Darkness Becomes Her

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Disclaimer: Own the ideas, but didn't make money for it.

Any comments, just e-mail me at "kfong60@hotmail.com"

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What's so special about fate? Worthless. . . If no one will change their destiny, I'll change it for them. For I am the author, and my will is my power.

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No Escape in a Grim Future

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Within the confines of stone walls, celestial grounds, a resurrection was on its way. Pillars elaborately designed as foundations to support the towering ceiling, and its glassy surface decorated with hieroglyphics. Pass the row after row of wooden benches, and down the carpet pass the gates of heaven, stood a cold figure in ebony robes. He bore into the coffin before him with mild anticipation. It was that time again to bring back his friend from the bowels of the sleep that never ends. His face was not to be revealed, the very light bent around him like an aura leaving only a shadow.

The very shadow that clouded his identity, but to know who he was would bring one to insanity. For two red glows could be seen for an eye, and bony hands from the sleeves that defined cold and dry. He knows no time, but when its time, they say he's murderer, he draws the line. But they can wait their turn, for they too will one day shine. He who brings peace that is oblivion, in so many ways it becomes an inspiration.

But for tonight, he was here not to grant to those who desired his touch, for they can wait for eternity if need be. Instead, they should be chorusing full of mirth, for they had been granted an unscheduled delay, free to wander these streets for another night. For tonight, he would be the antithesis of what he was, and what he stood for. He chanted in arcane lure till the light dimmed, as the horrors were yet to come. The dark spirits aroused from their slumber at his beckoning call, and the tortured souls extinguished as martyrs. The spirits seeped, they slithered, they crawled. The protuberance of darkness splashed unto the cold surface, snatching out hungrily for its meal into the abyss. All was swashed into the black box before him. Once they entered, they were forever lost. For what was to be summoned was upon another plain of existence, a form they couldn't comprehend, or be compared. The lid rumbled, dust soaring into the frosty air. As it reached its apex, the other soon followed. His efforts were not in vein, he remained indifferent and awaited his friend's impending arrival. His entrances were always grand, and always forewarned of his guest appearance.

A pillar of light, a funnel of darkness, the collations of the creature to come. The streaks of lightning, the blinding white light, the proof of existence awakened. The birth of nightmares clasped the sides of his bed, hoisting himself as he took his first breath in a long time. But no amount of time mattered, for like his friend, he too was eternal.

"I live again. . ." plaintively. The immortal Dark Lord had returned.

"It's been a long time." Death spoke, smirking at the implications among other things plaguing his mind. Unlike the last they met, he detailed he was less sinister looking, especially with that innocent looking face. The long strands of icy hair was new, but his state of dress was already out of this century. He looked so human! And that was meant as an insult. But then, rambling again in his own thoughts, appearances can be deceiving.

"Feels like eternity. . . I never knew it be so long, ah. . . the wasted years." the other complimented frowning before sounding mirthful, humorous, though it quickly turned. He didn't miss those disdainful eyes. He snapped his neck to realign, to relieve the stress that had crept for the last century, and readjusted his gloves all the while regarding the dark figure in doing so.

"Once again you escape me, but I feel your last time was your own undoing. . . It's not like you." Death chided, scolding even to his own equal for he should have known better in the tone of an adult to a child.

The Count raised his gaze to meet his cohort disdainfully, "It matters not that I am denied once more by these insects. They can always be crushed, for they cannot change what they are."

The figure in robes began chuckling walking towards the gates, "But yet they defeat you century, after century! These mortals are far stronger than you give them credit for. A Belmont here, a Belmont there, one whip wielding fool after another! They are more than mere insects, but roaches! They follow you through the wheels of time. And through the impossibilities they still manage to defeat you." He humoured in amusement.

"Ah, but these dogs are no longer leashed to my hands." Dracula replied implacably, thoughtfully gesturing as if thinking with a finger upon his lips, "I knew I should have buried them a long time ago, but it is better late than never. They are all alike. They bite the hand which feeds them." He finished in the tone of an individual who discovered something they should have instead in the unchangeable past if they could which was for naught. He nodded to himself in agreement. Was he not right after all?

His friend paused at the gates as the door creaked open, "I suppose you are right. So what plans do you have now that they are gone?" he asked as if though it already wasn't obvious. Destroy the world, rule the world, conquer the world. . . It almost made no difference as they were disturbingly similar with no amount of creativity.

"My quest for conquest seems dull and boring now without the Belmont's to stop me." He responded and shrugged, "The challenge is just gone. . . It would be no fun at all. . . Something so easily attained is not worth fighting for."

Just as the man in robes was about to leave, his interest was depicted, "Oh, so what will you do then?" he asked curiously. He kept him within the corner of his sight thoughtfully. This was all news to him.

The count began thinking where he'd go from here. Here was a perfect opportunity to succeed his dreams, but they were dull and worthless. Dreams already at hand and easily attainable were not dreams at all. It was the excitement, the thrill of the chase that he thrived for among achieving his goal. Something so petty that could be claimed so easily was not worth the time or effort. For they were pointless, and left the empty feeling that should not be associated with victory.

Victory was what leaves that lasting sensation of pride of accomplishment to its successors by claiming the unattainable, reach the unreachable, never the empty feeling as if someone had just handed you that you desired wrapped as a present would be, mocking you out of pity, or out of doubt that you would succeed otherwise. If you would foresee that he would be sated and cherish such pity, you would be sadly mistaken. For he himself had honour, though twisted it may be.

Was there no obstacle, no feeble mortal worthy enough to stand before the great Dracula and not cower before his evil might? Then he paused in his line of thought. He found the face of a girl lingering within the recesses of his mind no matter where he turned. She was the antithesis of what he was, and stood for everything he did not. But then, one day those ideals surfaced and they both were swept away in the downpour. Gone, just like that. . .

She was defiant to the very end, and in doing so had also succeeded in temporarily vanquishing him from her realm of mortals. They were but kindred spirits and shared a correspondence complimenting each other. Her name lingered on the tip of his lips.

"Carrie Fernandez. . ." he whispered blankly, tracing his lips from one end to the other, until it turned this thin line into this mirthless smile, "Who would have thought?" he thought out loud, that magical name just rolling off his mind.

Dwelling on his chain of thoughts, he swirled to face the altar now sacrilegiously tainted by his foul presence and stared longingly at the portrait of some figment of hope the mortals worshipped wherever he was.

"I require her soul," he announced back turned, "may I have it?" he stated, not asking but instead in the way of demanded to be more precise.

Critically eyeing his friend from the gates of his leave, he watched him raise an arm expectantly for him to hand over that which only a keeper could offer. He was not angered that his manners were lacking, for that was how he was. His nature was always whimsical and capricious since as long as he had known him, and personality wise was questionable as he boarded on the lines of insanity. Though the most horrifying part was how he hid it well under the mask of deception he had perfected through the years, and how it lured his victims to faulty sense of security. So he overlooked his slip this time, and just sought one answer before he would grant him this one selfish wish.

"And what would you do with it?" he swung his sickle unto his other hand in bemusement.

Without turning, he spoke "Why, to resurrect her of coarse!" as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Tonight there would be another rude awakening. Soon. . . the Count promised himself, soon. . . she would be back, and they'd finish off where they started. But this time, he would choose a different approach. A different opening can win the game, as falling in a pattern made you become predictable no matter how well you play. A pattern can be predicted and seen through, and thus the enemy can react accordingly. So now, the different approach. . .

He was thinking. . . There was still a chance she could be turned, though it was risky, it could be done in a gamble. But what can one do that is free of risk, and not a gamble? Every decision, choice, action played, could be compared to a different card and assembled would result in success or come as failure. Truthfully the answer was; there was none.

Snapping his fingers, the floor around him rumbled, before cracks appeared upon the tiles.

"Slaves, welcome the return of your master! I beseech thee!" he commanded, blankets of dust aroused from the surface he stood upon. The tiles leaped and twirled and crumbled to pieces. For in their place, stood a handful of soulless remains to do his bidding. They stood staring aimlessly, awaiting, for they were his to command.

The Dark Lord's smile darkened turning around, "There is much to do my servants. . ." he raised his eyes regarding his pal, "Oh yes, very much so. . ."

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Relieving a drop of his essence into the mouth of a corpse or more descriptively the skeletal remains, he eagerly awaited in anticipation of things to come. This was the best part, as the journey to existence was a rough one. Standing back, he watched the jaws snap close, as if it were to house his gift forever within the confines, and not a changing doubt that it would ever be pried open again without smashing the skull in. Nothing out of the ordinary happened for a while as the remains remained what they were, just a pile of priceless, worthless pieces that can be found anywhere.

Then the fingers twitched, and the rest soon followed. The trembling, above the swirling magic of arcane lore. It arched its back into the air defying it ever being lifeless, as the organs twirled and twisted their way layer by layer, flap on top of section by section all the way till it came to a screaming halt. The vessel was complete, and all that was required to finish the task at hand, was a soul.

Bending over for better access, Vlad nonchalantly dipped his icy fingers into its chest, and built a foundation by stretching the muscle and tissue that were in the way. With that done, he bestowed internally the soul he so acquired to complete the fruits of his labour. The soul was wrenched firmly in place as if the body itself was made to house it like a prison, the hole he created soon was re-knotted in thick flesh, and vanished without a trace. The body began to reframe itself, in the image of that lost soul it now carried. He awaited her impeccable impending arrival. She was in for a rude awakening. No matter which way he looked at it, she wouldn't be pleased. . . not at all. . .

Hearing the take in of breath that broke him out of his reverie, he toppled over where she lay, gazing down at her with a sinful smile by being the first thing she laid eyes on in a long time. Her mind still required time to recuperate, as she wasn't all there by the glazed look in her eyes. It had been a long time, far too long. . . So it's true what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

"Welcome home, my canary. . ." he whispered just for her, stealing her lips while tracing her chin enticingly with his free fingers. Her eyes widened, taken by surprise at what was occurring, before realizing her situation that was being molested not of her own free will. She forced him off of her one mighty heave, almost slashing him open in the process with her fingers.

That is, if he had not been fully overshadowed by the knowledge of every action she would take before she ever even performed them. For like every master and their slave in this business, he knew her better than she knew herself. He had a whole year to discover all her deepest and darkest secrets, which included anything and everything ranging from the smallest habits to her hopes and dreams for the future.

Brushing his hair behind with a certain feminine quality, he looked on with a creeping smile, complimented by his favourite self amused glare; the kind that can only be found by only the most stylish and accomplished of villains in any drama.

"My, are you not happy to see me, my dear Carrie?" somewhere between a whimsical, mirthful, and sadistic tone all together. He strolled of his own accord, with enchanting steps upon the surface where it bellowed unworthiness within its structured limitations. Unworthy to be graced by, unworthy to be walked upon by perfection. His hallow steps echoed a certain aura of sound that forewarned an impeding arrival, of something great, and yet something not. Something elegant, yet something too complete to be nothing but extraordinary; for it was not of this world, and the difference between extraordinary and the ordinary, was that little extra.

"Why am I here?" she asked, without a hint of hesitation or open curiosity that it suggested. She had gotten to her feet, and now her being was almost on the brink of open hostility, just that nagging eerie, unsettling, bone chilling feeling she could not describe was keeping her back.

It was something she couldn't understand, and that which she feared which she couldn't hope to comprehend. Something was off. . . different about Dracula. The way he acted. . . the way he talked. . . more defined in the elegance of an actor that had read over the script over and over, till he literally became the part brushing past reality. Even his mere presence was different somehow, and she found it to be indescribable; too. . . she couldn't even speak of it in words, just a feeling of unease. . . The kind which you can never get used to, the kind which makes you expect things that makes you question your sanity, if they are really real or just a figment of your imagination. . . when really there was nothing really wrong with the picture, but you find yourself doing so even when everything is at peace, as it should be. . . and nothing to condone that sinking unjustified feeling.

Closing the distance in a single step, he bared the tip of her chin with the tip of his fingers tenderly, "Do you really have to ask?" he whispered. Their eyes met, one loathsome, the other too playful to catch a hidden meaning.

"I need to know, so yes." She replied, talking now on the psychological level where her trembling visage refused to listen to her cries of assurance that nothing was wrong.

Sometimes, Vlad felt like he wanted to scold himself for her making him feel so odd, feel all these sensations that were not so like him. It wasn't that it was unpleasant, but he found it to be a hindrance and weakness that others of brighter minds could discover and exploit. But somehow this girl had changed all that. While before he couldn't believe in these feelings, couldn't trust in something so insecure, found the ashes of his heart begin to stir.

Never drawing the hand holding sculpture-like upon his admiring fingers, he searched into the red depths of his desire, and drew closer.

"Why, that's because your always on my mind." He commented devoid of all emotion, then returning to his silent smirk.

"You think I will believe that?" she replied anything but friendly, "You think I can accept that?!" she bawled wrenching the violating hand away with a swing of her own. Her own eyes burned vehemently with a haze of mist.

"How can you say something like that?" she finished, avoiding his gaze.

His smile never faltered, and he returned again directing her gaze back on him. "Please don't make that sad face. . . In the end I would like to see your smiling face in front of me." he added playfully while ruffling her hair.

With that done he offered his hand to her welcomingly, "Walk with me." He suggested, "Please. . ." he stressed.

Peering at the relished hand towards her, she allowed it to anchor her to her feet. They walked with eerie silence, without the conflict she had grown accustomed to. Just two civilized inhuman creatures of the night walking down the aisle, slowly towards the exit pace by pace.

"Tonight's a new moon, isn't it?" he began stirring a conversation. She looked at the glassy ceiling but found the skies thickly clouded from the luminous moonbeams above. She redirected her gaze to her master, but found he wasn't even wasting the time to look that there was no moon tonight. She was about to mockingly remark back when he continued indifferently except the creeping smile always plastered upon his face and narrowed eyes. "Even though you can't see it, the moon is still up in the sky. Everyone you want to see is on the moon always waiting. . ." he chuckled.

She listened on intently, as there was nothing else to do as they walked on.

"There are animals on the moon." He focused his sockets on her from the corner of his eyes, "For example, the persistent rabbit, there's even a cat too!" he cheerfully continued,

"Shall I tell you a story?" he asked discretely, and subconsciously she found herself nodding for no apparent reason. He returned his gaze before him, "There is a legend in Africa. . . Long ago, God granted humans eternal life. He sent the rabbit to give it to them. The rabbit was against it. . . and said that humans were meant to die. . ." he left those words to linger for a bit before he found her seemingly blissfully unaware except he knew she was listening though she appeared otherwise.

"After that, God was enraged, so he sealed the rabbit on the moon." He giggled disturbingly to himself as he clenched his eyes closed along with a hand messaging his temples, still smiling.

"Rabbits back then and even now are a little silly. Though that makes them cute, don't you agree?" he questioned nonchalantly full of mirth.

She didn't answer him, though that was the typical girl he knew.

"Shall I tell you another story about the moon?" he stopped, and she did as well a few steps ahead. He faced her back, "Do you know why the moon waxes and wanes? The other Gods envied the moon goddess. If she always showed her full beauty, they feared she would steal people's hearts. So they made an agreement with the moon goddess. . ." he finished suggestively.

He began approaching her from behind, "If she altered between being seen and being hidden, she would be granted eternal life and eternal beauty. . ." he whispered hauntingly. Embracing her with his hands around her petite frame, he finished the story.

"Therefore, the moon stands for eternity. Like her, you and I are eternal Carrie." He stated, as a fact more than a statement looking ahead at the towering symbolic doors of this church.

"Shall we go?" he took the liberty to tilt her head towards the gates while his own stared aimlessly, "To the never ending fate which is your punishment. . ." they shared a moment encompassing each other, the significance of how it looked was that of two lovers, or one showering the other with affection.

She entwined her fingers within his hands, "You have it all wrong if you think I won't stop you." She whispered back, with the underlying tone of conviction that accompanied and complimented the validity of her own words. Then, unlocked the shackles from around her sides.

She was still too incessantly pessimistic, and would require a different approach to snag the locks from the fringes of her coerce behaviour.

He dropped his mask and his gentle encompassing feeling, and proceeded to the awaiting door himself that loomed above him, but was beneath him.

"That's true, but now my goals have changed." He turned to meet her, with the space between that kept them apart. Again they stood on opposite sides, for different perspectives depending on how you looked upon it. But history was not to repeat itself in this case, as another dance would not resolve such conflict. For in the end, they would be right back where they started.

"I would be foolish to believe you." She snapped back.

"Your words are razors to my wounded heart. . . Come and let me show you." He beckoned her with a gesture of his hand, "Trust in me." He friendly concluded without a hint of disbelief edging from his tone but a faulty attempt at a trustworthy persona.

"I couldn't trust in you then, what makes you think I can trust in you now?" she bit back of her own validity.

"We have known each other for a very long time, and we could even say we are friends to say the least, can we not?" he suggested, with a hint of what could be deceit or thoughtfulness.

"Friends? Tell me, what are friends?" the audacity of his words were absolutely preposterous, "Define a friend." She challenged.

He took a moment to think it over before replying with, "A friend. . . is someone important. If a friend is in need, I want to do everything that I can to help them." He smirked throughout; as it depicted what any optimistic would say.

She narrowed her eyes, eyeing him for faults where none could be found in his phrase. "And you expect me to believe all that, from your mouth?" in disbelief evident in her tone.

"The worst that could happen is that you'd perish. But honestly, think for a moment! Would I have brought you back to from the grave just to have a little fun before sending you back for a second time?" he reasoned.

The silence as she pondered and the suspecting glare she diverted at him told him all he needed to know. She did believe he would do just that, and regretfully he found himself feeling the same. It was not like him to plea, but found himself reluctantly offering her again one more chance to share eternity by his side.

"Have faith in me, before judging me for what I am. I give you my word." In a serious tone of finale, speaking plaintively; expecting her to believe nothing more by his words, and suggesting nothing less.

Running over all that had transpired in less than a minute, she found there would be no harm in doing what he asked. He looked so eager to change, and prove his conviction. Though she hated him with a vengeance, the part of her still human offered conditional forgiveness. For it was the human nature that allowed such emotions, for she believed that people can change, and in the end it may be her own undoing, but she had nothing to lose. The same typical human mind can be praised for such for giving one the chance at redemption, or branded as stupidity for the more truthful scenario that will no doubt occur. But she supposed that there really wasn't anything to complain about. If anything, she should thank this gift bestowed upon her, allowing her to stop the Count if he should befall again to his former self.

"Alright. . ." she finally agreed.

Breaking the chains around the holy gates of heaven ensconced vise-like his actions a vice itself, the towering surface cringed open. A sanctuary where humans revered upon, where firm believers gathered were holy grounds to purge the soul demanded no respect from him. Upon its slow creaking, it revealed a small amount of skeletons upon the porch awaiting indefinitely for their master's command.

He gave a cheerful cold smile that was complimented by the sudden winds pouring through his azure locks creating a wild implacable reality of vertigo.

"After you, milady." He spoke never parting his gaze, "All the fun we'll have together. . ." and gave a half hearted grin.

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They walked the streets seemingly captivated by the sights they beheld. Human evolution had indeed proceeded forward under an unhampered history of a future. Morning's first sharp rays had not yet pierced the nights black shell when she awoke, but the stars had yet to fled from the approaching dawn. Cloaked by the cover of shadows, they went sightseeing in the night air taking all the time in the world as that would a tourist. But any ordinary tourist would not be plodding these labyrinths at night out of fear of what would lurk waiting for them in the next alley, or around the corner. Strolling with genuine blissful ignorance among the few foolish enough to wander in such isolated an atmosphere, was none other than those who held such forewarnings in low regard, or for a task of utmost importance. The two would be categorized under the former, for the agenda of their current precedence was not some world changing event, but rekindling all that they had missed out on over these past centuries. All that time, wasted! Drifting where the angry voices could not reach them, the cries of children upon deaf ears. There was nothing to do but to enjoy the comforting chitchat emanating between the silhouette figure beside and listen to the steady coded breathing till true rest claimed her.

Though for now they walked without purpose, aimlessly on a whim of the clearly taller individual of the party of two. If one bothered to look their way, they would absolutely appear out of place, for there was one figure in all ebony coloured robes with long abnormally icy glazed hair. The other a totally different contrast to the first, in a pink sundress that shined out like a beacon and azure hair out of the ordinary. One would especially find unsettling the eyes of the beholders. Even in the dark, the shadows could not cover the glowing orbs glistening like a haze of fog within the confines of slit eyes. One could say these were what made her so exotic, but also complimented a scary kind of cuteness upon an innocent face marred with such blessings. They both shared such horrific eyes, but one there was a sense of innocence though buried, and the other in correspondence was its antithesis, with a touch of playfulness; which would define a sadist if you put it lightly, or in more simple terms a sick degenerate who likes to inflict pain.

"Oh, I don't know about that my dear," Vlad chastised, "You have quite the imagination." Conversing on a journey without destination.

"I just can't help but feel I've been duped some way," she gave a critical eye before dropping it in exchange of a sigh, "Do you really blame me for questioning your actions?"

He stopped short of his next step, raised a finger to his chin as if pondering. "If you put it that way, your doubts are only natural and logical." He complimented before continuing again, "But you would do well to know that the world is my playground." His inner mask grinning mischievously.

"That's what I'm afraid of. . ." she spoke timidly while eyeing him with uncertainty. "Knowing you, you'd probably change in a heart beat as an afterthought."

"I'm shocked!" he referred to himself with open hands innocently, "Would I really do that?" They bore into each others discerning eyes, while one tried to prove its innocence. She didn't have to delve deep under reassurance from past assessments of what made the Dark Lord tick. Some things she knew with a certainty that flowed in her blood.

After a dramatic pause, he raised an arm under his chin to help a sudden needing arise to nod. "I guess I would, I suppose." As an afterthought, 'I can't see why not. . .'

Carrie could do nothing but stare back at him regarding him with new found suspicion and a hint of disbelief in his audacity of his slip thinking, 'I didn't just hear him say that. . .' She found no comfort in the knowledge that he was so open about his thoughts, and would without much prying, delve such information so openly like inner secrets to the public populace. But then again, who was she referring to?

She reached for her rings, but found them oddly missing. There could only be one reason they weren't where she last say them, and she directed her displeasure at the source of where all her troubles originated from.

He raised his hands, "Don't eye me as one would a criminal. For I have committed no crime." in that annoying reasoning manner while sounding deceitful under the tone.

'Yet anyways. . .' he closed his eyes, smiling his smiley face. Smile, smile! Only when you smile will they not catch on that anything is wrong. Which would work for anybody, except him unfortunately. Which he noticed almost immediately, but continued anyways for the heck of it. He believed in persevering to the very end would grant him the judgment he so desired as reward for his unrelenting persistence. So even when he knew his cover was blown someway, he was almost casual about it that caused his inspector doubt. Doubt leads to uncertainty, and uncertainty leads to dismissal and dismissal equals to the term of home free!

"How come I find your not telling my everything?" she questioned raising an eyebrow, continuing to evaluate the situation.

"I don't know. . . Maybe the centuries have made you senile?" he suggested thoughtfully. She wasn't buying it though. . . not that he was expecting it of coarse. It was almost implacable to consider.

She didn't reply. It was pointless talking to a hypocrite, and it would only give her a headache to dwell upon him. Looking around where they had placed themselves, she found the scenery had greatly changed and out of place.

She gave her companion a look. He met her questioning gaze with almost a comical expression. Somehow through the conversation, they had dejectedly withheld all the living dead that now plagued the streets of Racoon City. How did they know the name of the city? Easy. . . its written on a dash board they had passed a while back.

"Is it me, or have these humans changed on the evolutionary ladder more than I have anticipated?" belying the seriousness of such implications. He headed in their direction with new found charisma, to greet them in his own way. They were different, in just the right ways to turn heads.

"Oh, the fun we'll have together!" he reverted back to his demonic visage. He released the pressurization within his eager fingers in anticipation. Carrie warily followed close behind.

Towering over a female wearing preposterous looking clothing, he shadowed her whole with his unholy presence. He couldn't even see her face, as she was hunched down from the front as if she were looking for something. For a moment one would believe he did so under concern, but frankly such beliefs would be fickle to apply to him.

"Something wrong mortal?" asking, but really he could be rather frank at times. Reaching a hand out to lift this poor saps poor spirits, her head snapped up, jumping, and tried to bite his fingers off. Quick as lightning his arm was snatched away by his scarlet eyed companion decisively out of harms way.

He lifted the predators face with his palm facing upward from the Earth he walked upon, while commenting past his shoulders, "Why Carrie, I didn't know you cared!" he chuckled with a smile that didn't quite reach his lips. The dangling, feeble attempts to break free from the shackles of his bond dishevelling the would be attacker was rectified in an instance of the boorish whim of the executioner without a second thought. The sacrilegious remains limped lifelessly to the surface beneath in nothing more than a puddle, a smear on the floor. That is where they should remain drowning in mud. The commotion was not lost to the nearby simpletons with that lost haze in their eyes. They too approached like the dead belying of the life they whence had.

Carrie had not missed these hungry looks directed at them. Vlad admired his handy work unaware of the hungry thoughts being directed toward them, or maybe he was but didn't really care. He had other things to worry about, like how to go about deciding how to kill them in at least two uniquely different ways surmised from his own creativity.

He had already killed before. What was another one? The vanity he held when dispatching those foolish enough to challenge his power was still fresh, for he never tired of the one of many of his favourite past times that would be strangely disturbing to put it lightly.

Standing back to back with her companion, she firmly grasped the ribbon of her outfit into her small hands assuring. She made a mental note of how many souls she would be freeing this day. They possessed none of the traits they should have attained or the mental capacity to understand the actions they were now performing out of hunger lust.

"You know, my pal Death should really be the one here claiming their lives." He voiced out loud in complementation with the underlying comically joking manner, "But I guess it will do fine for the first good deed I've done in centuries." he acknowledged himself reverting back to admiring these. . . monstrosities. If they knew who they were up against, they would no doubt grovel at his feet. But unfortunately, they were not of the brightest crayons in the box. The ignorant masses shall be exterminated accordingly. . .

Though, she wondered if this really proved his change for he was all too happy to do it. But why wouldn't he be? He was in his element. Be it in the past or in the present, he had always meddled around the death of his and their circumstances.

"Rest assured mortals, I shall send you to heaven!" he merrily spoke with the underlying tone of the gladness he held complimenting the eagerness he bottled up to do so in the name of 'Mankind' and of coarse a blue and green Earth. Out of the upheaval will he arise the victor, no room for doubt to cloud his mind in misty haze, for they shall suffer in the pits of Hade's. He suffused the very air with his primal radiance, and his gaze as he fixed his antagonists with undisguised contempt was both beautiful and terrible to behold.

A bird too flocked to the occasion. Deep in the bowels of tormented souls, a bird called out a hauntingly beautiful song. A song that would have inspired poets to write poems of heart warming intensity or encourage musicians to match their music in symphony to the birds beautiful song. But all this was not to be for the ones who heard the song were neither a poet nor a musician. Rather, they were wild animals. Hungry for something to fill its belly.

Beneath her, two individuals shined most brightly as they bathed one street in particular with the stench of its own inhabitants and dug the grave they should have dug themselves. With smooth, sure twists and steps they wove their way like a reaper in a haystack. The silence of their prowl, the swiftness of their movements. Indeed the infestation was but a few in a growing list of prey as they mercifully dispatched them with a grace that could be mistaken as savagery. Soon they will help all this who could not help themselves. Soon the pestilence which was human will no longer be hungry ever again.

Not far from their location was a scared individual in a red jacket with a gun held within her sweaty hands venturing to the police station of Racoon city in another district to meet up with her other contact. She already knew that coming to look for her brother was a bad idea, for she ended up digging herself a hole coming to his damn place. She knew of the dangers that awaited her by witnessing them first hand. Things were already complicated beyond her comprehension as what would be a stroll in the park, become a nightmare in fantasy lane. Little did she know that these were not the extent of things to come.

Little did she know that other complications were heading her way. . .

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Unending flame filled his scope, the horizon stained red with his and their taint, and between his and her power, there was nothing that they could do. Who were they? Who were they; young, human, mortal, false immortality, no longer. . . to assume such an arrogant air and presume to oppose something so primal, so immortal? They were nothing but humans suspended between Heaven and Earth. Nothing but ignorant humans, hanging at the threshold between scorching light and unknowable darkness. Nothing, but empty vessels with a soul of ice and impossibly chilled animals gripped in the heart and chest.

From anger to a sneer, he now regretted his actions after rationalizing them to be but bugs, not worth staining his shoes on. Their fragrance burned tenaciously upon his gloved fingertips, insulting to his displeasure. The liquid that keeps them alive, was worthless to him. The damned were truly that in every sense of the word. Wiping it clean with a handkerchief, he made a silent promise of pain to whoever created such abominations. There was a simple explanation as to why he cared not to drink the very liquid that keeps him alive, a rule that must be obeyed in a world he set the rules. You never ever drink, from the dead. Again he cursed them silently before the unheeding smile could be hidden no longer. Even though they were not worth his time, they had entertained him and for that, he was grateful. He could take life's lemons and make lemonade. He was very optimistic, and easily amused since he had awoken.

He scoped back to his partner of glory. Her face normally beautiful, now with a hint of evil, now fairly radiated malignance, before deciding upon a calm and collected mask to fit hide her thoughts best of all. The cranks in her head appeared to him in contemplation. He knew what she was thinking, and so it came as no surprise that he would ask carefully under the assurance of the vanity in his knowledge. Before he spoke, he decided against it. These problems were best to remain silent to give her the time and space she needed to recollect herself.

She had murdered again, and murder never got any easier. The nightmares always came back tracing her steps, creeping up her back to where the images were made more a reality than a passing dream. And yet, she loathed to admit to herself how shaken the dream; that damn, recurring, haunting dream. . . She almost wished for company to alleviate the nagging fear her nightly phantasm left behind, but her pride refused to succumb to it. Nagging, pathetic fear, for what had she to worry about? Waking up in the middle of reality, replaying the deaths of hundreds, thousands that happened centuries ago? She asked herself, 'what's wrong with me?'

Carrie shook her head to clear it of the last tenacious fragments of meaningless images. She shook away from her rueful labyrinthine halls. She pulled her gaze from her silent bickering and located Vlad waiting feigning patience but refined in contrast of the most patient of them all beneath their feet. The tedium he showed gave her a smile. Hopping over the freshly made ditches, he turned tail and walked in a general direction away from the carnage, searching for the midnight snack he had been denied thus far.

'Where is it?' his head swerving left and right in his powerful stroll, 'Where is it your hiding. . .'

He knew he had smelt it earlier among all these walking corpses. What he searched for became more distinct for the uniqueness only it possessed where the many others did not. It was. . . there!

Thanks to the arsonists from both parties, the streets were well lit. Not that vampires needed light to see mind you, but it was. . . demonic. There's always been beauty in something so alluringly dangerous, just as a rose had thorns. . .

She followed as he led, whistling all the way. His head was down, bangs covering his eyes. A smile cracked on his lips, he traced it with his fingers in one fluent stroke. His lips were dry, he stuck out his tongue for a tentative lick. She felt no small amount of trepidation just by the way he carried himself. Was that a good thing, or a bad thing she wondered. . . It was really a topic of discussion, as he gave off waves of morbidly cordial happy thoughts.

She was no less hungry herself, though the way he went about it was really creeping her out. . .

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Authors Notes: Not dead, but slow on updates. I like comments. Reviews people! =D