Blood Memoir: Reminiscences

Blood Memoir: Reminiscences

Part I

Reminiscences: Opening


Rain pelts the window as thoughts pour through the eternal, daunting mind of Max Cronqvist. He quietly reclines in an expensive leather chair as he ponders and organizes his thoughts. So many…so many memories. It seems only yesterday…

The wind was pressing strongly against my pale face as Astralis carried me through the village, our secret guys-only celebration of Cassie’s acceptance of my marriage proposal. I felt as if the world belonged to me. The dragon soared down in a suicide dive, and quickly rose at a break-neck speed, leaving everyone in the town square in the dust. I had laughed, catching sight of a tubby Dwarven creature’s face as we nearly crashed into him. The sun was bright, but unlike most others of my kind, I could bear the weight of radiance.

That night, I returned to the small cabin where Cass and I spent many nights gazing out into the moon, embracing each other, with nothing but love to share. Astralis, after dropping me off, moved awkwardly on his scaly legs until he reached an area of tall grass he called his own, retiring for the night.

The vampire interrupted his recollection to point a finger to a small, black refrigerator at the corner of the dark room, and the door silently clicked open, a frosted champagne glass and a dark red bag with a white label hovered into his fingertips. A moment later, the nightwalker was putting the icy glass to his lips, relishing the taste of fresh blood.

Just like I like it. No pulp.

Max laughs quietly to himself as he prepares to delve back into his reminiscences. He always knew people considered him juvenile, and he didn’t blame them. If age mirrored mind, he would be around the epoch of an early 20. He then began to remember his time as a hired sword. This he wasn’t very proud of, but he accepted it as another mistake of life, and decided that he should learn from it. He quickly removes his mind from this, and thinks back to another memorable time, beyond his temporary mutation and the DNA sample taken from him to create a replacement, and the alchemic creation of a clone which therefore relieved him of his duty…

A samurai with black hair and one red eye enters the square, and walks up to me. I greet him by the only name I know him as: Murasame. We had become extremely close allies over a short period of months, and I had learned much from him about the times of yore, as he was from the feudal era of Japan. I had told him I was from his world, but many years ahead of his time, and my business actually resided in Tokyo. I had been at first mainly interested in how he and I could exist while in two time frames, but that curiosity subsided over time. He always had that strange chain binding his sword to his arm, and rarely talked with anyone besides Cass, his wife Matsuko, and me. I recognize this memory as a particularly curious one, as it was the day a great stress was taken off of the backs of some of the weaker villagers. Murasame clutched in his hand the head of a hideous wolf-like beast, with a long, shiny tongue and nightmarish teeth, and eyes like marble.

The children of the village had dubbed it “Bad Huskie”, because their parents had told them upon questioning that the creature was like a big dog, and that he was being “naughty”. The silent warrior nodded to Max, then walked over to the front of one of the houses, yanking out a section of fence with a sharp picketed end. He impaled the body part on the white wood, and then walked to the town square’s center, and firmly dug the blunt end of the wood into the dirt, for all to see.

Upon closer inspection, they could see that facially, he lightly resembled a small, rather filthy child who lived in town, but didn’t talk much. The child and the creature both shared a bolt-shaped scar on their left cheek, so the villagers realized that the boy had been a lycanthrope all along. Murasame had described what had happened later that night at Max’s cabin.

What had happened was thus: Murasame had been searching for the Bad Huskie for several days, but had no leads, until he saw the boy silently approaching the small field outside of town, where Matsuko was resting, as neither her nor Murasame possessed a house of their own. The child had approached the woman, acting friendly at first. Murasame watched in the dimness of the shadow of the merchant shop, as the moonlight was bright enough to disclose him if not wary. Mura had described the boy as slightly drooling as he stared at the one Murasame had chosen to spend his life with. Fur began to sprout on the child’s flesh shortly after Matsuko lowered her head after greeting him.

Just as the werewolf started to pounce on the unwary beauty, the samurai tackled the creature in a rage, breaking the unsettling silence with a menacing battle cry, and Matsuko had watched in startled horror until the relieving conclusion.

Mura always knew what to do, he affirms himself mentally, taking another gulp. So much time has passed since then, and then, the children—

Maximilian disconcertingly grips his glass tightly, but this was nil to what his old bursts of anguish were like; he didn’t allow his memories affect him in such a negative way anymore. He didn’t dare allow his mind to return to the time where Cass and he wept after he gave her the news that the man of the forest had received a vision, or when he felt the bodies of his two children passing down his throat—

“No.” He says aloud, forcing himself to move onto a time a few years after the first death of his children, when he confronted the pretenders.

The sky was red, and the sun was lowering slowly into the horizon. I stood beside Cassandra with a look of ire, my dark red eyes glowering at two small creatures that had been posing as my children since the red-haired one had “resurrected” them. I had just learned that he had erred in the process of gathering both of my kids’ souls after I had consumed and purified them both from the evil which was said to consume this world. All of his effort and my joy, my love, had been a lie. Some otherworldly creatures had been posing as my flesh and blood, taking my affection but never truly caring about it. The two creatures were staring at two shocked parents: I was outraged, Cassandra was distraught and bemused. The one who was going to be called Alucard stepped forward, a wretched grin on his face.

“Heheheh…daddy, what’s wrong?”

I rushed forward, ready to slash the creature in half. Before I did it, I noticed a movement in the corner of my eye. I turned, dodging the construct’s mace, and leaped away. I remembered how confused I was upon looking upon the new arrival. He was gripping his head in pain, but the resemblance was uncanny. It was impossible, yet I knew it at once: it was my true son’s reincarnate. I rushed to him, and the creature didn’t move at all, merely watching me with a wicked gaze. Guinevere, the one who would have been my daughter, confronted my wife with a short rapier in her right hand. Cassandra had her whip at the ready, but similar to my experience, she saw someone coming from the other direction. It was a young girl, around 19, with white hair like Cass, and crystal blue eyes that immediately gave off who she was. Cass sprinted to her, but carefully looked back every other second to make sure the impostor wasn’t attempting anything.

“Wha…why do you look so much like me?! ANSWER!” My son demanded, looking so much like myself at a younger age. He was wearing glimmering sapphire armor, and at his side was strapped a corresponding, glimmering sword. He pointed his finger at my relieved eyes, and I proclaimed that he must be my son. My child returned this with a skeptical look, but decided to humor me, and told me his name was Julius. Julius continued to rub his head, and told me he couldn’t seem to remember much more than that. Just as we began to converse once more, Alucard’s spiked club nearly struck me, but Julius blocked the small being’s attack with his blade, struggling against the wicked toddler’s unusual strength. His fangs protruding from his upper lip, he finally exerted enough force to push the mace back to the neck of the deceiver. He then did a quick maneuver that got his steel weapon under the mace, allowing him to stab his weapon into the heart of the fraud, causing it to dissolve into ash with a abrupt howl. The death of the female charlatan soon followed by the hand of Cassandra, who was very sad, even though that creature wasn’t truly her daughter. The four then sat in the center of the town square, discussing what had happened.

My beautiful, perfect daughter was also suffering from amnesia, but was more readily to accept the fact that Cass and I were her parents. Julius wasn’t so sure, and it took several days for me to convince him. One day he decided I must be telling no farce, and we embraced in a father-son hug. As we did, Julius jerked back, a look of agony on his face.

He screamed at me then, talking about a gaping black mouth in his darkest nightmares, then ran like a wild man into the forest. I remember Anna reassuring me that he just needed time to cool down, and then…

Max finishes the last of his drink, then gazing back out the window, hearing a strong gust, making the rain seem even more relentless as he sat in that leather lounger in the second-highest floor of Immortal Eye Ltd, a company nearly 100 years in development, founded solely by Max years before he ever ventured into that other world, where his life changed forever. He now tries to empty his mind, because memories of what happened to Julius and Anna over those next two days was a little too much to think about. Getting angry wouldn’t solve anything…I have to do this.

It was a cold, dreary day the morning after Julius’s death. They told me after he rushed into the forest, he made his way into the dark caves near the back of the woods, where a monstrous lizard ripped out his heart, and a heavily wounded adventurer had been able to drag him back, but died at the forest entrance. We cried for hours. Anna, Cass, and hell, myself. It was all too much. I contemplated killing myself numerous times after that affair, but each time I realized how pointless it was to leave Cass alone.

The night after the funeral, I caught sight of someone who I have finally come to terms with, a tall, strange phantom wearing a hideous mask, with a scythe gripped firmly in it’s hand. It barely seemed to realize I was there, and naturally, I tried to attack it, but my attacks passed right through it. The spirit, which I eventually came to refer to as Orion, then soared over my head, into the expanse of trees. I waited for him to return, taking a seat in the square while I waited for Cass to return from the Apothecary down the dirt path. I had no idea how fateful that meeting was.

A sickening thud, and cold laughter that mirrored my own was then present much later…I looked down at the disembodied head of my own daughter, her eyes empty, yet surprised. I was in shock, dropping the head with fear. I began screaming then. If it was even real words, I can’t recall. I looked up to see two glowing eyes of the mask looking down at me, and the scythe-wielding phantom then ascended over me, leaving me minus yet another family member. I collapsed, and blacked out for a few moments, and when I came to terms, I purchased the only weapon I could find that could harm a specter: a phantom blade. I christened it “Jenorath”, and scoured the woods on Astralis, hunting for that…wretched ghost.

A few nights later, Cassandra came home with the mask of the ghost in hand. She told me that she had discovered the foul phantom, after weeping once more the previous day after the loss of her daughter in the depths of the woods. I had objected to it at first, but she wanted some time alone. It turned out that Orion did show up in the woods that night, but somehow Cassandra’s techniques were able to physically damage the being. Cass never told me, but I discovered a torn letter in the forest from a certain scientist’s spouse that Orion was a doppelgänger of myself, created by my past career as an assassin. The pain I felt then was immense, and I felt I was indirectly responsible for the death of my daughter, and my son. I should have known then that even if my children had become the Sildarquethi, the ones destined to destroy everything, it was better to put a family member before society, even if they would have taken countless lives, I never should have…done that to them.

Max stretches, and rubs his temples. He then decides to skip ahead just one more day, past the time when he had finally slain the hideous monster that had murdered his son. He knew even then that destroying the creature’s body was useless, as all of the powerful warriors who stayed up in the tavern all night told him the creature somehow was returned to life every night, and those warriors who chose to go to the caves at night never returned, but their bodies were always found mangled near the cave entrance.

Because of this, Max never got any real satisfaction from razing the monster, and so he spent quite a few days away from home, simply sitting in the square, and watching the clouds. One day, however, Max was astounded to see that while practicing his swordplay, a creature formed from the purple smoke that usually was secreted by the blade, and it attacked him, but he, in his typical fashion, had used his skills of persuasion to get the demon to join him as his familiar. The being’s name was Konjiro, and was a purple color similar to Max’s blade. When the vampire had asked him how he got inside, he seemed reluctant to answer, so the pureblood didn’t ask any more questions.

Max’s mind started to drift back towards his memory of two Cairns, the one on the right being newer by exactly one day, but he tried to ignore it, and move forward in time yet again, only this time being when he was expelled from Nexus.

[i] I had been facing Cassandra when it happened, and he had been standing beside Astralis. I remember I had been grinning at her, like I always had. She had given me a look back then that was of confusion, and fear. I was puzzled by her glance, and then began to notice the blackness that seemed to be forming around my draconic ally and me. I ran at her, but my footsteps weren’t moving me any closer to my beloved. She reached out towards me, as she seemed farther and farther away. Astralis began to growl, and then everything went black except for two glowing green eyes in the darkness, and a familiar feminine giggle echoed as I left that plane of existence, my curses of the creature’s name muted.

When I awoke, I was lying sideways on the back of my dragon. When I rose, I inquired how exactly we had survived the attack from the reptile king.

“I was able to grab you and traverse just before we were both obliterated, Maxim. The effect of that miserable god’s banishment spell seemed to drain you.”

“Eh…thank you, my dear friend. But don’t call him a god; he isn’t worthy of that title, even if he is that powerful. Did you catch a glimpse of his face as we escaped?”

“He appeared upset, if I remember correctly.”

“Good. I hope he cries all the way back to his son-of-a-***** husband.”

“Hehehehee.”

“We need to find a way so that if we ever cross paths again, we can stand a chance against a power like his. Let’s head back to Immortal Eye, and I’ll have the new mystic division that Sol was talking about to look into something.”

The dragon suddenly slowed his flight.

“Max, I have some bad news.”

This is the moment of my life that topped off the hopeless period of my life.

“I could sense that as we left…he was weaving a barrier.”

“Well, we can just break it, right?”

“It wasn’t…normal. I recognized it as well... ”

At this point, my heart quickened, and my hands formed fists.

“Can we break it, ASTRAL?”

There was a long silence after this, and Astralis reluctantly answered.

“No. Those types of shields are made for exile.”

I was speechless as I thought of all the wonderful moments I spent with Cassandra, and how I would never, ever gaze upon her face again, all because of that man, that lizard freak and his sick little games…I didn’t say a word until we reached Immortal Eye, and when I faced Solomon, the one I ordamed the company’s new president, and the vice president, my cousin Bastian, I told them everything.

“…He used a Yuvalis barrier? You’re sure that’s what Astral said?”

“...Yes.”

“****...That prick...” Bastian had said, crossing his arms, looking rather out of place with his backwards baseball cap, his temples throbbing.

Then, after speaking with Takajima about gene-splicing, things finally started to look up. I went on a trip with Astralis the next day, where he decided that I should visit a fortune-teller, just for entertainment. I did it, and he encouraged me to do as the teller said. I was hasty at first, but I was eventually made my way in the predicted and aforementioned direction, where I discovered ruins under the pale moonlight. I explored them, and met up with a beautiful vampiress named Valdaria, who decided that I offended her and wanted me dead. After a while of fighting, I felt strange, and all of the sudden I was pulled from control of my body, control being taken by a wicked presence.

Orion had somehow taken over, and I was forced to battle my worst memories, in fact, some of them the very same I brought up this very night. Valdaria fought my body on the outside, while I struggled with my inner demon relentlessly, until I finally defeated him, and after being defeated he was removed from my body in the form of a rune, which dissolved into ash in Valdaria’s hand.

It appeared that Valdaria had feelings for me after all, and I for her, because we shared a love that seemed perfect in all ways…She has slowly healed my wounds without my notice; without her I doubt my persona would even exist anymore. However, we discovered it was not meant to be, and parted ways. To think what Orion would have done had he kept my flesh…

Max shivered, placing his empty glass on the nightstand and rising to his feet, dropping the empty blood bag onto the expensive carpet. He glanced upwards at his window once more, and noticed the weather had cleared up. The moon now hung perfectly in the sky, and the last few droplets of rain struck the pane as the vampire uttered a small sigh, followed by a yawn.

This was at least five days since he had first met Valdaria, and he was little by little mending the wounds of his heart. He jerked a little at the sound of a knock at his door, after having nothing but silence for so long.

“Come in.” Max said, having a seat at his desk. The door creaked open, and a brown-headed man in a black vest and grey trousers entered, placing some papers on his desk.

“Day-dreaming, Sir?

“Yes, Yes.”

“It seems Mr. Augerey has indeed found the place where that artifact was derived, Sir Cronqvist.” The middle-aged man said, trying his best to ignore the rather dreary and slightly frightening effect of the vampire’s room, especially the plastic bag with traces of red on the inside that was lying next to the recliner.

“Wonderful. I thank you for the information, Thompkins. Sorry to have you up at this hour.”

“Ah, it’s no trouble sir. I’m a night person.”


( I Would Like To Acknowledge Murasame's Major Contributions To The Story, Which Start In This Chapter.)

Part II

Reminiscences: Preparation

I had just opened my eyes when I felt the cold grip of death. I looked at my hands, my veins were blackening like intricate fractures just beneath my skin. I opened my mouth, my fangs extended as I tried to cry out, but nothing came. I felt blood rushing behind my eyes, as if attempting upon me a suicidal mutiny. The air in the room was cold, so cold. My lungs were bursting, my throat burning. I was going to die in my own bedroom, with naught a friend at my side. I felt the blackness of the room go stark white; but I tried my best to fight it. I was losing. A lance rises; and then, agony.

This is what I dreamed in the short lapse of time after speaking with Thompkins and retiring to my bed, and when I came to, Murasame was standing before my bed. The rest of the Sildar Shadows were stationed in the now broken doorway, weapons in hand. I explained to the samurai that all it had been was a livid dream, but he was reluctant to leave. It’s good to have friends like that, the ones that never listen when it’s for your better interest. We finally agreed that he would guard the entrance to my room until daybreak. When I asked him what I had done to awaken them, I got the answer I expected: I had been screaming.

When I arose from the bed, I felt pain in my right hand. I opened my palm, and a deep crescent shape was engraved into my flesh.

Yesterday

My feet move briskly as they carry me down the street, lightly scraping the sidewalk. I past by several people, and feel estranged even with the special cream on my hands and face that hide my deathly, colorless dermis. I wonder how it must feel to be mortal, to be so limited. I was just starting to wonder if I was going the right way when I found it.

A store that you could find just about anywhere in any backwoods town, yet it was right in the center of Tokyo, making it all the more curious. It was made of peeling orange brick, and the roof was a fading green, with no sign at the door. I looked to my right. A group of ****** looking punks were staring at me from across the street. I wasn’t too sure, but I suspected they were also of my kind, considering they were in dark garb, all shielding themselves with black umbrellas, and it wasn’t even drizzling. I shrugged it off, and entered the odd building’s front door.

The familiar old woman running the store didn’t so much as blink when I entered. Or moved, for that matter. She was dozing. I ignored her, beginning to pass through the first aisle of the grungy novelty shop. The tiled floor was cracked in places, but I barely noticed or cared. I searched for five minutes, then briefly stopped, gazing at an empty space on the highest metal shelf at the end of the third aisle. This was the same place where I had had found that statue…the statue. The retilian piece of carved stone, so beautifully made; I had looked it over so meticulously over two years ago, then bought it without so much as a second-thought.

Now all that remained of that time were my memories, and a small bit of shelf where the dust hadn’t accumulated as much.

Turning my head, I glance over at the hag, and she still hasn’t moved an inch. I look around for anything else that might prove interesting, scanning the large room. I step towards the elderly lady, wondering if I should wake her up. I nudge her shoulder, but she remains in the napping position that’s older than she is, her head lying sideways between her forearms. Silently I put a hand to her mouth, waiting for a weak gust to indicate life. I get nothing.

I slide her chair back, and she nearly falls out of her seat. Pity she was dead. She seemed like a decent person, at least from what I remembered about her. She had smiled when I came in last time, and not a fake smile; she really seemed like she was happy to see me, someone she’d never see again. Alive, anyway.

After I moved the woman, a black box fell from her lap onto the flooring, making a light wooden clatter as it collided. I picked it up, and slowly unfastened it, creating a creaking sound. This thing had to be pretty old, I had reflected. What was inside the box was mainly crap, like worthless watches and earrings. However, at the bottom, I felt something prick one of my prying fingers. It was a vampire’s tooth, that was certain. The odd thing about it was that it seemed almost prehistoric, with little carvings etched all over it’s surface.

Just as I put the bone in my pocket, there was a loud crash as the store’s browsing window shattered. I turned to look, and at least twelve grenades greeted me. Those punks from before had to be responsible, I had realized as the explosives went off, sending shrapnel in all directions. I felt a large amount of it fly into my arms and legs, while another piece was lodged in my cheek.

I focused my mind, letting my pain dull itself. Those monks had taught me a great deal, but perfecting my own style had been inevitable. I took a stance, feeling my supernatural strength welling inside me. My legs were limber as ever, and I prepared myself for those idiots. There was a wild clamor of intermingled laughs and yells as the door slammed open, punk vampires with guns entering the store, their umbrellas hanging from belt-loops at their sides. They fired at me, but I sidestepped their shots. I ran at them, and one of them punched me. I caught the full force of the punch voluntarily, gripping and snapping his wrist, slamming him downwards with my other hand using enough force to fracture his skull, tearing his firearm from his hand. I glared at the others as I released several rounds of the ammunition into the fallen bloodsucker’s heart without blinking, my face contorted with frustration at these fools.

I dodged several more bullets, scissorkicking another punk in the jaw with perfect accuracy, finishing him off with a few shots through the left side of his chest while fighting off the others. Sure enough, both of the losers I killed so far had dissolved to ash; these bullets were a fourth silver. These guys were thugs, most likely part of one of the many vampire gangs competing against each other for control of Tokyo. Solomon had been going on about it for quite a few days now. Before I could put more thought into this, I had to finish it. I unloaded the last of the ammunition onto the last three jerks, and prepared to walk out of there. I took a final glance at the grandmotherly woman’s peaceful corpse, reached into my wallet, laying one hundred dollars on the counter.

SLAM!

The back door of the store burst open, and suddenly I was looking at a punk covered in piercings with a pack strapped to his chest and molotov cocktails gripped in his hands, doing a suicide run in my direction. I didn’t need to guess what was in the pack. I leaped backwards out of the store window, the sleeve of my torn business suit loosening a little as I used the power of my mystic ring, sending a single leaf at that idiot with more precision than any mortal was capable of, with so much speed that it sliced through one of the necks of the cocktail bottles, causing it to drop at the psycho’s feet, exploding and engulfing him, the crap, the old lady, and all of those other dead bodies in flames.

As everyone else in the area looked in shock at the explosion, I was sitting behind a trash can in the alleyway, yanking a large chunk of shrapnel out of my leg and pulling out my cellphone.

I finished getting dressed, and while doing so I bit my lower lip. I walked through the building, making my way up to the highest floor, the conference room. After exiting the elevator, I entered the windowless room. My shoes rustled against the thick carpet as I made my way to the long table in the room’s center. I placed a hand on the wood, and a crimson eye appeared on it’s surface. I felt my body falling apart into microscopic bits soon after, letting the peaceful silence of disintegration take me in.

When I reassembled, I was looking at the back of a familiar man with three upward tresses and a white fur coat staring out a massive glass pane, no doubt looking intently at our company miles below, his gaze broken ever so slightly by the passing clouds which swirled and concealed this place to keep prying mortals from knowing it exists. Even since Miguel Rishadan, the alchemist, had created the observatory, and the other magic users had raised it to such heights and shrouded it in cumulus, this was Immortal Eye’s go-to place for paranormal or magical questioning.

“Ah, Sir Cronqvist. A delight to see you so soon.”

Julian said, not even turning around. I was impatient, and coughed. He turned, and I held out my injured palm. He looked it over, and with my other hand I wiped the blood I had drawn from the rim of my mouth.

“Ah, shaped exactly like the artifact, eh?”

“Yes, but why?”

“Hmm…I don’t know what to say about this right now, but that tooth you gave me…it appears it belonged to a G’yuard.”

“A what?”

“A G’yuard. An elusive subordinate of a deity, usually one that ascended from from something else.”

“How did you figure this out in four hours?!”

“You have no sense of time. I’m an expert, Max. Look at this symbol, here.” He reached out at the table to his left, picking up the fang with his thumb and forefinger, and used his other index digit to point to a rather intricate design. I felt old anger trying to come over me.

“I’ve seen that before. The reptilian minions of…well, I’ve seen that on creatures before…and yes, they were underlings of a man turned god.”

“I figured as much. Now, the thing is, like everything else, this artifact has a residual mana aura around it, which can be traced to it’s exact origin.”

“Hmm…Intriguing.”

“I also translated what I could out of the rest of the bone’s symbols. The script is so tiny I needed to use a microsope, and a little of it was in an unknown script, so all I could gather was this.”

There was a sheet of paper lying on the table, and there were words scrawled in a neat fashion:

Arimas, Vampyrum Deus, tribuos spiritus ut hoc creatura.

“It was in an odd, twisted dialect of latin, so I decoded it, and wrote it here. I trust your grandfather taught you latin?”

“Yes." I replied promptly, feeling rather light-headed. A vampire god? I had never imagined one existed. Finally, a greater force that he could relate to. Perhaps he could even aid in destruction of the barrier...

“Well, back to the mana tracing,” Julian said, ending the momentary pause.

“I traced the mana all the way back to it’s origin, which is somewhere in the north pacific, on an island, of course. I’ve got the general area securely in mind; The real question is, who will come with us?”

I thought it over, recognizing there were only a few that I could trust to take with me. The Sildar Shadows were the natural choice.

“I’ll take Murasame and his team with me, Jule.”

“Well, if you take all of them, you’ll need at least one more, plus me.”

“Why?”

“I just know. Remember, I have precognitive abilities, although sometimes weak, and vague. Seven is the lucky number.” Augerey said, lightly snapping his fingers at his sides. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

There was a second pause, and this one was ended by the familiar sound of materialization. Murasame was standing there, sword in hand as always. His armor, with the skin of one of those wretched lizards hanging over his shoulder, being suspended by the fanged skull underneath was yet another reminder of my hate for that serpentine race. Beside Mura, was a pink-haired vampire who I never really took concern for at all. A self-absorbed vampire with pink hair, he was called “Silken,” his surname “Wilds.” He was carrying his weapon at the moment, but he looked as smug as ever. On the other side of the samurai, there was a tall, muscular man with dark skin. I knew him as “Ebon.” He never really talked much, as I had never really heard him speak, when he had actually encountered him several times, but they were brief meetings, all the same. There was a new member as well, and for a change of pace, she was female. An asian beauty who I had never met in my life, she bowed as I turned to her. I bowed in return, and the shadows prepared for their briefing.

“Julian summoned you all here for a very pertinent cause. I am to be heading to a particular isle on the atlantic, and I want all of you to accompany me. I realize there are four of you in all, but I have one other person I have in mind to come with us.”

I drew my cellular phone from my pocket, flipping it open and dialing a long number. I held the mobile to my ear, waiting for the ringing to stop. There was a click, and I heard the voice of my old bodyguard from when I was the company’s president.

“Hello?”

“Beetchi, hey.”

His tone seemed a lot more energetic after hearing my voice.

“Mister Cronqvist, what’s up?”

“I want you to escort me…with some other friends to an island. Like the old days.”

“Cool. I’ll be there. Heliport across the street?”

“Yup.”

“Seeya.”

“Bye.” I pressed ‘end,’ and turned back to the Shadows. I nodded, and they turned around, every one of them reaching down and placing one hand each on the floor, dissolving in molecules which swirled and vanished. I did the same, and I assume Julian did too, because he was standing in the conference room when I materialized. Moments later, The Sildar Shadows were sitting in the army-grade helicopter, along with Julian, while I leaned against the sleek machine, waiting for Beetchi.

Sure enough, a mildly short man with an Uzi strapped to each side and brown hair so curly and wild it made it look like a lion’s mane, covering most of his eyes. He had a small yamika-like cap on the back of his head, making his head look even bigger. Just the way I remember him.

“Iwata Beetchi, reporting for duty, man.” He grinned, pulling out a cigarette and sticking it into the gap between his lips. I nodded to him, smiling back as he climbed into the helicopter. I stepped away from the vehicle, and the others didn’t give it a second thought. I whistled, and there was a sparkling flash as Astralis, my dragon, appeared. Before I could climb aboard, I heard Solomon’s voice.

“Going somewhere? You should take a few more, just to be safe.”

“I would, but Julian has insisted on six being the total number to come with me, making seven.”

“As you wish.”

I turned, watching him walk away. After that business was over, I climbed on the patient Astralis’s back, and he kicked off of the ground just as the steady spin of the helicopter began to speed up. We actually soared around it several times before it ascended to full speed, and that’s when the long journey began.

Part III

Reminiscences: Cruor Epulum Insula

(Note: Switch To Third Person)

The helicopter passed over Tokyo, and of course Max and Astralis were on a higher altitude, so the public wouldn’t sight them. The Sildar Shadows readied for any necessary battle. They had no idea what waited for them on this island. Murasame sat on the right side, his eyes closed, and his sword the Tokijin leaned against the empty seat space between Ebon and himself. Silken was sitting in the chair at the side of the large supply area. Immortal Eye had many helicopters; the one used for this journey was large and mainly used for supplies.

Murasame’s eyes shifted to Silken, who was moving his mouth and humming what seemed to be a song. Out of his coat pocket was a white cord that ran to his right ear. Being from a different time, he was puzzled by this modern device. Soon he dismissed the weirdness and moved his gaze to Julian, who was sitting in a chair in the middle of the supply compartment. The paranormal expert was looking at the fang in his grip with a look of contentment. Murasame spotted the familiar symbol on the tooth and stood up.
The young investigator looked up and saw Murasame in front of him, his hand extended towards him.

“May I see that, Julian?”

“No, you could damage it. Besides, you are only here for the muscle.”

Ebon opened his eyes, and although he was angry, his visage left no indication of that. Silken, however stood up angrily.

“Hey, I’m more than muscle, Jerk-off!”

“Do not raise your tone at me, boy.” Calling Silken a boy was somewhat accurate. The narcissitical 80-year-old vampire was older than Julian, but was far less mature, much like Bastian. As if on cue, the area around Silken’s heart burst into flames. Murasame noticed that the only thing that was destroyed was connected to the cord that had been lodged in the blood drinker’s ear, leaving only a singed wire hanging comically from the side of his head, an incinerated Mp3 player laying at his feet. A small, impish voice was heard around the sitting area. Julian’s shoulder began to glow as the imp took physical form. It was a different species than Max’s Konjiro; in fact that it had wings, and looked much more like a gargoyle.

“What the ****? I’m gonna kill you!” the vampire with pink hair said, reaching for his weapon. Before he could do anything, in a split-second, Murasame had the creature firmly grasped in his palm. The small demon tried it’s best to escape, and even covered itself in flames. The fire seemed strong enough to harm the warrior, but his accursed chain seemed unaffected, reflecting the attack back at its origin. Without warning, Mura opened his taut fist, crushing the being against the wall behind its master. It was like splattering a fly. Murasame’s blow was so powerful that it dented the thick metal fortification, making an imprint of cracks, covered by the gory remains of the casualty.
The lukewarm blood of the creature was a sort of sinister relief to the burned hand he now suffered.

With a look of slight alarm Julian looked backwards, to the damage Murasame did to his servant and the wall. The silent demon from times long past casually examined his injury, and no one but Miyoko, the newest of the Sildars, scampered over to him, offering noiselessly to examine his fresh malady. He declined, also without a word, but returned his focus to the astute, yet somehow overconfident professional.

“I know how important you are to this mission, but make another move like that on my team, and you’re dead.”

Silken snickered.

“Ahem.”

Everyone in the back of the copter glanced up in the direction of the pilot’s seat, where Beetchi was impatiently staring at all of them in particular, his small tinted glasses sliding over his nose.

“If you’re finished destroying Immortal Eye property, I thought you should know we’re here.”

He was right. Miyoko leaned out of the storage compartment’s open door, and saw a small island below. They were too high to see any real landmarks, except for the small tropical forest near the center, which appeared to have an odd, spherical green structure at its core. As they drew closer, she could now see that the puzzling thing was a cage-like formation of vines, which must have grown over an expanse of hundreds of years. She was startled during midthought by the leather flapping of draconic wings. Max, always one for a little fun, had frightened her on purpose as he passed by on his way to the island.

“Try to be a little more wary of your surroundings, Michii, lest I cut a chunk of your pay,” he joked. His reddish eyes, however, looked totally serious as he left the permutation of steel and human technology behind.

With his extremely powerful sight, Max was able to make out humanoid figures on the shore, but the odd thing was they weren’t moving. He indicated to Astralis that he wished to get there faster, and the wings of the dragon expanded to their full width, and the vampire was leaning forward with excitement, his fangs sliding down from his upper lip, his long hair being forced backward wildly because of the accelerated speed.




When they landed, Max knew something was wrong as soon as he set foot on the beach, gritty sand sticking in the grooves of his footwear. As he gave a brief scouting of the sandy area, he noted that there were no footprints at all, most likely because of the powerful gusts that were racing across the coast, quickly eroding any evidence that any man or beast ever made his mark here. He could also see that the things he had orginally mistaken for people were actually scarecrows. He drew closer just as the helicopter descended onto the shore. Upon closer inspection, he realized that his first calculation was more accurate. These were people, but they were dry. Dry, meaning they were devoid of all bodily fluid, nothing but mummified bodies reaching out towards the forest. The thoughts going through his head were confused.

Nothing but mummies…how did this happen?

Max suddenly had a terrible feling in his stomach, turning and shouting to the others.

“Don’t take another step!”

They reluctantly came to a halt, still several feet away from the corpses.

“Problem?”

“Yeah. I have a feeling that these guys just didn’t preserve themselves, you know?” Maximilian raced back over to the others as he said this.

“Murasame can handle this, and so can I.”

“You’re forgetting someone.”

“Thanks, Wilds. I forgot Augerey,” The vampire responded wittily.

“Very funny.”

“Well, anyway, I can tell by the strength of the auras present that Augerey can sustain only himself, so he can’t have a partner.”



As Max was talking, Astralis moved towards the group, folding his wings and waiting for them to find another use for him, if need be. As he lingered, something caught his eye. Four vague robed figures stood at the far shoreline, the one in the middle wearing red, his face too shadowed to make out. The rest of the group were wearing green, and the only thing visible about them was their long, reptilian snouts sticking out of their hoods.

Astralis tried to play off as if he hadn’t seen them. Using his psychic bond to Max, he warned him silently of the watchers in the distance. He also played off like he hadn’t received any warning.

“…So, yeah, Miyoko and Silken, you’re with Murasame. I’ll stick with Ebon and Beetchi, Augerey, for your safety, stay in the center of groups A and B. Got it?”

“It’s cool, man. Not like I need any help,” Beetchi replied, drawing his twin Uzis. He had a kevlar vest on, just like all of the other human participants of this investigation. The other members nodded, and the caravan of allies passed by the mummies, Silken pointlessly punching one as he walked by, the body literally crumbling from his blow.

Murasame moved near the front for a moment, whispering in Max’s ear.

“You saw them too, right?”

“Biding my time, Mura. Jus’ biding time.”

As they reached the end of the beach, the vampire standing at the front of the procession suddenly stopped. There was no need to explain to the others what was wrong this time. The robed creatures had returned, and this time they were blocking the travellers’ path. Astralis knowingly moved to the front, beside his rider.

“Is this your island?” Max asked, knowing this wasn’t true.

No answer. The tallest of the four drew a sword from the depths of his dark red attire, and Max knew at once he had seen it before, but where?

The blade was a dark blue, in the shape of a clock hand. The pommel of the blade bearing a clear, alexandrite stone, and the guard like a devil’s mouth, the teeth sticking out upwards, making the blade look like a silver tongue.

He suddenly had a recollection of where he had seen a robe similar to that before, and shouted at him.

“Giliak?”

“Try again, idiot.”

Murasame and the others were all startled as the voice that responded to the vampire sounded identical to his own. Max realized it too, and his fear was confirmed as the hood was moved back, revealing a face that was a mirror of his own, minus a few details. For a moment he truly thought Orion had returned, even though Max had destroyed every last bit of him.

“Maximus?”

“No. I am Maximilian!” These words rang a familiar bell. This was indeed Max's clone, who he deemed Maximus himself. However, Maximus could never accept he wasn't the true Max.

“How did you get Giliak’s sword?”

“Well, let’s just say he tripped, and my sword fell in his back.”

So, ‘Ximus had murdered the alchemist. Max felt no remorse in this news; in fact, it cheered him up a little. As he felt his spirits rise, he was enthralled to continue the conversation.

“So, you brought more of his kind here, I assume?”

While Max did the talking, Murasame walked up to Max’s side, Miyoko holding her teacher’s hand in slight fear as she stayed slightly behind him.

“After I slew their master, they didn’t have much choice but to follow me.”

“I assume you can here to fight me? Why?”

“You are but a pale shadow of who you represent.”

Having this said, ‘Ximus removed his robe to reveal crimson armor that was specifically tailored to his wiry frame. His gaunt face was inked with red markings over the bottom and top of his eyes, and his mouth was drawn back in a cruel snarl. Everyone drew their weapons, ready for a war. From behind his back, the wicked copy reached behind himself, pulling something long and terribly familiar out into the light. The original nightwalker had a sudden feeling of déjà vu.

A lance.

“A shadow? You were created from a part of me, not the other way around.”

Part IV


Reminiscences: Battlecry



A battlecry of shrill hate seared across the sandy gap between the two sides, declaring without words that this was not business, this was completely and totally personal. The assorted components of the vampire’s entourage drew their swords, hammers, guns, and staffs. Those without all of the aforementioned honed their mystic energies and prepared for a descent into something not so different from war. Max took a side-glance at the ronin with mismatched eyes as he skillfully readied his katana, the strange blade so utterly opaque. Murasame noticed his glance, nodding to him as the vampire’s sword materialized in his respective right palm. The sensation of fear was only of a tiny effect among them; only Miyoko, the newcomer, was understandably uneasy about this endeavor. Beetchi, ever the eccentric, pushed his bifocle-like glasses up with the tip of one of his Uzis, then sprinted mindlessly into battle.

“Uoorya!”

Max and the others of the first wave of fighters (Ebon, Beetchi, Murasame, and Miyoko) charged at the cloaked abominations of science, only two of the attacking fighters knowing exactly what created these fiends. Murasame stood in front of Miyoko, murmuring in a tone that only she could hear, halting possible distraction of his comrades, while at the same time educating his pupil efficiently. While giving her all sorts of useful tactics, he was also fighting, his katana moving like a rigid black serpent that was seeking to inject the venom of fatality upon these brutes. Murasame successfully brought first blood as his weapon found solace in the reptilian eye of one unfortunate lizard.

The eastern swordsman’s head turned quickly as he saw the furious power of an ancient hammer crush another enemy, causing the sand to indent heavily near Murasame’s feet. He made no attempt to apologize, and Murasame didn’t expect him to. He was doing his job, and damn good. The darkskinned man quietly lifted his huge weapon over his head, balancing its sheer weight on one shoulder, while sprinting to another reptile. As he began to wield it once more, the watcher shifted his two opposing eyes at another fighter.

Beetchi’s brief but somehow comical cries made their way to his ears with promptness; the warrior slightly shook his head as he saw the gunman trying to hold a scaly monster in a headlock from behind. His weak human frame didn’t seem capable of such a feat, but the samurai was surprised by his prowess. His demonic eye focused on the battle with almost salacious glee that went unnoticed by its bearer.


After a while of struggling, Beetchi’s pinky fingers pressed in tiny switches on the grips as his arms were entwined around the beast’s neck. A sharp click resounded as tiny hidden blades attached to thin wire fell out of the weapons. The blades magnetically connected in front of the large beast’s neck, and Beetchi continued holding his weapons, but pushed his body back. With a slice and a meaty thud, the green head of the hideous creature fell to the sand, pouring tainted blood. With another click and a whirr, the tiny, piano-wired magnetic knives returned to their tiny compartments, and he unleashed fire on a new target.

Max, on the other hand, was having a much harder time with his opponent, because it appeared that neither could strike the other. They were locked in a series of remarkably well-taught evasionary counters that were intermingled with periods of trash talking. More words were spoken than blades met, and it was gnawing at Max’s nerves.

“Ah, how I relish the kill,” murmured the doppelganger under his breath.

The two who both bore faded red eyes spiraled together violently over the other combatants in a double helix, wielding swords in extremely similar stances. The clone, ‘Ximus, just wouldn’t shut up. His contemptuous grimace gave Max all the reason he wanted to destroy this guy; after all, he must have murdered over thousands of people for the same reasons he once found valid; this was unacceptable. ‘Ximus seemed to read his thoughts.

“You remember Tommy, the Town Crier? Turns out they had to replace him. It was so sad how his mother cried after she found him. It was even more unfortunate that she was found swaying from a limb the next day…wouldn’t you say? Awful stuff. Suicide, I mean.”

Now Max was very sure that Ximus had either found a way to forge a telepathic link with him, or maybe he knew Max’s thought-patterns.

“I will take pleasure in ending your life, freak. Wearing my face around doesn’t exactly help your case.”

“Likewise, my disgusting shadow. Ruining the life of a vampire who’s lost his way makes me just wanna…snack on something. Baby, anyone?”

That tore it. Trash-talking was one thing, but cracking horrid inside jokes like that... Before he could think, his nails dug into ‘Ximus’s right cheek, which wrought several streams of fresh crimson. In a flash, the doppelganger was behind him, swinging his lance, which was barbed with silver. A touch of it’s glimmerng tip would mean immense pain. The rather well-off genetically altered of the two gripped part of the shaft, using it as a lever to fling his opponent at the dirt below.

The masterless assassin landed between Murasame and a scaly beast, narrowly avoiding the onyx blade of the demonic swordsman as he had sought to destroy the creature now behind the vampire. Before the devil with the red eye could inflict pain on this new hazard, Beetchi had spotted him first. Bullets whistled through the air, in hunt for the heart of the callous killer. They were misled, for as soon as they neared his chest, Maximus flickered out of existence; for a brief second his eyes seemed to remain.

Within those red irises, envy, hate, murder and many other sins were authority. They danced within the man in crimson, amusing him with a seductive hypnosis.Beetchi recognized this and remained calm, turning as the eyes faded completely from sight. The figure he had attacked before materialized quickly, and Beetchi held the triggers once more, bullets flowing relentlessly from the cold things in his hands.

He’s toying with me.

Heat blew the gunman’s hair back as his guns exploded in searing red flares. ‘Ximus formed behind him, bringing down his sword with fierce wrath. In the hysteria of the battle, it was remarkably lucky that Max was able to spot his clone amongst the other fighters, because it would have been the end of Beetchi if he hadn’t knocked the blade from the warrior’s hand with his own metal. Now, the time of decision had come. Would the murderer surrender?

The answer, of course, was no. The vampire replica sank into Max’s shadow, sliding into it like a cavernous depression. Max stabbed that section of earth with malice, his breath hurried. It was useless; the vampire was no longer there.

The voice of Maximus bodilessly moved around Maximilian, taunting him. Max’s frame exploded with vampiric energy in a sudden movement, and the voice shrieked as it corkscrewed into the forest nearby.

“Did you say you were here to cleanse me? A redeemer I need not, and have one I shan’t!”

There was little noise other than this shout as the twin descended into the rough shrubbery of the forest. Small creatures like dragonflies and snakes hustled about the human leech, and he searched urgently for something to use to his benefit. Sadly for him, it seemed that the forest was bare of weaponry.


“Damn it all! There has to be something I can use to destroy that sniveling mosquito with! After all, that old man said something about a totem…”


Crickets chirruped behind the figure, perhaps discussing how stupid he was, actually believing that old man was sane enough to know anything. He had a chicken’s feathers in his hair, and he wore a pair of spectacles—upside down. Yes, completely trustworthy. Living in that stupid cave should have given the nut away when they first met.


The clone’s foot bumped something, and he was annoyed at first, but after he realized what he had hit, he grinned. It seemed the coot wasn’t so crazy after all. The totem was made of stone, and apparently, hadn’t been in much use. He brushed the grass and vines away from it, stroking it as if payment for the effort it was now entreated to carry out. He gripped the two handles on both sides of it, and a crystalline gem emerged through the top of rock. He twisted it as he was instructed, and there was a slow trembling beneath the vampire’s feet that slowly turned brutal. Mechanically, the totem rose high into the air, peering down at the warriors as they struggled for their lives. That was when everything started to die.

First, it was just the trees. The dragon astralis took notice as it soared, the beautiful green foliage rotting away almost instantaneously. It was a wave of death, and it would continue to spread until every single combatant was nothing more than ash; except for ‘Ximus, that was. Max knew there was no escape, and he faced his end with utmost bravery; the others did the same. He was proud of all of them, and glad they were here with him, even if it was all over.

The veil was encroaching, and both Murasame and Max could feel the pain in their skin, in their eyes, in their hearts. It was as if a vicious vacuum of infinite size pulled from the direction of the thorned sphere. They resisted with all the strength they possessed, and when they did, their pores started to erupt. Max looked and saw Murasame’s pores expand, and miniscule droplets poured from his face like slanting precipitation. Max was then clouded as the same painful act began to commence upon himself. Horrified, he swept the blood from his eyes with hands that were also leaking blood, to see a familiar shape descending.

There was a sound of flapping wings as Astralis bulleted past the others, into the veil of disintegration. Max didn’t have the voice to cry out, but he wanted to. The dragon’s body horribly began to desiccate as it flew towards the totem, charging flames within his mouth. His mount, no, his friend was dying. Max tried to soar after him, but Murasame and Ebon put their iron grip on him, restricting him as death became nearer and nearer, all the while killing the wise dragon. There was a final draconic howl as the beloved monster released a blinding sphere of energy from it’s mouth, annihilating the fatal totem, and leaving it’s abuser bewildered. The dragon gruesomely crashed amongst the sands, it’s mission complete. The unholy yet saddened being kneeled in the direction of the noble behemoth, his eyes barely visible through a facial distortion of pain. There was silence then.

Only after ten minutes did Max arise, and with new ferocity in his heart. The ghostly purple sword appearing upon his need, he turned and saw the wretched construct sneering back at him, dark mirth resonating from his soul. Max felt a numbness overtake him, the loss and despair of Astralis’s death sculpting his visage with impressions of sheer madness. It was then that the doppleganger began to fear for himself. Despite this, he tried to appear in control and took a stance, putting hubris before safety.

Max’s sword moved with the guile of a windstorm, repeatedly knocking backward the blue sword and the wielder in the process. Murasame and the others watched, their foes all defeated. Ebon gripped a bleeding arm, and Beetchi nursed a gash in his thigh, a spray of red contrasting wetly with the faded denim of his pants. Miyoko was perfectly okay, esspecially with Murasame standing by her protectively. It was all between them now.


There, drawing nearer and nearer to the sphere of thorned vines, were the reigning champ and the challenger, two forms racing in the uncanny darkness that was now seeming to consume the sky. In the air they chose to spar; fist to blade, blade to blade, et cetera. Those were their terms. At the time when a move mortals refer to as a so-called killing stroke was performed, droplets of blood came down like the sprinkle of rain. Like earlier, the blood globules did not simply obey gravity; they froze in mid drop and flew into the thorn cage, where everything seemed to lead. This was why Max was leading his nemesis astray. He wanted to figure this out.

When Maximus finally was right behind the odd formation of vines, Maximilian thrusted his blade at his enemy, who in retaliation held up his own sword. They struggled to overpower each other for a brief moment, until the true Max flipped backward and made a stroke intended to be the final. He didn’t realize until it was too late that the clone had dodged, and Max felt the clone’s brutal foot as he collided with the cage of barbed vines, which drew him in with sinister tangles. The thorns hurt, and horribly so, but Max resisted the agony, including the scream growing inside of his stomach.

The creepers were incredibly thick, and the ones broken by his entry oozed with red sap. Max recognized the smell of the syrupy goo, and knew these weren’t exactly the kind you could buy in the store. yuk, yuk, laugh it up, pal. These plants were vampiric; just like Ximus, just like Sol, and just like himself. They were feeding off of him right now, oh, what a surprise! A vampire god with gardening skills!

It occurred to Max how ironic it was to make fun of something like this, where at the current point, his life was kinda, sorta depending on it. He struggled against the vines, and was eventually able to pry the leeching spikes from his pale stomach, but he had to soar upward to keep the entangling plants from snacking on him further.

Through the wicked greenery, in a particular gap, Maximus leered, his tattooed face seeming all the more tribal amongst the thorny tendrils.

“So, I see you’re making friends with the flora…” Before he could finish, the vines constricted his neck, digging the vicious barbs into his throat. He shrieked, trying to free himself, but to no avail. Max hovered in the center of the green confines, grinning as the monster started to receive his just desserts.

There was a flare of light in the clone’s hand. Fire. It glowed mockingly, and crawled onto the vines, setting them almost instantly on fire.

“RELEASE ME!”


Max remained calm. He was far from trapped. Opening his mouth, he released a gust of autumn wind that his ring bestowed him, blowing out the flames on one particular spot. He soared through that opening, and landed a short distance away, hoping that the doppelganger couldn’t get free.


Suddenly, the vampire’s face and arms reached out of the inferno, but the fiery tendrils dragged him back into the fire, his screams muffled by the magnitude of the roaring conflagration.

Part V

Reminiscences: Enter Obscurity


The fire served as warmth for the night. Miyoko, when taking in the heat of the flames, nearly vomited when her thoughts wandered to the carcass incinerating within; skin tearing away like thin paper, eyes melting like globes of marshmallow into the blackened sockets. She dreamed about Maximus that night, his charred skeletal fingers passing through the flames to embrace her throat with pointed tips…but, as all dreams do, it faded from her mind soon after waking.

The vines were no longer a problem. During the night, the last of the blood-creepers (that’s what Max thought of them as) had collapsed, smoldering into a large hill of ash tinged with red. No one, especially Max, had to ask why. Their next destination was already clear: The vines had been concealing a cavern entrance, which was the only one into the small mountain they had seen since arriving here. They knew it was the solitary access point because Ebon and Beetchi had already volunteered to investigate before the others had awakened.

Murasame had been the third to awaken, and had thusly shaken Max conscious, motioning wordlessly to the remains of the vines and then to the cave opening. Nodding, the vampire sighed, then brushed the sand from his black jeans. After Silken finished the process of “beauty sleep,” and Julian and Miyoko were revived, they all sat in a circle.

“So,” Maximilian whispered, “He’s dead. Now, we can venture further. If any of you decides it’s too risky, especially the rookie; I understand that…you can go back. I won’t take it out of your pay.” Silken immediately stood up, and starting marching towards the helicopter. Ebon caught the back of the pink-haired vampire’s shirt with one hand. There was a brief pause after this, and then Silken sat back down.

Five minutes later, Beetchi was carrying two new pieces of artillery he found earlier in the copter’s storage. There was an AK strapped to his back, and a grenade launcher was clenched firmly in his bandaged fingers. The medical supplies he utilized to dress the burns on his hands were also in the vehicle, and he brought them out for everyone to use. No one else was really hurt, but being cautious is always wise. Julian was the one who was chosen to carry the case of supplies, since he was the only one minus a weapon.

When they were all prepared, it only took twelve steps before Miyoko screamed. Fingers, bony fingers tunneled out of the ashes, and with an exertion of pure force, the ash-coated form of Maximus glared at all of them. He wasn’t to the point of a carcass, like Miyoko imagined, but he was very scorched. His face was gaunt and contorted, and thorns jutted out of miscellaneous places on his flesh, freeing small dribbles of dark red that ran down his almost bare body. His clothing was so singed that it was falling apart. The fabric of his pants was all that remained, and that was simply because they were made of dried Rep’tal hide. Around him, now that the ash was brushed aside from his emergence, the skin of Ximus’s minions lay at his feet, not as providential as their master.

Maximilian was feeling unwell, and furthermore weary of this swine. He had nearly killed them all, and Astralis- Astralis was dead due to this imitation’s pathetic psychological disorder. Only now did his mind come to terms with this repressed grief, and it was boiling within him as wrath. Max’s teeth gnashed together, his fangs drawing blood from his gums.

“Well…why don’t you look happy to see me?”

Murasame, thorough as possible, decided that the clone had dug his way into the sand while the flames licked at his back, then managed to maintain himself on the fumes that came from the horrible plants. It must have taken a lot of strength, and now he was no match for Max. The samurai quietly watched as the final battle between the two commenced.

Max lunged at his clone, and was retaliated by the outstretched claws of his foe. Darting to the side, he struck the vampire with a roundhouse kick to the head, making him reel. Shrieking, Maximus clawed at his enemy, but Max was in control. His feet collided with Maximus enough times to kill even the toughest warrior, but the vampire managed to stand up everytime he was dealt a blow. Eventually, Maximus and Maximilian were both snarling and slashing at each other viciously.

When Maximus knew he was about to lose, he leaped backwards as if gravity was alien to him, right before the cave entrance. As Maximilian climbed to his feet, he noticed something sharp dig into his arm. Bones. Crushed armor. This was a place of fallen heroes. Quickly excavating through the junk, Max found exactly what he hoped for. If a vampire god were worshipped here, a warrior attacking this place would use a silver sword, correct? Jackpot. A sheathed sword lay beside one unsheathed, and the sick, acidic smell Max knew to be silver was suffocating him.

Despite the dangers, he gripped both shortswords and held them where someone couldn’t see them from the front. Maximus, who was still in a daze from all of the kicks delivered to his skull, glared hatefully at the others. That was when Max rushed the vampire, assaulting him with more kicks, but slower this time. Easily blocking the strikes, Maximus unwarily moved backward, towards the wall of the cave, just as Max planned. When he was merely inches away, Max growled and squarely kicked the vampire in the chest, his back cracking against the sharp rock. Fiercely, Maximilian Juven spun the handles in his hands to correct their direction, and then drove one into the clone’s left shoulder. The next penetrated his right shoulder. Each time there was a resounding snap as the silver blades dug into the rock on Maximus’s other side.

“You…should know to aim for the heart, filth.”

Max’s eyes venomously locked with his. Livid as they were crimson, his eyes were those of a man deciding whether or not to stoop to a familiar, yet controlled low.

“I didn’t intend to kill you...quickly. I want you to bleed out.”

“Hah…vampires are not defeated by common knives …” That was when the reddish smoke began to issue from the swords embedded in his flesh, the traditional sign of silver temporarily destroying the regenerative properties a vampire’s body holds. Blood began to pour from the wounds more profusely now. Maximus moaned, but he was too weak to break free.

Part VI

Reminiscences: Jealousy

A cloud of pink accumulated around the dying assassin. It was a combination of both his blood, and the sand that the organs of the vampire were becoming. The silver was working tremendously well. Maximus was beginning to look grayer by the moment, his veins turning black. Blood poured out of every orifice on his body. Through the growing haze of light color, he stared vehemently at his foe, the one who thought he himself was the original. Giliak had told him the same, but why should he believe him? After all, to Giliak, he was nothing more than a tool. That was why he killed him. Spitting up a chunk of flesh, he managed a few words.

"Hyagh..Impostor...Truth evades you..."

Maximilian watched the deteriorating villain with indifference. Deep down, even though he wouldn't admit it, he was enjoying this. This was exactly what the assassin deserved. Also, he was aware it was what he deserved...No, that wasn't true. He had lost both of his children twice, that was more than enough punishment. He had also put away his past of such evils. But, as for things that were eternally remorseless in their kill, they had to be silenced once and for all. After all, what was Maximus, with all of the flesh and bone aside? He was crafted by evil. His soul was nothing more than a construct, just like the things who had posed as his children so long ago.

Ignoring the tortured being before him, he moved his mind to the others who had came here to escort him. They had obviously left him alone to his duty, and for that he was grateful. No one should see this. No one, that is, besides the one whose reckless desire for power had created.

"...So, you are a scientist?" Max casually asked, his red eyes aglow. A figure with red hair looked back at him, looking rather effeminate for a male.

"I am. What brings you here?" He inquired in return, with green eyes that seemed to ooze with mindless mirth.

"Well, can you augment...people?"

"I'll see what I can do."

That night, when all was quiet and Maximilian's body floated dreamily inside of the stasis chamber, the red-haired one stood before a hooded creature with white pinpoints for eyes and a long, scaly maw.

"....Yesss...so you have it." The hooded beast took a vial of red from the fingers of the scientist, and walked out the back door. When the tall beast was out of sight, the man with red hair placed his hands on the glass of the chamber, and began to smile.

That vial was a portion of Max's blood, and using dark arts, a replica was created, and given a wretched soul from the depths of Hell. Since it had drank from the river Lethe, it no longer remembered it's original life, but it retained it's dark feelings unto rebirth.

Max returned his gaze to his clone, and saw that he was less alive than dead, his bones only covered by brief pieces of flesh. The swords were now fully visible, all the way through Maximus's ribcage into the stone. With his one remaining eye, the dying vampire fixed his gaze on who he had been jealous of as long as he could remember, and opened his mouth. His jaw barely attached, he was able to wheeze his last words.

"Forgive...your brother, Abel."

Max wasn't Abel, as far as he was concerned. The name was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. It was something he read in a book, though. Suddenly, awakening his thoughts, a gust of wind began taking the remains of his dead copy. Without thinking, Max reached forward, and plucked the eye from the skull's open socket. When he felt it in his closed palm, it was sticky and warm, but when he opened his hand, it was made of gray stone. He placed it in his pocket, along with the tooth he had found at the novelty shop, in the hag's box.

Ten minutes later, Max was back at the helicopter, and sure enough, they were waiting there. After he gave the command, they were once again at the mouth of the cave. Beetchi's hands were bandaged, his AK-47 was armed, and his lips were set in a brave smile. Ebon, brooding as ever, held his giant hammer over his shoulder, waiting for the word to go inside. Besides that, he was dead to the world. Miyoko, who was as shy as ever, stood behind Murasame's strong shoulder. The vain vampire with pink hair was as restless as ever, standing beside the prophetic Mr. Augurey. When they all entered, Max illuminated his finger with his photokinetic skill, and the true exploration began.

Part VII

Reminiscences: Lifeguard

Taking their first few steps into that darkness was most perilous on the mind; any manner of unknown terror is easily conceivable in the dark. The entrance led into a cramped, rugged passage that took them at a downward angle. When the crew was about to get tired of this, the path ended at a bridge. Below that bridge was the the deepest-looking chasm Max had ever seen. Far above them, the ceiling was a mystery of curves and lines. The bridge, however, was made of hundreds of square sections of stone that were held together by some kind of rope. Max kneeled to examine it, and a tendril whipped at his face, almost drawing blood with a long thorn. It was another blood plant. The vines were holding up this stone walkway, which bended about halfway across and then curved back upwards as it trailed into the unseen.

Max, determined as ever, thought first of flying over the bridge, but quickly remembered he couldn't leave the mortals of the group behind. Beetchi was looking at the footing with extreme distrust, especially after seeing Max recoil from trying to touch the rope.

"We will cross," Max announced, his voice echoing loudly, perhaps alerting whatever demons that might have been sleeping in this godforsaken place.

"Are you sure?" Julian seemed a little surprised at this. Surely Max knew the odds of the bridge not holding?

"Yes, I'm sure." Without another word, Max confidently strided onto the bridge, his lit finger the only thing keeping his comrades focused on him. The bridge felt sturdy, and there was naught a creak or a snap as he traversed the stone tiles. The others soon followed, and all eyes were on the vampire and the light coming from his hand. They were moving, and everything was going fine, that is, until one fell.

Miyoko Michii, Murasame's newest inductee into the Sildar Shadows, was nervous. Her mind had been telling her since entering this place, that she should leave. Now, a black voice, with harsh tenor and a mind-wracking echo, was telling her horrible things. She felt her stomach turn, and she placed a hand upon it, her lips trembling. She tried to say something to Murasame, but in the boom of the nameless voice inside her head, she felt it to be futile.

Murasame was starting to get a wretched feeling as well, and had his hand rested on the handle of his sword, ready to slash at the slightest sight of evil. He noticed how deep the silence behind him was, and turned. Miyoko was gone. He drew he weapon, and thrusted his head downward. He saw the last bit of something slipping into the vast darkness. His face contorted, he leaped off of the stone, falling slowly.

The gravity seems to be very weak here...are we nearing a tear in the fabric of reality?

With sword in one hand, he floated headfirst into the darkness, but he didn't see Miyoko at all.
He clenched his teeth together, and strained his demonic eye. Suddenly, all of his vision was a bright red, and he could see through the dark much easier. He once again hunted for the girl he had trained for months now, and finally caught her image, but it was barely visible now, as a bright orange took up most of his eye. Had he been looking with his regular eye, he would have seen a massive pool of black, and had he been looking with light at his side, he would have seen red. It was an ocean of blood, and she wasn't far from being submerged.

Even though he couldn't see the liquid perfectly, Murasame had a keen sense of smell. This pit
reeked of battle, and a savage one indeed. How this much blood could accumulate and not dry up was anyone's guess, but he wasn't going to worry about that. he had to save Miyoko. He held his weapon against his chest, the blade pointing in the direction of his legs. He focused, and a blast of demonic energy propelled him at Miyoko.

While Murasame was quickly pursuing his student, the blood was pondering whether to kill them both or just take the girl. Right below the crimson surface, skeletal shapes danced with malefic glee, their jaws snapping together in wild discord. Just as Murasame put his arms around Michii, a bony arm dug into his arm, and jerked him down. He coughed and spat the salty fluid out as quickly as he could, but the blood itself seemed to pull him deeper. He swung his sword at the skeletal hand, but even as he slashed it in half an entire skeleton wrapped around his waist. He jerked away from it, but it was useless.

Never willing to give up, Murasame focused on the arctic ring in his armor, and a platform of thick, bloody ice formed just beneath his feet, a raft in this sea of chaos. The skeleton who was gripping him was no more than a torso, and Murasame tore it off, hurling it back into the red. He sat Miyoko down for a moment, and looked upwards for the bridge. It was gone. Not panicking even then, the samurai kneeled and gave his apprentice a lookover. She wasn't hurt, just very wet, and unconscious.

Before he could ponder what to do next, there was a sudden bubbling beneath him that shook his footing, almost causing him to slip.

OoC: Thanks, LEA. That means a lot to me. Here's part eight. ^_^


Part VIII

Reminiscences: High Tide

The conscious of the two figures adrift on the conjured iceberg scratched the back of his neck. He did this as his hauntingly bright demon eye kept it's gaze on the bubbling patch of blood like a small spotlight. Although, considering it was red, it would have had more of stage-light impression on anyone who might be watching him at the moment. Anyone...excluding the living. The skeletal creatures who had tried to make off with Miyoko had been notably weak, but the swordsman knew by simple logic that whatever bodies they once been had not generated ALL of this blood. There were thousands, maybe millions of dead here. Perhaps even more. He didn't know how big this lake was.... and he hoped he never did. His hand moved to the smooth handle of his obsidian-bladed katana as the boiling area became even more violent in it's strange movement. Focusing his crimson eye as strongly as he could, he peered through the bubbles as though they were merely shallow water to see...


Nothing. There was no solid form of a demon in the blood, no skeletal wretch cackling horrendously under the surface, or even a Rep'tal in the horrific depths.


Now very confused and a little annoyed, Murasame unsheathed his weapon and aimed it at the frothing scarlet gore. A bolt of electrically shaded reddish-pink light tore into the fluid, but instead of parting the "sea" like it should have, it disappointingly ceased shortly after hitting the surface.

"Damn it all!" Murasame roughly exclaimed. This couldn't possibly be human blood; it was too resistant to his attacks to be of that chemical makeup. Swiftly, as if the fluid were alive and heard his thoughts, Murasame's life-saving little chunk of ice stabilized somehow. The samurai had gone on a few fishing trips as a youth, and he remembered waking up and finding his boat had washed up on the riverbank. This is what that felt like. Cautiously, the samurai stuck his blade downward, and there was a rough scraping noise as the obsidian-infused steel ran across what now appeared to be a solid red floor. After testing it a few more times, the warrior draped the weakened Miyoko over his shoulder.

It took Mura a while to realize that only the surface of the blood was solid. Beneath it, he could hear the creepy sounds of the fluid rippling and moving beneath him. He discovered this, thankfully, AFTER he had gotten off of the iceberg, because when he looked back, the frosty rectangular shape exploded upwards like a champagne cork, letting a hemmorhage of blood spew into the air. Miyoko was just awaking at this point, and her small eyes bulged with disbelief as the pillar dispersed into several humanoid shapes. On each creature, which were all made mostly of dried gore, were hideous skulls with large portions of bone missing from their mouths, foreheads, jaws, etc. and their teeth were bunched tightly together like needles. Gnashing their hideous fangs, the beasts lunged forward, in the direction of the two infidels. The samurai, ever prepared for battle, flung his sword around him, and with a mystic hand gesture, it grew in length, wrapping around him three times before pulling tightly to him, securing Miyoko against his back before firmly letting the handle of the sword return to his hand.

The creatures, golems as they were, were incredibly fast. The first of the four was sprinting in a grotesquely human mimicry, the second was approaching on all fours, the third appeared to be leaping, and the last was...the last was-

The solid layer of blood shattered like glass beneath the swordsman's feet as lucky number four tried to use stealth to do him in. He had dove into the opening from which he had sprang a moment before in an admittedly clever attempt, but in the end it was just that: an attempt. Murasame's swordplay was immaculate as his blade tore through the skull of the beast, which crumbled pitfully to white powder as it's body melted back into the wet source from which it sprang. Rising in a graceful jump as he slashed his black weapon, the half-demon landed on the stable surface, his unblinking ruby eye never moving away from the oncoming threat. What happened next was so remarkably fast, it defied logic.

Gently, Miyoko fell onto the translucent scarlet. Murasame hurled his katana, the chain unfurling from his arm as it plunged with amazing alacrity through the chest of the golem Murasame had come to think of as the running man. After the blade was glimmering from the other side of the creature, the samurai aimed one hand at the creature as it's body swung to the right in a violent arc; the Tokijin was pulling it. Within the cracked surface of Murasame's bone armor, there was a faint glow as the ring of winter activated upon his will, and a stream of bluish-white light streamed through his hand. The beam transformed into a spike as it lengthened, and the head of the leaping golem was shattered in midair. The golem at the mercy of the Tokijin, however, was finished in a wholly different matter. The speed of the blade (which Murasame had been at the mercy of, personally) was immense, and there was a sound like a whistle coming from the golem's skeletal mouth as it was spun around the passive samurai, who was simply waiting for the sword to finish. Eventually there was a hideous screeching noise as the monster was dragged on the sleek surface, shards of his weak dry body falling off as the velocity continued to elevate. It started to drive Murasame insane.

"FINISH HIM!" There was a wicked hiss from the blade in reply, but it obliged him his wish. There was a squeal like metal on rock as the blade tore free of the body in perfect form, and the weak monster hit the "floor" with a crunch before it was engulfed in a shroud of demonic fire the sword had no doubt manifested into it while it was being swung.

"Now..." Looking down, the samurai took instant notice of Miyoko, who was awake. She gently rose to her feet, and reached behind her back. After drawing her katanas she tightened her gently shaped face and peered off into the darkness.

"I heard a voice, and that's why I fell." Miyoko's first words since they arrived. Although what she said made little sense to one unfamiliar with the forces of wickedness, not much did make sense here. Nodding to her, as if saying he understood, Murasame pointed his weapon upwards. She acknowledged what he meant to say half a second after the gesture was made, and began to back up, then kneeled, folding a knee near her face and putting one hand firmly in front of her, on floor of blood. In a short period of time, Mursame was beside her in the exact same position.

"HAH!" The run began as soon as this harsh syllable escaped the warrior's lips. They ran side by side, the pupil holding her blades behind her like bird wings and the sensei gripping his steel with both hands on his right side. As the two accelerated, they strangely felt little fatigue. Actually, they felt lighter. The samurai was walking on clouds, it felt like. Before the two even made their jump, which would have assuredly taken them back to the bridge, Miyoko could practically taste the motion-sickness that would accompany her slow-motion aerial flight. They rose to the sky like angels, or astronauts in a zero gravity zone. Their clothes flapped noisily as they scaled the infinitely black space, anticipating fiercely that a familiar landform would appear.

OoC: Behold, the ending to this particular Blood Memoir tale. Finally. It must be Armageddon.

Part IX


Reminiscences: Blood and Water


BiC: All hope was but lost. Not a single piece of solid land bridge materialized out of the dark abyss, even as Murasame and his young apprentice reached the apex of their ascent. Miyoko barked a harsh sigh of anguish, causing Murasame to jerk his head in her direction. She was exhausted, and her dreams of escape were left as hollow as the massive cave they were entombed in, like the Pharaoh Kings of olden times and their giant pyramids. Murasame couldn't accept this. Well, it wasn't as much himself as it was his demon eye, which pulsated madly in irritation. The samurai of a time long past had not realized the full extent of the infernal orb's displeasure, but he would know soon enough. The revelation came with the rush of the chain around his arm uncoiling as his sword made a mad lunge to escape the caves of whatever Maximilian had brought them for.

Ironic enough, they had nearly perished several times in aid of the vampire, but he had yet to reveal why they were even here. He was sure that scum Augurey knew what this was about, and Murasame was almost hurt to think his good friend, who he had saved and been saved by on numerous occasions in Nexus, wasn't telling him everything. He made a mental note as his hand tightly clutched Miyoko's during the Tokijin's berserker action, which was all too common to it's wielder.

They moved at a much faster speed this time, as they were leaving the place where the world itself was not twisted into disarray; they were a mile above that now, and accelerating still. Murasame clenched his teeth together in a grim smile as he heard Miyoko's rations she had eaten on the helicopter spray down into the shadows. Almost childishly, Murasame wished for the vomit to drench one of those hideous, gory creatures from before, then returned his focus to his soaring sword. The steely chain was holding, as anticipated. With all of the factors now dealt, by whatever force commanded the sword, they were going to escape.

**

The small, rough sound of tumbling rubble was barely audible as the voice of one worried group of explorers called out into the darkness.

“Murasame?”

“Miyoko?”

These loud cries were repeated over and over, but gained nothing in return for the slightly concerned tenors of the individuals. Ebon didn’t mutter so much as one word, he simply stood there, as grave as the rocks at his feet, with his gigantic hammer tucked under the base of his elbow. Obviously, he didn’t think another screaming idiot was necessary. He leaned against a cave wall by himself, and to his left, a vampire and a human started to fuss.

“Augerey, I don’t care if we are meant to go to the darkest corners of Hell, I’m not leaving my best friend behind!”

“I know you don’t intend to leave him behind, but we can always come back for him. After all, he did separate from us, correct? It’s not our fault he took off. I’m telling you, there’s something vital in this cave. My sixth sense is nearly going off the scale.”

“I said, I don’t care. We’re either going back to find them, or we’re waiting here.”

“…As you wish,” The psychic finished abruptly, and turned his head away from Maximilian, as though he could no longer stand to look upon him. The vampire paid him no attention as he pouted, and altered his focus. Silken was walking in his direction, and he seemed like he knew something. His long pink hair looked nearly gray in the murkiness. In his right hand was his long spear, styled with a blade on one end, and the other, a mirror. Vanity was truly his weakness.

“Max, Iwata already started back. He says he’ll go to find them himself.”

“This is ridiculous. How many groups will we be separated into before this is over? I’m going to end this right now…Everyone. Stay. Here.”

This was followed by three salutes from the remaining officers, and a universal shout of “Yes sir!” Max smiled at the uniformity of it all, and crossed his arms. With a stuttering rush, he disintegrated into a congregation of shrieking bats that fluttered off into the darkness.

“I could do that,” Silken muttered gloomily.

**

The bats which Maximilian had become possessed separate bodies, but their minds were one. Much like a fly, the vampire was receiving information from many tiny sounds at once, instead of eyes. It didn’t take long. Beetchi was only about one hundred and twelve yards from where the remainders of the original group were patiently waiting. An Uzi in each hand, he was ready if hostility was involved. In fact, he had nearly shot at Max when he had skittered down in the form of the winged mammals. Thankfully, he only fired once, and the creatures had separated smoothly to avoid the automatic hail of lead.

“You and I should find them together, you know. Don’t just take off like that, man.” Max patted his reliable comrade on the shoulder, and smiled, not regretting choosing officers of which he shared familiarity.

After a long while of trekking, the two were back at the thing which they had passed somewhere prior to losing Murasame and Miyoko. The bridge. It looked as treacherous as it ever did, suspended feebly over a gaping, seemingly infinite chasm.

“You don’t think…” Max started, his face tight with unease. If they had fallen down there, he doubted they had much of a chance to survive, despite his typical faith in the samurai’s knack for subsistence.

Crick….Scritch… Sounds from a distance suddenly caught Max’s keen ears, and he gripped Beetchi strongly before lunging over the dark pit, his supernatural flying abilities taking wing.

“What?! You hear something?!”

Max didn’t answer just yet. Quickly, he screeched as loudly as he could, at least partially becoming a flock of bats again, and nearly dropping Beetchi, who cried out in protest. After making the noise, he took full vampire form again, and listened intently for the noise to return. As it approached, he performed the incomplete transformation once more, this time hurling Beetchi a few feet in the air to prevent him from falling. When the sound fully reached his large, black, and pointed ears, he knew exactly where to go. The sound had come back perfectly everywhere in the cave, except at four places: the two doors on either side of the the massive room, the chasm below, and a certain spot where the irregularity was actually in motion. This was obviously who they were looking for.

Catching Beetchi, who was at this point very shocked and perturbed by his friend’s actions, Max kept his mind on the place where his echolocation had pointed him.

**

As the sword’s wild burst of energy came to an end, instead of prasing it, Murasame was cursing the very existence of the damn thing. They weren’t back at the bridge at all. They were at another entrance in the same room, and it was sealed off by a stone wall. But that didn’t matter, because they STILL weren’t back with the group, and since Murasame couldn’t really fly, there was no logical way that one of his powerful jumps would reach the destination they wanted. Plus, he wasn’t going to risk being stuck with those golem creatures again. He would rather die here.


Miyoko still wasn’t looking very well. The skin under her eyes was puffy, and she looked as sleepy as ever. It was possible she contracted a disease from the blood, and that made the situation look all the more grim. Calmly, the samurai kneeled beside her.

“Are you feeling alright, Miyoko?”

She looked back at him with those swollen circles beneath her eyes and released a sad breath before nodding, even though they both knew she was lying by saying she felt alright.

“Well, I’m not about to let us rot down here, you can bet your swords on that. Just...give me a moment to—“

“…Figure this out, Miyoko? Formulate a plan?”

Murasame’s eyes went wide with surprise upon hearing Max’s voice, and when he turned around, there he was, looking strange, yet smug, as usual. Beetchi was standing to Maximilian’s left, but he appeared rather rattled, his eyes darting left and right and his hair in a windblown mess.

“We were looking for the restrooms. You think you guys can point us in the right direction?” Miyoko asked as seriously as she could, and that brought on a loud bout of laughter from all of them, laughter that reverberated off of the solid walls and faded into a cold whisper.

**

“…Should we go after them?”

A loud crack resonated.

“OW! Ebon, you jackass!”

**

As Murasame and Beetchi sat on each side of Miyoko, Max was standing up, peering at the strange wall that blocked the path to whatever lie ahead. It was carved intricately, probably with some sort of primitive knife. No small feat, not at all. Max doubted this was crafted by a single being, man or beast. Drawing back his hand and scrunching it into a fist, he concentrated the strange, morbid powers locked within him, and punched.

The effect was immediate and deafening. The stone splintered into gray shards, which for the most part flew backwards, into whatever room the door had been hiding. Gazing through dust, Maximilian’s ruby eyes assessed the situation. When he turned to call the others, a perplexed expression dominated his face.

The ground in this passage was paved with cobblestones, each as shiny enough to be mistaken for a metal, and ended at a massive spiderweb. The four were exceedingly cautious as they walked, being sure not to set off any sort of ancient trap that had been waiting pathetically for a thousand years or more for the simple pleasure of taking a victim. When they reached the web, Murasame did the honor of freezing the entire thing with an arctic blast from his magic ring, which was still sitting snugly in the crack of the samurai’s bone armor. Once the webs froze, they were too heavy to suspend themselves, and they shattered worthlessly to the floor.

There was no spider.

As they had predicted, the immensely thick webs had been hiding a door. This one was made of wood, and it was hanging over the entrance to the other room by nails that were hammered into the weak rock over the doorway. A quick slash from Jenorath cleared the way, and suddenly, every last one of them wanted to leave. Very quickly.

Broken glass littered the entrance, and they had to be careful not to step in it. The only sound, aside from their breathing, was the creaking sound of gently swinging ropes. Hundreds of drained corpses, like the ones found outside of the cavern, were hanging from nooses that connected to the rocky ceiling by long metal hooks. The floor they were suspended above seemed to be lined with red veins, and they throbbed grossly in the faint light of Max’s lit finger.

“Sick….”

“God, this is horrible,” Beetchi managed to say, before turning around to throw up. He never actually did, however, and his eyes grew wide with fear. “Guys…”

The red, veiny substance which covered the floor was just finishing sealing off the only exit.

“No!” His weapons were drawn in an instant, and the loud sound of gunfire overpowered that nauseating sound of the swinging corpses. It was a bit refreshing, and it motivated the others to help. They would have kept trying to escape forever, and they might have done it, too, had not the deep, rattled breathing of an old man disturbed their focus.

“…I put that wall there for a reason…”

“Who are you?”

The figure before them was a disturbing sight. Originally, he was obviously an old human, but he was currently missing large chunks of flesh, and in their place, the same crusted red that Murasame had seen the golems were composed of. As for his face, the ancient man was wearing an odd thing that confirmed the loss of his sanity. He was wearing half of a glasses frame, upside down, and on the side of his face that the frame didn’t trace, a cracked lense was cutting into the skin around his eye, dug in so deeply that it hadn’t fallen off. However, he showed no sign of pain whatsoever.

“Hyaaa…..now that you’ve broken in here, you vandals…I’ll have to keep you here.”

“I said, who are you?!”

“Can’t you tell by these clothes? I’m an archaeologist.” By looking at the torn remains of his clothes, however, they could tell nothing but that the outfit’s color was a khaki, or a dark khaki. The darkness of it could have been blood, but they couldn’t be positive. As they all stared at him, he smiled like a loon, his yellow teeth gleaming wetly.

“They call me Doctor Lester Khrist, and this is my work. The research that my colleagues and I are doing here will make us all billionaires.”

“Colleagues?” Max asked skeptically. He looked at the corpses hanging all around them, and scratched the back of his head.

“Yes…” Khrist seemed lost in thought, and dreamily looked at his right hand, which was wholly made of that red, crusty blood material, with the exception of his bones, which were trapped inside of it like prehistoric mosquitoes in amber. “I’m an associate of Dr. Blakeley, you know…I arrived here about…say…four years ago….It’s been veeeery lonely.”

The Doctor suddenly shook himself, as if waking up.

“But that doesn’t matter. I’ve figured out the secret to this place, and that’s why I tried to shut it off…this marvelous technology…look at my hand…do you know what this means? How much MONEY? I can’t let anyone have this discovery.”

“But how will you reveal it to the world, then?”

This seemed to make the senile old fool think for a moment, but he only laughed.

“I think I can figure out my own road to riches, feller. You just wait and see.”

Maximilian took this moment to step forward, and gave a nod to the Doctor.

“So, Khrist, have you discovered anything about a God of any sort down here?”

There was an unsettling pause as the old man’s breathing stopped, and his face curled into a sneer.

“You stay back. It’s my little treasure trove. Stay back…back...back…back.” With that warning, the greedy, yet insane scientist seemed to drift into sleep, while standing up. Max noticed then that he could see the geezer’s ribcage through the red casement of his flesh proxy.

“This guy’s just in our way. Can I waste him?”

“Don’t be a fool, Iwata. We have no inkling as to what consequences that will bring. He seems to possess some sort of control over this place. I’ve already had to fight several creatures that were a bit…less intelligent than this man, and from what I can tell from his aura, he is the core of a massive amount of contamination that has swept this cave’s magic. If we just kill him, there could be any sort of wild result.” And with that, the samurai peered at the old man, his right hand wrapped tightly around the handle of his sword, which dangled, as accustomed, from his chained arm.

Max, on the other hand, had his mind on what lay past the elder, where the veins had risen on the other side of the room. Common sense told him there was another door there. Taking a deep breath, the vampire gathered his nerve, and ran.

“BACK! BACK-BACK-BACK!” Lester skidded across the veins like some sort of ice-skater, his gnarled old hand clutching the vampire’s shirt with surprising strength. It took twenty bullets from Beetchi’s guns, all directly into the head, to bring him down. Murasame gave the impression of being frustrated at the mercenary, slapping his hand against his forehead and clenching his teeth. Something horrible was going to happen, any minute now.

But nothing bad happened. The veins across both doorways dissipated, revealing another hanging wooden door on the opposite side. Pushing it up as he entered, Maximilian was once again, at a loss for words.

There was a narrow bridge of stone that was at a slant, heading straight upwards, and everywhere around it was a red void. Not that it was dark, he could see through it fine. But the strange thing was, there were what appeared to be three gigantic stars, each as big as the sun, down there as well. Small accumulations of clouds were also easy to make out. Miyoko’s eyes were huge as they scaled the stone pathway. Max’s eyes, however, were now filled with the thought of victory; at the end of the walkway, through some clouds, a large stone wall etched with runes served as the only greeting. The finish line.

“Hurry! This is it!” Sprinting at full speed, Maximilian noticed the gravity here was extremely low, and that he was nearly lifting off of the ground involuntarily. In response, he made harder steps, and slowed down a little. Before they all reached the shrine, there was a moment of awe as they penetrated the layer of pinkish cirrus that only Max had taken the time to peer through. Murasame was just walking through when he saw his best friend put his hand on the shrine, and all Hell broke loose.

A wave of invisible force that felt like a Mack truck struck the three that had yet to reach the runes, flinging the two regular humans down the walkway, sliding against it’s smooth surface just slow enough not to skin their flesh. When they stopped, both the young girl and young man were in a small pile in front of the swinging wooden door.

Murasame, being half demon, was only hit by half as much force.

“…MAX?!”

No answer. Painfully, the samurai got to his feet, and walked back through the candy-colored cloud. There, standing in front of the shrine, just as before, was Maximilian. The undead warrior had traveled through many worlds, but never had he felt anything like this. All of his thoughts felt like they were moving outside of his body, his flesh was burning, and his eyes felt numb. His vision was all around him. With a sudden eruption of pain, Max felt his skin roughen, hardening into a black leather. His muscles seared as they grew, and instinct began to take over.

Murasame’s demonic eyes was pulsing as he looked at his greatest ally, who was surely about to become his greatest enemy. He could feel malice running through the bat-like monster before him, but why? Why would the power of something called a vampire God do this to his own believer? It denied all logic.

Maximilian’s flesh was black, like a bat’s, and his muscles were huge. His hair had become long, black tendrils, and his eyes were even brighter than before. Two huge wings grew from his upper back, and two grew around his waist, upside down, wrapping around his legs like a cape. As for his fingers, they were tipped by huge claws, and the most startling thing was this: he looked happy like this. Could Max have always had a secret desire to be like this? Surely not. Max wasn’t like that anymore...Or was he? Murasame wasn’t quite that naïve to believe every bit of greed had left the vampire’s mind.

As Murasame came face-to-face with the monster, he realized it was more like face-to-chest. He was over eight feet tall. From deep in the vampire’s throat came only meaningless growls. Very abruptly, Murasame contemplated the fact that he could die here.

In less than the time that the samurai could draw his blade, he felt long nails strike his armor. Like a ragdoll, he was knocked sprawling backwards, barely able to regain his footing on the edge of the stone. Talking to the monster was going to be useless, so he ruled out that possibility. Gripping his sword with one hand, the swordsman put his free hand on his barely scratched armor, thankful for having grounded demon bones serving as his protection instead of undependable metal alloy. As his hand was around his chest, it stopped over the ring of Winter lodged deeply within it and he prepared to freeze his best friend in his tracks.

The monster flapped it’s massive upper wings, obviously not fazed by he plan, and dove forward at a frightening pace. It was going to maul him. Realizing that the beast wouldn’t be stopped by ice power fast enough to be put to a stop, Murasame jumped upwards, going right over it’s stampeding form, and landed on the other side, right in front of the shrine.

Sudden pain filled Murasame’s neck, and he ripped something that felt like a leech out of it. One of Max’s snake-like tendrils that adorned his head had dislodged in order to damage him as he passed by. A spray of blood poured from the samurai’s neck, and his sight turned cloudy. Fresh adrenaline was released into the half demon’s bloodstream as Max turned around, smirking nastily with a mouth full of razor blades.

A large chunk of the stone bridge fell into nothingness as the bat-creature slowly approached it’s prey. Murasame took a step backward, and his hand bushed against the shrine. Suddenly, his muscles grew tense, and movement was impossible. A shaking pain filled his arm, and something even more unbelievable happened. Tokijin broke free. It’s chain slid off of him, dangling like it was doing the dance of joy Murasame felt like doing himself.

That sword had been in the hand of the demon that killed his entire clan, including himself, before he had been resurrected by the same force to do his bidding. Of course, he would never partner with his own murderer, so he resisted whatever magic the Demon Lord had conjured over him, and slew him. However, the price of renewed life was being half-demon, and having the damned sword forged to his arm forever, a constant reminder of his past. And now, after going to Nexus once and and Earth twice, he was free.

The obsidian blade glimmered strangely, and came to a stop in front of Maximilian, as if challenging him. The monster simply snarled at it, and swiped in it’s direction. It floated out of the way easily, and flew back to Murasame.

“NO!”

The blade did not return itself to his arm, however. It glowed red, and tore through his chest. The samurai screamed in pain as the sword filled his body with an influence that was full of hate, destruction, and chaos. Two massive, sinewy arms tore out of Murasame’s sides, lifting his body fr