Monsters and Angels

The flames flickered in the subterranean chamber, casting a myriad of shadows on the walls. Resulting in a chaotic display of dancing shapes, and twisting ribbons of dark. Father Kieran wandered the shadows of his hidden world, a large flask of black mica sand in his grasp.

Carefully, so carefully he began to pour the grains to the floor, creating with his nimble footsteps and calculating eye, the intricate patterns of heavenly seals. Genova watched him closely, her eyes catching the winking glint of the sand in the gold light.

She’d heard of this ritual often, but had never seen it. Nor had anyone, save Father Kieran himself. She shifted her slight weight, violet eyes wide with curious wonder. This enigmatic practice of this enigmatic man, everything in him, drew her. Had always drawn her. Always would.

Father Kieran’s voice lifted in the dimness, rising softly like a rough velvet whisper in the hush of the vaulted ceiling. “Now come, answer the call and lift up your blades of heavenly fire. To cleanse, to cleanse, these hallowed walls, this holy city. Ezrafel, Raziel, angels of the hidden paths hear me, and awaken. Stir in the ether and hear my call”.

Genova started when the sand began to pulse and hum with a soft blue light, power imbuing the very air around her. Each breath she took electrically charged as it poured into her lungs. She made a small sound and eyes greener than the forests of Siberia lifted to her.

Once Kieran was certain she was unharmed, he set to his task once more. The powers of heaven were volatile as he had long ago learned. The beings whose aid he sought were not the bright, gentle creatures of lore and faithful fancy. No, he called for the handiwork of the very angels. Something far more dangerous.

Controlling them would be no issue, he accepted that once loosed upon the city they would control themselves. They always had. The city would fall into a death like sleep, and only the warring factions would escape it. The war would be fought in the open yet swathed in the filmy covering of dreams.

It had been eons, since they had last had free reign in the mortal realm and Kieran felt no shame in admitting that there was more than one angel that he feared greatly. His memory wandered back to a time shrouded in forgotten mists. To the night he had died, and risen once more.

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The attack had come from nowhere, so fast he’d barely been able to react. He’d had time to shout a warning to his lord and friend, the Dracul who rode just ahead. He had fought all his life and knew that in fighting he would meet his end. He did not fear it.

When he was knocked roughly from his mount, his shoulder throbbing from the bite of the arrow. The sting of the wound indicated that the barb had been dipped in poison and his end would not be painless.

He’d drawn his sword, ready to defend to the last, the man he had served in life, and then in unlife. He widened his stance, crouching low, green eyes searching the night shrouded foliage, and then his attacker rushed.

Steel clashed upon steel, blue sparks leaping along the blades as they kissed and danced in a furious staccato. He grunted as the swords locked, summoning his strength to shove his opponent back and free his blade.

He thrust, dodged, and parried, his fighting as artful as it was lovely to see. Deceptively smooth strokes belied the awesome power he put behind each. His opponent’s fingers should have been all but numb from the violent vibration at this point.

With a final growl he lunged forward, grinning madly when he felt the gratifying thunk of the blade into muscle and sinew and then the thud of solid bone, the tooth gritting scrape of steel on bone ringing out in the night.

With a final push he felt the breastbone give and fracture, blood, hot and sticky spurted out over his hands, splattering his face, but he cared not at all. He withdrew his blade, using his foot on his kneeling enemy as leverage.

Who was this betrayer? Who? He bent near to see for himself and that was when the cold gleam of steel caught the moonlight. The blade slashed out so rapidly he could not avoid it, he felt the tearing bite of it at his throat. His mouth and throat filling with his blood, his armor stained dark with the steady flow.

His hand went to the wound to slow the bleeding, but he knew he was lost. His dying enemy had slain him. He staggered back, falling to his knees, cursing himself for a fool. The Dracul had pushed through the brush then, dropping from his mount with the grace of a cat.

In a burst of speed, he had gathered his fallen friend to his chest, his immortal eyes taking in the gaping slash across the pale throat, the growing black puddles of blood on the ground. “No Kieran” he had rasped, his throat tight with long forgotten emotion, “Not you, I will not lose you to these bastards”.

Kieran forced his eyes open, his mouth working soundlessly to absolve his master of guilt. Alucard had watched the blood slide up from the corner of his mouth and roared his anger into the night, his taloned grip tightening.

“I will not” he growled, and bent his head, latching onto the torn flesh, his fangs finding hold in the tattered skin, but it was enough to pass on his gift, his curse. One as noble as Kieran did not deserve to choke to death on rivers of his own blood in a nameless forest like this.

Kieran felt the pull of his flesh, felt the warmth leave his form in strong, sucking pulls. With his last thought, he pushed away the thought of dying. He would embrace it, but he could not be damned, could not be!

Life ended swiftly after that, his lord’s garnet eyes locked on his face even as vision faded from him. Then the pain came, the burn of a thousand flames licking along his body, through his body and he wailed. But the voice that left his throat was a shadowy mockery of it’s former self.

He had healed, he would live the unlife now and his voice would bear the scar of his betrayal. He had jerked and writhed upon the forest floor, his nose taking in all the scents once subdued. The damp earth, the rot of leaves, the animals moving just out of sight and then the scent of him, the scent of steel and the tang of blood.

His lord and master, the monster. The Dracul. “Curse you Dracul” he had panted as he came to himself, “I only ever served you faithfully, put your safety before my own, even after you became immortal! And you… you curse me to walk in the dark, damned and alone forever! You’ve betrayed me, your servant! Your friend! Why Dracul why?”

Alucard had stood nearby, leaning against a knotted pine, his expression grim. “To save your life, to keep you from falling into death’s clutches” he replied smoothly. The irishman’s fists clenched, “And for that you’ve hurled me headlong into the pits of hell! Damn you! I could accept you for what you are, but I could never accept it for myself. Never! Tell me Dracul, tell me how to change it back… then leave, leave me be. I can’t stand to look at you”.

Alucard shook his head, “There is no reversal Kieran, no podium in heaven now marked with your name. I make no apologies to your for what I am or what I have done. If you choose to throw away this that you have been given, stand tall and face the sun. For it shall burn you to nothingness. Good bye…old friend”.

Alucard had turned and walked away then, gaining his mount and vanishing into the night, his steed’s hooves making no sound as it took to the air in billows of dark smoke. Kieran stood in the small clearing, shaking and praying. Praying to God that he was not a damned thing and as the cold touch of dawn came to him, he decided.

To face the burning wrath of the light, and the pain consumed him.