––again, it was ludicrous––he looked forward to it.
It was less difficult than he thought it would be to request permission from his father to make the trip to Blackwood for the next day.
"Isabella Blackwood?" the gravelly voice of the pastor repeated from his seat at the head of the table. "Yes, I recognized her attending my sermon yesterday. Very peculiar, as I thought they were patrons of the church in Wright Valley. I'm sure you've noticed most nobles do not care much about our congregation's cause, especially in our humble town. They're already much bothered by their own cities' nasty revolutions and cumbersome political upheavals."
Carlisle nodded slowly, politely. "She expressed interest about the raids, in particular."
"Hmm." Pastor Cullen dabbed the edges of his wrinkled lips with a napkin. "Humor her. Perhaps her fascination to the cause will lead her to sponsor us."
"May I be fully honest with her, sir? If she asks about…"
The older man narrowed his eyes. "About what, boy?"
Carlisle hesitated, but ultimately decided to be forward. "The house you sent me to a fortnight ago. They were only innocents."
It was the wrong move, naturally, as the pastor immediately brought down a heavy fist to the wooden table. The man's glass toppled over and shattered into pieces on the ground. "Innocents? In the end, none of them are innocent. We pull out weeds based on our investigations, and if that means pulling out harmless grass with it, God will forgive us. For the greater good."
Carlisle shut his eyes tightly, releasing a slow breath to calm himself. He had been in this situation before, after all, and based on experience, it would be impossible to win an argument with the old man. It would only end in a beating. "Understood."
"Make sure that is how you express our message," the man warned. "God is watching."
Carlisle wasn't sure what he was expecting when he arrived, but he eventually found himself ending his three-hour trip on horseback and arriving at a lovely gated three-story monument of a home. The Blackwood estate.
There was already a valet waiting for him inside the courtyard, greeting the visitor as if he was a nobleman as he brought Carlisle's horse to the stables. He was eventually led to the front doors of the estate––
Oh, my. It was even more extravagant on the inside than it was outside. While all rooms were beautiful and well-decorated, what really caught his eye was the library on the first floor. It had a vast collection, with genres ranging from autobiographies, to science, to poetry, and some books he even recognized to be banned by his own church.
He decided to pretend not to see them, of course. He'd never believed in this kind of prohibition. Knowledge should be available for all, and moral discernment was on the hands of the readers.
It was in this library that he was advised to wait for the host to arrive. Thus, Carlisle let himself get comfortable on one of the seats by the window, already poring through a copy of King Lear.
"How do you find it?"
He jumped at the sound of the familiar, confident, female voice. After getting past the first couple of seconds of bewilderment, Carlisle eventually collected his manners and stood up to greet Isabella Blackwood––now in an emerald green corseted dress. Still…lovely. It was effortless for her to take his breath away.
Carlisle held her extended gloved hand and bowed politely. "Ma'am. Thank you for inviting me to your lovely estate."
"Too polite," she sighed, pulling her hand away quickly. "We're only at home."
Carlisle widened his eyes when she walked over to the library doors to shut them closed, and even turning the lock. She didn't stop there. She also sauntered over to full length glass windows to his left and began untying the curtains, leaving them mostly in the dark except for the handful of lit lamps set against the opposite wall and on the tables.
"I'm––"
"How do you find it?" the strange woman asked again, her face only barely lit by the candlelight. But he could still see her clearly, regardless. Her aura.
She was gesturing towards the King Lear copy he'd left on the table. "It's a lovely tragedy."
"A lovely tragedy…" she repeated, her warm brown eyes scrutinizing every inch of his face. He held his breath as she did, unconsciously.
It didn't help his nerves when she suddenly unbuttoned the top layer of her dress, letting it pool on the ground. He remained speechless until she was only clad in the boned corset and her smock.
"Ma'am," he finally found the courage to say, feeling his cheeks warm at the intimate sight of her. This was inappropriate. She was a noble. She was betrothed. The absolute scandal––
"I only went to that church because I've heard of you," she whispered, stepping forward until she was only inches away from him. But still, they did not touch. "The man of God with kind eyes of the sea who sent monsters to hell. No man has ever fascinated me this way and occupied my mind so much, with only mere stories of him. And then I saw the way you looked at me."
Carlisle swallowed, focusing all his energy on keeping his gaze at her lovely face. "I don't understand, ma'am."
"Please tell me you feel the same way," she murmured, her eyes pleading and desperate. "I could see it. Feel it, in the air. That I am not alone in this. I…knew you would be my undoing as soon as I laid my eyes on you."
Oh…
"A lovely tragedy," she said again, her lips curving up wistfully.
She was a noble. She was betrothed. The scandal.
God is watching. But he had already damned himself to hell, with the all innocents he'd slain.
It was Carlisle who decided to step forward and to touch her for the first time––gingerly, tracing a line along her forearm. He was mesmerized by the way the girl's eyes fluttered shut as she did, and a soft sigh release from between her sweet, pink lips.
"And yet you called me here today," he murmured. "Despite knowing the consequences."
"And you came regardless," she replied back, looking up at him from underneath her long lashes. "Knowing the same."
That was how it began. The story of their doomed, secret love. The tragedy.
To keep up appearances, the Blackwood estate did indeed sponsor Pastor Cullen's cause, and Isabella and her fiancé had fully integrated themselves to the church. It was…blasphemous, as the two had used God as an excuse to continue the affair. And yet Carlisle couldn't help but agree himself to it, as it meant he would be able to see her as often as he could.
His father didn't even bat an eye when Carlisle's visits to the estate turned more than frequent in the next several months. The younger Cullen had swayed him to believe that the lady requested frequent status updates of their raids.
The estate staff seemed to be in on the secret too, as they already expected his arrival whenever he came, and would advise him in advance as to when Isabella's betrothed was expected to visit.
And their illicit meetings had no presence of God in them at all.
He would wholeheartedly take her whenever and wherever she ordered him to, although her favorite place was right in that library, where she took his virtue––and he hers––for the very first time. That was where he found himself now. He felt no trace of guilt in his heart as he did the first few months, as he held her by the legs against the bookcase, her perfect frame fully bare to him as he irreverently entered her over and over again. Just the way she enjoyed it.
She held on to his shoulders as if her life depended on it. And as she always did, she begged him sweetly to kiss her when she felt herself impossibly close to the edge.
But there was something different this time. Because she didn't quite let go of him and his lips once they were finished, and kept her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. And when he opened his eyes, he saw that the corners of hers were brimming silently with tears.
He pulled away as gently as he could, keeping his palms around her waist. "What's wrong, my love?"
"The date is set," she admitted, smiling bitterly.
His hands tightened around her. Of course.
"Run away with me, Carlisle," she pleaded. "I would leave this all behind for you."
He swallowed deeply. "Sweetheart…"
"I don't care for anything else anymore," she promised, leaning up to kiss him again. "Let my name and reputation be destroyed. You would do the same for me, wouldn't you? After all, you've already told me your heart breaks every time you go on your raids. Most of them…They're only…"
"But where would we go?" he asked her softly.
"I don't care," she said again, frenziedly reaching up to run her hands through his hair. "Let's get married today, and run away tonight. Please say yes to me."
God is watching you.
He instinctively took a step back, his hands falling limply to his sides. His cerulean eyes wandered around the room––the extravagance, the beauty she was used to––until they landed back on her. The bare perfection he had selfishly taken for himself.
His world was nothing but blood, tears, and monsters. He had only one purpose, and knew of nothing else. He…had nothing to offer her, not even her safety.
What had he done?
"Carlisle," she called out to him again.
"We cannot," he decided.
His heart immediately shattered at the expression on her face.
"I have let this go on for far too long," he whispered, his gaze falling to the floor. "There's nothing for you with me. I'm sorry, my lady."
"But I thought…" She let out a shaky breath. "I love you, and only you. Does your heart not feel the same?"
"Of course it does," he said sadly. "Which is why I must go."
It was difficult but not impossible to return to the man he was before she came into his life. To let their tragic love go and continue on with the missions––the only purpose he had in this world, the only reason his father had allowed him to be born. And Carlisle's heart eventually turned colder than ever before, which was a strength when it came to the role of burning down whole villages where there were suspected godless fiends.
There was a lump in his throat, however, when he received the letter. The invitation.
"Cruel," he whispered bitterly to himself as his hands tightened around the sheet of paper.
"Carlisle?"
He shoved the now-crumpled parchment into his pocket before stepping inside the bedroom of his father. The man––once strong and virile––had now succumbed to an unknown sickness that left him bedridden, possibly for the rest of his life.
Carlisle's eyes remained cold as he regarded his father. "Yes?"
"How…go the raids?"
"Well. I'm scouting another village tomorrow." As that was the date stated on the wedding invitation.
Heavy fits of coughing. "By yourself?"
Carlisle nodded once.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
He couldn't help but scoff at that. "Please, sir. I've proven to you time and time and again my capability in the field. In destruction, in the name of your cause."
"Our cause."
"Bloody––" He shut his eyes tightly, his hand in his pocket clutching the parchment tightly that it shook.
The man in the bed didn't speak for a while, and Carlisle had already turned around to leave when he heard his father say, "I should've warned you. That women will always be our downfall."
Carlisle's breath immediately halted in his throat, but he remained unmoving in the doorway.
"I may be sick, but I'm not blind," the man continued, his gravelly voice solemn. "Lady Blackwood. I saw the announcement in the newspaper today, and the invitation in the mail."
Slowly, Carlisle turned around to face the pastor again. "What of it?"
"I put my trust in you not to let it go too far. And you ended it, did you not?"
The younger Cullen chose not to respond.
"That was a choice I was not able to make before," he sighed, leaning back tiredly to the headboard of the cot. "The consequence, after all, was you. You did the correct thing. The godly thing. You…are better than me."
Carlisle's breaths released unsteadily now. Angrily. "You are a cruel man. The worst of them all."
"My blood runs through your veins," the pastor responded calmly. "You've inherited the same."
Carlisle wasn't afraid of him anymore. Before he finally left the room, he gained the courage to finally say, "I hope you die slowly, painfully, in utmost fear and suffering. And if God hears me at all, I hope he grants my wish and puts your soul in the deepest pits of hell where we both belong."
He had already left the room and did not hear when his father weakly responded, "I will see you there."
The village was just like all the others. Small, and this one was composed of only four small huts at the edge of the rural woods. But Carlisle had done more research this time, as more information was more readily available. Several passersby and merchants had disappeared upon taking the road by this village. Residents in nearby settlements also reported hearing faint but frequent screaming coming from this direction.
Regardless, he had to be sure. Which was why he'd decided to scout the area.
He'd also decided to come at night, as this was when the fiends were usually more active. It was dangerous, of course, but he didn't care. Especially on this day. If this was his purpose, he may as well die in action as he was born to do.
The small courtyard was deserted and eerily silent. Carlisle raised his torch higher as he slowly walked along the bushes to survey the area. He found a suitable, secluded spot to camp and watch the village for a few hours.
It didn't take hours at all, in the end. Because after only ten minutes, he saw the lone figure walk out leisurely until the middle of the courtyard.
And it was a woman.
She was…beautiful, he supposed, in a spine-chilling way. Even with her gaze downcast, he could still perceive her too-perfect angular face. Her golden locks flowed elegantly down her back until her waist. She was also dressed in a thin white smock, which should have been uncomfortable in this cold weather. But she wasn't shivering at all.
It was when she finally looked up fully––her gaze immediately meeting his even through the bushes––that Carlisle was finally sure, and he pulled out the short sword from its sheath. Because her pupils were as red as blood.
After he blinked once, however, the figure disappeared. Of course. He was in trouble now, since he was severely outmatched on his own. He hastily turned around to retreat––
"Where are you off to?"
Carlisle cried sharply when he was suddenly pinned to the hard ground, now straddled by the blond fiend. Her smile was wide and her eyes manic as she easily choked him by the neck with her slender hand.
"I cannot believe it," she murmured, almost in awe. "The great Carlisle Cullen."
He gritted his teeth. "I do not know you."
"You led the group who killed my sisters," she said, her voice still sickly sweet. She used her free hand to trace the side of his cheek. "You even burned down innocents along with them. I will never forget that lovely face."
"Be done with it, then," he growled.
The vampire tilted her head, her pink lips curving to a frown. "What do you mean?"
"Destroy me now," he said. "I'm in no mood for a conversation with the likes of you."
"Oh…" She tutted. "As tempting as it is to do so, I don't believe I want to kill you. You destroyed my sisters and made me lonely. The fairest thing for you to do is replace them."
"W-What?"
"I have never done this before," she admitted, leaning forward until her face was only an inch away from his. "But I suppose it helps that I just fed myself the last survivor of this village. I…believe I can do it."
Carlisle's eyes widened as she opened her mouth slowly, showcasing her set of unnaturally white, razor-sharp teeth.
No. Please, no.
And without another moment's hesitation, she sank and buried her teeth at the side of his neck.
The pain was instant. And impossibly excruciating. He couldn't recall if he screamed or cried, or perhaps he did both. As she'd promised, the vampire pulled away as quickly as she could and watched with fascination at his side as he writhed and struggled with her venom.
For a second, he was able to open his eyes, while they were still the cerulean blue they were when he was born. And he remembered her as he stared into the cloudless night sky.
She was probably in bed by now, consummating her marriage with her new husband.
What would've happened if he had given in and run away with her, as she'd begged him to?
Will she remember him after this? Will she even think of him?
Will he ever see her again, especially now that he was about to be irreversibly damned?
"Save me, Isabella," he choked out, as his blue eyes turned hazy and slowly morphed into blood-red.
Now
Despite wearing a pair of sunglasses as he always did, Carlisle kept his eyes closed as he silently rode the elevator to the top floor of the building. He focused on the song playing in his wireless earphones––Joy by Iron and Wine, a recent suggestion sent by his favorite fellow damned fiend––as the lift stopped at almost every goddamn floor of the building.
He hadn't fed recently, you see. And the constant in and out of fresh blood in the cramped elevator walls definitely didn't help. He had to focus on this stupid song––which he wasn't really finding to his liking so far––as he didn't want to make a mess, like he did a couple of months ago. It was far too tedious to clean up. Not to mention Jasper would definitely bite his ear off if it happened again.
He opened his eyes momentarily to check on the floor. 45. Okay. He was almost there.
Soon, there was only one other person in the lift with him. It was a girl, and she looked vaguely familiar, even though her back was to him. She was slender and a little small. Her chocolate locks reached her waist, and her attire was––well, for lack of a better term, cheap. Thrifted, most likely.
He couldn't help but raise a brow when he took a look at the buttons on the elevator and saw that she was headed to the top floor, just as he was. What the…They didn't just let anyone in to the more-than-private Cullen Arts and Collections.
It wasn't only his place of work. It was his safe space. As well as for a handful of his fellow vampiric fiends laying low in this damn city.
Before he could open his mouth to ask if the stranger had forgotten to press a button, the elevator doors opened to reveal the top floor, and the woman confidently strode forward to the spacious marble hall.
What the hell, he thought again, deciding to shadow her footsteps warily from behind.
He wasn't able to reach too far, however, before he was blocked by earlier mentioned favorite fellow damned fiend.
"What did you think?" Edward asked, his red eyes barely hidden by the ridiculous green contact lenses he was sporting.
Carlisle furrowed his brows. "About the song you sent? It's a little cheesy."
"The song––No, you idiot," he groaned, leaning his head back momentarily. "I meant the other message I sent you last night. About the gorgeous one-of-a-kind vase our contact in China found. Maggie sounded confident that it's authentic."
"Oh. That." He began to walk forward again, letting Edward tail him from behind. Carlisle vaguely noticed to his left that the woman from the elevator was at the receptionist's desk now. Standing next to the human receptionist, Alice––another fiend in plain sight––was already receiving the stranger herself.
"Well?" Edward pressed, shoving his hands down his slacks.
"I'm not buying it," Carlisle admitted, turning them to the corner and walking briskly until he led them to his corner office. "I trust you more. Check it out yourself."
"Huh," Edward said, sounding slightly disappointed. He sat down on the cushioned lounge across from the man's sleek wood-and-glass desk. "Okay then. I'll book a flight this weekend."
Carlisle sighed and set himself down on his office chair, finally removing his sunglasses.
"Oh, dear," Edward chuckled darkly. "Your eyes are practically coal. Are you on a diet or something?"
"Shut up," Carlisle grumbled, loosening the black tie around his neck. "I haven't found the time."
"The time?" Edward laughed again. "I'll call Alice to bring in a lost soul. But you know it'll take a while. Tonight, the earliest."
"I don't care. I'll admit, I almost lost it in the elevator earlier. Why haven't we fucking set up a private elevator yet? I'm sure we have the budget for it."
"Sure we do, but the building management's against it," Edward sighed. "I told you, Carlisle. We should just buy an entire lot and make our own building. I have a lot of ideas in mind already for construction. Modern brutalist. The works."
"Soon, perhaps," Carlisle gave in.
The man eventually left Carlisle alone after that, and the latter decided to divert his attention from his damn thirst to his work.
Edward was the first and only vampire he'd created, after he'd lost…her. His maker. Carlisle had eventually wandered to the US, where he'd masqueraded as a doctor––one of his less creative disguises, but it meant easy access to fresh blood, albeit shitty ones––in a little godforsaken town around a century ago. The idiot was a stupid, pathetic twenty-three year old man dying from Spanish influenza.
Like his maker back then, he was lonely. He'd decided to damn said idiot to make a friend. And Edward followed through, and even enjoyed the undead life he'd gifted him. However, Carlisle had ultimately decided never to make another. He'd found that it was far more difficult to create a fiend than to feed, and hypothesized that was why there weren't too many of them around.
They eventually found Alice, along with her mildly bloodthirsty and warmongering partner Jasper.
That was around the same time as when Carlisle had brilliantly decided to build their art collections company and exponentially grew their collective wealth and influence under the radar. While he had technically founded the purposely mysterious Cullen Arts and Collections only a couple of decades ago, he had merely razed and rebuilt the same firm through many names and many offices around the globe. Carlisle had taken on the role as the president and overall head, naturally, with Edward as his right-hand man. Alice was perfect for the role of executive secretary and received their clients more frequently than the rest of them. And Jasper was the overall legal head of the company. Other than these fiends hiding in plain sight, Carlisle kept a stringently limited and thoroughly vetted human staff who were all more or less aware of their...disposition. The ridiculous compensation was also used to buy off their complete silence to the fact.
Carlisle sighed as he began checking emails from various of his company's clients, as well as evaluating photos and videos from his team across the globe on potential valuable artifacts they can auction. Most were obvious duds; it was a perk, he supposed, for being undead for centuries, as he had lived through and seen some of these pieces in the flesh when they were freshly made. It was the reason he'd decided the art world was a suitable disguise for their kind to fit in the human world.
CAC was his safe space in this sad, cruel world. And it kept him as busy as possible in his tedious, unending life. In the end, said life was as good as it possibly could be, for a cursed soul like him.
Except he had no real purpose anymore, ever since that fateful day he'd turned into the very being he'd once sworn to destroy.
His brooding thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his intercom. Carlisle didn't look away from his screen as he pressed the answer button and succinctly said, "I'm busy, Alice."
"But your schedule's free right now on the calendar," her usual bell-like voice responded.
"Doesn't mean I'm not busy. Is it an emergency?"
"Er, no, but––"
"Then book it another time," he cut off, turning the intercom off afterwards.
Alice sighed as she dropped the phone back down. She smiled apologetically at the woman sitting across from her. "Apologies. He won't be able to see you today."
"Oh." The girl sounded disappointed.
She's cute, Alice decided, pursing her lips as she regarded her again. While the woman's style needed a lot of work, her face was sweet and adorable. Not to mention her, er, bouquet… "I can book you an appointment for tomorrow. I'm intrigued myself, after our discussion. If your piece is as unique as you say it is, I think the company will be very much interested."
The girl's brown eyes widened with excitement. "That's––perfect. I'm free anytime."
Alice smiled and proceeded to type in her computer to set the date. "Two p.m. then. And––sorry, what did you say your name was again? And the name of the book?"
"Isabella Swan," the girl replied with a soft smile, clutching the said book in her hands tightly. "This was written by my…ancestor. I was named after her. Isabella Blackwood-Seymour. It's called Transcendence."
A/N: Finally back to my roots and my guilty pleasure pairing.
I've always wanted to try my hand in the rebirth/reincarnation trope, as well as dark and honestly more realistic vampires. I decided to put the two themes together in this story. Hope you enjoyed this first glimpse.
