Theme 10: Richard - Week 4

I dunno if it's the coffee or the weather or just some crap on mobile gaming or not sleeping well all weekend, but I've been feeling very negative these past few days and I don't understand why. Not quite, anyway. Some I can guess. Other, I'm not so sure of. I have this feeling change is afoot and it's making me panic, but at the same time it's not like I get the feeling this change is bad. Maybe it's just the change of season o.o wouldn't surprise me.

Just been very fed up with negativity (proof is: I dreamt about my previous manager, that I basically got mad at him for all the crap he's pulled since I was there and that he broke into tears explaining why he changed so much... wishful thinking I guess), everywhere I've seen it. And it's making me negative in turn. Like in math, two negatives make a positive << except not really. So, trying to cut back on everything that occupies my brain in a bad way. Then, I get some inspiration for novel-related short stories (as in, chapter-ish stuff), and I'm thinking: that's what I should be doing. And drawing. And all the good stuff in life. Mmm I want some incense too e.e

Anyhoo. Last week for my dear Richard! As I gave you a glimpse into his pre-Vampire life in week 2, this week I turn things around. A lot. Because I can't mention the Vampire Richard without speaking of the singular encounter that would change his entire life... I have been avoidant of the topic for quite some time, but now I feel it has to be breached, and what better way than to give a glimpse into next theme's own personality...

Note: some topics and overall theme are not meant for all eyes. The fact is that the novel will have really hard moments and topics, as well as much nicer ones. So, consider yourself warned, for this is rated R for some language/implications and several violent, gory moments.

I thought so…

Leaning against the tree from behind which he had plucked the red-haired woman now lying, lifeless, between his dumbstruck subordinates, Richard had watched the scene unfold with growing interest. The smell of her had been a dead giveaway – literally, but he had wondered on which side of the barrier this woman belonged. Now, he knew.

As he calmly made his way towards his men, the one most eager to sow his wild oats ran up to him.

"Anri, what the fuck—what's up with that one? What the—"

With one lingering gaze, Richard silenced his subordinate. Then, he resumed his calm approach, taking in all the while the girl's lack of motion, and the subtle vibration in the air. As he came to stand by the red-head's side, Richard had already ascertained for himself what needed to be done.

"Get rid of that," he stated with a subtle nod towards the other woman, whom his subordinates had decapitated before moving onto their newest victim, "I'll take care of this."

Without a word, the dark-clad men complied. After dealing with Richard's authority for a few years they had learned to understand the deeper meaning in his commands, and never to contradict him. In return they were granted protection and leeway.

And once they had left, body in tow, Richard knelt beside the gangrened cadaver he knew to not be entirely dead.

"The jig is up. Get up."

*

"Get up, Necromancer. Your life is at stake."

The words, hazy, reached Ayden as though from across a great distance, his senses drowned in a darkness immutable where all was peace and silence from which no return was expected. But a nearby presence, lingering on the edge between realities, unnerved him into regaining a semblance of control over the corpse he had inhabited mere moments ago.

Ayden's eyes slowly opened to the sight of a boot about to crush his face.

"W—" Overtaken by a sudden surge of panic, Ayden choked on saliva he never knew he had produced. He coughed, rolled onto his belly, and spat out the excess liquid as he gradually regained his bearings on this world of warmth and colour. He let out a cry of surprise as he was lifted up onto his unsteady feet by the back of his long hair and held in an awkward, nearly upright position. Hands held his hair in an unpleasantly tight bun.

A warm breath upon his neck made Ayden's skin crawl.

"You're not even good to eat," a soft, deep and dangerous voice spoke into his ear, "Tell me, Necromancer, what you are doing here, all on your own.

"I am not a patient man with your kind," the man growled, twisting Ayden's hair until his back arched so much he could see his assailant, "Tell me what you are doing here! Where are your Necromants?"

My what…? Dumbstruck, Ayden stared up at the tall, sharply dressed black-haired man holding him in his inhuman grip. Sharp fangs glinted at the corners of his mouth. "… Vampire."

The man let out a derisive snort. "Yes. And what do we, Vampires, do?"

"… They kill."

"Yes," he repeated, slightly tightening his grip on Ayden's hair, "So give me a good reason not to tear your body apart."

Ayden winced. The uncomfortable position forced upon him made it difficult for him to think, to forget his semi-mortality. Kristin's body had been too fresh; it was clear now, with every twitch of these borrowed nerves, that he had made a mistake while crossing over. And now this creature, this Vampire, held him in his grasp like the helpless woman he appeared as to his untrained eyes. And what was that about Necromants?

The words were out before the thoughts has formed. "What… What are Necromants?"

Ayden noticed a slight flick in the man's posture, who stared down at him with now more than mere disdain: curious confusion.

"What?"

"What… are they," Ayden repeated, with neither fear nor assent, "Tell me."

*

It had been a long time since Richard last had felt fear. Since that fateful night several centuries ago, when he had seen from up close what Necromancers and their pets the Necromants could do, Richard had learned of them – of their lore, their habits, the dangers lurking in their wake. The scars on his back stood forever testament to the true threat Necromancers posed, for Vampires never did scar. He had avoided any and all confrontation with the many Necromancers who had passed through these lands over the centuries, knowing that to leave them alone meant they would show him the same courtesy.

He had never seen a Necromancer traveling on their own; he had never even seen a Necromancer capable of showing the most basic of emotions. Yet here this woman stood, helpless in his grasp… with greed in her eyes, hungering for Richard's knowledge of her own kind. He could have easily snapped her neck; by the time she might recover another corpse, with any luck, she'd have forgotten all about him.

With any luck… But luck never had anything to do in the affairs of Necromancers. They dealed in certainty and death. Why, then, did Richard feel the odds were quite different with this one? This uncertainty unsettled him. He had to make a decision however.

*

Formidable – such was Ayden's appreciation of his newfound power. As the Vampire had assessed the situation, so had Ayden's detaching consciousness seen every flick and twist of the man's glowing soul: every doubt, every spike of fright, every curling thought had been exposed to Ayden's eyes… The Vampire was not going to kill him. I'm already dead, and he knows it.

"You know a lot… about Necromancers…"

The Vampire's eyes twitched; Ayden perceived his soul's spiking, realizing a dangerous truth had been exposed. He lost sight of it when the Vampire twisted him further back.

"And what is it to you, Necromancer," he growled while pulling Ayden into a spine-snapping position, "You won't live to tell the tale."

Bones bent and cracked; Ayden gasped as his breaking ribcage shot through skin and sinew. The Vampire's might was unyielding, absolute; soon he was snapping off Ayden's arm from his unresponsive body. There was barely any pain.

Ayden had no choice but to sever his consciousness from Kristin's body and seek out the nearest hollow vessel.