Drifting….twilight…swirling blackness…calm. Not peace, but calm.
Limbo.
The war inside was decided. The war-or peace-outside did not matter.
Days passed. Or millennia. What did it matter? What is time?
Intangible. Neither hot, nor cold. Body frozen in the grasp of Mother Earth. Dirt and debris may have piled overhead. Rock may have eroded. It did not matter. There was only here, and here was not moving. Here would not move. It was not to move. Ever.
The mind? Nowhere. Or everywhere. What did it matter? What is the mind, without the soul?
And there was no soul, or death would have come to claim its victim to the depths of Hell long, long ago.
Warrior, hero, savior, lover.
Betrayer.
Spy, degenerate, scourge, liar.
Alone.
Who was betrayed? Not principle, not honor. What happens when the prey becomes the predator? Who protects the weak?
Alliances were made and were broken. They were still being made and broken. It was not to be concerned.
No breath. It was not necessary. Nothing was necessary. Or was everything? It did not matter. Nothing mattered.
It was calm. Not peace, but calm. Limbo.
Awake.
Something snapped. What snapped? Move. Hunger. There is hunger. Hunger mattered.
Slowly the creature slipped through the packed dirt and clay. Small, almost undetectable writhing shifted the mud, the stones, and the debris.
A bony, skeletal hand reached the surface first. The fingers moved gracefully, as the figure below contemplated the air that it touched for the first time in eons.
It was not long before the body, if it could be called that, unearthed itself. Mummified skin clung to bone, and had the appearance of being brittle. Bones creaked upon bone with each motion. Rags of once-luxurious clothing clung to the figure. Hair was matted to the skull with dirt and blood. One eye, the left, was white and dead. The other eye…the right eye…gave off an ever-so-slight evil red glow.
It was not human, though it was, once. No longer.
The thin, crackling lips pulled back. It may have been a smile, it may have been a grimace. Pearl-white teeth, with razor-sharp fangs, glinted in the moonlight.
It still could not be immediately identified whether the body was man or woman, male or female. That does not matter here, and it did not matter in that instant to the owner of the body, for it only wanted one thing.
Sustenance. Blood.
A raccoon scurried at the figure's feet. With lightning reflexes, it snatched the unlucky creature up and, with one smooth motion, drained the animal of its lifeblood. The mangled remnants were unceremoniously dropped on the ground.
The small shot of red life was enough to bring back some of the mind. Hollow nostrils sniffed the air. That way. The figure stalked deliberately, moving from its lonely place of rest towards the city.
The number left dead that first night was impossible to count. All of them, from the lowliest animal to the vampire hunter that met his match were left mangled, bodies discarded as one would discard the wrappings of a sandwich.
"How appropriate," the creature thought to itself, as it stalked into the outskirts of the city, glancing at the street name. Jaded.
The streetlights illuminated the figure, as she (and she was very obviously a she) crept down the road. Like a sponge, her body had grown and fleshed out with each drop of blood she had drunk.
Tattered rags hung off her body, barely decent, leaving no hint to the imagination. The creeper was short, with a top-heavy hourglass figure. Her mother-of-pearl skin was streaked with dirt and gore. Her lips, now full, were pursed with determination. She wore no shoes. She did not care.
Grimy hands reached into the folds of the rags that had once been clothing, and pulled out two small knife blades. With inhuman flexibility, she reached behind her back and made two deep parallel cuts at her shoulder blades.
The blood gushed out in arches, but froze in midair, instead of hitting the ground. Spurts like tree branches flowed out of the arches, again, freezing. The blood hardened, first to bone, then to feathers of black.
The creeper stretched, bringing her wings to their full span. Then, she licked the drops of her own blood off of the blades, returning them to their hiding place within the folds of her rags. She flexed her body, powerful muscles under the womanly curves, and then pushed off.
The first rays of the sun were starting to spark over the horizon. Merely a
nuisance to an elder vampire such as herself. It would take more than a few
seconds of exposure to end one as powerful as she.
Still, what point would there be in staying out? Anything worth mentioning
happens at night, anyway.
She chose a hidden corner of an attic in a tall church to hide. She chuckled to
herself at the irony.
Between piles of boxes covered in years' worth of dust and cobwebs, she wrapped
her wings around herself and slept.
The following twilight she awoke. The hunger was still there, and it needed to be fed. As the blood flowed, her thoughts became more coherent.
"I wonder if we should pay him a visit. No, you remember what happened last time, now I am in charge. But what could it hurt? He was the reason you were brought down. You were left with me. I am all you have right now. You are always with me, but there has to be more. More, yes, but not there, you need to find a place where you are free to be as powerful as you really are. Yes, as powerful as I really am. You will have your revenge-our revenge. Yes, the City will learn from its mist---I am covered in dirt! Your clothes are nothing but rags too, you know, don't you think we should do something about that? Yes, I suppose I can't walk around like this, can I?"
She stalked in the dark until she found a place that might work. An old house, flowers growing willy-nilly in the front yard, a rocking chair on the porch, and some paint just starting to peel. Her ears twitched. Upstairs, the owner of the house slept. Downstairs, Asta lifted the window open and snuck in.
She crept upstairs, sniffing the air. Yes, this would be the perfect place. Quietly, she stalked into the bedroom.
The stench of death was heavy long before Asta could do her work. The cancer had grown too big, too unmanageable. Too bad the family didn't care. The old woman slept fitfully, moaning in her sleep. The end was near anyway. Might as well make it now. Quietly, Asta bent toward the old woman's neck, and gingerly bit down, draining her lifeblood. When the crone was dead, Asta lifted her head and spat in disgust. The blood had already lost much of its vitality, and had already begun to taste rotten. She pricked her own finger on her fang, and dripped a stream of blood over where her bitemarks were. She licked her own finger to seal the wound, then rubbed the blood over the old woman's. The marks healed, without leaving a scar.
The dirty deed finished, Asta calmly walked downstairs to the bathroom. She drew a warm bath, generously using the woman's rose-sented bath salts.
She stripped off the rags and lay down in the bath. She soaked in the perfumed water for a while, thinking....remembering...her eyes closed....
She was crawling in her dream. The totaled car was behind her, and she could almost make it to the road, if only she could stand. She'd lost too much blood for that. The gash in her head, over her eye, blinding her on the right side, was flowing freely. Too freely. Some ribs were broken, who knew what else, with all the bruises and scratches. Someone had to be on the road tonight. If only she could get out of the ditch and back to the road! Someone, anyone! Her vision became clouded...she would never make it...
The next part of the dream was new. It was not the searing pain and the clearing of her vision that she remembered. It was....it was....
"You have disobeyed me for the last time!" Lucifer bellowed. The muscular demon standing before him refused to bow his head. "I was banished, but I had my own kingdom. You have nowhere to go! You will be nothing but a mist on Earth, and that is where you will go, for all time!" The second demon's eyes widened in panic. He was not expecting such a punishment. Two Hands went to grab him from either side, but the powerful Greater Demon was too quick. He struck them both, and they were down. "Astral! I will banish you myself!" With a wave of Lucifer's hand, Astral's vision clouded.
This was not right. He was not this small. This weak! This---who are you calling weak? I'm not weak! Get out!
She pushed. But she wasn't strong enough. She couldn't keep him out. She felt her body began to give way. She was dying. She felt the searing pain and shuddering. She should have been gone. But she was trapped. They both were, for eternity, trapped together.
"I didn't know that part. You didn't pay attention. You never told me! Why should I tell you-you are a weak little girl with weak human emotions-look what you did to us! You know I am stronger this time. How many here can claim to be my equal?!?"
She stood from the bath, water dripping in rivulets down her clean, white skin. She combed her long dark blonde hair. It was too long. She twisted it in her left hand, and grabbed one of her twin blades out of the pile of rags with her right. With one swoop of the blade the hair was gone, and she now sported a less stylish but more serviceable bob. She grabbed the woman's towel and dried off. Disgusted by the rags, she opted for the old woman's pink plush robe and wrapped herself in it, tucking the two knives into the pockets. Then she stepped back out into the streets.
"I smell like mothballs."
AstaTheBroken complained as the snuck down the streets, keeping to the shadows.
"Pink is not your color," the inner voice replied.
She chuckled. Pink had NEVER been her color. To keep from being confused for one of the pinko neutrals, she needed to get changed.
"Well, at least the shopping district is still there."
Thankfully, no one was around this late at night. She would look suspicious anyway, but in a plush bathrobe, she was even more out of place.
Even though she had plenty of reserves in her bank account, she had no desire to go to her vault. She had been trained as a thief, and wanted to use that training.
Stealthily, she ducked under the awning of a promising shop. She brought her hand up to her full lips and pierced the tip of her finger with a fang. Deep red blood dripped from the tiny wound, and a thin, needle-like stalactite formed. She pointed the think spike into the lock and tinkered around, her tongue sticking out and curling onto her upper lip.
The deadbolt clicked, and Asta withdrew her finger, the spike now shaped into a key. With a flick of her finger, the blood melted back into her skin. She looked back and forth, ensuring that she wasn't seen, and walked into the store.
She dropped the pink robe to the floor and stalked through the racks to find more suitable clothing. She had forsaken the old, Victorian style she had been known for, with its bodices and flowing gowns, and instead chose an outfit that would be much more mobile.
When she walked out of the store, she was dressed in a slightly more appropriate miniskirt and black lace bra, with fishnet stockings and a fishnet shirt. She topped the outfit off with heavy boots, a thick leather belt, and a cropped leather jacket, all black. She tossed a bottle in the air and tucked it into the camouflage messenger bag that now hung at her hip. Red hair dye. Now for step two.
She pulled one of her knives out of the messenger bag and stared at her reflection in a storefront window. Carefully, she feathered her bangs and her hair into a funky, angular bob. She streaked the dye through her hair in highlights and made her way to a stream. Once the dye had taken, she rinsed it through the cold running water. She shook the water from her head, running her hands through her hair and onto her now-bare neck. There was no hair left to hide her angular nose, her full lips, or her soft brown eye behind (though she did keep the hair at an angle to keep her scarred skin and blood-red right eye safe from view). She stared at her reflection in the water, and fluttered her long eyelashes.
Much better. Now she was at least presentable.
She spun on her heels and walked away....
The night was still only half done. Now that she at least had some semblance of presentability, she continued down the streets, listening carefully to the rumors.
Upon hearing the story of Lord Galamushi, Astral's voice scoffed in her head. "Just because he CAN attack, doesn't mean he should. But who am I to say? My honor is what got me here in the first place."
"Your honor?" Asta thought back.
"Yes. You'd think like that, wouldn't you?" Asta winced. "You think that because of what I am I have no honor? We are more alike than you think, little girl.
"You should know the full story, if we are going to remain as bound together as we are."
In the space of a few seconds, Astral transferred the full story from his mind into hers.
Before Lucifer had fallen, I was one of the highest choir of angels, what you know as a Seraph. You humans had only believed there was one Angel of Death. Even at that time, there were so many creatures that there were a quite a few of us to manage the job. We silenced the bodies and carried the spirits of the creatures to the next plane. While not all creatures have "souls," as you know them as, they do have spirits. We were their destroyers and their guides.
The story as you know it is mostly correct. Lucifer felt that he could do a better job than God, and amassed an army of us in his rebellion. He, and all of us, were thrown out into Hell. There were a few times during those battles where I questioned his wisdom, but I did not question enough to believe that he was wrong.
Since my particular job was so specialized, I remained what I was. Oh, yes. Do you think that God is the only one deciding who dies now? Do you think the Angels are the only guides? There was still work for me to do. And, being one of the few Seraphim who had followed Lucifer to his "Kingdom," if it can be called that, I was given a position of power.
There were those who questioned Lucifer's leadership, especially since we were sent to the torment of Hell, which is just as bad for us as humans, you know. Do you think I enjoyed leading human souls to succumb to such violent deaths? It was my JOB. It was what I was CREATED for!
Anyway.
The question of Lucifer's leadership ability began to reach its head. Another Greater Demon, as we are now called, felt that, at least, he could do no worse, and possibly better. Those of us felt convinced that we were all being punished, but Lucifer still got what he wanted. His own Kingdom. What would be the worst torment for him? If he were left powerless, with no domain over any of us anymore.
I gave myself to the cause of...of Nameless, for I will not divulge his name, even to you. Not that I do not trust you, but I made a promise that I would never compromise him.
Of course, Lucifer had his spies, and, of course, we were found out. But he never did learn the name of the Greater Demon that was leading us. I refused to tell him. After eons of injecting my comments, my questions, my misgivings, about Lucifer's plans and his leadership, I was ejected from my post, to remain a powerless ghost on Earth.
He miscalculated, throwing me too close to a dying girl. You were too weak, too close to death, to fight me off. I didn't have any second thoughts. It was a body, and it would be mine. How was I to know that, even though you couldn't defend yourself, you would hold your own? How was I to know that you would be as strong-willed as I? How was I to know that, because of my presence, the Angel who should have taken you never came?
I am sorry for what I have put you through. I am sorry for what you may suffer in the future. But I am not sorry that I have survived, and I am not sorry that there is still a chance that the Prince of Darkness may still get what is coming to him!
I might not be able to fight any longer, but the others can, because I did not give any names. Could I have kept my post? Yes, if I had submit. But, like you, my honor is all I have.
She was impressed. Asta had only seen Astral as a parasite during her days as a fledgling vampire. Now, he was her partner. She should have been angry, should have again tried to push him away, like she did so many times before, but she felt a kinship between them. She would never have her body to herself again, and she may suffer through Death, if it ever did come to claim her. But at least she would not suffer alone.
And now, she knew, she had the power to make everyone else suffer with her.
But, still, what had awoken her? She felt drawn to the castle, many blocks away. It would take a while to walk it, and she did not want to go the roundabout way to and from her vault. Besides, who knew if the sprint potions in it would still be any good.
On her walk to the castle, where she somehow knew she would find at least a few answers to her questions, she found the answer to one that went unasked.
"Nice," she said. A blood red Yamaha motorcycle. "Let's hope I can still work one of these things." She once again bit her finger, allowing the blood to harden into a think spike, which she inserted into the ignition. After tinkering around a few seconds, she turned her finger and the motorcycle started. This time, however, she gave her finger a flick, and the key of bone broke off. She zipped the leather jacket, revved the engine a few times, and took off down the streets.
She let out an animalistic growl, feeling the pleasure of the wind blowing on her newly bare neck. Though breathing was not necessary, she felt the urge to suck in the cold, crisp air. Her lungs expanded, and she felt the strain of the leather against her breasts. She drove with abandon, speeding down the streets, her latent psychic senses feeling for the presence of any cops. There were none.
Now there was nothing but the quiet stretch of city roads between her and the castle of Clan Capadocious
She came to a stop at the front door of the castle, looked up at its tall towers, and sped around to the back. The dungeon entrance was more comfortable. Plus, having been gone from the city for some time, she was not sure if the vampires within the main halls would welcome her return.
She slid through a window and landed on the floor in a catlike crouch. It was dark, but her night vision was well-developed, so she did not need to wait for her eyes to adjust.
As she made her way up the levels to the castle, she smelled an odd burning. Magic.
"A powerful summoning spell was used here not long ago," Astral spoke to her in her head. Asta frowned. Who were they trying to summon with such strong magic?
She crept onward. The castle was quiet and mostly empty. Some of the doors she passed were dusty from lack of use. When she left the clan to form das Haus, so long ago, Clan Capadocious was fighting off the Shadow Court, but the Clan seemed like it would never topple. Their Lord, their Prince, would never have let that happen. Unless...
The thoughts came together as she reached the Great Hall and opened one of the side doors a crack from the inside. A few dozen vampires were in the hall. Some were talking and embracing as if at a reunion. Some stood back, wary and suspicious. And, toward the head of the hall, a small group of vampires she did not recognize were talking in hushed tones to a tall, imposing figure. He nodded, taking in the information they were passing on.
"Capadocious was the one who left! The summoning spell..." she spun back around into the hallway. "They needed to summon CAP!"
He had been a fixture in the city. He had proclaimed his rule when she was a fledgling; he had been chosen by the other vampires in the City as Prince-chosen over her!-in a fair election; he had still held claim to the City as she faded into herself; he was there when she buried herself in the forest to never awake again.
If he, then, had chosen a similar end that she had, it would have taken powerful magic indeed to wake him. She could only come up with two logical reasons why she was woken.
She wasn't summoned, herself. She knew that much-if she'd been summoned as well, there would be some familiar face, other than Cap. He could have summoned her, but of all the vampires that have been in his army, she did not stand out. Perhaps she stood out in his memories as a powerful ENEMY, but that wouldn't make sense either.
The only way she could have been awoken was if either the spell was TOO strong, and she was inadvertently woken as a side effect, or if Capadocious' mere presence in the city again shook the heart of the city enough to literally raise the dead. And, since he would be the epicenter of the magic, it was enough to conclude that, in either case, he was the reason she had been awoken.
But now that she was here...should she go on? None of the other vampires, save Capadocious, knew her well, if at all. Would she be attacked if she entered the hall? Would they immediately dismiss her as a spy? Would her word be enough to convince them that she was neither enemy nor spy? If it came to it, would Capadocious remember her well enough to come to her defense? But, on the other hand...
Where else COULD she go?
"Not back." AstaTheBroken spoke the words out loud. No, not back.
She opened the side door of the Hall and stepped in. She closed the door quietly, not drawing any attention to herself. Her eyes darted around the room, hoping no one would notice her or question her presence. Once she had assured herself that she was at least safe, her eyes settled on Capadocious.
Strange that her fondest memories of him were in battle, not as allies, but as enemy combatants, trading blows in that intimate, passionate dance, looking for an opening for the sword to penetrate. Although she had said otherwise, at times, she had a respect for him as a warrior, and she knew that, at one time, he, in turn, respected her. But, watching him as he listened to his core group of advisors, she realized something that some part of her had known all along.
She was, and always had been, in love with Capadocious.
She tensed as the unconscious knowledge about herself moved to her consciousness. "What's wrong? I don't see anyone preparing to attack you. They haven't even NOTICED you yet!" the ever-present Astral exclaimed.
"Nothing," she replied to the voice in her head. "Just a pathetic schoolgirl crush. I have control of this." If she had been speaking to an actual companion, she would have spat in anger at herself. As it was, she leaned against the wall, waiting to see if she would be approached, praying that he would be the one to greet her, promising herself that she would not let the all-too-human emotions get in her way.
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