2nd January 2007, 6:09 AM
Foreword: I made some major changes on the story...well, the prologue, at least. Since the previous thread had the prologue cut into three parts, I thought it would be very messy to just edit the posts, so, volila! New, shiny thread. As I said in the previous thread, any kind of constructive criticism is welcomed, even if it would pain me a bit. Don't be afraid, please. You can be as ruthless as you want, but at least put down points you didn't like, that I can improve on it.
P.S. Yes. I know, the dialogue sounds forced. I'm working on making more fluid conversations, so, until then...please bare with me. ><
Disclaimer: This fic should not be used as a source of information, as not everything portrayed here is accurate. While others are, most, I have made up, and some, I even altered, so...there. XD
Darkness enshrouded the room, lined with pillars of knowledge, save for a small lamp, atop a finely crafted wooden table. Beside it sat a lone figure, reading a rather thick and dusty book; one of its pages depicting a twelve-winged angel. It was adorned with luxurious, gold markings, its pages crafted from only the finest.
The figure took out a small, brown notebook, wrapped in leather, and opened it. Taking out a pen, he started to take down notes, as he curiously read the contents of the book, running his finger down as he did.
How you have fallen from Heaven,
O star of the morning, son of the dawn!
You who have been cut down to the earth,
You who have weakened the nations!
But you said in your heart,
‘I will ascend to Heaven;
I will raise my throne above the stars of Go,
And I will sit on the mount of assembly
In the recesses of the North.
I will ascend above the heights of the clouds;
I will make myself like the Most High.’
Nevertheles, you will be thrust down to Sheol,
To the recesses of the pit.
Those who see you will gaze at you,
They will ponder over you, saying,
‘Is this the man who made the earth tremble,
Who shook kingdoms,
Who made the world a desert
Razed its cities,
And gave his captives no release?
All the kings of the nations lie in glory,
Each in his own tomb.;
But you are cast forth without burial,
Loathsome and corrupt,
Clothed as those slain at sword-point,
A trampled corpse.
Going down to the pavement of the pit,
You will never be one with them in
For you have ruined your land,
You have slain your people!
Let him not be named forever,
that scion of an evil race!
Make ready to slaughter his sons
For the guilt of their fathers;
Lest they rise and possess the earth,
And fill the breadth of the world with
With a quaint smirk on his face, the figure put his pen down, and laid back on the chair.
“Son of the morning?” He mused, chuckling slightly, as he closed the thick book.
It was dark. In the hallway, a piano, black as the night, stood ominously, a faint light cast upon its fine, white ivory. A small, white clock could be seen, hung on the wall, its sound echoing throughout the house.
Footsteps. They strode by with great elegance and sophistication, getting louder with each step they took. Suddenly, they stopped. An indistinct noise began reverberating throughout the empty halls, shrouded in the darkness of the night, getting louder. Softer. Sweeter. More pleasant to the ears.
From the emptiness of the night came the soothing melody of Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’, each note carefully played by a dance on the fine ivory, carried by the night’s breeze, out into the deserted streets.
Suddenly, the lights went on, and the darkness was expunged.
“Virgil?” A tired woman’s voice asked.
The music stopped, and the man called Virgil stood up. He was in a gray tuxedo; a silver tie strapped around his neck—quite an unusual thing to be wearing at 3:00 in the morning.
Sighing, the woman looked at the clock, saying, “It’s 3:00am, Virgil. What are you doing?”
“Jacqueline, it’s music!” He mused, “Music can neither be bound by time nor space! Music is a reflection of the soul—timeless as time itself!”
“Do you have to reflect your soul at this late hour?” She groaned.
Virgil hurried over to her, and looked her straight in the eye. “Jacqueline, do you not share this passion with me?”
“I do, Virgil. I do.” She said. “It’s just…it’s really late, and I’m really tired and sleepy, and…and…I just want to sleep.”
Hastily, Virgil stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her warm body, holding her tightly as she returned the gesture. He began singing a lullaby in the most melodious voice she had ever heard. It’s been a while since she’s heard him sing.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she remembered the exact same song being sung to her by her mother, when she felt alone, and depressed. She’d never expected to hear it from him.
“Virgil…” She whispered, as she gripped him tighter.
Minutes passed. Still no movement of any sort from him. Jacqueline tried talking to him, but was met with the piercing silence of the night. Fearing the worst, she let go of his grasp and started to shake him.
“Virgil! Virgil!!” She screamed as she shook him harder and harder, to no avail. “What’s wrong!?”
Suddenly, his body fell to the ground, falling hard on his back. He started bleeding through his tuxedo. Then, a slit through the gray piece of clothing. A knife! It was a knife! Jacqueline started crying heavily, her tears falling softly on his motionless corpse.
Fearing for the worst, she turned him over and found a rather big knife inserted into his back, which was bleeding heavily. She checked his heart for any signs of life. Nothing.
Virgil Crowe was dead.
From the silence of the night came the deafening sound of a ringing phone. A faint light pierced the darkness.
Struggling to open his eyes, Alucard slammed his hand several times against his night table, searching for his cell phone. A loud bang came crashing down, ringing in his ear as he immediately opened his eyes and sat upright in his bed.
“****.” He whispered to himself as he bent down and picked up his phone from the floor.
“W-what’s going on?” Came the muffled voice of a woman nearby.
“Nothing, Esmeralda. Go back to sleep.” He coldly said as he checked the exterior display on his cell phone.
“1 new message.” it read.
Yawning, Esmeralda hid beneath the sheets, resting her brown-haired head on the soft, white pillow. “Good night.”
Without so much as a thought, Alucard quickly flipped his phone open and read the message, its words reflected through his eyes like a clear mirror. With a slight grin on his lips, he placed the phone back in its place atop the night table, as he dropped his head hard on the white pillow.
Tired, he took a deep breath and checked his phone’s exterior display once more. 3:30am.
“You’re late.” He whispered as he went back to sleep.
A hot, burning sun stood sadistically atop the world as it scattered its rays across the land. ‘Twas summer, as one Isaac Creighton drove his black convertible across the country-side, far from the fires of the city life, without a care in the world. He was free. Free from the terror of college.
…at least for the next month and a half, he was.
He screamed loudly as he caught sight of his friends, who had arrived earlier. A brown, straw mat was laid out beneath a lush, green tree as the girls sat down to have a picnic. In the distance, he saw the guys swimming in the cool, blue lake, like a mirror, reflecting the blue sky above them.
“Isaac!!” They waved as he approached.
As if driven by insanity, he stepped on the gas pedal hard, and drove at an insane speed towards them. He screamed as loud as he could as he stopped the car abruptly, only inches away from the straw mat.
He quickly emerged in a black tank top and a dark-colored pair of jeans. On his head was a pair of stylish and elegant sunglasses, matching his dark brown hair nicely.
“What the hell were you thinking!?” Came an indistinct voice from behind the tree. “Is this supposed to be some kind of a death wish!?”
Moments later, a beautiful young woman emerged from behind the tree. She had long, black hair, mixed with shades of brown, and tied into a ponytail. Her blouse was of a blinding white color, as if reflecting the brightness of the sun. Strapped to her waist was a brown miniskirt, and in front of her eyes were a pair of brown sunglasses.
“Oh, come on, Beatrice—“
“Hmph.” She exclaimed as she placed her hands on her slender waist. “I told you not to call me that.”
Chuckling, Isaac extended his arms. “Fine. Bea.”, he sarcastically said.
He didn’t know why she asked him to call her ‘Bea’—Beatrice sounded more…elegant, and refined. What did she have against it? Length of the name? Hardly. The beauty of a name is neither in its length, nor its composition, but in the people who utter it, pouring forth a flurry of emotion each time it is.
With a quaint smirk on her face, she walked towards him and locked her arms around his body. She felt different, somehow. There was a strange feeling in her stomach as she held him tight.
Without shame, she lifted Isaac’s shirt, revealing his refined six-pack abs.
“Looks like someone’s been working out!” She said as she ran her finger up and down his buff body.
Smiling, he kissed her lightly on the lips as he walked over to meet up with the other guys.
Bea turned around to face the other girls—all smiling, and imitating the strange couple.
“What!?” She laughed as she sat down on the mat and took some potato chips from the picnic basket.
Isaac walked over to the banks, and ripped his shirt from his well-tanned skin. Without shame, he unzipped his pants and took them off, wading towards the others in the cold, blue waters, with nothing but his underwear.
“Isaac!” One of them exclaimed as he swam towards him, the others following shortly after. “S’up?” He asked as he punched him lightly on the chest.
Isaac returned the gesture with a slightly stronger one, sending him falling hard on his bare buttocks. He laughed hard—not at the fact that he was that weak, but because compared to them, he was well-dressed.
“Sorry, Gene.” He apologized as he held out his hand.
Although he seemed kind of frail, Gene’s body was quite big, having large, broad shoulders that became the center of affection of many women. Nevertheless, the saying, “The bigger you are, the harder your fall.”, holds true.
“You do have a change of clothes, right?” Gene asked as he caught sight of Isaac’s white underwear, his tan skin peeking through thin fiber.
“Oh…” He said as the idea hit him. He never thought of that.
Alucard held the goblet lightly by the stem as he drank the white, silvery liquid within. He peered down from the balcony, where a multitude of people mingled with each other—they were all Esmeralda’s relatives; ‘twas a reunion.
It sickened him to no extent as he watched from above, alone, as those people invaded his house.
“Alucard!” A voice called out. It was Esmeralda’s.
It was only on this night she ever wears that beautiful, green gown, black markings running down and across it like waters in a stream. Her face was a canvas, splashed with different shades of black and green. Pinned to her ears were a set of ocular earrings, depicting the Eye of Horus—an Ancient Egyptian symbol of power and protection.
“I’d like you to meet—“
“No.” He replied as he took a sip from his glass. It was quite unusual—Esmeralda knew how hard Alucard tried to shun himself from her family. They didn’t exactly get along too well.
Why she was doing this now, only God knew—that was what he despised the most. Being an atheist, he obviously didn’t believe in God and the power and judgment He represents.
Esmeralda stood there, dumbfounded, the smile on her lips stolen from her.
Alucard looked at her with those burning red eyes, glaring at her own like a spear driven through her chest.
“No.” He repeated as he fixed his blood-red tie, strapped securely around his neck.
Esmeralda took a long, hard glance at him. Was he really the man she married fifteen years ago? She glanced quickly at his jet-black tuxedo, and contrasting red tie. Had she really fallen in love with this insensitive, self-centered person? Come to think of it, after the first year of marriage, not once had he expressed his love for her. Was this a cruel trick of fate?
“W-what?” She finally blurted out. “No!?”
Alucard quickly finished his drink and gently placed it on the railings. “No.” He repeated a third time, this time, with a stern look on his face. Nothing was going to sway his mind now. He had always despised Esmeralda’s family. There was no reason for him to think otherwise. He hated them. They hated him. Period.
Furious, she walked down the stairs, lined with a beautiful and ornate red carpet, without so much as a glance.
Alucard walked back to the railings and peered down once more at those people he despised so much. Then, out of the blue, he caught sight of Esmeralda’s beloved mother, glaring back at him. If he had his way, she’d be dead by now.
But, alas, mortal laws forbade it.
Then again, when had he ever followed such laws and rules?
As the thought crossed his mind, he heard a voice behind him, saying, “More champagne, sir?”
“Yes, please.” He said with utmost elegance and sophistication as he cleared the thoughts from his mind.
“Right away, sir.”
Alucard checked his silver wris****ch. It was already 1:00am. How long do these people plan on staying here!?, he thought. Suddenly, he heard a soft ring as a vibrating sensation raced through his right leg. Quickly, he reached in his pocket and took out his cell phone, flipping it open as he read the newly received message.
With a smirk on his face, he closed the message and began composing a new one. It was only made up of two letters, but to an educated mind, that was more than enough.
Smiling, he peered down once more and glared at his mother-in-law. This time, he saw her with her husband, Esmeralda’s father. His servant returned with yet another bottle of the white liquid and poured it quickly into his glass. Alucard held it softly by the stem and quickly took a sip.
What better way to enjoy this night than with a good bottle of champagne!
Isaac looked straight ahead into the darkness of the night, hands gripping the wheel of the car tightly. He decided to close the windows and turn on the air conditioner instead—fear was building up inside of him. He never liked driving at night, especially in the country-side, where there were no lights but that of the moon.
“Isaac…” said a muffled and tired voice beside him.
“Bea!!” He exclaimed as he stopped the car momentarily, before continuing along the dirt path laid out before them. “You scared the hell out of me!”
Suddenly aware of her surroundings, the woman called Beatrice looked around—it was dark, and yet it was not. The moon was shining brightly today, gushing forth streams of silver light onto the fields. The meadows bathed in its light as the two drove along the path.
“Where are we?” Bea groaned.
That was the one question Isaac had hoped she would never ask.
“Why don’t we stop and—“ He said, trying hard to stay calm. “—ask…the others.”
He immediately took out his phone and started dialing a number. Without a second thought, he placed the phone’s speaker by his ear and listened intently for a ring. Minutes had passed. Nothing.
Beatrice, on the other hand, was torn between her emotions. She didn’t know whether to feel fear and anxiety, or to just sit there, stricken with awe, staring at the 21-year old beside her.
“Is everything—“ She began, her voice shivering with fear. “—alright?”
“Y-yes. Everything is just—“ Isaac said, sighing heavily. “—fine.”
Breathing heavily, Beatrice peered out the window once more, carefully eyeing the beautiful landscape set out before her. Suddenly, she caught sight of a figure amongst the grasslands. Was it a tree, or a plant, or a…
Quickly, she opened her window and took a closer look. In the distance was a shadowy figure, standing in the middle of the field, the grass swaying all around every time a breeze swept past. Its arms were extended outwards as if…crucified.
“OH MY GOD!! ISAAC!!” She screamed as tears began to flood her sapphire eyes.
“What!?” Isaac replied, dumbfounded.
Isaac leaned closer and squinted at what she was pointing at. “The figure! In the middle! It’s..it’s…it’s—“ She exclaimed, screaming as loud as she could.
“Alright, alright. Will you promise to calm down if I go and take a look at it?” Isaac offered.
Beatrice slowly nodded as Isaac took a jacket and a flashlight from the backseat. “I’ll be back in a while.” He assured her as he stepped out of the car.
With much fear in her heart, she quickly opened the door and ran after him.
“Stay in the car.” He calmly said, thinking that he had everything under control.
When she didn’t budge and wrapped her arms around his, he said, “Would you rather go to that thing, then?”
At the mere thought, she immediately let go and hesitantly walked over to Isaac’s black convertible, its hood securely placed on top of it. She opened the door, sat inside, and locked the door. She felt somewhat safe now, and confident that nothing could get to her. Isaac’s car was now her stronghold—she felt invincible. With all fears expelled, she calmly reached for the round knob on the control board and turned on the radio—but all she heard was static; not the faintest sound of music.
Oh well, she thought. I’m safe anyway.
Meanwhile, Isaac waded through the knee-length grass towards the tall figure in the center, holding his flashlight in front of him to light the way. He felt confident—it was most likely a tree, a mere tree. Fear was a trick of the mind—and illusion. If one prostrates himself before it, it can turn even your fondest desires into your worst nightmare.
He arrived, moments later, at the foot of a large tree, whose branches curved outward, as if crucified. Isaac couldn’t help but laugh out loud as he fixed his pants—it was hard to wear jeans without underwear, with them being wet and all.
Wiping a tear of laughter from his eye, he started to walk back to the car, where Beatrice waited patiently for his return. Suddenly, a strong, gust of wind swept past, as the leaves, his clothes, and his hair fluttered furiously in the wind. Isaac opened his eyes moments later, and found himself staring at the core of the bright, full moon. It was unusually large, and whiter than usual.
Something felt wrong.
Regardless, he continued walking towards his car. He quickly opened the door and sat inside, dumping the flashlight and his jacket in the backseat.
Smiling, he said, “See? It was just a tree.”
He quickly started the engine, and took the shift stick, switching to the first gear before he started to drive again. As he drove through the night, he felt Beatrice’s touch on his right hand. Slowly, he looked at her, and then, the horrors of his mind instantly materialized.
It was dark, and he couldn’t see anything at first, save for her silhouette. Moments later, the light of the moon found its way through the window, and revealed a two sharp knives piercing her frail, white skin—one in the head, one by the heart.
“****!” Isaac gasped as he lost control of the vehicle, and it strayed out of the path, and hit a nearby tree, the engine overheating furiously.
Grasping for air, he looked at her.
“Beatrice.” He uttered as he looked at her decaying corpse. What had she done to deserve this?
Was it even her they were after? Or maybe it was him they were after, whoever they were. But why?
Sighing, he stepped out of the car, and took her dead body, laying it on the earth from whence she came, without so much as a single, sparkling drop of water in his eye. He went back to the car and looked around for a match.
Isaac went back outside, and ignited the matchstick, the red fiber at the end sparking to life as he threw it at her corpse.
With a stern look on his face, he began uttering words of farewell, “Beatrice, to whom the sons of fire prostrate themselves, are laid to rest from whence you came. From ashes you were, and so, to ashes you will be.”
He recited a short prayed, looking up to the heavens, as her corpse slowly turned into ash, carried by the cold, night breeze.
“Now—“ He whispered to himself. “—what happens to me?”
In the distance was an old church, a small convent erected beside it, with a single, dim light open.
“Great!” he said. “The old abandoned church in the middle of nowhere!
Last edited by Xatriel; 2nd February 2007 at 2:01 PM.