Dead Night (B.N & S.N Trilogy) Blood + Sacred

[♥Fleur Morte♥]

((Oh God I'm in love Jiga, he's such a perfect character xD His first post has already got me hooked))

The aged neon lights flickered to a maddening degree within Corbett's dim lit cell. Corbett was the oldest alive contestants, his 'Arena' name 'Auriel' howled long before the sport even became legal. In a way it was Corbett's own popularity which made the sport so known. He was the 'Silver Lion', 'God's Lion' the greatest Vampire Arena fighter ever to live, but also the maddest all fighters.

Corbett didn't trust anyone, he didn't even trust himself, he was so paranoid about everything he was even conspiring that the two goat that he got fed everyday were the same goats he got fed everyday. Those few twenty-five years in his personal hell really screwed him up in the head. Despite the fact that about seventy years ago he realised that he was no longer in hell and he was still dangerously sceptic towards all creatures knowing very well now that all has the potential to be the demons that he so loathed.

The Arena that Corbett knew as his home and Safe Haven was a honeycomb of cells and pathways stretching miles below the surface built using the basic structure of the quarry system that was already under Paris. Corbett's cell was situated down on the lowest level of 'The Arena', the level that was now generally used as storage due to its serious power issues and fill up with water whenever it rained. Despite the level's obvious faults Corbett liked its solitude and classified it the safest level of the Arena.

Corbett's thin scarred body lay outstretched over the large slab of marble he classified as his bed. His long uncut fingernails curled to deadly claws browned by the blood of his last kill. He wore no shirt only tight purple leather pants which from the looks of them were relevantly new.

The sound of footsteps awoke Corbett from his peaceful slumber. His grey blue eyes opened reluctantly. There were only two reasons why someone would be approaching his cell, to feed him or to escort him to 'The Arena' to fight... he sincerely hoped it was food. The foot steps stopped and he sat up staring a the face of his usual escort peering through the top bars of his iron door. "Auriel? You ready?" he asked. Corbett's eyes gazed at his escort with mistrusting eyes. He gave him a sharp nod as a response then stood up.

On the other side of his cell a series of locks and bolts were unlocked before the iron door was forcefully pushed open. Corbett's escort grunted and signalled to follow him. A small snarl passed under Corbett's breath, he didn't like his escort though he dare not harm him in fear of what 'The Boss' might do. With much reluctance he began to follow closely behind him.

After walking through five long tunnels, up many stairs and taking three outdated industrial elevators both Corbett and his escort found themselves within the east wing Arena entry. Corbett's escort turned to face him, his face stone cold, "It was nice knowing you" his voice hinting sarcasm. Corbett grunted and moved toward the large automatic entry doors. A continuous horn was sounded and the automatic doors opened allowing Corbett to pass through into the Arena Pit surrounded by thousands of screaming human spectators chanting 'Auriel'. His shiny purple pants and pale scarred body gleamed in the light as waited for his challenger to approach.
---
Sek's dark eyes opened from his light sleep to the voice of his beloved Randella that lay beside him. Immediately he pushed himself up to a sitting position expecting that they were under attack or something. His eyes surveyed the room ready to strike all intruders dead but quickly realised that there was no threat. He looked down at Randella with eyes filled with adoration and sympathy. His eyebrows creased "Why have you awoken me, my love? Is something wrong... did you have another nightmare?" he questioned, kissing her smooth pale forehead.

Randella's nightmares truly troubled him because they were the only things he couldn't protect her from and it hurt him to see her in such a mess afterwards. Sek stroked her cheek softly, "I don't know what to do, sometimes I just feel I'm not strong enough... I feel like I could have prevented the war but I didn't" he sighed. He looked across to Randella's swollen stomach, he pressed his lips hard together and looked down, his eyes filled with regret. He breathed out calmly "How's the baby? Has, he or she moved?" he asked, restraining himself from just referring their child's gender as 'it'.
---
Cue sat leisurely on his oak carved chair admiring the view of the monorail track outside his window from his decrepit apartment in the outer district of Paris. He chuckled to himself, pulling up a bottle of Absinthe which had been near his feat and removing the cork with one of his long claws. A mischievous smile stretched across his face, it had been fifty years since he had broke free of hell and all night he'd been celebrating. He raised the bottle of Absinthe "Cheers to all you f***ing Gods that ever thought you capture me," he howled his words hinting that he was already heavily intoxicated. Cue pressed the bottle of absinthe to his lips and gulped a quarter of the bottle down.

A maniacal laugh escaped his lips letting the bottle drop from his hands, it's green liquid spilling out onto the already stained carpet. Cue jumped up out of his seat and swayed his arm. He grinned "Ah, life is good, life is good... now all I need to get is a bottle of whiskey, a few j**nts and a wh*** and this sinful celebration will be over" he announced, his legs wobbling as he walked to the window.

Cue's golden eyes glittered in the morning sun and he peered down at the alley below. He chuckled again, pulling his shaky legs up into the window. He grinned and let out a sign of relief as he smelled the air, "Ah, the smell of burning coal and horse dung, reminds me of the good old days" he mused, stretching. He bit his lip looking out at the sky in a mischievous manner before jumping off blindly into the alley below.

Cue's leg's hit the ground with a thud. He stretched his back, releasing a long 'ah'. "So that what I get for not being mainstream," he groaned, "Now Cue, let's try to not get stabbed by anyone today"

[Sacred Sin]

{I'm glad you like Jiga so much! Haha. Hopefully I can continue to make you enjoy his character. He's fun for me because he's different than anything I've ever done before and he's a sarcastic, silly, little screw head. Lol. Nice beginning post by the way!

Just a quick question. Who is Corbett going to fight with? Because I was going to have Jiga stumble across him when he reaches the sidelines of the arena to see his opponent from some other Arena (I figure they hold fights between Arenas to raise a lot of money and increase viewers.) I was thinking too...maybe not all Arena fights end in death. Maybe the clear loser must face some awful torture, like twenty lashes in front of the audience. If the Boss constantly had battles to the death, he'd have to pay a lot to bring in new immortals and it may not be profitable. Just an idea. :'D

Also, I was thinking that maybe Lou could dig up Edward?}

[♥Fleur Morte♥]

Oh Corbett's going to decapitate some random and show is strength to the audience... and yes if the looser is spared by his opponent (Rarely with Corbett) he'll receive some sort of punishment and yes, it'd be less cost effective.

Actually I was going to have drunk Cue dig him up but maybe Lou could be wandering around confused because of his condition and maybe Edward mentally contacts him because he feels his presence close by

[Sacred Sin]

{Oh, it's up to you really! Lol, can you imagine if the first thing that Edward sees, after being buried for decades, is Cue? damn, he's be so messed up.}

[♥Fleur Morte♥]

Hmm, that would be interesting considering the fact both hate each other... oh well I guess it may be kinder to Edward if poor Lou digs him up (And has a minor heart-attack when he sees him).
I'll write for him now since I'm currently at home due to foot injuries

Two small blue glowing peered from within the darkness of a disused rusted sewer pipe. A tiny figure of Lou cowered at the morning sun from with his shrouded lair. His lips were pale and dry, his hair flopped over his face like a wet mop. His head rested on his knees that pressed close to his chest. He had the appearance of an eleven year old but his dead fair skin tone and pearl white fangs begged to differ. He was an immortal, a vampire to say the least, a mortal that was perhaps in many ways too young to be given immortality.

Lou's icy body winced as the sun touched his feet. He was afraid but not of the sun, but of what the sun represented, morning. Morning meant less cover to hide, less cover meant more chances to get chased or hurt.

Lou had awoken less than four day ago too the smell of mould and rotting wood in a cellar. He did not know where he was nor did he remember how he got there and he scared. The last thing he could remember was watching TV at his father's apartment before awaking to the dim lit cellar. From awakening from the cellar Lou found a large leather bound journal next to him with a big bold note pasted to its cover spelling out 'READ'. Out of curiosity and confusion Lou read the journal and was surprised to find out it had been written by him. The journal told him about his condition, detailed the war and it told him about the human. However up until ten years ago he'd been still writing the journal with sensible recounts of the days but on June the 5th they stopped and turn into a mass of scribbled notes with old fragments Paris road maps... he'd been looking for something, something important. Curious to find out what it was, Lou ventured out into this new world of hatred.

Lou's hands held the cracking leather journal in his hands. From the many crossed out locations there was but one place left on the map, Sainte-Chapelle, a Gothic church. Lou let out a small cry, he didn't like old churches, especially Gothic churches, something in his mind just told him to stay away from them. He shook his head in protest but decided that it'd be best to move from his pipe anyway in case someone saw him, beside what was left of the church was just two streets away.

Slowly with somewhat sluggish movements Lou made his way out of the pipe and down the street.

[Sacred Sin]

~/:o:/ Ĵιɢα Ƥɛиʋмвяα /:o:/~

“Hey, Jiga, which unlucky b*st*rd is against you today?” One of the fighters asked, and the demon’s lips twisted into a smug smirk, glad to have an audience to regale this morning’s future venture to. Jiga didn’t travel down here often unless he had a promising fight ahead and wanted the others to know it, and here the man was, being a gentleman and even starting the conversation for him, saving him the trouble! Well hell, if he wasn’t going to answer! It wasn’t often that Jiga had a willing participant in his little larks.

“Another Arena champion. It’s some sort of money-making gig for Tim, you know.” He sighed, waving his hand around like the whole thing was troublesome when, in fact, everyone there knew that the Arena was one of his favorite places to be. “It’s a real pain in the a*s, these promotional things, a real thorn in my side.” And, like that, a huge, painful looking thorn found itself situated between Jiga’s ribcage and hipbone, looking like the cartoon version of a railroad spike. The man gave a bark of laughter at his antics and the demon grinned, pleased at this response, before he blinked and the entire thing disappeared.

“Hey listen, Auriel is going to be there today too. You know, the Silver Lion?” The man offered, apparently deciding that he would humor the demon since he had nothing better to do.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he’s fighting too, I guess.”

Jiga lifted himself into the air and crossed his legs, floating leisurely and appraising the man with a devious, thoughtful expression, his blazing eyes lit up like the devil’s. “Maybe I can go in and give the Cowardly Lion a visit beforehand?” He snickered, running a black-tipped hand across his angular chin.

“You guys have met before?”

“Yeah,” Something turned to stone in Jiga’s eyes and there was a dangerous quality about him, about his aura and the way his lips upturned in a sneer that flashed sharp incisors. “In the Arena.” The tone of his voice left it clear that there was no more room for discussion.

“Well, Jiga, kick the other champion’s a*s, yeah? We don’t want our reputation going down.” The man smiled, and it was a nasty thing full of violence and malice. Jiga’s matched it perfectly as he pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket and unwrapped it with deliberate slowness, hearing groans erupt in the cells at the sight of the sweet treat.

“Damn! Have a heart, will you?!” A female voice sounded suddenly and he waggled his eyebrows in her direction, before unbuttoning his coat to reveal that his flesh and skin had disappeared. His ivory ribcage and innards stood out starkly in a ghastly, grim exhibition, a pattern of ebony veins full of black blood spanning in a complex network across, through, and under the organs. A green heart pounded steadily on one side, and he heard several retching sounds at the macabre display.

“Babes, I got one already, see?” He gestured to the beating organ, which was pulsing with a resounding thump, thump. “And I don’t think I could fit another one…” A snap of his fingers and his striped jacket re-buttoned once more up his lean figure, crisp and straight. He absentmindedly adjusted the collar of his hot pink collar, and took a bite of the chocolate now floating just by his mouth, as though held by invisible hands. Chocolate was his favorite, always had been, and he had always been amazed at the many forms humans had created for it to come in. “But here, doll, knock yourself out.” He tossed the sweet through the bars of the holding cell where he lay and she attacked it with ravenous abandon while he cackled like a madman. A moment later, he dissolved in thin air to appear at the Arena, on the sidelines. Immediately the roar of the humans reached his ears, almost deafening in its force, leaving his head ringing a bit with the sudden introduction of the thunderous noise, but he found a smile curling at his lips, though it was more of a feral flashing of teeth than a genuine grin. A few of the customers that weren’t preoccupied with the arrival of the Arena’s Silver Lion gasped as they saw him, pointing and laughing, faces ugly twists of amusement, greed, or pure malice. He snorted to himself, at how depraved a lot of humans were. But, because he would never deny a crowd, he shifted into a monstrous combination of a lion and his usual form—mainly to make fun of Auriel and to out stage him for the moment—, something beastly and horrible to look at, but the crowd ate it up and shouted in appreciation. He shifted back after one more terrible roar and took a bow, then sat, getting comfortable so he could watch the Arena fight between Auriel and whichever poor sucker was pit against him. Summoning a chocolate milkshake, he began to drink it with slow, precise swallows, the sweet, creamy flavor exploding across his tongue in the most pleasant of ways, the cold chilling his teeth in pleasure-pain that was refreshing. The richness of the drink was enough to make him a moan a little in delight.

“You’re here early.” A voice from his left said, and he didn’t need to turn to know that it was Tim, the Boss of this Arena, flanked by several tough looking Bodyguards, likely Immortals because humans were too frail for this type of business, what with the Immortals in the public’s eye now.

“Anything wrong with catching some entertainment before a fight?” He asked nonchalantly. A noncommittal noise of agreement met his ears.

“The crowd is riled today.” Tim murmured with satisfaction, changing the subject.

“No shi*t, Sherlock. Two of the best Arena fighters back to back? H*ll, I’d be riled too!” Jiga grinned.

“Speaking of which…it looks like your opponent arrived early too.” Tim observed. “Don’t do something I wouldn’t, Jiga. The Boss of the other Arena is there and I need to speak with him. Please be on your best behavior.” There was a strained sort of desperation in his voice, carefully covered by calm and firmness, but Jiga sensed it all the same.

“Mm….get someone to make me a batch of cheesecake brownies and you got yourself a deal. Oh, and maybe some fine women.” A sultry, seductive note entered his voice, and he cocked his head back to look at Tim finally, winking at him with his crimson eye. “Oh, and maybe an unlimited supply of cream puffs…” He was more goading him than anything, and a sharp “Jiga” made him laugh. “Yes, Boss, I promise, all that sh*t. Cross my heart and stick a thousand needles in my eyes, or whatever.” And, of course, his power manifested said words until his glowing eyes were absolutely covered in the nasty little slivers of metal. It didn’t hurt him, but it did seem to unnerve Tim, who quickly glanced a way. A sniff, and they were gone.

“Yeah, whatever.” The man muttered, waving his hand in clear dismissal as he turned and walked away. With nothing else to really do, Jiga returned his focus to the impending fight, with some of his concentration on his own opponent, already categorizing weaknesses, strengths, body type, and more. It seemed he’d be fighting a Siren. No biggie. Their voices didn’t do [censored] to him, really. Not unless he let it. Smirking confidently to himself, he grabbed his milkshake again and continued to slurp.


~/:o:/ Яα∂ɛℓℓα Ƨσяα /:o:/~

“Yes…” Radella murmured, her emerald eyes filled with pain and a distant look that had been there since the war. A part of her had been lost in the wake of such tragedy, and she knew that she was damaged now. Some days the guilt of being alive was so strong that she refused to eat or sleep, remorse gripping her heart with an iron vice and threatening to stop it from beating in her chest. It was hard to think, hard to feel, hard to even breath sometimes, and though she knew Sek was going out of his mind with worry for her, she couldn’t help the apathy that was slowly strangling any joy and life out of her. Really, the only two things that kept her well and truly going was the Underground system she ran and the child growing at a snail’s place in her belly. “Yes, it seems they won’t leave me alone.” She said, laughing humorlessly, and burying her face in her slender knees.

She shuddered as his finger stroked her cheek, gently tracing the contours of the supple flesh, and her eyes closed for a moment, relishing the contact and banishing her dark thoughts away for at least a few seconds. Like a flower rising up to the sun, she unfolded from herself a bit, and leaned into his caress, some of her caramel hair falling across her thin shoulder and cascading downward. “It’s not your fault,” She whispered, her voice laden with sorrow and exhaustion. “It’s just some night terrors, so please don’t worry.” She frowned a bit when he spoke of the war and a long, weary sigh passed from her pale lips, gusting a bit like mist in the cold air of their bedroom. “You know as well as I do that we did all we could to help Edward in the war. Sometimes…sometimes trying just isn’t good enough.” Again her shoulders rose and fell with the intensity of her bone-deep sigh, and she leaned back against the headboard, eyes staring at nothing and everything at the same time.

Radella’s hand slid over her belly, pausing to feel the beating of her child’s heart, and for the first time that night, a soft, almost nonexistent smile graced her lips fleetingly, chasing away some of the resigned sadness in her face. “Mmm…the baby is alright, I think, though he or she is certainly teaching her parents a lesson on patience. Aren't you, sweetheart?” She chuckled. “It’s only been several decades and STILL this pregnancy hasn’t gone full term. I wonder if the baby is waiting for a safer time? Some newborns are like that in other immortals. I’ve heard the Draco children can wait for centuries until the conditions are right.” She rambled, her lips twisted into a thoughtful moue and her nose scrunching a bit.

“I’m sorry to keep interrupting your sleep…” Radella mumbled softly at last, curling into her lover.


~/:o:/ Є∂ωαя∂ Ɔαƨтɛℓℓσ /:o:/~

Edward forced his eyes open, a rattling, hacking breath being sucked in through his chapped lips as he tried to focus on his surroundings. Just that alone seemed to sap him of all his strength, leaving him a trembling, wheezing mess. He’d been in one of his more catatonic states and had only just snapped back into more clarity. The return to reality sent waves of fear and pain crashing down on his skinny body and his broken mind, and a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold racked his thin arms. His limbs cramped, his heart ached where the stake was plunged through the flesh, and his throat felt as dry as a desert. Was about as grainy and cracked too.

“Can anyone here me?” He cried out, ignoring the part of his brain that snapped at him to shut up because he was under the earth and the odds of someone hearing his voice through all that soil was absolutely nil. “Oh God, please! Can anyone here me! Get me out! I’m being buried alive!” Had been being buried alive for decades. What was the world like now? Had it changed since his disappearance? …would there be a place for him if he ever managed to free himself from his prison?

“Corbett…Corbett…” He whispered mournfully, his eyes rolling back in his head as unconsciousness claimed him once more, the agony in his throat subsiding to a dull, lasting ache in the back of his mind.


~/:o:/ ˩ʏяɛ Ƨσяα /:o:/~

Lyre woke to the blinding sheen of an operating light and the smell of antiseptics and metal. He was strapped to a table, and there was a thick haze clouding his mind, probably from medications and anesthesia. His tongue felt thick and swollen and all he could muster was a groan, which the people in operating garb around him simply ignored. He strained to hear what they were saying and thought they mentioned “operation” and “test subject” but he couldn’t be too sure. White noise was encroaching on his senses and his vision was getting blurry.

“He’s a strong one; he woke up when we gave him enough to knock out a horse.” A surgeon murmured, appraising the Virefuth’s face with interest.

“They’re monsters, what do you expect?” Another one hissed, this voice filled with venom and hate.

“He doesn’t seem dangerous…” A woman’s voice sounded, doubt clear. “He just looks like a pretty boy to me…no stronger than a kitten.”

“That’s because he’s dazed right now.” The first voice answered. “This one is a real fighter. It was only with real luck that we caught him. Stubborn b*st*rd.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” He slurred, earning some snorts and laughs, as he tried to raise a hand and flash his middle finger. He was vaguely aware of a mechanical whirring, and glanced up to see an oxygen mask being placed over his mouth. He, against his will, sucked in the strawberry flavored air, the thickness of it clogging his throat for a moment before he adjusted. Immediately, he began to find what little focus he had wash away like the tides.

“Go back to sleep…” The woman soothed, but it sounded fake and cruel to his ears as darkness swam before his closed eyes. Even with all of his pinpointed concentration, he slowly slipped off to the land of blissful unawareness and tranquility, glad to relinquish some of his confusion and pain for a later time.

{Oh my goodness! What happened?}

[♥Fleur Morte♥]

((Oh nothing really, I just chased my cat through the house, fell over while I was running on the carpet, skid, ripped the skin off my big toe and ripped part of my nail up))
((Also forgive me if I run slow in posting, my mother and I just had to fix her laptop because I had managed to get the 'Blue Screen of Death'))

Corbett's grey blood starved eyes scanned the bellowing audience. He held his head high and took in the sweet scents of the human spectators, it seemed like a millennium since he last drank the blood of humans. He closed his eyes taking in their aroma while he waited for his probably cowering opponent.

A wave of roaring laughter arose from audience causing Corbett to snap out of his peaceful state of mind. Corbett's eyes quickly opened only to have them quickly shut again. Jiga the resident Arena champion Demon was entertaining the audience, his audience! Corbett's body began to shake both in fear and in anxiety. Suddenly a wave of paranoia washed over him. He knew Jiga's powers all too well and knew that sort illusion he could create just with the click of his finger. 'What if all the audience is Jiga?' he thought, 'What if Jiga is opponent?'. His body shuttered placing one hand on a large deep scar directly over his heart.

Suddenly Corbett's eyes snapped back open as he felt something strong impact him with great force. He had been so engrossed by his paranoia that he'd not realised his Satyr opponent entering the ring and ramming his weight into him. Corbett's slim body when flying through the air to meet the pit's concrete wall. His body slumped to the ground unresponsive and motionless. The crowd went silent wondering what had happened.

The satyr groaned and pawed at the ground with his large black hoof. His nose flared, "Get up Vamp, I know you're not dead" he beat. The satyr stamped at the ground, swaying his head back and forth. "Get up!" he screeched leaping up in the air much like how a mountain goat would leap. The Satyr charged at Corbett's limp body, kicking him in the face. Corbett's eyes snapped open and in a quick flash he grabbed the satyr by both hooves and dragged him down.

Corbett's eyes flickered over the struggling Satyr. A frown stretched across his face, "Really a Goat that challenges a Lion?" he grumbled, his voice hinting a sort of disgruntle disgust. The Satyr's legs bucked up in the air "Get off" he growl. Corbett's grasp tightened around the Satyr's legs, his sharp talon like nails digging deep into the creature's flesh. The Satyr howled out to the audience.

Corbett let out a long yawn, this Satyr was no challenge, just some random reject that they gave him to play with. In three swift movements Corbett released the Satyr, stood up and stretched. The Satyr pushed himself off the ground eyes full of rage, "Come on Prince, fight me, or are you too pro..." he hissed his words muffled by Corbett's hand grasping his throat. Corbett lent forward close to the Satyr, "No, it's just you're wasting my time" he whispered.

In a quick flash Corbett threw the Satyr head first into the ground with inhuman strength, obliterating his head into nothing but a bloody mess of flesh and bones. The crowd cheered at the gory display their voices chanting the name of their champion.

Corbett groaned in despair, his face covered in the blood of his opponent. He looking up directly at the Arena's artificial lights and sighed, tears welling in his eyes. He lowered his head, "Edward, my love, what have I become?" he moaned, it was the first time he in many decades that he had uttered such a name. With slow agonised movements Corbett exited the Arena only stopping to look back once a Jiga with his sad defeated eyes.
---
Randella's answers to him only made Sek want to curl up and cry for being so weak. He wrapped his arms tightly around his love's curled up figure. He whimpered and nuzzled into her, his eyes glistening with tears. He shook his head sorrowfully, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that I wasn't related to a Dream God or Goddess." he sobbed. His strong tanned flesh hand stroked her caramel hair. He kissed her forehead trying to hold back his emotional overflow of self-doubt. He breathed in deeply, remembering the dismay that happened when Edward disappeared from them, "But when Edward disappeared we all let our guards down to search for him... Now these days I think he would have been more pleased if we hadn't because that's when the humans advanced" he sighed wishing that Edward had never left them.

Sek kissed Randella's forehead again glancing back down at his wife's stomach. He chuckled in amusement at the mention of the unfortunate Draco species, "Yeah, that's why they're almost extinct" he cackled. Sek's tone quickly dropped when he remembered that they themselves were only a few feet away from extinction. His eyes glanced away from Randella, "Sorry, that was inappropriate, the Draco are good people" he apologised.

Sek's eyes returned to Randella's after a while of staring at the bed sheets. He offered her a small smile in hope to cheer her up, "Are you hungry?" he asked.
---
Lou's small legs skipped carefully down the street, passing by a few strangers that pushed or carried various items to sell at the morning markets. His blue eyes surveyed the avenues of derelict terrace houses and shops with wonder. Lou was still very much a child, a child that never grow up in body or mind.

The air was deathly still this morning and the streets were almost completely silent except for the few cats that wailed in the shadows waiting for their breakfast. Lou pressed his lips together, their hungry wailing was just reminding him that he himself would have to go hunting soon. The other night when he went hunting he couldn't control his bloodlust and killed the lady that he fed off. He shuttered at the memory of limp body laying there on the concrete path, her colourless eyes staring up at him in a silent scream. Lou closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, he was a vampire now and he had to be strong.

After walking for several minutes Lou eventually found himself at the pitiful burnt out carcass of what was once Sainte-Chapelle. Despite hating churches Lou almost felt sorry for this one see just what the ignorance of war had done to it. Lou entered the church's grounds cautiously, he could feel the presence of another vampire in the vicinity and was high alert in case the creature tried to attack. Lou carefully walked between the stone and glass shard rumble to get to the dwarfed graveyard.

[Sacred Sin]

~/:o:/ Є∂ωαя∂ Ɔαƨтɛℓℓσ /:o:/~

For some reason, Edward had a burst of clarity once more and the sense that someone was nearing the deep grave Oberon had made for him in the crumbling church grounds. He immediately knew that this may be one of the only chances of rescue and a low rumbling began in his throat, a feeble sort of sound that incarnated all of his pain and misery and despair. It built into a cry, scratchy and heartbreaking like some wild animal caught in a vicious trap, before roaring from his throat in a scream that seemed to shake the box than encased him, something that was more emotion than noise as he began to lash back and forth, all of his pent up frustration and anguish unleashing in one violent outburst. His weary bones creaked in protest, and tears streamed down his face, but he began to pound against the box’s top, splinters imbedding themselves in his skin. This desperate shriek of agony continued for a long time, until his lungs had no more air to give, and his chest was heaving, his eyes rolling back in his head a little as what infantile strength he had disappeared completely. He collapsed against the rough, callous wood of the casket. It rubbed against his blisters and rashes horribly—he had developed them because of his horrid surroundings—and he uttered a small whimper.

“The great Vampire King…reduced to this…” He whispered to himself, a dry, humorless laugh passing his lips before a shudder racked his body and he went painfully still again. “Cue would be laughing…his as* off…”

His thoughts, as they frequently did, shifted to Corbett, who, despite everything, he still held a semblance of hope, a kindling of belief, toward finding him. He wondered if the man had forgotten him sometimes, or given up searching for his lost best friend. They hadn’t been on the best of terms, after all, during the immortal war. Maybe Corbett was better off if Edward was out of the picture? He was twisting the knife in his heart and a dry sob ripped his raw throat apart as he struggled valiantly not to cry.


~/:o:/ Ĵιɢα Ƥɛиʋмвяα /:o:/~

Jiga, who had long since finished his milkshake, summoned a bag of chips, and began munching away as he watched the tournament with little interest. Almost immediately he could tell that the Satyr Corbett was pitted against was hardly a challenge and it would be over quickly. He bit down, a crisp sound filling his mouth as the chip broke into small, manageable pieces under the onslaught of his sharp, perfect teeth. He fished in the bag for another as he eyed, with minor surprise, Corbett being ploughed into the ground. Clearly the Lion’s head wasn’t in the game today, and he smirked when he caught the “goat taking on a lion” comment. He taunted his prey too; it was endlessly amusing to see them go blind with rage and act before they thought. Essentially, it was the way a cat toyed with its mouse before going in for the kill. Maybe that was why he liked felines so much.

The fight was over soon enough, and Jiga stilled as Corbett cost him a melancholy glance, momentarily distracting him from his snack and the crowd now roaring its approval at the quick, ruthless ending to the battle. His lips pulled down into a frown, and his eyebrows pinched together. What the hell was with that look? Jiga had always figured that Corbett liked the Arena, even if his psyche was a bit fractured. But…that look was so full of pain and suffering…maybe he really hated what he was forced to do. Jiga frequently forgot that his situation was rather unique. Corbett had likely been captured and made to fight like a rapid dog. Fight or be killed. Wasn’t that like the world’s motto now? Without really thinking about it, he summoned a glass of chilled human’s blood and, with a flick of his finger, transported it to the hands of the retreating vampire, not bothering to see if it spilled or not, because he didn’t care past his unexpected good deed, and vanished to appear where Tim was speaking with the other Arena’s Boss. He watched the man’s lips tighten with displeasure at his appearance and didn’t bother to restrain the wide, sh*t-eating grin that plastered across his face as he floated above the ground, crossing his slender legs as though he was sitting on an invisible chair. He had a nonchalant attitude about him, like he wasn’t facing a tournament but rather a little chat over tea about the weather.

“Hey, hi, how are ya?” He greeted, adding a little half-wave and producing a cigarette, which he lit by touching the tip of his finger to the end. He sucked in the little stick and observed the three men with a mixture of amusement and indifference. The two Bosses paid little attention to his arrival, which bugged him. Instead of causing trouble, however, he turned to his opponent. “You who I’m going against, kid?” He asked after a while.

“I’m not a kid.” The Siren snarled, looking affronted.

“To me, kid, everyone is. Unless you’re a few thousand years old?” He asked innocently, batting his long eyelashes at his opponent. The shadows of the sidelines cast across his face, making the skin around his eyes seem darker and more sunken and his irises much brighter until they glowed like green and red fire. The Siren was, of course, much, much younger than him, and only grumbled angrily to himself, kicking out against the metal ground and making an irritating squeaking sound. For a second Jiga couldn’t believe his eyes. This was who he was going to fight? This was the other Arena’s Champion? A sneer slithered its way onto his mouth, twisting his lips up, and he raised an eyebrow condescendingly. The boy seemed to sense this and looked back at him, coughing a little as Jiga expelled a lungful of smoke into curling patterns that seemed to touch the boy with gray fingers.

“What?”

“Done throwing a temper tantrum?” Jiga snickered. “Listen, little bird, you sure you’re up for this?” A sound of outrage passed the boy’s lips, and he spat out in his anger.

“I’m not afraid of you!”

The demon sighed in toleration. “Yes you are.” He said bluntly. “I can see the fear in your eyes. I can smell it, kid. I’m a demon, for f*ck’s sakes. Between some half pint barely out of his nappies and a several millennia year old demon, who do you think will win?” His eyes flashed dangerously and, if only for a moment, he saw uncertainty flicker in the other immortal’s gaze. “Do you know what I’m call in this Arena?” He asked, flashing a disarming smile. The boy shook his head slowly. “The White Tiger. This Arena holds wild cats, little bird. Can you walk with them?” Jiga was taking great pleasure in seeing the boy’s façade crumble like a crushed cookie, and pressed on, cruelly. “If I were you, I’d be getting cold feet and a just a tad antsy.” The effect was immediate. Suddenly, his shoes were incased in solid blocks of ice, and army ants marched all across his body, poured from his mouth in a moving sea of black and spewing forward in a hellish display. The Siren boy made a squeak of surprise and backed away into his Boss, who whirled to see what the problem was, but by then, Jiga was back to normal, trying his best to look innocent as he sucked on his cigarette and knowing he was sh*t at appearing so. Tim cast him a frustrated glance, well aware that he had done something. “What?” Jiga asked, flicking some ashes onto the ground and watching with fake fascination as the embers flared then died. “The kid must be seeing things.” He gave a nasty, toothy smile that would have sent shivers down most humans’ spines.

“Jiga, go entertain the crowd a little. You’re almost up. We’re just talking about the punishment for the loser.” Tim muttered, pointing to the sand-filled pit surrounded by excited humans.

“Your wish is my command.” The demon said sarcastically, snapping his fingers and disappearing in a puff of smoke. A sudden roar of the crowd alerted the three that he had done something outrageous in the Arena for the humans’ enjoyment, making them go almost delirious with anticipation.

Jiga was tossing all sorts of crap at the audience. Snakes, rats, old candy, odd little brick-a-bracks that had accumulated in his pockets throughout the centuries (that was a bad habit of his—he was a packrat of epic proportions). It seemed like it didn’t really matter, since everyone was scrambling to get a piece, a souvenir of the demon of the Arena. He briefly wondered how they would respond if he threw his boxers or something, thoughtfully staring at some wealthy women screaming his name, before catching Tim’s eyes and receiving a scolding glare. He grinned and waved at everyone, before shifting into a black and white tiger, the coat matching his jacket perfectly, and releasing a fearsome snarl that shook the entire Arena with its ferocity. For the next half hour he went about transforming into different forms, growing progressively more grotesque with each shape he took. The audience ate this up, screaming for more gore, more intrigue, and more bizarreness, and of course he delivered, only too happy to show them some of his most fearsome forms.


~/:o:/ ˩ʏяɛ Ƨσяα /:o:/~

Lyre awoke in a cell, a furnished cell with basic necessities, but a cell nonetheless. His mind was still in a haze, and his vision blurred as he tried to focus on his location. Any attempts at sitting up and finding out, however, were interrupted when blinding pain shot through his body and he gasped out in agony, collapsing backwards in alarm. With fear settling in his gut, he realized that a suture spanning from his collarbone to his hips ran across his body, raw and angry in its new, unhealed state. He vaguely called to mind the operation room and the humans that had stooped around him, and wondered with growing ire and frustration if they had dissected him like a frog and prodded at his insides before sewing him back up again like some patchwork doll to play with later. He was a Virefuth dammit! He shouldn’t and wouldn’t be treated this way.

Lifting a hand, he found that an IV was tucked snugly into his vein, pumping fluid, blood, and painkillers. It was heavy duty stuff, which was probably what was making him so clouded, but he didn’t tear it out yet with his injury so fresh.

“Where the hell am I?” He yelled, hoping for a response.


~/:o:/ Яα∂ɛℓℓα Ƨσяα /:o:/~

“I miss him, Sek. I’m so worried that he is dead. Or that he is captured and waiting for us to save him. And we haven’t. He must hate us by now.” Radella whispered, her lower lip trembling as she struggled to hold back the tears that welled up in her emerald eyes. “You don’t…you don’t think he’s being experimented on, do you? If they had him, they would tell the public wouldn’t they? Use it to lower the moral of vampires and immortals alike?” It was painfully obvious the hope in her voice, the need to be comforted and reassured even if it was a lie. A shuddering sigh racked her body and she sat up completely, once again resting her hands on the bump over stomach. “I’d like him to meet our child. I was considering making him his or her godfather, but now…He and Lyre are gone, and mother hasn’t contacted me in centuries. I wonder if this entire world is forsaken.” Her brother's suddence and unexplained disappearance affected her more than she let on. He was her twin after all; they shared something beyond normal familial and sibling bonds, and a little part of her died everyday that he didn't come home. Sometimes she imagined he would knock on her door, smiling like normal, then others days she would see a vision of him mangled and broken, a loser in those brutal Arena fights. She had lost weight and sleep over it, and her mental state was dangerously unstable.

Sek’s offer for food didn’t really appeal to her, but she knew her husband was scrambling to find something to make her feel better, as well as it make himself feel needed. She imagined it must be so frustrating for him, so she smiled, albeit briefly, and murmured, “Yes, yes that sounds nice.”

{Ouch! I'm sorry to hear that. And it's no problem. I'm probably going to be slow in posting too, since I'm still ill and in a lot of pain.

Jiga is SO fun to write. Haha.}

[♥Fleur Morte♥]

Lou’s dark eyebrows creased. Thoughts of confusion and doubt filled up his mind. The strange explorations he had done for over fifty years had come to an end, only there was no grand finale with this defeat. He shook his head, his blue eyes surveying the desolate church ground. There was nothing of any worth here for him only bits of brick and twisted metal may be sold as scrap. A flash of sadness washed over his face. His eyes glanced down at his journal; all his past selves had been searching a pointless blind search for years and now it was finally over. Lou opened up to the last page of the journal and tore the map out, letting the breeze take it from his white fingers.

He closed the red journal and started to walk back the way he came. Each step he took was heavy with disappointment, he actually thought he might have found something useful amongst the rubble. Lou's mind was jarred out of its thoughts by the sound of a horrible shrieking scream coming from beneath his feat.

His feet stumbled back in unexpected fright. He could feel his heart beating hard against his chest. What was happening? he thought, his body trembling. His eyes stared fixed to the ground, his mind almost becoming entranced. His pupils dilated and he fell to his knees. Something inside of him was telling him to find the source of the noise a certain instinctual bond towards the shriek, a bond that was strong enough to override his own instincts to run.

Lou placed both his hands on the rubble filled earth and immediately started to dig. His head raced with thoughts, constantly tell him to stop digging that whatever he was digging up was dangerous to him but still his bond pushed him to keep digging deeper into the earth.

It was an hour before Lou stopped digging. His fingers bloodied and raw from digging the twelve and a half feet deep pit. His blue eyes stared half dazed at the rotting wood coffin in front of him. Slowly Lou placed his hand on the coffins lid, his body shaking as his mind tried to fight the bond and prevent him from what he was going to do. With great resistance Lou pushed of the casket's lid and peered inside.

Instantly with great force Lou pushed himself away from the casket. His cheeks became a river of red streams. In the casket lay his friend and adoptive father, Edward, shrivelled like a white mummy with a stake firmly lodged between his ribs and denigrating shirt.

Lou's body trembled, his eyes started to turn gold. His mind rushed with memories he did not remember. He saw blood, fighting and death, so much death. His trembling mouth opened and he let out a blood curling scream. Without a second thought Lou instantly jumped into the coffin with Edward and ripped out the stake. His body completely froze in place, dripping down his throat.
---
Corbett was just about to pass the automatic doors when something cold entered his left hand. His head turned to see this foreign object only to have the strong odour of human blood hit him like a train. His grey eyes greedily stared down at the glass of chilled human blood in his hand. Without even questioning where it came from (though having a pretty good idea) he brought the glass to his lips and immediately started to drink.

The overwhelming feeling of ecstasy passed through his body. It had been decades since he had felt such pleasure and he cherished every moment of it. Dazed from the feeling, Corbett hadn't seemed to have noticed that been pulled into the wing by his escort whose face was now riddled with utter confusion.

"Sir? Are you feeling... okay?" asked the escort, waving his hand in face. Corbett dazed quickly mind snapped out of its trance like state to answer his escort's question before he really started to worry. A large charming smile pulled his cheeks back, his eyes a seductive bright blue, "Oh I'm fine, feeling a little h***y towards a certain demon but that's..." he paused realising what he was saying. "NO!" he growl, slapping himself in face "I can feel anything toward THEM but hate, I can give in sin!". In a huff Corbett took off down the hall leaving his escort baffled.
---
Sek pressed his cheek up against Randella, looking across at her knees, "Everything will eventually turn out good," he said his voice straining to sound hopeful, "Maybe Edward is just hiding out like us?". Sek pushed his stiffened body off the bed he turned back around to Randella giving her another sad smile. "Look even if this world's forsaken and going to hell, you still have me and the rest of the resistance to go down with you" he whispered, taking her soft silken hand and kissing it.

He stretch his arms up and yawned, "Come on, I'll get some blood bags from the kitchen and warm them up for you" he said groggily. He turned away from her and walked to the bedroom door. His dark eyes looked down at his feet. He had been around Randella long enough to know from the tone of her voice that his offer didn't appeal to her, though then again nothing really did any more. A flood of memories of all the times Randella tried to take her life during and after the war flashed in his mind. She must have been really hurting bad to have abandoned her all her strong courageous aspects and take her own life. Sek frowned, closing his eyes for a brief moment to pray for protection for Randella.

[Sacred Sin]

~/:o:/ Ĵιɢα Ƥɛиʋмвяα /:o:/~

“And now, ladies and gentleman, the tournament you’ve all been waiting for!” The announcer’s voice, cheesy and over-dramatic, cried, rolling words and syllables over his tongue in thick, saccharine waves. It echoed over the hushed Arena, only to be drowned by the sudden roar of the spectators, who were on their feet, clapping, yelling, jostling, jumping, and pumping their hands in the air. Excitement and bloodlust were practically tangible in the air, and Jiga tasted their need for gore on his tongue. It was an ugly flavor, bitter and rotten. He imagined that he could cut a slice of their savageness and passion if he had a mind to, cut a piece and hold in his black-tipped hands what, at humanity’s core, made them so violent and cruel. It provoked a blood curdling grin, a feral flash of teeth, and a distinct change in his demeanor. His eyes glowed like trapped hell fire and he stood proudly, walking around the pit, flaunting himself to the adoring crowd. “Our Arena’s beloved White Tiger verses District 9’s Mockingbird!”

A metal gate rose off to the side, and the Siren boy strutted out like a proud peacock, preening himself in front of the audience like the vain creature he was. Enhancing makeup had been painted onto his already lovely face, making him look more ethereal and inhuman than ever, like some divine image of paradise that wasn’t really there. Golden paint kissed his neck, shoulders, and slender chest, and even Jiga was forced to admire the young man’s body. He was wearing nothing but tight leather pants, emerald green that complimented his inky hair and promoted flexibility and speed. A moment later, Jiga snapped his fingers, and his customary suit disappeared, leaving only blood red pants in its wake that clung to his lean legs and perfectly accentuated his hips, thighs, muscles, and, of course, his a*s. Some women whistled (as did some men) and he grinned at them, flashing a shamelessly flirty wink.

“Ladies and gentleman, aren’t they fine specimens?” A proud note entered the announcer’s voice and two spotlights shone on the champion fighters, illuminating their skin until they shone like avenging angels, setting fire to their hair and eyes and teeth. They were suddenly more than just warriors. They were creatures of blood and passion and war and hate and lust and fire. He loved this part of the battle, the moment right before they started where anticipation clung to the air like dew on grass and adrenaline shot through his veins until he felt electricity shock every nerve in his body to life.

“Yes, we will certainly see something amazing tonight! Aaaaand, for your viewing pleasure, the loser,” A hint of contempt snaked its way into the man’s voice, a sort of sick condescension leaking in like acid. “Will be subjected to the wheel of torture tonight, ladies and gents. Let’s leave it up to fate, shall we? Will it be forty lashes or disembowelment?” Many screamed for the latter, and the bloodlust in the air peaked until it was almost suffocating. With the technology that had been developed from testing on immortals, they had discovered how durable they were and how quickly they could heal. With the proper treatment and equipment, almost anything could be done to them and thus new and horrible form of torture had been established in the Arenas. It was sick and twisted, but who was Jiga to judge? Hell, he’d done worse things in his millennia then all these humans’ wrongdoings combined times ten. He picked at his nails a little, feigning boredom as the announcer continued. “Hold on to your seats, people, things are about to get bloody!”

“Hey, hi, how ya doing?” Jiga shouted to the crowd his trademark greeting, and there was an ear-splitting cacophony in reply, people eager to grab his attention and feel like a part of the battle going on in the pit. “Whaddya say we clip a little bird’s wings?” His grin would have made a shark proud, and his question made a deafening sound of excitement and approval ring through the Arena. “Well, alright then, broads and germs.” He threw his arms outwards as if to embrace the shouting audience. “It’s show time!”

The Siren snarled viciously at him, and, much to Jiga’s irritation, flung himself right into singing, not even bothering to test out Jiga’s defenses or strengths. The boy was just stupid. The song hit him surprisingly hard, and he stumbled a little, his eyebrows flying up into his hairline as he stared at the lithe little thing weaving a melody so heartbreakingly beautiful that much of the audience had burst into tears. They were wearing special chips that would ruin any frequency being transmitted that was promoting bloodshed or self harm, and all they heard was an enchanting song, unaffected by what the song was really for, but even with the chips interfering with the Siren’s power, it still had a firm grip on the listeners. Jiga grinned nastily as his head got a bit fuzzy. Ideas came unbidden into his mind. Stop moving. Go to sleep. Hold still. The sort of thoughts that, should they transform into actions, could very well give the Siren the upper hand. However, this was Jiga, for f**k’s sakes, and it insulted him to think that the Siren believed that it would take only this much to take him down. With a half snarl, he disappeared and re-appeared behind the boy, grinning like a crocodile that had just been promised a year supply of gazelle and zebra, and grabbed hold of his arm, gripping hard enough to draw blood where his nails sunk into the supple, pale flesh.

“Song won’t be enough, little bird. A tiger isn’t lulled so easily.” With a mad little cackle, he broke the arm viciously, taking pleasure in the loud crack that ensued and the wail that rose from the Siren’s throat. The boy sounded beautiful even when he was in pain. Jiga vanished once more and solidified above the pained boy, who sprang backwards, holding his arm at an awkward angle as it dangled uselessly at his side. The demon floated forward leisurely, laughing all the while, his mismatched eye cold and dangerous. “Kid, you ever been eaten alive from the inside?” He asked real softly, summoning a sucker, root beer flavored, and sucking on it with obnoxious slurping sounds. He pulled it from his mouth with a succinct pop.

“F**k you!” The Siren roared, dashing forward on lightning quick feet, a song rising from his throat, one meant to blind and hurt and tear, but quickly choked, eyes widening before he collapsed to his knees, struggling in silent agony. The audience was confused and quietly looked to each other for answers, trying to puzzle together what ailed the tortured Siren. Their question was answered when spiders poured from the kid’s mouth and nose, then burst from under his skin, riding the rivulets of blood and pouring across the sand until it mingled into a muddy, maroon substance. Jiga snapped his fingers and suddenly there was no trace of the arachnids or the blood, and the Siren was left trembling as he looked at himself, lips parted in a mute whimper of fear and pain. The demon had even fixed his broken arm. The crowd roared with happiness at this display, pleased to see Jiga toying with his prey.

“Now then, let me show you hell, kid…” The demon hissed, sneering around the sucker still lodged firmly between his teeth.


~/:o:/ Ɔσƨɛттɛ ∂ɛ Ѵαℓɛитιи /:o:/~

Cosette sat in her elaborately furnished office, eating refined finger foods, mostly cheese and meat concoctions that really were splendid, and sipping on her blood-infused wine. She was pouring over records, files, and the latest reports from the labs, a frown twisting her pale lips. It seemed she was always frowning these days; so many things were unpleasant and this teenage, hormone-ridden body certainly didn’t help her reign in her composure. Not to mention it was hard to commandeer an army and many workers when she no longer had such a demanding presence. Damn Shun-Massa! It was her fault she had been forced to shift into a different body, one that was much different to her previous one. She was still beautiful, but it was a more innocent, pure, naïve beauty.

“Ma’am?” A young voice said hesitantly, and Cosette looked up, her hair brushing against her cheeks and shoulders in a silken flow of molten lilac, lit up by the sunshine pouring through the windows in golden rays.

“What is it, Janelle?”

“The labs reported that they got a new vampire specimen. A Virefuth by the name of Lyre. They were given orders that should they capture him, they were to alert you.” The young assistant said, clutching a clipboard to her chest for dear life, as if she wanted a shield between herself and Cosette.

“Lyre, hmm?” Cosette purred, an unsettling smile sliding across her perfect, glossy lips. Oh yes, she remembered him. The twin brother of Radella, the b**ch who had caused her so trouble during the immortals wars. Now, of course, things were different, what with the human pests slaughtering her kind and essentially reenacting the Salem witch trials, and she had been considering lending a hand to the young vampire…in exchange for some favors, of course. Yes, this was a perfect bargaining chip to get what she wanted. “Report to them that I will be visiting him next week on Wednesday at noon. They are to keep him alive and healthy. You are dismissed.” Cosette waved her hand elegantly and turned back to her work, taking a sip of her blood wine and running her tongue over her lips as the dry, sweet flavor crashed over her palate.


~/:o:/ Є∂ωαя∂ Ɔαƨтɛℓℓσ /:o:/~

It started with the sound of scuffling, a faint, irritating sort of sound that grated at Edward’s nerves and nagged at his mind as he slipped in and out of consciousness, small whimpers and groans passing from his chapped lips. In the beginning he believed it to be some kind of animal, perhaps a mouse or some sort of beetle simply foraging or burrowing into the dirt in hopes of finding sanctuary from the outside world. The irony of that made his lips curl up, before a rattling breath took all thought away. Then the noise grew stronger, becoming a distinct digging sound. Strong, determined scoops growing closer and closer to his burial spot. His heart stopped for a moment in disbelief and pure, unadulterated hope as he dared to think that maybe, just maybe, someone was going to release him from his prison of earth and stone and wood, finally. Summoning what little strength he had left, he held on to his feeble string of consciousness, forcing himself to listen to the digging, counting each scoop.

He forgot how to breath, how to think when nails scraped against the rotting wood of his coffin cover. His mouth fell open but for the life of him, he could produce no words, so he simply remained silent, waiting in terrible anticipation for the lid to be opened so he could see the face of his savior. Seconds passed by in a slow, agonizing eternity and he could feel his heart threatening to burst free from his chest, ramming itself against his ribcage like a frightened animal, piercing itself over and over on the stake lodged there. He choked a little as sunlight streamed onto his face, momentarily blinding him. And then he saw it. His savior. His boy. Lou. His angel. It was obvious by the flash of panic that crossed the boy’s face and the way he propelled backwards, he hadn’t expected to see his adoptive father, skinny and half-dead, trapped in the coffin. Edward couldn’t blame him. Lou had probably heard that terrible cry Edward had released and come to try and distinguish the source, uncomprehending of why he felt compelled to dig.

“L-Lou…” Edward whispered, then froze as the sweet, delicious scent of blood filled his nostrils. His golden eyes turned crimson in an instant and his fangs elongated. He must have looked awful, like a true monster, and he hissed violently, clamping down on his lips and willing himself to stop. A few drops of Lou’s tears fell onto his face and it took every damn ounce of willpower he possessed to not to lick them off. If he started…he wouldn’t stop. “Lou…the b-blood…must stop…flow…I’ll...drink dry…if you don’t.” He whispered harshly, his long nails curling into his palms and biting into the withered, paper-thin flesh. “Must get…somewhere safe…food…blood…get off…hallowed ground…” His eyes rolled back a little in his head. “Thank you…for finding me…”


~/:o:/ Яα∂ɛℓℓα Ƨσяα /:o:/~

Radella suddenly stiffened, raising her emerald eyes to the sky, their depths shining like rare jewels. Something about them changed in that instant, and she drew in a sharp breath. “Yes…yes he’ll be alright…” She whispered mysteriously, an overwhelming sense of calmness washing over her in a lulling wave. A smile perched across her lips as her heart was eased of some of its suffering. Somehow, somehow she knew. Edward had been found. Edward was safe. She imagined that he must have suffered horribly, but he was still him, and that more than anything hardened her resolve. She would get stronger. She would make a world where her child could grow up safely and freely. She would be happy again and her family would be whole. Standing taller, she slipped out of bed with her husband. “I love you, Sek. You are my whole world. I don’t thank you enough for what you have done. I would have faded away long ago if it weren’t for you…” She smoothly rolled onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek and then his lips, lingering there with a passion that she hadn’t felt in a long while, before following him into the kitchen, her night piece flowing around her figure like mist.

“I was contacted by the commander of the Resistance. He is willing to offer his services to the Underground, if we in turn offer our services.” Radella said, running her fingers through her caramel hair as she sat on one of the chairs at the counter. “He wants fighters, and frankly, I can’t see much of a downside. The humans can’t continue like this, and I won’t allow the Immortals to be slaughtered like pigs and wild dogs. I’ve met many who would be willing to fight for the cause.” She sighed, and rubbed her face. “But I’m hesitant to lose more lives.”


{Holy crap I'm so tired. This took so damn long. =.=}