Legacy of Kain- Zephon/Turel

[epiphanytiff.livejournal.com]

Title: Duplicity

Author: Epiphanytiff

Rating: R for language and violence

Pairings: Zephon/Turel

Prompt: 15 Jul 07 #52- Conflict “I think it best that we stay away from one another”

Word Count: 2269

Soundtrack: Velvet Acid Christ- The Dead, Rammstein- Spiel Mit Mir

 

 

 

 

 

‘So red the Rose,

the red Blood flows...’

 

-fragment from an old Nosgothian poem; circa 2237

 

 

~~~~****~~~~

 

 

 

The rain pelted down relentlessly; swirling torrents of painful water dumped from blackened skies, keeping Zephon literally stuck in Turel’s home. The dark palace was a lovely place; morbidly speaking. It’s overgrowth of vined roses the colour of a virgin’s blood grew over anything that stood still long enough. The castle walls of the secondborne towered menacingly into the pitch; the sun-blotting smokestacks he raised now cooled of their day’s work.

 

Turel himself was a decent enough host, providing his younger brother with an apt suite of his own, compleat with servants to see to his needs. The mage even had the foresight to offer the spy further entertainment, in the form of a human of his choice from his meagre but well-kept stock. Zephon declined the overture, as politely as he could manage and shook his head in thought; his own daughter of the blood was waiting for him and as much as he desired to head home and sink into her flesh he also liked his skin very much where it was, thank you.

 

“I’m sorry to impose on you like this, brother.” the fifthborne began, crossing an ankle over knee as they lounged in Turel’s suite; a chalise of blood in his hand. He rested the stem on his thigh and looked out the large lead-glass windows; the rain sheeting over the beveled panes. “Hmph. Bloody weather.” he added then took a sip of the libation. Zephon let the blood roll around his mouth then swallowed, turning an eye to his sibling.

“18-year, Turel? Very nice.” he assessed then raised the goblet again to smell the rich, iron offering. The mage considered his own chalise and threw him a toothy grin.

 

“Precisely, brother. I’m most impressed.” he replied, sipped and lowered the vessel. “You obviously know your stock very well.” The secondborne moved his gaze over to the bank of windows. He knew the pleasant banter on the spy’s part was forced; the little cocksucker couldn’t be civil if his life depended on it. He was counting the minutes until Zephon would bring up the matter in Uschtenheim and he undoubtedly would; rainstorm or no. Turel didn’t wait long, the slender vampire turning in his chair to better face him.

 

“Unhappily, as you know, this was not a social call, Turel.” the spy began in an even tone, his claws curling and uncurling around the chalise he held. He raised a brow, lifting the glass. “There is still the debacle in Uschtenheim to chew over. What was the meaning of you sending your fledges in on my raid?”

Turel snorted softly at the question and crossed his own legs, folding his hands on the resting knee. He could see the jaw of his brother tightening, though he maintained his put-on poise.

“Zephon, you know that our Emperor and father ordered me to assist. That town is to be brought under. His Highness wants to give over governorship to the Temple.” The mage raised a thin brow. “You know how he is.”

 

“Bullshit.” the fifthborne blurted and set his chalise on a sidetable, none too gently. His light gold eyes narrowed into the visage of his sibling. “I certainly received no word to that end.” He tsked. “Rather absentminded of Him, no?” When the other had no answer apart from a cryptic smile, the younger continued. “Nothing, hmm? Then, maybe you can school me on the reasons why my slave tally from that raid was cut in half. Are we getting greedy, Turel?” Zephon flashed him a cynical smile, his lips curling over pristine fangs.

 

“Oh, Zephon. Really. Am I the sort of man that would take what wasn’t due me?” The mage let his claws flex in their hold on his knee then sat back and laid them along the padded armrest, an amused smirk blooming on his face as he observed his brother grow incensed; the look the fifthborne shot him one of knowing disbelief coupled with a well-placed grunt.

 

“Very well. Then perhaps you’d be good enough to enlighten me as to how a fucking Turelim skean was sticking out of one of my fledge’s backs!” Zephon’s brows furrowed and his rising anger narrowed his eyes, claws curling around the armrests’ finials. The elder brushed him off, a dismissive hand cutting through the air between them.

 

“Come on, brother. Neither I, nor my men, indulge in the art of betrayal.” The cryptic smile pulled further. “At least not to the level of expertise you have displayed.” A casual giggle passed between them and the younger’s hands gripped the armrests dangerously, the wood groaning under protest. His jaw twitched with poorly concealed contempt for the pompous ass that sat before him. The fucker was toying with him and Zephon knew it. He reached a hand behind his back.

 

“Is that a fact? How do you account for this, then?” he hissed and threw the skean onto the marble floor, the weapon spinning toward the secondborne’s foot. The style of both blade and hilt unmistakably Turelim in design. The mage glanced down at the skean, the smile since faded from his lips. He uncrossed his legs to retrieve the weapon then sat back in his seat to inspect it. It was clean but the blade had hairline nicks along the dual edges, telling him it was not new.

“What do you have to say to that? Lying motherfucker.” Zephon growled as his eyes burned into his sibling’s seated form. Turel tipped the skean’s hilt up and looked at his clan symbol, etched into the burnished bronze metal. Just below it, the engraved mark of his ‘Rook’ faction. His brow grew heavy at the revelation.

 

Turel turned darkened eyes to his brother, his lips narrowed along with his eyes. “Zephon, I can’t believe anything would possess my Rook faction to take the life of one of your fledglings.” he quietly growled, but there was the proof, right there in his hand. Irrefutable proof that at least one had stooped so low. Zephon’s eyes stabbed into him from his chair, his claws cracking the wood finials under them as he fought to maintain in the home of his elder.

“That was not the only one, Turel.” the younger spit, his eyes sparking in the now pale gold of their depths. “Four other blades I have in my possession and every one of them point to ~you~, my dearest kith.” The fifthborne straightened out his legs, resting his arms over bent knees; claw tips touching in a triangle. “I am curious what our Emperor and Father would have to say in regards to such duplicity.” The mage’s frown grew deeper, his sibling’s accusations putting his blood on a slow boil.

 

“What makes you think I would waste my Rook faction’s innumerable talents offing your pathetic brood?” the secondborne countered. “Give me some credit, Zephon.” The spy’s brow grew deeper in discord, his jaw twitching as he ground his teeth.

“I think we should be very careful, Lord Turel.” the younger cautioned lowly, the muscles in his thighs tensing and loosening in anticipation of a bolt from the chair. He knew to attack an elder without just cause was to invoke the wrath of the Emperor; he needed Admission. Zephon steeled his gaze.

 

“You aver that is your Clan mark?”

 

“I do, yes.”

 

“And the weapon is of your Clan design?”

 

“It is, Zephon.” The mage growled.

 

“You did send your Rook faction to Uschtenheim, did you not; dear brother?”

 

Turel snorted with a nod. “I did. However, I did not send them with orders to...” he trailed off as Zephon rose slowly from his chair. The fifthborne’s eyes were almost white, they were so pale, but the younger vampire took careful and even steps to gaze out the window without a word. The Lord of the manor laid the weapon on the short table at his right and stood to approach his sibling. He could feel the fury radiate off the other in waves; his aura positively crackled with it, heavy and darkest red.

It was a puzzle to the secondborne why, if it were true, his flegdes would attack another clan so blatantly. Surely it was provoked. There would have to be an inquiry and Turel was loathe to have to take those measures with the elite of his Clan. He heaved a quiet sigh and put a hand to his brother’s shoulder.

“Zephon,” he began, his voice even. “I promise to you, there will be an inquest and you shall be there. I swear...”

“That will not be necessary,” the fifth hissed. “Admission was made. You know Kain’s Law, Turel!” Zephon’s voice grew as he spoke, his right hand curled, claws biting into his palm. “Your words mean nothing, bastard!”

 

In a blur, the spy pivoted from his spot, his hard fist connecting with the taller vampire’s chiseled jaw, sending the mage across the floor. Turel crashed into an antique table and Zephon followed, his fist slamming into his sibling’s face over and over again, his fury conducting the hasty symphony of blood and hatred between the two. The secondborne spit blood from his mouth onto the marble floor, his own fist cracking across his brother’s face, sending his essence spraying over his own tunic; filthy Zephonim blood.

 

Turel was physically stronger than his later-sired sibling, but the dark gift Fury held the younger in it’s thrall and on any vampire, that was not something to be trifled with. It took a lot of energy and mind power to summon the gift. Zephon was many things, but he was a genius and his working of the power was second only to Raziel himself.

With a well-aimed telekinetic blast, the secondborne sent his brother flying from him, his back thudding against the marble outcropping of the fireplace. A splatter of blood met the polished floor before the spy did, his breath knocking out of him as he fell prone.

 

Zephon looked up from his spot at Turel hovering over him, knotted brows over those green-gold eyes that pierced into his own angered countenance.

“You want to do this, brother?!” Turel hissed and watched his younger kin pull himself off the floor, the look of absolute hate burning in his darkened eyes. The spy wiped an errant trail of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Turel knew that Fury would take some time to rebuild but he was all too willing to give his sibling the advantage, if he wanted to continue this pantomime. The elder stepped to his kith and wrapped a claw around his neck, shoving him against the fireplace wall. “Do you?” he growled. “You know I could kill you, whelp.”

 

“Fuck you.” the fifth of Kain snarled as he leered hotly at the taller vampire. His dark gift nearly fully charged, he spit blood in Turel’s face. “Your dogs killed my fledges, cunt!” Zephon yelled and his fist once more met the flesh of his brother; a furied punch to his midsection threw Turel into and over the chair he had occupied. The mage groaned; that one hurt worse than the first hit and he knew that Zephon’s brand of Fury seemed to tie into the sadistic part of his nature in an almost symbiotic fashion. If he didn’t put a stop to this, things were going to get messy.  

 

Another psychic push heaved Zephon into a glass-doored armoire, the shards raining down on him in chrystal death and Turel was once more in front of him, his burnished boots interrupting the spy’s view of the veined marble floor. The elder bent to close a fist around the claspings at the centre of Zephon’s shoulder armour, raising him off the ground; his feet hanging in the air. Despite the slender vampire’s injuries, Turel could read the power building in his aura again and sought to stop this once and for all. With the fist that held him, he slammed Zephon into the destroyed furniture, his fangs making every one of their number known.

 

“Don’t make me have to explain to our Emperor and Father why he is missing a son, Zephon.” he warned and slammed his brother into the piece again, as if to make a point. Turel’s telekineis reached into the captive’s chest and rattled against the younger’s heart. Zephon gasped, his eyes widened with the feel of the depletion, his own energy being drawn from him.

“I suggest you go home, brother. And if you ever attack me again, I’ll fucking kill you,” the mage growled. “Admission or no.” he added and set the fifthborne down none too gently, releasing his drain on him.

 

Zephon straightened his shoulder armour and clan drape with a huff, then spit his mouthful of blood at Turel’s boot. He turned to leave the room and the elder grabbed his chin firmly, his brows still twisted on his high forehead. His claws bit into the healing flesh they held.

“Until the formal inquiry, Zephon, I think it best that we stay away from one another.” he stated, leaving no room for argument on the point. The spy jerked his jaw out of his brother’s hold and held his eyes with palpable ferocity then snorted and walked away. A few steps and Zephon pivoted to look at him, his trademark smirk peeled across his abused face, the look even more ominous than it was otherwise.

“Take care, Turel.” he warned behind dark eyes then vanished.

Comments

[theskywasblue.livejournal.com]

Wow...that was *phew* intense.
Nice!

[rroselavy.livejournal.com]

Your writing fills me with glee! It's exhilarating! You know I know nothing of this fandom, but hell, this is one fine piece of fiction!

From the opening description that set the dark, brooding scene to the sharp, nuanced build-up of palpable tensions between the brothers, I was on the edge of my seat, devouring every word.

Your dialog is masterful, no one but kin could cut each other to the quick like these two do; could make such threats actually have the teeth to back them up, and yet still manage to sound like two little boys in a pissing contest--there is a lifetime of rivalry between them, evident in their body language and in how they speak to each other.

**bows humbly before you**

[akuchan-47.livejournal.com]

Fabulous as always my friend. I know nothing of this fandom, nevertheless this story enthralled me. I loved your dialogue, the vivid description of the setting allowed me to see it in my mind's eye. The tension between the two brother's jumped off the page.

Thank you for sharing such a wonderful piece of fiction.