Post by Victor Adelai on Mar 13, 2017 21:47:50 GMT -8
Even the mighty benefit from solace.
When the small shadow emerged from the shit filled chamber, it found mortals still sifting through the ashes that had been it's home. They were speaking about the oddity of the act and that the humans showed signs of being killed with large, sharp weapons. They said that the earth had been salted.
The creature didn't stay to feed its ravening hunger. It swept to the shore and fled to sea, a small speck of black in a dark night. For a time, he slithered along the silty floor of the Sound. The darkness wasn't a hindrance to it. The water offered no resistance as it swept along the craggy bottom. Where was it to go, now?
Failure wouldn't be tolerated, that much he understood. Neither his sire, nor his grandest sire would welcome him back if he fled this territory simply because his nose was bloodied. But he couldn't return to Vashon. Not until he knew what magicks these monsters had. They had quite turned the table. At another time, he might have relished the challenged, if the pain wasn't so clouding to his mind. He couldn't return to Seattle either. Not yet. Not until he knew if this Prince had betrayed him to the wolves. There had been a missive which he had disregarded that now came to his mind, a missive that said that things not of the blood of Caine weren't to be battled, but reported on. Because they might be allies. Allies not of the blood. Nothing could be more abominable. Had he saliva in that moment, he would spit.
No, not Seattle, at least until he knew the lay of the land.
He traveled West. There were islands there, and people. Still, there were woods, so who knew, perhaps there might be more wolves. The small shadow dragged itself from the murky depths near a town that called itself Poulsbo. It sheltered under the pier while it recited the centering mantra and rituals in the language that existed before God itself. It slithered then through town. The old ways were best. He needed a church.
It wasn't long before he found one. It had a tall spire, though was small in a country-church sort of way. The small shadow swept through the door and began to investigate the place. There was a plain middle-aged man who was working a broom across the floor. It seemed that this church had just the one priest. He would have to do.
The shadow swept about the place, dropping spheres of darkness about. The mortal could tell that something was amiss almost immediately. Soon the church was dark, the true dark of the Abyss. All save the votive candles that flickered weakness, casting their light through the red glass that housed them. The priest spun about, brandishing his rosary and praying frantically to ward off evil spirits. The shadow paused for a moment to see if it felt moved.
.... no, nothing. Perfect.
"None of that now, Father," he growled from the darkness. The priest spun and placed his crucifix between himself and the growling dark. A slow chuckle emulated from the darkness. "None of that either."
The shadow creature stretched itself out, reaching with his hands till it's fingers were long and looked like misshaped feathers. It twisted itself until it looked like the shadowy angel separating itself from the greater darkness that encompassed the church.
"W...what are you?" the priest asked.
"I am an agent of the Lord, here to test the weakness of Men. You are a pathetic lot, but have your uses. Tell me, Father," the shadow hadn't even bothered to learn this one's name. "Do you wish to serve the Lord?"
"Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, for many false prophets have gone out into the world," the priest say softly, as if it were a prayer.
The laughter echoed from the shadow. It gestured with a wing, and shadowy tentacles leapt from the floor to wrap about the priest. It tossed him effortlessly to it's fellow. Then the other. As a circle of bullies might around some schoolyard victim.
"I would apologize, Father," he said. "Normally I spend more time in the seduction. I would apologize, but you are far beneath me."
The shadow angel stepped into the darkness, as the tentacles tossed the crying man about the room. On the pulpit, the shadow creature found the chalice for communion. And lo, a bottle of wine. It shuddered as the shadow became flesh once more. For the first time, the creature lifted his hands to his face to sense the damage. It was extensive. He hurt all over. His flesh cried out for release. Pain was loud. Battering.
'Victor' takes the cup and the bottle and starts to walk back to the priest, dumping the wine on the floor as he steps. The tentacles settle the priest on the floor, who was little more than a sobbing mass. The creature ripped into his wrist with fang and tastes char and ash above the vitae. He wills his heart to press the cold, dead vitae into the bottle till it was mostly full. And then some into the chalice.
'Victor' takes a knee, and presses the cup into the priest's hands, then reaches out with a sooty hand to capture the mortal's chin.
"Drink," and the priest does. Hesitantly at first. Then until the cup is empty, and he finds himself licking the metal surface. "Each morning when you rise, you will drink one cup from this bottle."
The priest nods dumbly. 'Victor' smiles. Well, it's as close to a smile as he can remember. And then he melts into shadows and slithers out. Slowly, light returns to the church, highlighting just how broken the priest was now. 'Victor' returns to the Sound, pausing only briefly to feed from the families between the church and the water. There was a place he knew near Point Jefferson. Out in the water. It was deep. So deep that the sun wouldn't penetrate. The shattered remains of a ship wreck was near. A steamer. He would drag it into the crag. That would serve as well as anything for a haven. The fish and whales would nourish his flesh as cold rage nourished his vengeance.
They thought it a monster. They had seen nothing.