Legacy of Kain: Kain/Raziel
Oct. 8th, 2007 12:06 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kinkfestTitle: In Service of the Circle
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
syvia
Rating: R for bloodletting, violence and disturbing images
Warnings: some gore
Word Count: 4909
Summary: The oath of a Sarafan warrior is binding, even beyond death.
Notes: I can't even tell you how much I LOVED THIS PROMPT. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing. ^^ I must thank *takes a deeeeeeeep breath*osmandias, emerald_embers and purest_chaos. I love you all dearly. You pulled my butt out of writers block, gave me encouragement, second opinions on LoK details I'd forgotten, and wonderful beta readings. Thank you! *massive glomps*
Prompt: - Legacy of Kain, Kain/Raziel: forced submission - what if vampire Raziel retained his human memories?
He cared for nothing although he remembered it all.
Family, childhood, his willing conscription into the Sarafan and his climb through the ranks. Training, sickly pleasure in killing, ridding the world of the corruption that was the vampire threat, pleasure in serving the ones who held Nosgoth's life force in their hands. He had been a loyal and obedient son to the Circle... even unto the end.
He remembered the demon that had watched them slay Janos Audron, had followed them back to the stronghold and somehow gotten inside, then taken their lives with the very sword Moebius had bid them retrieve. An embarrassment... a failure- but in death he lacked the conviction to feel shame over these events, and upon reflection... the creature had been powerful indeed.
He remembered.
They remembered, here in their ethereal prison, drifting in the gloriously proportioned room, unable to move on to any paradise told of in scripture. They had failed, and they were held- rightfully so- here in purgatory, talking of the past and their lives, encouraging one another to remembrance.
There was nothing here- an impression of stone walls and sarcophagi beneath names etched in glory for all to see. A black abyss in the floor which funneled down the hunched creatures who crept along the floor and would attempt to close in and devour them. They never succeeded. Even as his brethren drifted from the center of the room, toward the hissing monstrosities, tempting and taunting, the clawed hands could not grasp, and the gaping mouths could not bite.
There was little else to occupy their time, and it seemed to stretch into eternity.
Yet even that was found to have an end.
***
:What?:
He felt the attention of the others upon him as he drifted downward. That was strange... he could hear- but what was it?
:What?:
:What?: they echoed his question, wavering in curiosity and impatience.
:There is a voice,: he said to them. :I hear...: Precious, unending seconds slipped past as he listened, and tried to make out the shape of the words. He almost had it- as he moved closer he thought he could understand. It took longer than one might have expected, but after all-
- it had been centuries since anyone had spoken his name.
***
Pain- pain and power, strangeness, and he thought he heard someone screaming. It wasn't him. He had no voice to do so any longer and this sound had more depth. It weighed and displaced air and could carry to others. It was not his. He had been dropped into a lake of cold fire and it clung to him, penetrating and saturating him. It hurt. It hurt and the pain was ecstasy. Feeling. He had carried a memory of physical pain. The reality mocked it- there was no comparison.
He wasn't alone. The fire didn't belong to him, yet he snatched at it greedily and held it close, lashing out as others tried to claim it for themselves. Others that were vaguely familiar- rivals in this sudden contest. He wanted it- wanted all of it for himself as a drowning man wants even a single mouthful of air. Even as he felt the others grow frenzied and more aggressive, grasping for what he had and what was left over, he felt a larger presence- something that enclosed and suffused them and it-
:Get out.:
The weighted screaming had ceased, but the same voice spoke now, imperious and demanding even as it was tinged with pain.
The others scrabbled still for the fire- power- something that he felt suspicious of even as he clutched it tighter to him.
:Out. Get out!:
He felt a rushing pressure- as if someone had lifted and thrown him away- he shouted pain and shock and screamed as he collided with something and stayed.
Pain. Every muscle, every limb, every inch of flesh and the unwanted closeness of the air- he screamed and fought, surging upward from the stone that held him in. He punched at the stone again and it cracked- shoved it off him and things weren't so close anymore. His body jerked and moved and there was pain- such pain- wrongness that he could feel within him- his body was rotted, sloughing from bone within cloth that had lain forever- he could smell it and it was suffocating him. Something around his head-
He tore at it and found no relief- the decay was all around him and more screaming. He moaned. There was something else there- something different... familiar- and he sought it blindly- followed it as it moved slowly away. What was it? Power. Something in him remembered power. He wanted it. Wanted more.
It moved swiftly away and he followed as best he could, scrabbling after that sense of other- he felt something at his back and turned- hissed. Whatever it was, it hissed back.
"No-" a voice said, loud, commanding. "Not them. They have nothing for you."
He jerked his head back toward the power- the sound. No. They had nothing he wanted but that voice... yes. Yes. Again he followed. He had no concept of time but eventually there were other sounds- screaming- and a smell that drew him like a lodestone. The Power had disappeared, but he cared not.
Life- he needed life- couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't see, couldn't speak but there was life right here and he had but to take it.
***
His breastplate was hanging at an odd angle. He pushed at it irritably and closed his hand again about the warmth before him. With every sip his panic receded and rational thought returned. He felt... strong. He felt whole, healthy- he had a body again, but that was impossible. He was dead- drifting in purgatory for his failure and the dead do not simply....
Raziel opened his eyes like a sleeper waking from a beautiful dream, and fell back in horror at the corpse beneath his hands- his mouth- teeth.
There was blood on his lips. Blood on his mouth and it tasted- God, it tasted like the purest water and the finest wine at once, intoxicating and life-giving. Vital. Necessary.
There was blood on his hands. He stared at them, pulled fitfully at his gauntlets until he was free of them and could see the too-white flesh and darkened fingernails. He reached for his chest- he'd been buried in full panoply, the ornate breastplate was cumbersome, but old, and the straps pulled free easily until it hung loose at his chest and draped over his shoulders. His helmet... he must have discarded it long ago. Didn't matter. Raziel thrust hands underneath his loose armor and the chain-mail beneath, and the padded undergarment beneath that.
He felt the scar.
Directly above his heart- wide and jagged.
Closed.
He touched his face- it was whole, firm, untouched by the decay he knew his body must have suffered. His hair fell before his eyes- too dark, his mind noted- and irritably he brushed it away, behind ears that were pointed. A pulse beat through his veins but he knew it for the anomaly it was. It was not his own blood that gave him movement and warmth. He cast frantic glances at that which surrounded him and found the dead.
Corpses. Shackled arm and leg to the cliff walls- their necks bared for easy access. Bloodless and mutilated, every one of them. More than a dozen.
No.
"You drank more than I expected," said a voice. "Your brothers were forced to seek nourishment elsewhere."
He knew that voice. First to have called him from death, then to have cast him back into his body, then to have stayed him when he would have attacked the others... the others. He did not ask. There was no need, because although he had no name for this vampire, he knew the most important... the most damning thing.
He knew the way back into the crypt, turned and took the path at a full run.
He'd been buried with a sword.
***
He was back in the tomb before his sire- the vampire caught up to him. Standing before his sarcophagus, he reached for the blade when it felt as if he'd been hit by a cart- struck and thrust against the wall, and he beat at the arm across his throat, for all the good it did him.
A sharp pain- his arm, broken- made him cry out and pause. His bones knit as he stood there, teeth bared and hissing in pain. The hiss no longer sounded human- he could feel the press of his canine teeth against his lip. He would kill this creature- then himself- no. His brethren- the other Generals. He would have to seek them out. They couldn't exist like this.
He couldn't move. The vampire had him pinned securely and although he could have kicked out, the golden eyes in his vision suggested he would not like what happened next.
He did it anyway.
Another sharp pain and he collapsed to the floor as his- the vampire stepped away from him.
Raziel crouched on the ground, clenched his jaw and kept his weight off the broken leg until it mended.
"Shall we continue?"
He sucked in air, and it occurred to him that he didn't need it. Vampires didn't breathe. Their lungs were useless... but it was reflex, and speech was sound over air.
:If you prefer not to speak, perhaps you would like to whisper?:
He flinched, looked up and bared his teeth in a sneer. He stood when his leg would allow it, and faced his... this vampire proudly. They appraised each other- and the vampire was tall, moon-pale with equally white hair. The eyes were gold- feral- hands clawed although his feet still occupied human-sized boots. Quite an attractive monster, really. His armor was impressive in a gaudy way- spikes adorning the back and gauntlets that were equally dangerous. It left him feeling, Raziel noted wryly, a bit jealous.
That feeling was hardly foremost in his thoughts.
"I am impressed," he murmured, trying to look haughty and imperious and finding it was a difficult mask to wear in his current situation. "The sheer audacity of your actions here, tonight-"
"Your corpse was no longer of any use to you," the vagrant murmured, smirking. "I took it and thought your soul might enjoy a second go at life."
"This is no life," he shouted. Raziel closed his eyes, breathed out, then opened them again, forcing his face into neutrality. "You've profaned a sacred burial chamber and defiled the lives of Sarafan warriors by raising them as vampires-"
"Or perhaps I've allowed a cadre of murderers a chance at redemption by granting them the same lives they stole from so many others," he interrupted again, and this time the smirk was smaller, and the eyes more dangerous.
"You had no right-"
"You'll find in this world, my childe, that right is defined by power and the will to take what one wishes. It is a far stranger Nosgoth than the one you knew." The last was somehow consoling, but Raziel did not hear it- bristling first at the designation and secondly at the condescension in his tone. He moved faster than he knew he had been capable of in life. Will. He had the will to take life from the vampire that had given him this unwanted second existence.
Reaching for his sword this time, Raziel found, bared and raised it, still bright after decades of disuse.
"This is quite foolish of you," the other murmured, not yet drawing a weapon. "Newly risen you are, and I am already several hundred years old. My dark gifts are beyond your comprehension and my skill more than you can think to exceed. What do you hope to accomplish?"
"My death or yours," Raziel answered. "Either will give me victory."
"You are arrogant."
"One of my best faults."
The vampire smiled.
***
"Come now," he said when Raziel was drooping with exhaustion and still he had no idea where his brethren were. Perhaps destroyed already by passing vampire hunters... if such still existed in this era. "You've lost the will to fight already?" Raziel glared at him. The bastard had not even drawn a weapon, dodging easily around his blows and letting him tire himself out.
He pulled a breath that sounded like growling and lunged forward- foolish. He knew it was even as he did it. The vampire closed a hand around his wrist, trapping his sword-arm, and pulled him close with the other on his shoulder.
"Which would you be?" he asked, purring. "My lieutenant or my trollop? For truth, I see value in either, but one commands less respect."
"I will be dead before I am either one," his voice held distain and none of the frustration he felt. "I will not be intimidated into submission, and when my comrades arrive-"
"Ah yes... your fellow Sarafan. My younger sons. Are you certain they will feel like to you? So ready to throw away a second chance at life, after the first turn was so grievously quashed?"
"We dedicated our lives to the service of the Circle and ridding Nosgoth of your kind. They will-" then he stopped, suddenly made uneasy by the knowing smile on that pale face.
"Would you turn oath breaker, then, and kill the last surviving Pillar Guardian?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Tell me," he said, manipulating Raziel's arm like a man would a child's, he lowered it between them, forcing Raziel to look at the sword. "Can you speak reasonably and set aside your blade, or does your lust for blood so consume you?"
Raziel flinched, attempted to pull away- but he wasn't going anywhere. The vampire held him immobile and waited.
"I will be reasonable."
"Your word as a Sarafan?"
"Yes."
He sneered, but loosed Raziel and left the sword in his hand. Raziel lunged and the vampire laughed as he stepped easily out of the way.
"Have you accepted your new status, then?"
"I am a Sarafan still- vampires are not protected by our honor," he said haughtily. The white-haired vampire reached back and put a hand to his shoulder.
Oh God. He knew that sword- the twisted length of blade and a hilt of bone- a skull and spiked adornments- almost as tall as he was. The malevolent blue glow in the eyes and along the length of the blade was unfamiliar.
How? Moebius had said it belonged to the Circle. Raziel bared his teeth- the better not to feel his elongated canines. The vampire was lying. He had to be.
"You know the blade."
"I know it."
"Let us see how well you fare."
***
Not well at all, as it turned out. As much as he was able to force down his fear, Raziel shied away from the sword, blocking more wildly than he would have found necessary against another weapon. The blade screamed in his ears- his far too sensitive ears- and when it came too close he could feel a metaphysical pull- as if it would plunge deep within and drink him empty as surely as he had done to those people back there.
This was deplorable. He had taken human lives when necessary, but his duty was to the people of Nosgoth- to protect and preserve them. The best way to do so now was to take his own life. He would- he would do so even if he were unable to kill this one first. It might have been far simpler to over-strike and impale himself upon the vampire's twisted sword- an ending befitting one who had died upon it once already.
He feared the blade.
The vampire knew he feared it.
The duel was over in a few quick passes- Raziel found weariness a surprise and wondered how he had been exerting himself if even vampiric strength failed him. He reminded himself stubbornly, even as he marveled at his strength, that this was a temporary state. He would not stay this way. He would, however, make use of a vampire's advantages while he had them.
The skull-hilt struck his hand and it went numb- his sword fell to the dusty ground. The vampire wrapped long claws in his mail shirt- his breastplate had been discarded in favor of speed long ago- and pulled him close, laying the flat of the sword close to his neck.
"You are quite the fighter. How pleasant to learn not all the legends were false."
Raziel glared at the vampire even as he tried to lean away from the glow that hungered for him- whispered in voices too soft to understand.
"Now, if you would be so kind as to prove you have a mind beneath that arrogance- and not simply the luck of demons."
He stood there, and glared, and said nothing.
"Come now," the vampire murmured, still smirking, utterly at ease and holding the blade with a carelessness that bespoke utmost confidence, "you must have questions. The state of the world- why I raised you- how the Circle met its end."
"I want nothing from you but the end of your unnatural life," Raziel answered calmly. "I am not an animal to perform for your amusement, and I care not what you think of my intelligence." For all that, he was curious, and he did want to know. It mattered not. He knew his task.
"This is tiresome," the vampire admitted. "Now," he continued briskly," I would threaten death, but we both know you would enjoy it, so instead, I will speed along the process of your conversion." He put the sword away. Raziel immediately began to struggle, but the vampire tightened his grip and set a long claw against his own throat.
One drop of blood on the pale skin. Raziel could see it, smell it. It trickled downward and his attention was captured. He would have moved forward- tasted it- but the vampire held him back, this time gently.
It slipped away beneath layers of cloth and armor and Raziel made a low cry. The sound was lost under the vampire's chuckle. Another prick of black into white and another crimson droplet collected, then began its slow descent.
:Hear me.:
Raziel didn't protest the voice in his mind, enraptured by liquid ruby and the wealth of sensation each meager drop- life and power- the smell alone infinitely more fine than what he tried not to remember drinking.
:You are more now than anything you have been...:
He could see more than he could hear- the voice of the vampire... his sire... drew pictures in his mind. He ran swifter than the wind and the wild beasts of the forest, he listened to the wings of an owl beating against a darkened sky, looked through a window far from the place he stood and saw the delicate flush of a woman's cheek as she slept, feel the world resonate with life and sorcery- because he had been part of it, and been removed from it, and could no longer fail to notice tiny details that gave knowledge to those who could interpret it. He understood the vitality, the supernatural importance, and the all-consuming necessity that trickled from Kain's throat. All and more were reflected in his sire's blood.
Then Kain withdrew from his mind, and took a step back.
Raziel stared at the older vampire again- the white of his skin and hair- feral eyes that had seen far too much- clawed hands that could rend flesh or wield a blade with equal fervor- and the fangs. Of course the fangs.
Even as his skin crawled with stolen life, eager to make use of it in battle or hunting, or simply running- doing his will, the fangs were more physically present. He could pretend his body had always been this way, and ignore the tapered points of his ears, but the fangs... and the bloodlust- the need of it. He had not realized the full extent of a vampire's damnation. Bad enough to be condemned and seek penance, but to enjoy your sentence....
"Raziel."
He flinched, raised his eyes to Kain's once more.
Then he ran.
***
It was the custom of himself and his brothers in arms to use the Pillars as a meeting place if they were separated.
The Pillars were an easy landmark to find and even when the fog was thickest. He knew- internally- where they could be found. The Pillars resonated within every creature of Nosgoth- even, it had been suspected, the animals. Take any person, blindfold them, spin them about. Even disoriented and lacking the benefit of sight, one could ask them to point in the direction of the Pillars and they would do so. After giving his oath to serve the Pillars and their Guardians, Raziel had known this sense to become more acute. It felt strange now- yet another thing changed, tainted by this horrid un-life.
He ran and didn't stop running, cursing himself for his actions. He had left his sword, had been shedding armor as the straps wore out with his movements.
You did not run away, he told himself sternly. That was a strategic retreat. He could not destroy Kain. Not alone. Best to regroup with as many of his comrades as still lived and formulate a plan of attack. What he would not have done to be in possession of Moebius' staff once more. Raziel wondered if the relic continued to exist now, centuries after his death.
He ran, and he avoided humans- few as they were at this time of night. He wanted no more casualties, no more mortal lives spent to feed his deathlessness. He had no confidence in his ability to stop himself if faced with the temptation.
He hated the ease with which he skirted around their watchful eyes.
So absorbed in his thoughts was Raziel that he came upon the Pillars and nearly failed to recognize them. He stopped so suddenly that he almost tripped over his own feet- and nearly fell yet as he looked, and his mind slowly, painfully realized what it saw.
Raziel sank to his knees, staring in utter desolation at the ruin- these were not the Pillars of Nosgoth. These cracked, decaying things, wrenched back and forth at angles as if a cruel child had grasped them one at a time and tried to pluck them from the earth. Only the one in the center remained, straight and taller than the height of several men, yet a stunted, broken thing where there had once been a white and pale grey column that towered beyond the reach of any cloud.
It could not be.
How could it be?
"After your death, and that of your comrades-"
He didn't even move, so shocked by the depth of this travesty. He wasn't surprised Kain had found him, failed to care what his sire would do next. He could only kneel there and listen, eventually lowering his eyes as the sight grew too painful.
"-Malek failed to protect six of the nine Pillar Guardians from the vampire Vorador."
His gaze snapped to Kain, who stared unflinching at the Pillars, and continued his narration.
"For his transgression, Mortanius removed the soul from his body and bound it to a suit of armor." His sire looked at him, faintly amused, and raised a brow. "With no distractions of the flesh, he could look after his fellow Guardians more faithfully."
"Malek did not shirk his duties," Raziel glared, but it was a weak thing, and eventually abandoned.
"Perhaps," Kain allowed, still smirking, "but six of the Pillars were murdered on his watch, and Vorador left him to live with his shame. For his failure, Mortanius punished him. I must wonder why, after such an event, he was given a place in that tomb of yours." The smile widened. "A place his body would never occupy."
"They built it long before we died," he murmured, no longer caring what information he offered. What did it matter? Kain knew so much already- Raziel imagined he had learned much more during that little jaunt into his mind. "Death is a certainty- more so for those who seek to kill the undead."
"Malek died later- at Vorador's hand. Still," Kain continued blandly, "not before a new Circle was recognized, and not before the Balance Guardian was murdered by one of their own." He ignored Raziel's look of shock. "Discovering her corpse, the Pillar of the Mind was driven insane by grief. He unleashed a wave of psychic energy upon the rest of the Circle, sending them all into corruption and madness. The only way to make the Circle pure again-"
"Was to kill them," Raziel murmured, intent on Kain, he began putting the pieces together. For the vampire to have gained the Soul Reaver, and to know such details of their history and that of the Sarafan... he was a student of history at the least, and intimately familiar with the events at most.
"Mortanius knew what had to be done. He located the Balance Guardian's successor when the boy was young and ignorant of his destiny- hired a band of thieves to rob and murder him," his face had grown still with an emotion Raziel couldn't identify. "Then he offered a chance for vengeance, set his creation upon a path that would end with his own death."
Raziel climbed to his feet. For a time, they both stared at the Pillars.
"...Shall I finish the task you have not yet completed?"
Kain smiled, not looking at him, and gave a dark little chuckle. Raziel did not move to strike, and Kain did not take up the offer. Presently, Kain spoke again.
"You pledged your lives, and souls, to the service of the Circle," he murmured. "For all that you and Malek were equal in failure, you escaped punishment and the return to service your Commander endured." Kain turned his head, studying Raziel's profile. "Or perhaps not." He stepped close, standing less than a hand-span from the Sarafan's shoulder. "Perhaps your bodies were sealed- your souls trapped within the tomb- with full knowledge that I might make use of them one day. You, your brethren, were left in trust to me." His voice was not loud, but it seemed to carry across the night air, clear and comprehensible to any listening. Raziel almost turned to look. Couldn't. He didn't want to.
Raziel clenched his jaw, looking at the ground. He said nothing. Everything else Kain had said sounded equally possible- inevitable. This Kain, this vampire, was the Pillar of Balance. He couldn't deny the connection between them any more than he could deny his own connection. Pillar to Guardian, Guardian to Sarafan, Sire to Fledgling.
They were here at last. He could feel their gaze upon him- upon Kain and he wondered how much they had heard. Kain had to have known- to have chosen his words for the greatest impact. Not only for his benefit. Raziel felt the acid bite of shame within him, was reminded of all that he was now- would be forced to remain. He felt ill.
"Sworn to the Circle," he whispered at Raziel's ear. "Sworn in life and death- your service, as I require it."
Damned by his own conviction, strong as ever it was in life.
"Now swear to me."
Kain took a step back, giving him room.
Raziel lifted his head. His brethren- brothers- watched, faces impassive. They were changed. Their faces resembled what they had been in life- their hair, even Zephon's, was dark as his own had become. Melchiah's skin was sallow, more worn looking than the others and his face held the bite of disgust. Zephon's face was thinner and more feral than he remembered from life, haughty, eager. Rahab had kept his armor, helmet clasped loosely in one hand, his eyes were very wide, lips pressed thin with displeasure. Dumah's chain mail was splattered with blood, as was his halberd. He didn't seem to notice. Turel stared directly at him. They all did, but his second-in-command stared, and from years of experience in the act, he could read that gaze.
Whatever you choose, I stand with you.
It warmed him briefly, then plunged him into a deeper misery than before.
He knew his duty. It robbed him of choice.
Raziel turned on his heel, faced Kain. Holding his Sire's gaze the entire time, he lowered himself to one knee.
"By my oath and office as a priest of the Sarafan order, I pledge my service to the Circle of Nine-" there was shock in some of the faces surrounding him, but as Turel followed suit, so did the others, "-so long as a Guardian is bound to the Pillar by which it was claimed, my service is bound to that Guardian-" they were kneeling, their voices adding to his, "-my life, my death and my soul, bound to the service of the Circle. The command of the Pillars become the law of my existence, in their service and the service of Nosgoth."
Kain smiled. Raziel forced the last of it around the bitterness in his throat.
"So have I sworn, so will I swear, so will I serve, from now until the ending of the world."
He had damned them all.
Author/Artist:
syviaRating: R for bloodletting, violence and disturbing images
Warnings: some gore
Word Count: 4909
Summary: The oath of a Sarafan warrior is binding, even beyond death.
Notes: I can't even tell you how much I LOVED THIS PROMPT. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing. ^^ I must thank *takes a deeeeeeeep breath*
osmandias, emerald_embers and purest_chaos. I love you all dearly. You pulled my butt out of writers block, gave me encouragement, second opinions on LoK details I'd forgotten, and wonderful beta readings. Thank you! *massive glomps*Prompt: - Legacy of Kain, Kain/Raziel: forced submission - what if vampire Raziel retained his human memories?
He cared for nothing although he remembered it all.
Family, childhood, his willing conscription into the Sarafan and his climb through the ranks. Training, sickly pleasure in killing, ridding the world of the corruption that was the vampire threat, pleasure in serving the ones who held Nosgoth's life force in their hands. He had been a loyal and obedient son to the Circle... even unto the end.
He remembered the demon that had watched them slay Janos Audron, had followed them back to the stronghold and somehow gotten inside, then taken their lives with the very sword Moebius had bid them retrieve. An embarrassment... a failure- but in death he lacked the conviction to feel shame over these events, and upon reflection... the creature had been powerful indeed.
He remembered.
They remembered, here in their ethereal prison, drifting in the gloriously proportioned room, unable to move on to any paradise told of in scripture. They had failed, and they were held- rightfully so- here in purgatory, talking of the past and their lives, encouraging one another to remembrance.
There was nothing here- an impression of stone walls and sarcophagi beneath names etched in glory for all to see. A black abyss in the floor which funneled down the hunched creatures who crept along the floor and would attempt to close in and devour them. They never succeeded. Even as his brethren drifted from the center of the room, toward the hissing monstrosities, tempting and taunting, the clawed hands could not grasp, and the gaping mouths could not bite.
There was little else to occupy their time, and it seemed to stretch into eternity.
Yet even that was found to have an end.
***
:What?:
He felt the attention of the others upon him as he drifted downward. That was strange... he could hear- but what was it?
:What?:
:What?: they echoed his question, wavering in curiosity and impatience.
:There is a voice,: he said to them. :I hear...: Precious, unending seconds slipped past as he listened, and tried to make out the shape of the words. He almost had it- as he moved closer he thought he could understand. It took longer than one might have expected, but after all-
- it had been centuries since anyone had spoken his name.
***
Pain- pain and power, strangeness, and he thought he heard someone screaming. It wasn't him. He had no voice to do so any longer and this sound had more depth. It weighed and displaced air and could carry to others. It was not his. He had been dropped into a lake of cold fire and it clung to him, penetrating and saturating him. It hurt. It hurt and the pain was ecstasy. Feeling. He had carried a memory of physical pain. The reality mocked it- there was no comparison.
He wasn't alone. The fire didn't belong to him, yet he snatched at it greedily and held it close, lashing out as others tried to claim it for themselves. Others that were vaguely familiar- rivals in this sudden contest. He wanted it- wanted all of it for himself as a drowning man wants even a single mouthful of air. Even as he felt the others grow frenzied and more aggressive, grasping for what he had and what was left over, he felt a larger presence- something that enclosed and suffused them and it-
:Get out.:
The weighted screaming had ceased, but the same voice spoke now, imperious and demanding even as it was tinged with pain.
The others scrabbled still for the fire- power- something that he felt suspicious of even as he clutched it tighter to him.
:Out. Get out!:
He felt a rushing pressure- as if someone had lifted and thrown him away- he shouted pain and shock and screamed as he collided with something and stayed.
Pain. Every muscle, every limb, every inch of flesh and the unwanted closeness of the air- he screamed and fought, surging upward from the stone that held him in. He punched at the stone again and it cracked- shoved it off him and things weren't so close anymore. His body jerked and moved and there was pain- such pain- wrongness that he could feel within him- his body was rotted, sloughing from bone within cloth that had lain forever- he could smell it and it was suffocating him. Something around his head-
He tore at it and found no relief- the decay was all around him and more screaming. He moaned. There was something else there- something different... familiar- and he sought it blindly- followed it as it moved slowly away. What was it? Power. Something in him remembered power. He wanted it. Wanted more.
It moved swiftly away and he followed as best he could, scrabbling after that sense of other- he felt something at his back and turned- hissed. Whatever it was, it hissed back.
"No-" a voice said, loud, commanding. "Not them. They have nothing for you."
He jerked his head back toward the power- the sound. No. They had nothing he wanted but that voice... yes. Yes. Again he followed. He had no concept of time but eventually there were other sounds- screaming- and a smell that drew him like a lodestone. The Power had disappeared, but he cared not.
Life- he needed life- couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't see, couldn't speak but there was life right here and he had but to take it.
***
His breastplate was hanging at an odd angle. He pushed at it irritably and closed his hand again about the warmth before him. With every sip his panic receded and rational thought returned. He felt... strong. He felt whole, healthy- he had a body again, but that was impossible. He was dead- drifting in purgatory for his failure and the dead do not simply....
Raziel opened his eyes like a sleeper waking from a beautiful dream, and fell back in horror at the corpse beneath his hands- his mouth- teeth.
There was blood on his lips. Blood on his mouth and it tasted- God, it tasted like the purest water and the finest wine at once, intoxicating and life-giving. Vital. Necessary.
There was blood on his hands. He stared at them, pulled fitfully at his gauntlets until he was free of them and could see the too-white flesh and darkened fingernails. He reached for his chest- he'd been buried in full panoply, the ornate breastplate was cumbersome, but old, and the straps pulled free easily until it hung loose at his chest and draped over his shoulders. His helmet... he must have discarded it long ago. Didn't matter. Raziel thrust hands underneath his loose armor and the chain-mail beneath, and the padded undergarment beneath that.
He felt the scar.
Directly above his heart- wide and jagged.
Closed.
He touched his face- it was whole, firm, untouched by the decay he knew his body must have suffered. His hair fell before his eyes- too dark, his mind noted- and irritably he brushed it away, behind ears that were pointed. A pulse beat through his veins but he knew it for the anomaly it was. It was not his own blood that gave him movement and warmth. He cast frantic glances at that which surrounded him and found the dead.
Corpses. Shackled arm and leg to the cliff walls- their necks bared for easy access. Bloodless and mutilated, every one of them. More than a dozen.
No.
"You drank more than I expected," said a voice. "Your brothers were forced to seek nourishment elsewhere."
He knew that voice. First to have called him from death, then to have cast him back into his body, then to have stayed him when he would have attacked the others... the others. He did not ask. There was no need, because although he had no name for this vampire, he knew the most important... the most damning thing.
He knew the way back into the crypt, turned and took the path at a full run.
He'd been buried with a sword.
***
He was back in the tomb before his sire- the vampire caught up to him. Standing before his sarcophagus, he reached for the blade when it felt as if he'd been hit by a cart- struck and thrust against the wall, and he beat at the arm across his throat, for all the good it did him.
A sharp pain- his arm, broken- made him cry out and pause. His bones knit as he stood there, teeth bared and hissing in pain. The hiss no longer sounded human- he could feel the press of his canine teeth against his lip. He would kill this creature- then himself- no. His brethren- the other Generals. He would have to seek them out. They couldn't exist like this.
He couldn't move. The vampire had him pinned securely and although he could have kicked out, the golden eyes in his vision suggested he would not like what happened next.
He did it anyway.
Another sharp pain and he collapsed to the floor as his- the vampire stepped away from him.
Raziel crouched on the ground, clenched his jaw and kept his weight off the broken leg until it mended.
"Shall we continue?"
He sucked in air, and it occurred to him that he didn't need it. Vampires didn't breathe. Their lungs were useless... but it was reflex, and speech was sound over air.
:If you prefer not to speak, perhaps you would like to whisper?:
He flinched, looked up and bared his teeth in a sneer. He stood when his leg would allow it, and faced his... this vampire proudly. They appraised each other- and the vampire was tall, moon-pale with equally white hair. The eyes were gold- feral- hands clawed although his feet still occupied human-sized boots. Quite an attractive monster, really. His armor was impressive in a gaudy way- spikes adorning the back and gauntlets that were equally dangerous. It left him feeling, Raziel noted wryly, a bit jealous.
That feeling was hardly foremost in his thoughts.
"I am impressed," he murmured, trying to look haughty and imperious and finding it was a difficult mask to wear in his current situation. "The sheer audacity of your actions here, tonight-"
"Your corpse was no longer of any use to you," the vagrant murmured, smirking. "I took it and thought your soul might enjoy a second go at life."
"This is no life," he shouted. Raziel closed his eyes, breathed out, then opened them again, forcing his face into neutrality. "You've profaned a sacred burial chamber and defiled the lives of Sarafan warriors by raising them as vampires-"
"Or perhaps I've allowed a cadre of murderers a chance at redemption by granting them the same lives they stole from so many others," he interrupted again, and this time the smirk was smaller, and the eyes more dangerous.
"You had no right-"
"You'll find in this world, my childe, that right is defined by power and the will to take what one wishes. It is a far stranger Nosgoth than the one you knew." The last was somehow consoling, but Raziel did not hear it- bristling first at the designation and secondly at the condescension in his tone. He moved faster than he knew he had been capable of in life. Will. He had the will to take life from the vampire that had given him this unwanted second existence.
Reaching for his sword this time, Raziel found, bared and raised it, still bright after decades of disuse.
"This is quite foolish of you," the other murmured, not yet drawing a weapon. "Newly risen you are, and I am already several hundred years old. My dark gifts are beyond your comprehension and my skill more than you can think to exceed. What do you hope to accomplish?"
"My death or yours," Raziel answered. "Either will give me victory."
"You are arrogant."
"One of my best faults."
The vampire smiled.
***
"Come now," he said when Raziel was drooping with exhaustion and still he had no idea where his brethren were. Perhaps destroyed already by passing vampire hunters... if such still existed in this era. "You've lost the will to fight already?" Raziel glared at him. The bastard had not even drawn a weapon, dodging easily around his blows and letting him tire himself out.
He pulled a breath that sounded like growling and lunged forward- foolish. He knew it was even as he did it. The vampire closed a hand around his wrist, trapping his sword-arm, and pulled him close with the other on his shoulder.
"Which would you be?" he asked, purring. "My lieutenant or my trollop? For truth, I see value in either, but one commands less respect."
"I will be dead before I am either one," his voice held distain and none of the frustration he felt. "I will not be intimidated into submission, and when my comrades arrive-"
"Ah yes... your fellow Sarafan. My younger sons. Are you certain they will feel like to you? So ready to throw away a second chance at life, after the first turn was so grievously quashed?"
"We dedicated our lives to the service of the Circle and ridding Nosgoth of your kind. They will-" then he stopped, suddenly made uneasy by the knowing smile on that pale face.
"Would you turn oath breaker, then, and kill the last surviving Pillar Guardian?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Tell me," he said, manipulating Raziel's arm like a man would a child's, he lowered it between them, forcing Raziel to look at the sword. "Can you speak reasonably and set aside your blade, or does your lust for blood so consume you?"
Raziel flinched, attempted to pull away- but he wasn't going anywhere. The vampire held him immobile and waited.
"I will be reasonable."
"Your word as a Sarafan?"
"Yes."
He sneered, but loosed Raziel and left the sword in his hand. Raziel lunged and the vampire laughed as he stepped easily out of the way.
"Have you accepted your new status, then?"
"I am a Sarafan still- vampires are not protected by our honor," he said haughtily. The white-haired vampire reached back and put a hand to his shoulder.
Oh God. He knew that sword- the twisted length of blade and a hilt of bone- a skull and spiked adornments- almost as tall as he was. The malevolent blue glow in the eyes and along the length of the blade was unfamiliar.
How? Moebius had said it belonged to the Circle. Raziel bared his teeth- the better not to feel his elongated canines. The vampire was lying. He had to be.
"You know the blade."
"I know it."
"Let us see how well you fare."
***
Not well at all, as it turned out. As much as he was able to force down his fear, Raziel shied away from the sword, blocking more wildly than he would have found necessary against another weapon. The blade screamed in his ears- his far too sensitive ears- and when it came too close he could feel a metaphysical pull- as if it would plunge deep within and drink him empty as surely as he had done to those people back there.
This was deplorable. He had taken human lives when necessary, but his duty was to the people of Nosgoth- to protect and preserve them. The best way to do so now was to take his own life. He would- he would do so even if he were unable to kill this one first. It might have been far simpler to over-strike and impale himself upon the vampire's twisted sword- an ending befitting one who had died upon it once already.
He feared the blade.
The vampire knew he feared it.
The duel was over in a few quick passes- Raziel found weariness a surprise and wondered how he had been exerting himself if even vampiric strength failed him. He reminded himself stubbornly, even as he marveled at his strength, that this was a temporary state. He would not stay this way. He would, however, make use of a vampire's advantages while he had them.
The skull-hilt struck his hand and it went numb- his sword fell to the dusty ground. The vampire wrapped long claws in his mail shirt- his breastplate had been discarded in favor of speed long ago- and pulled him close, laying the flat of the sword close to his neck.
"You are quite the fighter. How pleasant to learn not all the legends were false."
Raziel glared at the vampire even as he tried to lean away from the glow that hungered for him- whispered in voices too soft to understand.
"Now, if you would be so kind as to prove you have a mind beneath that arrogance- and not simply the luck of demons."
He stood there, and glared, and said nothing.
"Come now," the vampire murmured, still smirking, utterly at ease and holding the blade with a carelessness that bespoke utmost confidence, "you must have questions. The state of the world- why I raised you- how the Circle met its end."
"I want nothing from you but the end of your unnatural life," Raziel answered calmly. "I am not an animal to perform for your amusement, and I care not what you think of my intelligence." For all that, he was curious, and he did want to know. It mattered not. He knew his task.
"This is tiresome," the vampire admitted. "Now," he continued briskly," I would threaten death, but we both know you would enjoy it, so instead, I will speed along the process of your conversion." He put the sword away. Raziel immediately began to struggle, but the vampire tightened his grip and set a long claw against his own throat.
One drop of blood on the pale skin. Raziel could see it, smell it. It trickled downward and his attention was captured. He would have moved forward- tasted it- but the vampire held him back, this time gently.
It slipped away beneath layers of cloth and armor and Raziel made a low cry. The sound was lost under the vampire's chuckle. Another prick of black into white and another crimson droplet collected, then began its slow descent.
:Hear me.:
Raziel didn't protest the voice in his mind, enraptured by liquid ruby and the wealth of sensation each meager drop- life and power- the smell alone infinitely more fine than what he tried not to remember drinking.
:You are more now than anything you have been...:
He could see more than he could hear- the voice of the vampire... his sire... drew pictures in his mind. He ran swifter than the wind and the wild beasts of the forest, he listened to the wings of an owl beating against a darkened sky, looked through a window far from the place he stood and saw the delicate flush of a woman's cheek as she slept, feel the world resonate with life and sorcery- because he had been part of it, and been removed from it, and could no longer fail to notice tiny details that gave knowledge to those who could interpret it. He understood the vitality, the supernatural importance, and the all-consuming necessity that trickled from Kain's throat. All and more were reflected in his sire's blood.
Then Kain withdrew from his mind, and took a step back.
Raziel stared at the older vampire again- the white of his skin and hair- feral eyes that had seen far too much- clawed hands that could rend flesh or wield a blade with equal fervor- and the fangs. Of course the fangs.
Even as his skin crawled with stolen life, eager to make use of it in battle or hunting, or simply running- doing his will, the fangs were more physically present. He could pretend his body had always been this way, and ignore the tapered points of his ears, but the fangs... and the bloodlust- the need of it. He had not realized the full extent of a vampire's damnation. Bad enough to be condemned and seek penance, but to enjoy your sentence....
"Raziel."
He flinched, raised his eyes to Kain's once more.
Then he ran.
***
It was the custom of himself and his brothers in arms to use the Pillars as a meeting place if they were separated.
The Pillars were an easy landmark to find and even when the fog was thickest. He knew- internally- where they could be found. The Pillars resonated within every creature of Nosgoth- even, it had been suspected, the animals. Take any person, blindfold them, spin them about. Even disoriented and lacking the benefit of sight, one could ask them to point in the direction of the Pillars and they would do so. After giving his oath to serve the Pillars and their Guardians, Raziel had known this sense to become more acute. It felt strange now- yet another thing changed, tainted by this horrid un-life.
He ran and didn't stop running, cursing himself for his actions. He had left his sword, had been shedding armor as the straps wore out with his movements.
You did not run away, he told himself sternly. That was a strategic retreat. He could not destroy Kain. Not alone. Best to regroup with as many of his comrades as still lived and formulate a plan of attack. What he would not have done to be in possession of Moebius' staff once more. Raziel wondered if the relic continued to exist now, centuries after his death.
He ran, and he avoided humans- few as they were at this time of night. He wanted no more casualties, no more mortal lives spent to feed his deathlessness. He had no confidence in his ability to stop himself if faced with the temptation.
He hated the ease with which he skirted around their watchful eyes.
So absorbed in his thoughts was Raziel that he came upon the Pillars and nearly failed to recognize them. He stopped so suddenly that he almost tripped over his own feet- and nearly fell yet as he looked, and his mind slowly, painfully realized what it saw.
Raziel sank to his knees, staring in utter desolation at the ruin- these were not the Pillars of Nosgoth. These cracked, decaying things, wrenched back and forth at angles as if a cruel child had grasped them one at a time and tried to pluck them from the earth. Only the one in the center remained, straight and taller than the height of several men, yet a stunted, broken thing where there had once been a white and pale grey column that towered beyond the reach of any cloud.
It could not be.
How could it be?
"After your death, and that of your comrades-"
He didn't even move, so shocked by the depth of this travesty. He wasn't surprised Kain had found him, failed to care what his sire would do next. He could only kneel there and listen, eventually lowering his eyes as the sight grew too painful.
"-Malek failed to protect six of the nine Pillar Guardians from the vampire Vorador."
His gaze snapped to Kain, who stared unflinching at the Pillars, and continued his narration.
"For his transgression, Mortanius removed the soul from his body and bound it to a suit of armor." His sire looked at him, faintly amused, and raised a brow. "With no distractions of the flesh, he could look after his fellow Guardians more faithfully."
"Malek did not shirk his duties," Raziel glared, but it was a weak thing, and eventually abandoned.
"Perhaps," Kain allowed, still smirking, "but six of the Pillars were murdered on his watch, and Vorador left him to live with his shame. For his failure, Mortanius punished him. I must wonder why, after such an event, he was given a place in that tomb of yours." The smile widened. "A place his body would never occupy."
"They built it long before we died," he murmured, no longer caring what information he offered. What did it matter? Kain knew so much already- Raziel imagined he had learned much more during that little jaunt into his mind. "Death is a certainty- more so for those who seek to kill the undead."
"Malek died later- at Vorador's hand. Still," Kain continued blandly, "not before a new Circle was recognized, and not before the Balance Guardian was murdered by one of their own." He ignored Raziel's look of shock. "Discovering her corpse, the Pillar of the Mind was driven insane by grief. He unleashed a wave of psychic energy upon the rest of the Circle, sending them all into corruption and madness. The only way to make the Circle pure again-"
"Was to kill them," Raziel murmured, intent on Kain, he began putting the pieces together. For the vampire to have gained the Soul Reaver, and to know such details of their history and that of the Sarafan... he was a student of history at the least, and intimately familiar with the events at most.
"Mortanius knew what had to be done. He located the Balance Guardian's successor when the boy was young and ignorant of his destiny- hired a band of thieves to rob and murder him," his face had grown still with an emotion Raziel couldn't identify. "Then he offered a chance for vengeance, set his creation upon a path that would end with his own death."
Raziel climbed to his feet. For a time, they both stared at the Pillars.
"...Shall I finish the task you have not yet completed?"
Kain smiled, not looking at him, and gave a dark little chuckle. Raziel did not move to strike, and Kain did not take up the offer. Presently, Kain spoke again.
"You pledged your lives, and souls, to the service of the Circle," he murmured. "For all that you and Malek were equal in failure, you escaped punishment and the return to service your Commander endured." Kain turned his head, studying Raziel's profile. "Or perhaps not." He stepped close, standing less than a hand-span from the Sarafan's shoulder. "Perhaps your bodies were sealed- your souls trapped within the tomb- with full knowledge that I might make use of them one day. You, your brethren, were left in trust to me." His voice was not loud, but it seemed to carry across the night air, clear and comprehensible to any listening. Raziel almost turned to look. Couldn't. He didn't want to.
Raziel clenched his jaw, looking at the ground. He said nothing. Everything else Kain had said sounded equally possible- inevitable. This Kain, this vampire, was the Pillar of Balance. He couldn't deny the connection between them any more than he could deny his own connection. Pillar to Guardian, Guardian to Sarafan, Sire to Fledgling.
They were here at last. He could feel their gaze upon him- upon Kain and he wondered how much they had heard. Kain had to have known- to have chosen his words for the greatest impact. Not only for his benefit. Raziel felt the acid bite of shame within him, was reminded of all that he was now- would be forced to remain. He felt ill.
"Sworn to the Circle," he whispered at Raziel's ear. "Sworn in life and death- your service, as I require it."
Damned by his own conviction, strong as ever it was in life.
"Now swear to me."
Kain took a step back, giving him room.
Raziel lifted his head. His brethren- brothers- watched, faces impassive. They were changed. Their faces resembled what they had been in life- their hair, even Zephon's, was dark as his own had become. Melchiah's skin was sallow, more worn looking than the others and his face held the bite of disgust. Zephon's face was thinner and more feral than he remembered from life, haughty, eager. Rahab had kept his armor, helmet clasped loosely in one hand, his eyes were very wide, lips pressed thin with displeasure. Dumah's chain mail was splattered with blood, as was his halberd. He didn't seem to notice. Turel stared directly at him. They all did, but his second-in-command stared, and from years of experience in the act, he could read that gaze.
Whatever you choose, I stand with you.
It warmed him briefly, then plunged him into a deeper misery than before.
He knew his duty. It robbed him of choice.
Raziel turned on his heel, faced Kain. Holding his Sire's gaze the entire time, he lowered himself to one knee.
"By my oath and office as a priest of the Sarafan order, I pledge my service to the Circle of Nine-" there was shock in some of the faces surrounding him, but as Turel followed suit, so did the others, "-so long as a Guardian is bound to the Pillar by which it was claimed, my service is bound to that Guardian-" they were kneeling, their voices adding to his, "-my life, my death and my soul, bound to the service of the Circle. The command of the Pillars become the law of my existence, in their service and the service of Nosgoth."
Kain smiled. Raziel forced the last of it around the bitterness in his throat.
"So have I sworn, so will I swear, so will I serve, from now until the ending of the world."
He had damned them all.
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Date: 2007-10-08 07:31 am (UTC)It has indeed turned out fabulous my darling (not that I doubted you for even 0.0001% of a second). Thanks for the credit even though I didn't really do anything more than help nudge you along XD!
Brilliant work, you (and they) kick ass, and you made Raziel-with-his-memories-submitting work, for which I love you with a very special sort of specialness.
*snuggles*
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Date: 2007-10-12 12:19 am (UTC)*snuggles back~*
Whoo~! Oh hell yes you did- I was completely stuck at that point and you both got me to push over writers-speed bump... or off road... or something.
XD Sankyu, sankyu~
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Date: 2007-10-08 01:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-12 12:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-09 01:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-12 12:21 am (UTC)I'm flattered, and I thank you. :)