Thread Three: What You Wished For
Los Angeles – 2004
The acrid smell of
burning flesh singed the air, thick smoke wafting up into the night and
tangling with floating bits of dust, painting a pattern of death in the sky; a
memoriam to those who were meant to be immortal.
Gasping, for air he
couldn’t use, the small dark haired vampire stumbled back, falling to his knees
and clutching his sliced throat in a vain attempt to hold back the deluge of
blood. Having been freshly turned, he never received the training that might
have given him a fighting chance. In a brief moment of clarity, he was lucidly
aware of his place in this battle - an answer to the dire need for more bodies
in this fight. He looked on at his attacker with an animal fear that blanketed
the pain as he sputtered wet-gibberish, futile pleas, and half-handed threats.
His hunter twitched, a
hardwood stake darting between his second and third rib with the grace of a
mongoose strike. The hunter paused momentarily, breathing deep the odor of fear
and turmoil as if in a religious ecstasy. Dust and death surrounded him, while
his work lay before him. The hunter turned, with a bestial snarl and a lustful
glare, fangs descended, to face his next conquest.
The vampire grinned
mirthlessly, all teeth and mounting fury, as he launched himself into the fray.
His eyes flashed, inhuman and violent as all around him the fight raged.
Screams of agony poured forth like blood, wine…mother’s milk. In alien and
human tongues alike. Victory was inevitable, in the air like blood on the tide.
He knew this as surely as he knew his own sire’s scent. When the war was over, only one army could
be left. His destiny was nearly fulfilled, standing at the forefront of a bold
new world by the master’s side. They will sing your praises then, Xander…
With a thick, wet crunch,
he tore an appendage from a horned demon and used it to bash the skull of an
enemy on his right.
The sounds of gurgling
death rattles caressed his ears. The newly one-armed, horned demon behind him
clutched at its useless and leaking stump before being savaged by an
opportunistic minion. Xander dropped his makeshift weapon in favor of a new
opponent’s throat. Twisting his victim’s limp body around, he sunk his teeth
into the dead flesh, pulling on the thick blood. When he had had his fill he
twisted his battlefield snack’s head neatly from its twitching husk, dust
painting his boots.
Xander wiped at the blood
on his mouth, savoring the moment. Oh, how they sing for me…
He scanned the crowd,
looking for his next opening - knowing that it wouldn’t be much longer now. The
scent of the sun was on the horizon, and the lesser demons wouldn’t be able to
hold out. Brutally and suddenly, all of the momentum was knocked from his body.
A heartbeat of time passed before his mind registered the dainty fist jutting
from his chest. His mouth opened and closed in a sad, soundless impersonation
of a fish He stared in fading awe at the gaping wound and watched, time passing
thick with pain and shock, as the slender arm withdrew from his body, carrying
his unbeating heart in its delicate palm.
The face of his killer
drifted into view; there was no pain even as his knees burst on contact with
the ground. He focused on those soft lips, lips he had spent countless hours
memorizing. The malevolent, glistening ruby smile, luring over him beneath
sparkling green eyes, filled his withering body with love and worship. Beautiful.
She slowly crushed his
heart in her hands. A laugh escaped him then, followed by sanity as he noted
the irony of the situation. She dropped the useless organ to the ground and
slid into her demon visage. Her golden eyes shone with raw, vindictive pleasure
as she ripped the head from Xander’s unfeeling corpse.
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A pout, a mockery of
sympathy, touched her lips as she watched her dark prince’s remains mix with
the mud and demon offal at her feet. Kicking at the reddened earth she pined
for him; “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” before she turned abruptly on her
heels, head and spirits held high. She couldn’t afford to wait any longer,
mourning his unfortunate, but necessary passing.
Vampire royalty, she
flowed through the hordes fighting and dying around her, every bit the
successor to Xander the General. A few unwise, ill-fated demon minions attacked
her on her way to her outpost and thus provided her with twin spine trophies.
She sighed heavily, the
lack of challenge just boring the joy right out of her. A sudden pang of guilt
for waylaying her only competition sobered her, placed things in a crystalline
perspective. Her graceful stride widened as she moved in towards the heart of
the battle, climbing up and over the fallen bodies of both demons and humans,
and bathed her porcelain skin in the dust of countless fallen comrades.
At the edge of the
battlefield, a mountain of corpses serving as his throne, she caught sight of
her sire eagerly awaiting her return.
She greeted him with a
nod and moved to his side, a clawed hand reached out to stroke her head
affectionately before it settled on her shoulder.
Time passed,
imperceptible, as the two watched with satisfaction the fight around them.
Slowly the purple sky faded to a light gray. Screams and turmoil grew more
frenetic as fingers of amber sliced through the clouds of dust and gore,
tempting those on the field with the approach of dawn. Before the sun crested
on the horizon however, the victors of this war became clear. The members of
their clan crowed jubilantly, even while fleeing towards shelter. The multitude
of unlucky survivors from all sides gathered for entertainment, spoils of war.
Their terrified and anguished howls imprinted themselves on the fading night
air.
The Master breathed heavily from the blood-soaked wind, and wrapped an arm around the waist of his redheaded Childe. “Do you see this? Do you see all that a strong will can accomplish?”
He gestured out over the city, now under his full and uncontested reign. Pleased with himself as well as his Childer. No sire could ask for more appreciative and attentive companions. He closed his fist, clenched it tightly to drive his claws into his own marbled palm, and spilled his own blood onto the ground, consecrating it as his own.
His Childe leaned up, brushing a kiss across his cheek. Before she nodded her head in agreement. “Yes, father, I do see.”
With lightening celerity and titanic effort, her stake plunged into his heart through his back. His jaw worked slowly, forming soundless words. He then smiled, before his bones clustered around her feet.
A self-satisfied smile creased her porcelain face, as Willow glared down upon the ripe fruit that was the city of Los Angeles.