When the Night falls, fur will fly...
When the Moon rises, blood will be spilled...
..and Humanity shall perish.
1
"AM I IN HELL?"
The figure above him answered that yes, he was in hell.
Judas Iscariot closed his eyes.
The figure above him spoke again.
Judas opened his eyes again, this time the figure was clearer, The dark skin and bearded chin framing a gentle smile, while the long dark hair tickled his nose.
He moaned.
'Then why am I seeing my teacher and best friend. If this is indeed hell then I have dammed our Savior to satan's hand.'
'I am not your Savior brother, but one who would give you eternal life on this mortal plane.'
Judas grinned painfully, rose to answer then fell back coughing. His throat hurt.
'I cut you down from the tree before you could leave us. You will heal in time.'
'Why save such a wretched life as mine, surely I deserve death for what I have done.'
'I didn't say anything about saving you Judas.'
2
The sun fell from the sky, exactly on the West point of the compass as it always did at this time of year. Being the longest day, all night creatures slept longer in their burrows, holes and lairs, the intelligent ones dreaming dreams of the past, which, for the darkest and most ancient of them held no mercy.
He arose swiftly from his slumber, dreams and memories of a time when he had last seen such a magnificent light, drawing away from his grasp, the feeling of rough hessian weave on him fading, the sharp pang of his makers teeth on his throat the last sensation to fade as the thirst began throbbing in his chest. He would feed tonight, self imposed fasting ending in the taking of another, an innocent, the only one he would take as an annual reminder of where he had come from, and what he was.
An innocent that awaited for him outside his door.
The grateful villagers had come good again, keeping to the covenant they shared.
3
Animal nature took hold of him.
He awoke, his maker above him, moonlight illuminating the beautiful features.
'You need to be careful with your feeding youngling. Death can still claim you if you drink too much. The heartbeat must slow, but never stop.'
'But we are death father' came the insolent reply
'Typical answer for one new' he sighed 'We are still God's creatures even though we live in his shadow 'Rules must be observed.
'But surely rules are for mortals?'
'We are all mortals in his eyes'
The ancient one watched his younglings thoughts. How they sped through the cold clay of his brain, a fast flowing current of immaturity through a stream, of the overriding, steady beat of the Thirst - Not even slightly slated on his young victims blood.
'I need more'
'Of course you do'
4
He materialized outside the impenetrable granite slap that stood as a door to his resting place, lungs filling with damp night air that held a million scents, each one tantalizing to him. He allowed himself the luxury of a deep breath, drawing everything in to his being.
5
He had never smelled anything like it in his hundred years a vampire.
'What is that horrible stench?'
His maker did not answer strait away, but continued to watch the dance.
'That, youngling, is what we have come to find out' The firelight sparkled in his black eyes as he spoke, gaze never shifting from the scene. It was a marvelous thing to watch, though, somehow it troubled his. The younger could see that it mattered greatly to him, though he did not know why. Humans had never held such fascination before, or trepidation and it troubled him that his father was worried. Why, he thought. It was just drums and dance, nothing they had not seen before, albeit, not in this country, so far from where they had lived before.
'The one who dances' explained his maker, on hearing these thoughts 'is a Shaman, who is invoking the Wolf Spirit Beskarr. A powerful one who may cause us some problems'
'Is this why we left Rome in such a hurry?'
His maker nodded.
'This is why we left our home. To see if the rumours are true'
'And are they, true I mean'
His maker opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak a shout arose from the group.
They had been spotted.
6
A cry, just under mortal ears, came to him from behind a nearby monument.
The darkness blurred then Arthur stood beside the source of the sound, A small tight bundle, cloth soft, rich with vibrant colour only one such as himself could see. It moved faintly, squirming under his gaze as if it knew what was about to happen next. Another cry, louder this time.
7
Events erupted.
His maker was the first to move, toward the fire rather than away from it. Artorius took a moment longer to react, hesitating as to what to do, only becoming animated when his makers voice softly echoed in his head
"We need to stop this, NOW!"
The urgency was lost on him, not knowing why his maker was afraid, only faith that he was doing the right thing finally moving him. He followed, arriving by his makers side quickly, even for a vampire. A quick approving look, then the steel of the charge returned.
8
Arthur knelt down, sitting on his haunches, arms on thighs, with hands dangling off his wrists. The bundle had stopped moving, emitting a last wail before being resigned to its fate. He reached down and gently began to unwrap the cloth.
9
Just before the impact Artoriuse's vision blurred. The man; a Shaman his maker had called him, seemed to change shape, a horrible mix of many limbs, heads and torsos, before it solidified into canine form. A very large canine. Its jaws opened, front teeth easily as long as his forearm.
Then a solid mat of fur hit him with a bone shattering crunch.
10
He paused just the once.
The moon, full in its glory slid from behind a veil of cloud, its Majesty illuminating the whole graveyard, each monument, tree and bush etheric in the cold light. He remembered that day long ago when the one who had made him was unmade by the shapeshifter shaman, the pain of seeing his ripped limb from limb, wanting to help, the only thing stopping him was the calm voice in his head telling him to run, to run now, as fast as he could. He wanted to argue with that voice, to tell it that he could never survive on his own, that he could take this beast easily.
Then it tore head from body, and the voice stopped.
It was like his world ending.
He remembered then, as his hands finished unwrapping the still bundle, that he had decided to live. To continue on, so that one day he could have his vengence against the one who had done this, for surely he would only grow stronger, as he got older, while this beast would only grow older..weaker. Then he could have his vengence.
Arthur looked down as he remembered his naive promise to himself, the problems it had caused later.
And he saw what lay on the ground.
The moon fled.
...TO BE EXPANDED....
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