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„Tell us the story!“„Please Sypha!“ „We want to hear the story!“ The woman sighed at the children’s chatter and begging, setting herself down to try and ease the ache from her weary bones. She was tired, but no amount of pain and fatigue could make her not smile at the small faces that have gathered around her. Those poor little buggers... she looked each of them in the eye with fondness, knowing that the next time she visits this group of Speakers, many of the boys and girls in front of her would be gone. Taken by hunger, illness or claw, at least several will have departed in a world to which she did not have access to. The small ones were always the first to go. For the first few decades she held onto hope- she’d clutch at it every time she’d leave, and struggle to keep it upon each return, when she’d come back to face either a child missing or a coffin of a babe she did not even meet. After her first century, her hope changed. Morphed, mutated even. She no longer craved small mercies, or humble miracles. She just hoped, prayed to endure the horrors of their tale so she one day may see it end. Hopefully... hopefully with a sweet ending. „It is not a tale yet, you buggers“ she said with a smile, letting one of the smaller ones crawl into her lap. The girl was not even five yet, but her dark eyes were filled with raging curiosity of a true Speaker. Would she live long enough to memorize the first chapter of Odyssey? There was hope, but Sypha had to make a distance. She had to make a distance between herself and the children, between herself and their caretakers... between herself and the strangers that she’d see dying without any means of salvation. Distance was the key, the only one that fit the lock of her particular life. Because if she’d remember more than names, if she’d place too much importance of the quirks and dreams of the people she met, if she got to know the people instead of merely know of them, she would simply break down and scream- and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop. The centuries have made her stronger, but even iron could break. „It cannot be a tale“ she continued „Because it did not end yet“ that is what she always insisted on. The world filled with pain and horror that dulled the spark from a child’s eye before they reached their tenth summer was not the end. It was just... a current state. But that was not how the story would end- it was her duty to make it so. She was late about six centuries with coming up with the ending she’d prefer, but none ever had the heart, or the nerve, to tell her so. They probably knew they had no right to such statements- but they did lose hope. They were entitled to it, in a way. Hope was a painful thing in the world where vampires and demons fought over the decaying lands. But she... she had way too much responsibility on her breast to abandon what hurt her so badly. She could change it, alter it but never abandon it. Although... one may not hope for small mercies, but that did not mean they couldn’t grant them. She ruffled the girl’s hair and smiled at the others children, who already were laughing with excitement. „But I can tell you how it began“ she conceded, shushing them gently before continuing. „It started in the fall of 1455, when a young woman with nothing but a knife and clothes on her back arrived at the gates of a castle that was not known for its hospitality. There, the frail mortal stood in front of a monster and demanded she be taught the ways of medicine. By all means she should have died before the request left her lips, but the monster was old and tired, and oh so lonely. He listened to her words, and he liked the sound of her voice and the strength of her conviction. He welcomed her to his home, and introduced himself as Vlad Dracula Tepes. He’d grant her his knowledge, but soon, in exchange for her love, she’d take his name as well. For her, he became a man- he loved her as a man, and he lived as a man. He fathered a son like a man would- son with the name of Adrian... Adrian Tepes“ her throat closed up as it always did when she’d say the name, and she blinked furiously to chase away the stray tears. When she closed her eyes, she could see his face, and she recited his looks despite it not being essential to the story. „He was beautiful“ she whispered „Inherited his mother’s locks, you see. Her face too, really. His skin was pearly, and his eyes golden whereas his hair shimmered platinum. And when he’d talk... no well could be so deep, nor so warm“ she would make him say her dreams aloud, claiming his voice was her lucky wishing well; him speaking them would make their future true. It /did/ make it true, she insisted to herself even centuries later, when she’d burst into tears alone in a bed that should have been cramped with three; it was just a little late. First by a few years, then by a decade... a century. Six long centuries...„But the happiness ended nineteen years later“ God, he was nineteen, only nineteen- to lose a mother in such a horrible way- to lose his father in even worse one. Sypha grew up an orphan but never knew parents that she should mourn- her grandfather was her father and mother and more of any family she could have hoped for. He was long dead, too... fallen to one of the night creatures created by Carmilla’s pet. It was a gruesome ending, which she knew because she saw the body first hand. It was not how gentle old men were supposed to go- it should have been years and years later, in a warm bed surrounded by people he loved and who loved him. Just one of the many of the world’s injustices...„The Church decided that any matter of science and art that surpasses their own merits is a threat to their authority“ she said, her voice bold and harsh, hard enough to have some of the children shudder. Good- let them know Church was not a friend. „They brought this upon us“ she said darkly „Dracula may have unleashed the beasts and the vampires may have risen in return, but it is the Church that made a monster out of a man. Never let it rise again.“ It fell about three centuries ago, much of it thanks to her own hand. Was it monstrous, raising the people to rebel and kill? Perhaps. But unlike the silver lovers, she did not have people bend to lies and propaganda and fear and superstition. She merely had them listen to the truth, and many heard. And if she felt grim satisfaction watching the black wearing men executed without a trial and the expensive crosses broken down from the beautiful buildings, well... her innocence was a small price to pay for one less enemy biting and clawing at the human race. „And so they burnt Vlad’s wife at the stake. The tied her to it and arranged a public burning. By the time he arrived at the city of Tragoviste, it was far too late- even her bones were charred and brittle. Thus he proclaimed a war upon human race, driven mad by grief and sorrow. He was opposed by his son, the Soldier- the Hunter, who’s name was Trevor Belmont“ her tongue felt thick in her mouth upon that name, which hurt as bad as if someone was driving a knife between her ribs „And a Schoolar“ she concluded, her lungs hurting too much for her to describe Trevor. „That was you!“ one of the children exclaimed happily, blissfully ignorant to her pain. „That was me“ she agreed with a strained smile, which only grew heavier when another question was asked. „What was he like? The Hunter?“ the girl in her arms asked, and Sypha both wanted to chuck her out of the wagon and to answer the question and not stop talking until sundown. „He was... he was like no other man I have ever met. He was rude, so rude. That was my first impression of him. Then I saw how brave he was, then how selfless. In time I saw how clever he was. He was sad too, one of the saddest people I’ve ever known, and he wanted so badly that both Adrian and I be happy. But at his core... he used to say that Adrian was dawn and I twilight, but if that was true, then he was earth. None notice it, but it is what gives us life. And even sunrise and sundown are pointless without soil to rain light or darkness upon. He was reliable and consistent, surviving in the face of winter and summer, against all odds“ until he didn’t, the traitor voice in her head screamed at her. Until Dracula picked him up and crushed his windpipe while she, Sypha, uselessly played with her fire instead of doing more. What more? She didn’t know, but something, anything would have been better, if only she knew what. How do you defeat the king of darkness? „When we encountered him... we were unprepared“ they lacked lifetimes of skill „And the first battle split us apart, where we are today. But Vlad had other enemies. His generals have taken whiff of his madness and realized that he meant not screw us tight and manage like livestock, but eradicate as species. They rebelled against him, and many died. One vampire woman, however, took something of his that he couldn’t live without- his son. She placed a curse upon him in which he slumbers still, and said to Dracula, ’I am not giving him back’. To that he replied ’Then I will hunt down the humans until you starve’. As you can all see, up until today they both remain stubborn“ while they, humans, breed like rats, as resilient as cockroaches, crawling like maggots underneath the vampire booth until the Soldier, Hunter and Scholar rise again. „But what happened to the Hunter?“ they wanted to know. „He was reborn. He is reborn from life to life, I just- I just have to find him. Then we will awaken the Soldier and stop Dracula, as the prophecy said“ she said, tremor in her voice betraying how tired she was. „That is quite enough for today“ she decided, gently pulling the girl from her lap and standing up „I must speak to your Elder and then rest. I leave tomorrow“ she told them, stretching to ease the numbness in her shoulders. „How do you know you will find the Hunter?“ a boy asked „You’ve been trying for such a long time“ Sypha sighed, knowing it was bad manners to scissor kick a small child, even if their questions hurled knives at your heart. „The Hunter, Soldier and I are connected“ she said patiently „There is a link between their hearts and mine, and it cannot be broken by either distance of time- should it perish my heart would seize to beat and I would die. I live still- I will find him. Both of them“ she said evenly, speaking the words softly, yet with such conviction that she unknowingly showed the children around her what true love was. „But you’ve been alive for such a long time. How can that be?“ „Now that is my little secret“ she said with a smile and an eye roll, and at that, licked her perfectly blunt teeth and emerged from the wagon and into the warm afternoon sun. He is somewhat aware that he is trapped, within his own body, even. It is a distant thought, however. Dreams seize him whenever he tries to venture too far away, and they are far too powerful for him. Somewhere deep inside he knows he is a strong man that has more business to do than sleep, but in the face of the curse, he is far too weak. The curse has a female face and wolfish fangs, and she is angry with him. She would have most gladly killed him, but she is keeping him for something. A meal? A ritual? A bargaining chip. Whatever it is, he knows not, for whenever his thoughts get too strong, dreams wash over him and he is drowned once again in sweet black waters. He doesn’t remember the last time he opened his eyes, but he sees so much. He sees scarred tanned skin and applewhite hips. He seems a loving father that is black of hair and a mother that wears a golden halo. There is an evil woman in a dress of a temptress, and a man with darker skin than he had ever seen that strikes fear even into vampires. Asleep as he is, Adrian does not know that Isaac Laforeze had long since died, never to be reborn again. A fitting ending, for a mortal man, and a mercy, considering what the world has turned into. Adrian is unaware of that as well- of what came to be from the world that he left behind sex centuries prior. He left the world struggling and aching, but luscious still, blooming with life and bursting with hope, never mind how much despair has soaked into the land. But much can change in half a millennia- he will not be glad to see that the humanity his mother loved so much was reduced to frightened group of refugees that shall never find their sanctuary, and nightmarish pits and camps in which the humanity was treated like cattle, forced live and eat and shit and fuck all so that more blood bags could be produced. Vile places, evil places. Many of which he’d have to visit only to release traumatized victims, many of which would later move to take their own lives, unable to live in a world without a master. It would be a torture for Adrian to witness all that while still rendered immobile by the curse. Mercifully, he only has access to his memories, and they alone manage to keep him entertained. After all, a man unconscious is hardly going to be bothered by the repetition. So he dreams of the past, and recalls for the most part the pleasant memories. Strong hands picking him, his fathers voice a voiceless rumble in his little ear while his mother pinches his cheek. A lullaby- his Latin classes. A woman in a bathtub and a man refusing to get in. The same duo next to him, touching him, in his bed. The sheets are sweaty and tangled. „When this all is over“ the man pants as he thrusts into him, over and over „I’ll build us a bed just like this one“ he moans then, and it is the most erotic sound Adrian could imagine „Just like this one“ he repeats, gasping around his own pleasure „Just as big. Sypha will keep it warm, and-“ Sypha- that was her name! Sypha, her name was Sypha, and the man was Trevor Belmon- darkness violently rushes over him, easing his frantic thoughts and rapid beating heart. He would remain asleep for a long, long time. He did not see the curse coming, no. Then again, he hardly saw a thing back then. Distraught as he was, tears have veiled his sight far too much for him to even make out where he was going, let alone sense the delicate touch of powerful magic. He knew not where Sypha was, and that alone was a horrible predicament, for in Dracula’s castle, castle that once was his home, so many things could kill that were neither vampire not Vlad. He needed to find her and find her quick, lest he loses her like... like... „TREVOR!“ he screamed, falling onto his knees. He screamed the man’s name, unable to stop once the first wail made it past his lips. It was his fault- he had brought the man to his death. He looked him in the eyes and provoked him, asking if he cared, wanting him to come with. He dragged the poor, broken man across the country, ransacked what was left of his childhood home with murderous intent and then lain with him and told him how he loved him, how he’d keep him safe. That lie hurt more than any fire could, that betrayal that he had never meant to commit. But he was guilty of it none the less, having brought Trevor to his home, telling him to fight, and then he was not able to do a thing but watch as his father picked him up by then neck and broke the fragile thing as if the hunter was no more than a rabbit. He deserved better, he deserved so much better. „Come back“ he wailed, choking on sobs and grief, and knowing very well that there was no coming back. For after he broke his neck, Dracula dropped Trevor’s corpse onto the ground, stepped onto his head and mercilessly crushed it underneath his heel. The beautiful face cracked like an egg, bones giving away as if they were dry twigs. The imagine was so horrifying that Alucard wasn’t sure he’d ever forget it- if he even lived long enough to try. His father had left him bleeding in one of the engine rooms, a wound on his chest that ran perfectly over the year old scar he had on his chest. He hugged himself around the torso, overcome by misery, fright and sheer trying to keep his insides where they ought to be, when a delicate, clawed hand combed through his hair. He looked up, tears making his vision blurry. It was a woman, blonde and fanged. He opened his mouth, only to have a finger pressed against his chapped lips. „Shh“ the woman said „Sleep now... little prince“ before he could even process the mockery of the words, his eyelids grew heavy, and he collapsed into Carmilla’s waiting arms. Elsewhere, far away in both miles and centuries, a women is clutching a dead child to her breast, rocking back and forth in a calming rhythm to try and soothe the child that has long since lost its touch with the mortal realm. Madness is eating away at the woman’s mind- Trevor can see the maggots behind her eyes, crawling over her brain and biting and munching on whatever sanity she had left after losing her husband, home and offspring. She too would die soon, he knows, for the legs she stretched in front of her as as she sits on the street are blackened with blood poisoning. Perhaps she’ll be lucky enough to die before she is left immobile and an easy target for the crows and ravens that have long since grown rabid on human flesh. They and rats alike, of course. The overgrown bastards have been just as deadly as the vampires and hordes for the past few years, now claiming towns that still were supposed to house able bodied humans. There was a story of a city that fell victim to a proper attack from the damned rodents. According to it, rats as big as dogs appeared one night in a group of a hundred and slaughtered in the same way vampires did. Trevor did not believe that story. It wasn’t normal for a rats to behave that way, even if starved, and besides, stories were nothing but glorified lies. Some were worse than others... but he did not mind the grim ones much. No, what he hated were the hopeful ones- it was like feeding a starving child air. How could it ever satisfy? The story the woman was currently telling her dead child was one of the worsts, in his opinion. „Don’t worry my child“ she whispered, her voice barely more than a hoarse whisper- she had lost her voice screaming, no doubt. „The prince will soon be awaken, and he will stop all this. You will be happy, you will be so happy...“ lies, all lies. But he kept his mouth shut. She already was comforting a corpse, why would he add salt to the open wound? So instead of telling her that no sleeping prince would rise to their aid, he entered the tavern instead, eager to spill his woes to beer, wine or ale. He drank a lot, probably more than he should. Enough to leave him with an aching head in the morning, with an occasional black out too. He wasn’t an alcoholic, however. No, of course not. He still could talk, and fight- although he did way more of the fighting than he did talking. Talking exhausted him more than battle did, truly, because when he spoke, he had to look people in the eye, and he could read those as well as some read books. What he saw in their eyes was rarely ever fondness, or even respect. Worry it was instead, and not for him- for themselves. He was a dangerous man, labelled that even before he could walk. The orphanage he grew up in up until he was twelve made it no secret that none wanted him there. He was odd, they’d say, and wicked, somehow wrong despite possessing no physical flaws. When he was but a babe the wet nurse refused to bring him to his breast, frightened by the baby that only cried in its sleep, never while awake. Later they were terrified of the boy that did not speak up until he was five years old yet screamed in his sleep as soon as his lungs were strong enough. They were afraid of him, but even more so, of whatever horrors he managed to dream of before he ever witnessed any in real life. But as he grew, he grew suspicious as well, and the dreams, nightmares really, started reminding him more of memories than odd sleep induced delirium. That is how he started viewing them, after awhile. Memories of the prior lives, each and every lonesome and short. Sometimes he’d die at twelve, sometimes at sixteen, but he never lived past nineteen. That meant he would die in a matter of months now, surely, or days, he thought numbly to himself, muttering lowly to the half empty cup in front of him. The deaths were what he most often dreamed of, each a bloody conclusion to a sad life. Once, he even died not from blade or stone but from the cold. He had passed out in a gutter during a winter’s night, drunk on cheap tavern swill, and did not live to see the day once more. Sometimes, he dreams of people too. Only two- a man and a woman, both golden and fair, and those dreams hurt the most, because they leave him with yearning that he could not satisfy no matter how much ale he drank, no matter how many demons he killed. A different man would try to seek comfort in a woman’s embrace, but Trevor... Trevor did not partake. It got noticed, after awhile, in his city. People talked in hushed tones when he’d enter an inn, when they’d see him pass by. Trevor, no last name, cannot satisfy a woman. It is a quiet mockery, however, discrete and only shed behind his back. People feared what he might do should they insult him in his face, and rightfully so- he was an angry man and dangerous too. Many times he was the only thing that would save their city from the night horde’s attacks. In some other world, he would be praised as a hero no matter his oddities, but people are wary of men that smell like death- and Trevor had died so many times that no water could ever wash him clean.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The castle is finally silent, as he had wanted for so long. He craved it, silence and peace... a quiet place for his sorrow and madness. Now that the castle is empty, as his generals have betrayed him, abandoned him, and he got what he wanted, but the taste is bland in his mouth that had not tasted blood in so long. The hunger in his lungs hurts as much as coating his fangs with silver would, and that precisely is why he does not feed. It would be a long death, too long, but his hand stills whenever he brings a sharp object to his chest. He cannot end his life, not in such direct measures. He is too strong for such a thing, and it is working against both him and the world he is now set to destroy. He cannot end his life, because he is not broken enough. He brings a stake to his chest, then lowers it, and finds that he can continue existing in misery and grief. It is hard, painful. A proper agony, and simply sad at the very core of it, but he can do it, and so he does. He persists, making his goal to avenge his late wife, and make the biggest tribute of love that any husband ever did- humanity reduced to a graveyard, countless bones for her one burnt body. Oh how he craved to dig his claws into his own chest and rip out the withered black heart and simply die, follow his love into flame and dust. But he doesn’t- because he can bear the pain and so he does. It might be a self inflicted punishment, he thinks idly to himself one night when the silver and sharp looks all too inviting. After all, when they came for her, who was there to protect her? None, least of all he. No, he was traveling like humans did, not just to humor the one who stole his heart but because he had come to enjoy it. „Travel like people do, you might like it“ she told him the very first time they met, and oh how right she had been. He liked it, sought it out on his own after a few years. He’d sleep at cheap taverns and pay for ale that was more water than alcohol and ignore the innkeepers that snickered thinking they have fooled him into paying more. He’d... he’d /talk/ to the humans he met- at times, he’d smile at what he’d hear them say, be it out of amusement or respect. That was how he met Hector, five years into his marriage. He pet his animals and said yes when the boy asked him if he had a pretty lady waiting for him back home. He thought he’d never see the boy again, as fleeting as human lives were, but the fates demanded that they meet again. His pretty lady died, and he then manipulated a boy who wanted no more than to play with his animals into taking part in a genocide. It was a part that he still plays, Dracula hears- not as a human anymore, but a vampire. He would have marched upon Carmilla’s hold when he heard the news of Hector’s turning- he would have marched and murdered and saved the poor lad that didn’t want part in neither of their games- but he didn’t.For as long as she held him underneath her spell, Carmilla could kill Alucard with less than one simple coherent thought. That, and that alone, was why the smug traitor still lived. That, and only that, was why he only chipped away at humanity, bit by bit, allowing it to despair but not perish.Should Carmilla die, Adrian would follow. Should Adrian awaken, he’d rather his son have a world to return to. Should he just leave humanity alone, Carmilla would mistake it for weakness and never set his boy free. It was a sad irony- the war Adrian wanted to stop in the name of his mother now endured in his. He no longer sought vengeance, but humanity suffered all the same.There must be some flaws in his thinking, Dracula knows- logistics and strategy seem way too distant in his state of mind. But he cannot think of that- he is thinking of his boy. Adrian, whom he had almost killed. How could he?„Lisa“ he whispered to himself one dark night, when he had learned where his wounded son had disappeared to. „I... I almost killed our boy. I might as well did, Lisa... I lost him. I lost our boy“ blood ran down his cheeks and onto the floor he was kneeling on, looking around the room that still was so serene, as if Adrian would walk back in any minute and continue whatever project he was working on. „We painted this room, we made these toys... the greatest gift you’ve ever given me and I’ve lost him“ and there he was, the elder vampire and lord of all things nightly... crying. He sobbed that night, loud and broken, mourning for his wife, that was not coming back, and his son, whom he could not save. He mourned for the warm evenings spent in Lisa’s arms, and long nights of reading to his son, bouncing him on his knee. Such a beautiful life they had- they were so happy. Once. They were so happy, once. Such a beautiful life they’ve planned. It wouldn’t be a glamorous life, Sypha warned them, and Alucard agreed that they wouldn’t have much luxury to them, nodding seriously. Trevor then said that all he wanted was a pig sty and a big bed that he’d build for them, and all else he cared not much for. As long as he shared it with them, he added after a heartbeat, nuzzling Sypha’s neck as his hand traveled between Adrian’s legs. Trevor was like that, often mixing physical and emotional intimacy until their love making had a catharsis effect even if he did not speak a word. As it was, Sypha loved what they had in mind. A small cottage, a day or two away from one village or the other, with a farm and lovely fire that she’d keep well and going for the entire winter. It wouldn’t be a posh life, certainly not as polished and refined as Adrian was used to and Trevor was born into, but both men seemed so eager to share the humble fantasy with her, willing to forgo any wealth, and noble claim of a name, just so they all three could remain together. It was odd, thinking about it days after it happened, and it wouldn’t get any less strange as the decades and centuries went on. What madness had possessed them to have so much hope? Herself she could understand, somewhat- back then hope burned as bright within her as her flames did- she was young and naive, raised on stories of Alexander and Perseus and Achilles, great men who have achieved so much. She had believed in fairy tales, back then. Adrian, however, had just had his family torn apart, and Trevor has been on his own and hurting since he was but a child. Where did they get all that hope from? Did she contaminate them with it, or could it have been love? She had listened to many a tale of love blinding people, making them unfit to see reason and having them be deaf to wisdom. Yes, it was probably love, she had decided long ago, because none of them were stupid enough to believe they could march on Dracula as weak as they were compared to him- were their head’s clear, they would have never expected to survive, let alone succeed. Hell, did Trevor not say the same thing, before he fell to her charm and Adrian’s wit? ’This is a one way trip’ he said darkly ’You both are abandoning lives that you have not even lived yet’ he added, tongue heavy with liquor. But a week later, he was gasping soft, honest promises in Adrian’s mouth, begging for release and promising to build them a bed. He and his damned bed and his damned pigsty. He was such a simple, modest man, he wanted so little from life, so why did life take so much from him? ’When this is all over’ she thought to herself as she walked ’He better build the damned thing. Six damned centuries I’ve been thinking about it’. She smiles as she nags at him in her head. The hike was so long and her thoughts so wishful, that she barely paid attention to the road ahead of her- until she looked up and saw she had arrived to a graveyard.Alexander has a name greater than his life. He is but a simple man, making for a living with his shovel. A gravedigger he is, and on graveyards he spends his days. It is a grim job, but one of the few that is consistent in the ever changing and ever dark world that he was born in. Even in the most desperate of times, people seem to be willing not to eat bread in order to buryt heir dearests- with stones in their mouths and rosewood stakes in their non beating hearts. No one wanted a dead man to rise as a vampire; the existing blood suckers were enough as it was. It is most often up to Alexander to defile the corpses in such manner, and he does it dutifully and well. He is a simple man that doesn’t question the way of things, and who doesn’t mind much the hunchback that has developed on his spine from decades of digging. Beauty was not meant for him. Neither was wealth, or a wife. He could never afford to raise a son. Lesser things have made greater men bitter, but Alex remains as he is- a tame man, and most importantly, a good man. That is why when a young, beautiful woman of frail build approaches him with no male guardianship of any kind, he does not attack her. „Well met“ she tells him, her soft features calm but without a smile. Not an odd thing- there was so little to smile about in the world they lived in.„Well met“ he copies her odd greeting in a gruff voice, climbing out of the open grave he had been digging. „Do you need yourself a grave dug for someone?“ he had seen younger widows, and she seems too calm to be a mother that has lost a child „I could give you this one- it is not for anyone yet, I’m digging in advance“ he explains with a shrug. Even if she didn’t come along, the dug out hole would be occupied in a matter of days, surely. Life was ever so fleeting.„Actually, no“ she tells him „I am looking for a friend. Alive one“ „Maybe a graveyard isn’t the best place to look then, my dear“ he tells her gently, looking at her through eyes that are partly covered with white web over the dark brown orbs. He wasn’t blind yet, but he would be soon. „Where’s a graveyards, there’s a village, or a town. Surely you know many there? Gravediggers often do“ she counters, and he can understand her point of view. He nods, and she continues speaking. „His name is Trevor“ she says, her voice laden with emotion „I can’t tell you his exact age- but he should have blue eyes and brunet hair. Know you any of that name?“ her face falls when she sees the telltale expression on his tired face. „I knew only one Trevor my whole life“ he said with sorrow curling his lips „You are far too young to have met him“ he explained, but the woman persisted. „Tell me of him regardless“ she insisted, her eyes glinting with intent that was far too powerful for her small frame. „As you wish... I can take you where he died, too.“ „Do so, please. When did he die?“ „It will be twenty years any day, lassie. You probably weren’t even born yet, this wasn’t your friend“ he told her, scratching at the bushy beard.„Take me there regardless“ she said simply, and so Alexander disregarded his shovel and led the way, for no other reason but because it was in his nature to help.„What happened?“ she asked, although she had a pretty good idea. They were standing on a cliff, barren and steep- Trevor must have fallen.„It was awful“ Alexander began, sitting down. He dug regularly and for a long time, but that did not mean his bones did not hurt. They did and awfully so- if Alucard was awake and there he’d be able to identify the pain with bone cancer. Alexander would die soon after meeting Sypha, the illness within him processing with frightening speed. Unaware of his upcoming demise, he kept talking about Trevor’s. „He was an orphan, not really having a home but keeping around, you know? A tall little rascal. People avoided him for some reason, said he felt wrong. I never noticed it. He liked me because of that, liked to linger near me as I worked. He’d often help me too, dig with me, sometimes even instead of me. My, he was the closest thing I had to a son, although he never really got near enough for me to care for him- mind you, I probably wouldn’t be able to anyway. I could barely feed myself; it was a good thing that he was a survivor, otherwise he would have starved way before they came“ „They?“ „Aye. Vampires came one night, killed a few but murder was not their goal. They were after him, lassie. Carmilla herself came for him! I don’t dare to think what they could have possibly wanted with the little whelp, or why. But they caught him, they did.... dragged him away as a captive. But he got away at some point, started running... they gave chase. Would have caught him, too... if he didn’t jump. Right from this cliff.... I was down there with a few others, trying to hide from the bloodsuckers. Saw him jump. Saw his little body break. That is why we call this place Trevor’s cliff“ The beer is bitter. Too bitter, not in an ordinary way. There it is, then, Trevor thinks to himself as he takes time to taste poison on his lip. And on his twentieth birthday, no less. A new record it is, at least- never before did he live that long. He knew better than to hope for a long life.„How much did they pay you?“ he asks, setting the almost full cup aside as he looks up at the inn keeper that stands at the other side of the bar. The man looks wonderfully confused, so Trevor, ever the generous one, kindly explains. „To pour poison in my drink, that is“ he clarifies, voice bold and loud and eyes darkened by anger and disappointment. „I- I didn’t! Why would you even think that!“ the pudgy man sputters, horrified both by the wrath and the attention Trevor’s question got. An inn keeper that is labelled as a poisoner would go out of business quite quickly, he knows. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to murder an innocent man for a few copper coins, but at the time, he saw no issue with the arrangement. Trevor was... odd. A freak, even. Why not be rid of him? Now, he has different thoughts, terrified by the darkness in the man’s glare. Trevor did not finish his poisoned drink, and now he is angry. He might die by his hand now. „Or maybe you did it for free“ the brunet scoffs, running his hand through his greasy locks. „Maybe you just hate me so much. Like everyone else in this fucking shithole. May I just ask why? How did I wrong, what have I done? Why do you hate me so much?“ he receives no answer. „It’s no matter“ he finally decides, the edge of his expression softening to something sad rather than angry. What was the point in anger, anyways? He would be reborn as it was, somewhere else, hopefully far away from the damned place he grew up in the current life. „Fuck it. Bottoms up“ he declares, taking the cup and drowning the tainted beer without once pausing for breath. In that very moment, the door to the inn opens, and a woman that Trevor before only saw in his dreams walks in. She meets his eye like there is no one else in the room, and she looks as if she might faint. He does not hear her call out his name, because he is the one who loses consciousness but a moment later, his body convulsing violently against the poison working its way into his bloodstream.’get away from me’ is what he is trying to say when someone brings a chalice to his lips, although all that leaves his lips mere whimpering, broken by dry sobbing and moaning. The antidote he was just given is starting to run through his bloodstream and fight the poison set on ruining him from the inside, but the process was going to be long and painful too. „Don’t you have anything to ease his pain? You could manage poison but not milk of the poppy?“ Sypha snaps at one of the healers from her place by Trevor’s bedside, where she is clutching his hand and praying to the uncaring God above that he lives. If he were to die the very same day she found him... she wasn’t sure she’d survive the heartbreak, no more than she believed she’d manage to go through another six hundred years of searching. And maybe... maybe humanity wouldn’t either. And certainly not with vampires chasing after Trevor the way she did; how did it escape her notice? How long have they known of his resurrections? God, if Carmilla got her claws in him, and turned him... she wasn’t sure she’d ever manage to get him out of her greedy clutches. „He has to be aware... if we make him sleep, his body won’t fight against the poison. If he starts losing consciousness once the worst is over, you have to keep him awake, talk to him, h-hit him if needed“ the healer stutters underneath her fiery gaze, properly terrified as he ought be. The woman of blue eyes and red gold hair did not harm him, yet, but when he was ushered into the tavern he did notice the innkeeper on the ground, his body now a corpse with a melting stake prodding through his heart. So it was true, he thought to himself then- he tried to murder a lover of a witch. Witches, now they were terrifying things. For a few centuries already, the Church and fanatic religion is no more than a tale, and people have regained their sense to fright witches and warlocks and demons rather than have audacity to scorn them with Bible verses. And now, if Trevor with no last name did not survive, the entire village may be doomed: the beautiful woman clearly had no problem murdering in his name.„There is nothing else to do by wait now, my lady“ he tells her, lowering his eyes. „Then leave us“ she commands in return „Do not leave the inn. If I am in need of you and you are not here, both you and yours will suffer fate way worse than his“ she threatens without even looking at him, her eyes focused on her lover. It is hours later that the pain in his stomach and lungs lessens, the vicious burn dulled into a lingering ache. What the agony leaves in its wake, however, is exhaustion, and so his eyes close when he stops crying. He doesn’t get to sleep, a light slap pulling him away from the seductive slumber. At first he is agitated, only to find himself looking at someone far more tempting that the sweet lull of sleep. „You mustn’t sleep yet“ the vision says, beautiful face that is wet with tears going in and out of focus as he struggles to chase away black dots out of his vision. Finally his sight clears, and he sees her for the first time in so many lives that he had lost count of them. Memories flash through his mind, but not enough to finalize a coherent story. What he gets is more than enough still, for him to know he held her once, protected her, loved her... died for her. And as she pulls him in a hug so tight that it makes his chest hurt, he knows in a heartbeat that he’d die again if only she commanded it so. „Who are- how are you here?“ he finally says, weakly raising his hands to her shoulders, feeling down her arms as if to check if she was real and not just a cruel vision. „You’re here“ he says then, just to confirm, his eyes now wide in wonder, and gratitude. „I’m here, I’m here“ her eyes glisten with tears even before the ones on her cheeks have dried, and she smiles through them, half climbing onto bed with him, holding him still. „I’ve been looking for you, for so long. I’ve never stopped looking, Trevor, never- I’m just- I’m so sorry I took so long“ she stutters, burying her head in his chest. „I missed you so much“ she sniffles, and he caresses her back gently, heart swelling when he heard she hadn’t abandoned him. That was one of his doubts and fears whenever he’d dream of her and the man- that he once had those beautiful, perfect people in his life and somehow drew them away like he did to everyone else through centuries. In more desperate moments, he’d think he had angered them and that his wandering through lives without them was nothing but a punishment for wasting a gift as wonderful as them. „I love you“ he blurts, cutting her off before his courage would fail him „You are Sypha and I love you- I don’t remember who you are or how I know you but /Sypha/, I love you. I cannot possibly breathe near you if I don’t tell you this, and...“ he trails off, so she replaces the silence with a kiss, chaste at first until her tongue teases at his lips. He parts them eagerly, obeying to her lust as she straddles him and cups his unshaven face in his palms. He in turn places his hands on her waist, and kisses her back gently, making the pace slower as his consciousness starts dripping away once more.„Trevor, no!“ she calls out for him, shaking him „You must remain awake, you must fight against the poison!“ she begs for him, tears falling once more as she panics- he cannot leave her now! Not now, and not ever. He can’t, he mustn’t... he won’t. She won’t have it. „Where’s the other?“ he mumbles, eyelids growing heavy „Where’s... where’s Adrian? I miss him“ „We’ll find him“ she promises him then, slapping him once more „Trevor, we will find him, but you must remain awake. Can you do that for me?“ He is too tired to answer, his body going slack against the bedding, so she kisses him again. She kisses him ferociously, her grief biting at his lips, longing sucking at his tongue and fright licking at his teeth. He stirs, and her hands travel down his chest, ripping at the fabric of his shirt. She allows her blunt nails to scratch at his skin, knowing he would love how it felt, and she lets her thumb massage over his nipple, reveling in when he moans in response as she predicted. She can feel his heartbeat quickening, growing stronger, and that only makes her bolder, when she moves her lips from his to his neck, biting in hard where Adrian used to bite him, allowing her hand to move down his exposed chest and to untie his breeches that have already gone tight with need. Good, good. „Fuck, I love you“ she whispered in his ear, feeling him harden further in her hand before she slid down his chest to take his pants of fully. He opened his eyes to look down on her as she spread his legs and crawled between them, her eyes meeting his as she started sucking on her own fingers. There, with her fingers in her mouth and his dick in her hand the mere sight of her was almost enough to have him release, but she tightened her hold at the base as if she felt his struggle. Then, she did something he did not expect, and only fully processed when her spit wet fingers caressed his balls and then moved further down, between his cheeks and... „Fuck!“ he cried out when he felt the first digit slowly penetrate through the ring of muscle, the obscene action feeling better than it had any right to. And the way she was looking at him, with hooded eyes and licking over her lips, well, it just added fuel to the fire. „Do you enjoy it?“ she asked, voice low and laced with dominance as she added the second finger, starting to scissor them slowly, gently, letting him get used the stretch and the burn. „Yes, fuck, fuck“ he pants, looking at the ceiling but not seeing it despite his eyes being wide open „What even is this, fuck...“ he inhales sharply when she licks the head of his cock and starts working in the first finger. It is all so slow, but pain worms its way in and he finds that he doesn’t mind one bit, fuck, because it feels so good and the pain is like sugar on his tongue and he loves it, is lost in it and he needs more, fuck... „It is something you love“ she informs him, her hot breath making his cock twitch „You love many things... I remember them all“ she tells him almost smugly, and then swallows down his dick into the tight heat of her little mouth, her fingers starting to move within him as if fucking him. No, not as if, he realizes through mind that his hazy but oh so awake- she /is/ fucking him, she’s fucking him with her fingers and sucking his cock, she- she presses on something within him that makes him moan loudly and arch his back, his legs spreading further, begging her to give him more. She hums around his dick, pleased with herself for finding the sweet spot, and targets it again, pressing against it religiously while she bobs her head on his dick and uses her other hand to massage his balls. She can feel his thighs trembling on the either side of her, and his belly is getting taut with rapidly approaching orgasm. She doubles her efforts, his moans music in her ears, and soon she is rewarded with his hand in her hair and release in her mouth, throat, dribbling over her lips. She pulls her fingers out of him, smiling to hear him gasp at that. „That was. Fuck. That was amazing“ he tells her, voice rough with satisfaction, his thumb brushing over her damp bottom lip and his other hand buried in his hair for no other reason but to have something to hold onto. „Are you awake now?“ she purrs, crawling up his body to kiss him. He can taste himself on her tongue, and it makes him groan as he hugs her close. „Fuck yes“ he tells her, kissing her back eagerly „I’m not going anywhere“ he promises, and soon she has him dress. Walking would do him good, and they had a long way to go. They left that very evening, leaving nothing behind but the poisoners corpse and a story; a story of a man named Trevor, no last name, who was fucked into health by a fire witch.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
They travel on horses, Sypha having purchased them by better price than they deserved. With her power and in justified anger she could have taken them without leaving any coin in payment, but she, even in anger, is too aware of the common troubles of hunger and poverty to deny the people silver they deserve in exchange for the horses. Those few coins might even make a difference between life and death in the next few months- she wouldn’t have anyone’s starvation on her soul. Through the centuries of seeking, she watched and listened not only for a trace of her lover, but also to the world around her; world that was suffering first underneath a man badly hurt, and now underneath the hordes he sent out as if in afterthought, while the vampires he no longer controlled scattered around and hunted humans like hawks did mice. The shift in the source of horror wasn’t obvious at first, but when mass slaughters by the night horde became less frequent than enslaving entire towns and villages and reducing the population to mere blood reservoirs, it became apparent to the no longer young witch that Dracula had lost his drive. And that was a valuable lesson; never let your anger make you irrational- never believe yourself entitled to violence due to your own agony, for the consequences of such an act may and will unfurl out of your control. If Dracula himself managed to get lost in pain and vengeance and lose the rhythm of the tune while the concert held on, what chance would she have? What chance would anyone have, really? Even power and might, one ought remain humble, lest they cause the end of days. Naturally, the days weren’t ending just yet, but they /were/ indeed quite bleak. If Dracula didn’t manage to put a definite end to the world so far, it didn’t mean that someone else wouldn’t, should they follow his steps. „What are you thinking about?“ Trevor’s voice brought her back from her thoughts, and she looked to her left where her lover rode. How she misssed him... and now that she had him by her side again, she couldn’t ever imagine losing him again. If something akin to that happened... it would take her strength she wasn’t sure she possessed not to copy the exact madness and outlash that Dracula performed more than half a millenia prior. „Pain“ she said without a lie, looking into his pure blue eyes. He still had the scar, she noticed- she would have to ask him how he gained it in current life, as the story could not possibly go the same as the one of how he first aquired it. „I was in so much pain without you. I was just thinking how grateful I am that I haven’t gone completely mad“ „I am sorry I- I’m sorry I kept dying“ Trevor said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as he muled over how dumb he sounded. Maybe it wasn’t all that bad, though, since Sypha laughed.„Oh, Trevor. Only you could apologize for something like that“ she said, happy tears glittering in her eyes as she smiled, looking at him with so much love that Trevor thought he could live a thousand more times and never deserve it. „Sorry. I just don’t like the thought of anything bringing you pain“ he said, his blush hidden behind his beard. He spoke again after a few moments, looking ahead. „Are we going to him now?“ he asked „Adrian?“ „Yes. He is in Styria, held a prisoner there. But I couldn’t storm the castle without you“„Sorry“„Love if you apologize one more time I’ll have to slap the sorry out of you“ They fell silent after that, mostly because they both felt that such serious conversation is better to be held when they were not moving. But as they rode, Trevor couldn’t help but feel dread pooling in his stomach. He lacked any form of education, but every child knew of Styria- it was as close to Hell as Earth could have it.Later that night, Trevor supposed he should hardly be scandalized that she crawled underneath his cloak and huddled to his side when they’ve made camp. After all, didn’t she already treat him like a lover would? He had lost himself in her mouth, on her fingers; the memory brought a blush to his cheek and he was somewhat glad that she couldn’t see it, her face resting on his chest. What made him bite his lip in embarassment wasn’t just that he was completely a virgin until she came- that he could at least explain by waiting for her, although that wasn’t truly a case; he had no real hope he’d ever meet the people from his dreams, no. His resentment towards the pleasures of flesh dwelled from his other dreams, ones more akin to nightmares. He would dream of his scattered memories ever since he could remember, and some things were just horrifying for a young child to witness, even while asleep. Until Sypha came and kissed him, he coiled away from anyone’s touch, unwilling to experience even a fraction of what he could remember. All restrains melted underneath her fire, however. He let her touch him; he enjoyed her touching him. He wanted to touch /her/. And that precisely was what frightened him; while she clearly knew how to be a wife, he had no idea of how to be a husband. And he so wished to provide for her what she did for him, but he supposed nature wasn’t kind to her in that way- in the least crude way put, there was nothing between her legs that he could suck on. He could use his fingers, he supposed... there was no reason for that not to feel as good for her as it did for him.„I forgot how warm you were“ she whispered against his chest, her voice awake even though her eyes were closed. „While I looked for you, I would lay each night and think of you, and Adrian, I’d think about you both so hard so I wouldn’t forget a thing. But I forgot- I forgot I was never cold when I was with you. Makes me wonder...“ „Makes you wonder what you forgot about him“ he finished for her, in that gruff, caring voice she hadn’t heard in such a long time. She inhaled deeply, noticing that he blissfully seemed to have forgotten his aversion to bathing; although, he forgot so much, didn’t he? „Do you remember anything?“ she asked him, opening her eyes lazily and looking up to him „How we met, what we- what we are supposed to do. How we loved each other“„I remember the last bit“ he replied, his heart beating so hard against his ribcage that he was certain she could feel it „I- I don’t remember hows and whys; I just know we were three. You... Adrian... and I. I believe we were as if in a marriage, yes? We loved each other like usually only two do“ she smiles, so he guesses that he was right. „How did he end up in Styria? I thought he’d be with you, did you two get separated or is he like me?“ he dares ask, and she stills in his arms, as if cold despite his heat and the furcloak over them. „He... oh, Trevor. He is more like me than you, I’d say, but... when we first met, the three of us, it was through a prophecy. We are a bit late fulfilling it. You know the prophecy of the Soldier, Hunter and a Scholar?“ she waits a bit for him to answer, but all he does is shrug. „They are meant to kill Dracula“ she elaborates, and he frows. „I thought Sleeping Beauty was meant to do that“ he says, bitterness in his voice „That is the fairytale, at least. A sleeping beauty will be awoken by his lovers and-“ he cuts himself off, blinking rapidly in confusion as he looks down on her. „No“ „Yes“ she nods in a reply „That is the... newer version. I suppose that even the one we followed was once different, but the trio remains the same. You, Adrian and I will defeat Dracula. That is what brought us together- the love, now that... that is what is keeping us together. Through matters both pleasant and grim... with grimness being quite overwhelming, I’d have to admit“ „We didn’t defeat Dracula“ „We didn’t. You... you /died/, Trevor, you died! You fucking died and Adrian was taken by that scheeming little /bitch/ Carmilla who fucking cursed him and I- I stayed behind with nothing!“ she kicks the cloak off, which ends up over Trevor’s face. By the time he untangles himself and sits up, she is stomping around, the land scorned where she steps, and the breeze is now a wind fit for a storm, and it smells of despair. Trevor has no time to ponder how the hell he suddenly knows what wind smells like, because Sypha is still talking- no, she is yelling. „And it fucking- God it was fucking centuries! Centuries of me going around and around, sometimes missing you just by a year- a day! Trevor I once even saw your corpse, I had to bury it myself! Centuries of heartache for me, as I walk around this forsaken planet telling people that everything will be just fine, I am just about to fix it all, but I /don’t/, I couldn’t even find my lovers how could I save the fucking world, and the people I promised salvation would die young and cold and miserable all because SYPHA could figure out how to find ONE MAN that is BOUND TO HER BY FATE. And of course I found you here! And I HATE France! But I am so happy that I found you and it’s just way too much for me, I can’t- I feel like I am going to break, Trevor...“ she sunk to her knees, the outburst having drained her of anger and left her only with tears. Except that tears no longer were her only company. She felt strong arms pull her in broad chest, and a hand was running through her short chopped hair, hair that she refused to let grow so that one day her lovers may see her as she was before. She changed so much, she lost so much of herself through the centuries; the constant haircuts somehow kept her grounded through it all. But then, in Trevor’s arms, she had a feeling she could have hair as long as fairy and still feel like herself. „Easy“ he whispered to her what he so many times wished someone would say to him. „You’re good, Sypha. You’re so good. You should have never been forced to go through such hardships. But I am here now, and I swear to you, I will help you carry this and we will get Adrian and we will put an end to this madness once and for all“ he promised, kissing her temple, her nose, her eye and her lips; he kissed the tears away, making her look up to him. God, she has been through so much, he thought as their gazes met, her face wet and eyes wide and teary, her bottom lip wobbling as she held back more sobs.„Don’t hold it back“ he finally said, pulling her close again. „You can cry. Let it all out“ she kept quiet for a few more moments, and then it was like a dam broke. She kutched at his shirt and he was pretty sure she ripped it a little, but none of that mattered as she cried herself to sleep, hundreds of years worth of grief finally catching up her. Trevor could only hope the crying would do her good and that she had at least a bit of her strength left. After all, while his journey was just beginning, hers was far from over too. Simply getting from Frace to the distant land of Wallachia would take time- and then they would have to storm Styria, the lair of hell and blood in which their beauty was captured. Hector had never believed in neither Heaven nor Hell, most of all because he was way too grounded for either. Some would think that a man wielding powers of death and life would have more faith to him, leaning towards either light or dark, depending whom he credited for the gift he was given. But Hector did not view it as a gift; it was something of his own, something that was his just as much as his tongue and lungs were, something as essensial to him as bones were. He never felt need to thank any supposed deity or demon for his fingernails, so why would he thank for necromancy? It was his; no one gave it to him.He used to think like that, at least. Now, he knows not where his powers came from, but he is aware that they are no gift; they were a curse bestowed upon him by someone who hated him very, very much, before he ever was born. The power seduced him at first, oh it did; he though he could use it to make something precious; life. ’We make life from death here’ he said once, long ago, while he still was a proud man. He was so proud, wasn’t he? Carmilla quickly trained him out of it once she had him underneath her thumb. Beatings and feedings were bad, yes, but she was a creative vampire, and despite her beaty and grace, she lacked all of the class Dracula had; her assault was not only physical and mental, it also was sexual whenever he whim willed it so. Sometimes she’d ride him, forcing herself over him and letting him fight her the whole way. Other times, she’d have her guards have their way with him. ’Men are so fickle’ she’d snicker as he gagged on cock he did not want in his mouth while another hurt him between his legs. ’Surely you don’t mind letting them let off some steam on you? I do need my male guards alert and satisfied if they are to do well for me’ she’d boast, which was absolute bollocks, of course. Later, after she turned him, she had him feed on everyone of her guard who had ever lain over him- one by one she had him dispose of them, proclaiming it her gift to him. She pretended she wanted to give him satisfaction of vengeance, but what she really was doing was sending a message. Not to him, but to everyone else in her domain. Hector was hers and hers alone to torment, and she alone would have the pleasure of granting him pain. She grew possessive over him, probably because she came so close to losing him. She would have, if not for the black magic within his veins. But before that, three years of torture have passed. He was nineteen when he came to serve Dracula; he was twenty when Carmilla placed a collar on him and marched him to Styria. He was twenty one when the door to his cell opened one night, the single lit torch casting way too much light for his sensitive eyes to handle. He could only see dark shapes against the fiery light, but one voice he could recognize everywhere; it haunted him in his nightmares, even. „He’s my Forgemaster“ Carmilla purred from somewhere in the darkness, her voice smug and satisfied. He flinched at the tone alone- it meant she had something in store for him that would make her very happy- in turn, he’d suffer. „He is the reason you all suffer. He is the reason your children are dead- without him, I wouldn’t have managed it“ she chuckled, and Hector then understood that the people she brought in his cell, at least a dozen of them, were humans just like he was. They were not happy to see him. Underneath Carmilla’s watchful eye, who lingered about to make sure none kill him, she allowed them to do everything and anything but that. Anything but that, which was the only thing he wanted. Now that he has fangs, which are oh so often long with hunger that she torments him with, he is confined to his worshop, only allowed to leave it with her. But underneath the stone, in a chamber even beneath his, somewhere so deep in the earth’s belly that the air is probably rare with oxigen, he can feel presence, presence that is neither of Carmilla, nor a fellow vampire, nor a human. It is a presence of a dhampir, and it is an echo of his old Master. Adrian, Hector recalls that the man is called, and he remembers the portrait he once saw at Dracula’s castle, one of a young man with long blond tresses and curious eyes. He looked quite timid in the oainting, but from the stories he knows that Dracula’s son was quite a warrior. He speaks to him. He knows that he cannot hear, his ears defeaned by sleep that his lover forced him in. But not even Carmilla can deafen a soul, and Hector his not speaking with his voice. He tells him when she wears a new dress that he likes. He tells him when she hits him so hard in the stomach that he pisses blood. He tells him how she smells of jasmine, how she killed his dog, and no Ceasar was not dead to begin with!He tells him how many mosters he makes for her. That is all he can really do, in hopes that the sleeping prince awakens and comes in need of information. Hector cannot tell him much of the Styria’s georphaphy, or the number of vampires underneath Carmilla’s reign. But he can tell him how much monsters he makes, how many he feels die, how many return and breed. Carmilla nearly killed him when she realized, finding the truth in his blood. But she forgave him, eventually, and even had given him her blessing. And with it, stubbornly, he continued to do so, refusing to let her take it away from him by allowing it. He understood her tricks by then, some of them at least; many things she ruined for him by giving them praise, or giving them to him, making them a gift when she knew damned well he wanted nothing to take from her lest it be her very own life. But Adrian... that was one thing he knew for a fact she did not allow to toy with him, but because she had no other choice. The prince she wouldn’t dare move- he was such a precious cargo, and he doubted there even was a place more secure for him then the one she put him in. And to remove Hector, build him a workshop elsewhere... well, it would be an open confession of weakness, as plain as saying that she doubted her success in keeping Adrian asleep. Admitting her completely logical worry would bring her no true dishonor, nor would it lessen her in Hector’s eyes. The forgemaster did not fear her because he thought she was stronger than all else- he feared her because she was stronger than /him/. But her own pride and conceited nature were a taxing combination, one that both pushed her to achieve things that no vampire did before her, but also to commit dangerous mistakes that would have been avoided had she listened to her sharp intellect instead of the heart that so easily was molded by emotion. He hoped it would catch up with her some day. When in a particularly dark place, he’d insut her and berate her savagely, hoping she’d lose control and kill him. She never did, but that did not mean she wouldn’t punish him for throwing a fit. ’There really was no reason for such a fuss, really. Go ahead’ she told him sweetly, licking his blood of her fingers ’Talk to him. He will never wake, Hector. No one will come to your aid’ It was odd, truly, that she could read him so smoothly yet not understand the very first chapter: he wasn’t hoping Adrian would save him, he prayed that he’d kill her. “Isaac! Hey, Isaac! Don’t you ignore me ye sack o' shit!” Mohamed turns not because he was addressed, but because he doesn’t understand whom else the stranger could be referring to. Isaac is not his name; he is Egyptian born and bred, but the tall, peculiar man is looking straight at him as he walks, no, /stalks/ his way, even though he is the only one at the dock. “You’ve made a mistake, my friend” he says as he lowers the crate he was just about to load on the small boat. He is a smuggler, and his earnings dishonest but tidy. He has a knife on him, but somehow doesn’t feel like he’d have to use it on the pale man who just stopped a few meters away from him. He is tall and muscular, but doesn’t emit an aura of danger. If anything, the redhead is confused, and pissed off about something, but not violent, no. “You’re not Isaac” he informs him dumbly, as if the smuggler needed the confirmation. “No” he concedes, somewhat amused. Underneath the moonlight, the man’s skin looks almost gray, but the pale underside of his wrist testifies that the man is very much white, like redheads tended to be. “You are not from around here, are you?” he asks, running his hand down his bald head to get rid of some sweat. Even in the chilly night, physical labor that comes with his job makes him heat up rather easily underneath his robes. “Eh. I’d first have to figure out where this is. Where are we?” “Germany. Have you hit your head? There is a village not a mile from here” for some reason that makes the redhead grin “There should be a healer there to look at you” “Not anymore, pal” comes a smug reply, toothy reply “What year is it?” “What do you mean what year? Are you really- oh, no…” the question he was asked was horrifying enough if one was clever enough to realize just which sort asked such things, but when those teeth shine in the moonlight, they are not just decorated with fangs, they also are stained with blood, tiny chunks of flesh and blood stuck in between here and there. “Oh, /yes/” the vampire grins, taking the man’s face in his clawed hands and biting into his throat. He feeds slowly, then. The village he ruined out of sheer hunger- he was just so hungry! But now that his belly is full, he can act like a man again, and use the blood for more than just nourishment. He sips at the man’s life and allows himself to participate in it too, walking through his years with each gulps. He learns a lot, sadly most of it is related to a continent he is far away from and has no intentions of ever visiting. Still, some information is useful- he knows what Carmilla is up to, he knows that Dracula is alive and stranded in a castle that no longer can move- and also the current year.“Aw shite” Godbrand groans “I’ve been dead for six hundred years?!”
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„We will take a boat from Paris“ Sypha told him the following morning. Her eyes were bloodshot and face red from crying, and sleep that followed after so many tears couldn’t possibly be very restful. Trevor wanted to tell her to relax and return to her place on his chest; he would lie for years if it meant she’d lie with him and get her rest. But they had no such time- they still weren’t three. „A boat? There are no boats sailing, not anymore- vampires are stalking the shores and attacking the ports“ he countered, sitting up and fixing his slightly damaged shirt. He was no expert on geography and ships, since he never saw a body of water bigger than a tiny stream, but he knew the tales. Vampires could not stand the running water, and thus they made it their goal to ruin any form of transportation that used it. It was what they did, essencially; taking away any form of hope for humans. „Oh, there are“ Sypha told him, running her fingers through her hair. She carried no comb, but her locks were short and fingers slim- she made do with those. „How do you think they haven’t ruined us completely yet? People adapt, Treffy. And when something is forbidden, we smuggle it“ she said with a hint of pride. He liked that look on her- confident and full of mischief, excited. She was almost giddy to get on her horse, wanting to proceed with their plan as soon as possible. It was hot day- listless spring was giving way to a scorching summer. It made their clothes stick to their back, wet with sweat, and rows of mosquitos were now joining ranks with ever present flies, thanks to the huge summer rains. However, longer days would play into their favor, until they got onto a ship. Then it would be on fate’s good will that it doesn’t get sunk. „Are you sure taking the ship is the best option?“ he asked after a few hours of riding „I mean, once on it, we have no way of defending ourselves, if the vampires decide to sink it from the shore. We will be trapped in the river“ „We will not be trapped. I will take care of you, and water never harmed me“ well, it did- when she was not even two full decades old, and had only used water as a weapon. Centuries of practice have changed that. „It is a far smaller risk than if we go by foot. The vampires know about you, Trevor“ „What?“ „Do you remember any of your past lives?“ „I remember my past deaths, mostly, and you, and him. What little I remember of other matters I try to forget“ she noticed that his voice was clipped at the confession, and tightened her grip on her reigns. Whatever was happening to him during her centuries of searching, it was in no matter comfortable, that much was obvious. „Well, I talked to a man who knew you, once- in a previous life. He told me the vampires came for you, one night; Carmilla’s women. And they wanted to alive. They somehow know about you, and they have been looking for you just the way I was“ she saw him tense, and was sadly glad for it- he needed to be aware of the risks, and his apathy for death that she was so used to in his first life could be far too damaging in this one, not that it ever was acceptable. „They can’t take me. I won’t let them, I would rather die than-“„Don’t you dare finish that sentence“ She didn’t recognize her own voice. It sounded like her, yes, but it never was so dark. Not even when she cursed the priests, chased away the people and sent a fiery hell upon Notre Dame, bringing down its bell tower. She moved her horse to get in Trevor’s path, staring him right in the eye. Somewhere in the distance, day lighting was heard. „You and he are the only things I have, Trevor, the only things that matters to me in this world. I need you both and if I lose you to Carmilla as well I will never see either of again. What will I do then, lover? What will I do? I will die without you, if I don’t go insane first. You do not know the things I’ve seen, the thoughts I’ve had.“ „Sypha-" „I’m the one talking! I know you, and I know you are grave and I know you do not fear death. But if you do not fear your own life ending, please tell me, are you so apathetic to my life ending? Because if I lose you both for good, I /will/ die. And with me the world“ „I would never- Sypha, please. I’d never have you mad, or dead; I won’t let anyone hurt you. I love you!“ „And I love you. To prevent my hurt means to take care of yourself. Please, Trevor“ she was mellower, then. She was asking him for life, both his and hers; the two to her seemed locked together, if not the same altogether. „I will. I promise. I won’t die on you“ he would have promised her sun and stars right there and then if that is what she desired. And why shouldn’t see? She was a small sky of her own, a little miracle. Stars were but sisters to her. Yet she only wanted him and their Beauty. A modest, humble woman. She moved her horse right next to his, so they were facing each other closely.„You are more important than you realize, Treffy“ she told him gently, caressing his bearded face. „I need you to know that. I depend on you. The world does too“ her lips tasted like dried tears, and he promised himself that in the future, she will taste like happiness. „I never thought that way. I always dreamed of you two; never of greater destiny“ he admited, and then he saw shame flicker on her face. „Oh, Treffy. I never told you- I should have asked. I’m sorry“ „Told me what? What did you need ask?“ he was confused- wasn’t everything clear? Save their lover, kill Carmilla- was there more?„I never asked you if you wanted to be dragged into this all again“ she said „I mean- the first time you were hesitant too, not out of fear but distrust. But I shouldn’t have assumed you’d want it again now- I just plucked you from your life and set you to a road of danger. Do you even want to be here?“ „You did not just ask me that? Sypha. I want you, and him- I need both of you. I would storm a thousand Styrias if it meant I’d hve the two of you“ „But you know I am taking you to Styria? And the ship is only getting us that far, we will still have to walk weeks through vampire ridden Wallachia. You may get injured... you might go hungry“ You might die, she thought, but dared not say it. He knew that one already.„Am I not starving already when I am without you?“ he kissed her there, and she melted into it. They were not yet three, but time apart was enough to show her that both of them she loved to infinity- there was no mathematics in that devotion. „What happened here?“ Trevor asked, bewildered at the sight of the huge building in shambles. It must have had a huge tower, once, based on the width of the ruins, but he could not for the life of him understand what it was. „Was this a palace?“ he asked, only ever having heard tales of them- it was a pity that the first one he sees be the one brought down. „It was a place of prayer“ Sypha said in distaste. „Notre Dame, they called it.“ She stopped talking for a moment, the trot of their horses filling the silence. But it wasn’t silent but a moment ago- Trevor looked around, confused; the people that were rushing through the streets have stopped their chatter. Some were running away from them, while others just stood frozen. A few peasants bowed, and every single one of them looked absolutely terrified. „I brought it down“ she spoke finally, pointing a finger at the ruined pile of bricks and stone. „They were burning supposed witches in there, heretics and such. Now they all remember what a blue cloak means, and no Parisian will dare allow worship in their city, not for decades.“ When he stayed quiet, looking at her with those lamb eyes of his, her lips pressed into a tight line. „You disapprove?“ „I worry“„For whom? They? I would never harm innocent peasants. The only people that were in it at the time of burning were the priests, those who beckoned and encouraged murder, arranged it for their own practices of power seeking and climbing up the rotten ladder of theirs“ „I worry for you. You shouldn’t do things like these- they weigh on a soul, Sypha“ „And what would you know about souls and weight, Trevor? What? How long have you lived, this time? You are no older than twenty, I say“ He looked down, and before his mahogany locks hid his gaze, she saw his haunted eyes, and the unhappy curve to his chapped lips. She hurt him, and that was not her intent. How could she bend the earthly and unearthly forces to her will and shape them to will her intentions to life, yet she couldn’t stop herself from hurting her lover on accident? „I’m sorry, Treffy. I meant not to hurt you. But sometimes we who presume to preserve what little peace there is left have to do vile things for the good of this Earth. You don’t remember, I know, but religion and worship is the cause of all this violence. It hurt countless, and it would continue to do so for as long as there are people giving it strength. I had the power to stop it; it would have been evil if I did not use it“ „I never remembered you as malicious“ he muttered, and missed the hurt expression on her face. She gripped the rails tight, and kept her mouth shut as to not say something she’d regret, something that would drive him away from her. She lost him to Dracula the first time, she couldn’t lose him to herself now. They were silent when they got into an inn. It was a small and shaggy place, not worthy of what once was light of Europe, but nothing better could be expencted in the current time. The silence around them wasn’t an angry one, or even awkward one. It was sad more than anything, even as Sypha managed to worry through it. She sat up that night, watching as Trevor fell asleep by her side, his face seeming more haunted as he slept. No wonder, she thought as she saw his eyes move underneath his eyelids. He was dreaming, and through his dreams he relived his deaths. Perhaps not even only his own. He used to dream of her too, though. He said so. In his sleep there was more than just horror, there was also love, that is how he knew her face. He was waiting for her for so long, and now he had her. Was he disappointed? Tear fell before the thought fully formed, and was quickly followed by another. Trevor awoke not long after. He was a man that could sleep through a lot, but Sypha’s quiet sniffles were to his ears louder than a thousand screaming men.„I’m sorry“ she chocked between hiccups „I’m so sorry Treffy. I’m sorry“ she repeated it like the words might come to life and save her from whatever she was sorry for, change it somehow. Trevor would battle hell to ruin whatever made her so grief stricken, but he had no idea what posessed her to apologize to him. Had she not spent centuries looking for him? Had she not saved his life? Was she not his light in all of his grim lives? „You have nothing to be sorry for“ he told her, and then repeated that and the variations of it each time she’d claim her regret. They spoke to each other that way until their throats were sore and tongues tired and words completely lost their meaning. „France used to be famous for its cheese“ Sypha said as they in the morning dined tasteless stew that was more impure water than grass „But people cannot sustain keeping cattle anymore. Meat is a rarity and best eaten fresh. If they wait, try to breed them, they will just see their animals die of hunger or by some beasts claw, so the meat goes to waste“„I can’t imagine this place being anything other than a wasteland“ Trevor said, drinking the last of his pitiful soup as if it was tea. His manners did not improve over the centuries. His mind flashed back to the broken down cathedral, and he thought that actually yes, there could have been something there, something good, firm, and civilized. Yet there was a good reason Sypha burned it down. Was humanity ever meant to go that far? Were they destined to become monsters themselves if they get anything more than scraps? „It was good, for a good while. It was prospering, in fact. After I removed the Church presence from it, it was on the rise... until the Night Horde reached them. For some reason it took them longer to get to France, or maybe Carmila had some priority she had to tend to, but honestly? I think that when the horde came here, the people were surprised“ she shook her head „And now that whore reigns from here to Russia and further. She has some bastard ruling over Asia for her“ she sucked an angry breath through her teeth. „So when we are done with her, there is more job to be done, is what you are saying“ Trevor mused, wiping his mouth with his wrist. Sypha smiled grimly. „Just so. If you are up for it. Although, if we survive Carmilla, we will make a sport out of getting rid of her vermin servants“ „I will need me a proper blade for that sport“ Trevor said with a smirk „This short sword isn’t all that good“ Sypha drummed her fingers on the table, as if impatient, just for a moment. „You shouldn’t be using a sword, not as your primary weapon“ she declared. „Well what else should I use? A spoon?“ „No, a whip“ ignoring his confused gaze, she reached for the bag she had by her feet. „I have something for you“ „Trevor, get down from there! Right now!“ Sypha yelled, stomping her foot on the ground. She could manipulate air and dirt and actually chase him, but she was not too serious in her request. However, Trevor swinging from one tree to another was not what she had expected him to do when they went out for him to practice. She thought she bash on air, or something, not become a monkey. „Why didn’t you give it to me sooner? This is the finest weapon a man has ever made!“ „I wanted to only give it to you once you agree to fight on your own, I didn’t want to pressure you- Trevor, you’ll break your neck like that!“He jumped down in front of her, finally on the ground. „I won’t break, Sypha“ he said, a huge smile on his face „I know how to use this thing. It’s mine. I won’t get hurt wielding it“ he promised her. He raised her chin with his finger and placed a merry kiss on her lips, and she allowed that to soothe her. She had to remind herself that Trevor was a fearsome warrior, back then- and it seemed to have survaved the countless deaths. Besides... it felt good to see him smile so brightly. He was still gushing about it when they boarded their ship later that afternoon. „There is a vampire in the woods“ Krimhilda, the little girl that said the grim words, was barely a day older than a decade, and her voice was just over a whisper, her youth and malnourished state giving her no strength to speak any louder. Still, everyone in the mud house heard the words perfectly well- there was no noise during the night, not in their remote village in the moodle of the mountain forest. Things like music and loud chatter could attract things like rabid animals that have long since forgotten how to fear a man. However, they never considered what to do if vampires notice them- there would be no escape if an undead legion stormed them. „How do you know this? Did he follow you?!“ her father rose from the thin bedding on the floor and rushed to get his axe, while mother knelt in front of her, franticly checking her for wounds, or worse, bite marks. Yet while there were two bloody hand prints underneath her armpits (large ones, too, the vampire could easily wrap his two hands around her skinny torso) there didn’t appear to be a scratch on her. „I don’t think so. He was- he was eating“ she gulped, shock finally giving way to grief and fear „He took Dieter“ she sniffled, her horrified mother allowing her to sob in her apron. „Quiet my dear“ she whispered, looking over her shoulder at her husband, who stood with axe in hands not knowing if he should give chase or stay put. „You don’t want the vampire to come. Quiet“ Krimhilda tried to be quiet, she did, but tears wouldn’t stop coming. The young lass has never seen a vampire before, only heard of them, but she always imagined them tall and slim, with feline faces and dressed in silver- and they’d be ladies, all of them, because even in their blacksight of a village was it know how little love Carmilla had for men. Under her reign the vampiresses rose higher than heaven, and she was rumored to even have a human harem of women she deemed beautiful enough to escape death. But men, those she didn’t like. And yet when she saw the man in the woods, she knew precisely what he was. He was dressed only in pants, shirtless and barefoot despite the nightly breeze, and he was sitting cross legged in front of a fire, eating. Munching, really, at the leg in his hands, starring at the fire with a frown on his face, as if deep in thought. She might would have confused him for a warrior of the past, an exotic soldier who came for their salvation. There was a sense of mundane around him, despite his rippling muscles. The way that he ate, wiped the blood from his mouth with his wrist like a good lady would with a napkin was oddly endearing, like watching a merry dog be glad at his meal. But what he wiped from his face was indeed blood, and the leg in his hands was a human one. And when he looked up at her, fire setting his blood stained face alight, his expression annoyed, she could do little else but faint. Such a horrible sight was not something she was prepared for, no matter how many times she had watched her father butcher their cattle. The blood she was used to seeing was animal one, and it was spilled for their sustenance, not murder. When she came to, she knew not how much time has passed, but she felt she was in air, a firm hold on her torso keeping her up. The vampire was holding her, and he was just as horrible as a moment before, blood staining the bottom half of his face and dripping down past his neck and onto his chest. ’I die now’ she thought, not feeling the tears that slid down her cheeks when she looked over the vampire’s shoulder and onto the corpse by the fire. It was Dieter, she realized with a small, terrified sigh- she recognized the scar on his chin. That was the only thing she could recognize, of course, since the upper half of his face was missing, his nose appearing to have been torn off and mushy brain spilling on the ground from the few bits of his skull that were still attached to his head. One of his legs was torn off too, that was what the vampire was eating. She dimly remembered how easily the red headed beast ripped the leg in two to suck whatever he found pleasing in the thigh bone. She hoped he’ll kill her before he started feasting on her „You’re too skinny“ the vampire muttered, speaking the same tongue as her, only in an odd accent. He put her down, and then tugged a bit at her collar to keep her on her feet when she felt her knees wobble. „Come on now, go home“ she gulped, too afraid to turn her back on him, and too confused to feel relief. He made the choice for her when her took hold of her shoulders and turned her around. „Come on little girl, go to your mom. Go go go“ he ushered her like he was a well meaning stranger, not a monster, and she slowly started walking, one step at the time. Behind her, she heard him sit down again, and the munching started again. Wet and nasty, she'd remember that sound for many years; a sound of a human reduced to an animal.In the morning, the men from the village took their pitchforks and axes and went on a hunt, trying to find a vampire’s nest while he slept. They couldn’t let him go and alert others of where they were housed. A scout ate one of their own, but if he brought a legion, they all would either die or be dragged in chains to the feeding camps. Yet they never found him- while they searched caves and nooks, the vampire was beneath their feet, buried in the dirt. And come nightfall, he was out of their completely, not that they knew that. He was on his way to the nearest town with a port- the man had a boat to catch.