Fragility

 

Disclaimer: Legacy of Kain belongs to Edios and Crystal Dynamics not me. I am making £0.00 out of this fic, it is written purely because I have a burning need to create. Although I would like to own Vorador . . . then he’d be mine.

 

Warning: this fic contains YAOI REFRENCES (GuyXGuy) if this offends or upsets you do not read this, it that simple.

 

Rating: PG-13 sexual references

 

Pairing: Kain/Raziel

 

Setting: Post Blood Omen Two, Pre Soul Reaver.  

 

Summery: Kain contemplates his children’s fates and whether or not he should act to interfere or let time be.

 

Authoress note: *wails* I don’t know why this happened it just did you HAVE to believe me!!

 

 

Chapter one

 

{Kain}

 

I can no longer count the times I have stood here contemplating the same old problem. Over and over in my mind as if simply repeating to myself what I already know will yield results. It is incredibly frustrating to feel as though no progress has been made in all these years and I grow more nervous with each passing day as the weight on my shoulders begins to feel heavier.

 

Every day now I can feel it drawing closer and I have found myself becoming somewhat preoccupied as of late much to the frustration of my children or more specifically my eldest. I cannot help but smile at the memory of his ‘tantrums’, centuries old and still acts like an infant. It should irritate me but instead I find myself being quiet entertained by it at times. I shake myself at the distracting thoughts and once more look around the circular chamber I am in. I remember when in my youth it took me a day if not more to find my way here through the daemon filled tunnels, but now the tunnels are silent and I can simply follow my own scent through them, it would be embarrassing to become lost here after so many visits. I smirk to myself and move towards the large cauldron in the middle of the room. Still suspended and still filled with water.

 

Strange that after all these years the water would still remain and not dry up. There must have been a magical quality to the container but still time and time again it disappointed me.  It is now no big secret to me that the scurrying pool was not how Moebius saw the time stream, there was more to it there has to be. Either that or I am more foolish than I thought and simply cannot activate this damned pool. I growl in frustration the sound echoing around the small chamber, I had hoped that this time I would be more successful than in my past, I had no real reason to believe I would but I can feel what ever great event is to happen growing closer and still I feel ignorant and foolish.

 

I grumbled quietly to myself and for a second am glad no one is around to witness both my uselessness and my talking to myself. I hope in my childish spitefulness that Moebius suffered as I do, I am referring to the strange little flashes in my mind that only I am witness to. They come mostly when I sleep; short disjointed images that somehow I know are glimpses of the future. The dreams confuse me but the waking dreams are becoming something more than a nuisance, only last month I found myself half way through a conversation with my eldest only to drift off as a sudden image of the sanctuary washed over me, the banners were torn and shredded, the stonework worn and crumbled, and yet I knew I was still here. Raziel had growled at me thinking I was simply not paying attention to him and I was grateful for it as he snapped me back to reality.

 

The concepts shown to me do not please me, they show only flashes but for all their briefness in nature I seem to understand them with a strange depth that I did not think myself capable of. It is why I hunt down Moebius’ method to seeing the future clearly as there can be no doubt that he had one, no one could pull together an elaborate plan based simply on ‘flashes’ of the future; he must have had another way.

 

It is one of those flashes that plagues me now, Melchiah is my youngest son and while not the most beautiful, clever or strongest he has a certain charm to him that I find hard to resist. He has compassion, for all his cruelty to the mortals he skins I find his cruelty is often necessary and when necessary it is quick or at least as quick as it can be. For unfortunately the skins he wears must come from live mortals, for that way he can wear them longer. It is an unpleasant process to witness and has even turned my stomach once.

 

He is charming and in his own way he is beautiful and that makes my phantom knowledge all the more harder to bear, for I have seen what he will become. I have seen the monster he will twist into. Yet it is not the fact that his evolution offends the senses but rather the fact that I have seen what will happen to his soul.

 

When the first few evolutions take him and he loses the ability to walk it hurts him but he can cope, he is strong enough, yet over time and more evolution he will become more alone, isolated by his size and lack of mobility; he will become bitter, filled with rage at the nature of his form, the fact that his weakness is passed down the lines and those he loves become more and more like him as the years do pass. Yet he still believes even through his suffering and hatred he still believes that I let this happen for the greater good and he does not hate me for it.

 

It was his lack of hatred that shocked me most I think and the guilt that it brought out in me. I am not a man who feels guilt often. I console myself by being absolutely positive that what I am doing is right and that the consequences are necessary, something unavoidable. But the glance into Melchiah’s future made me feel pain and guilt. Even now it eats at me, made much worse by the fact that I know myself, I understand myself and I know and understand that if I let this happen then I must truly believe what I am doing is right.

 

But what could be so important that I would let it destroy my youngest, most compassionate child.

 

I find myself remembering the birth of my youngest. All my children when first created were child like, even the mighty Dumah and the sharp witted Zephon although neither of them would admit it now. It makes me smile to here them deny theirs own vulnerability, they are more like me than any of us know. Melchiah however makes no such claims; he is remarkably realistic I find which has always been something I have admired in him. When first born he clung to me as if I were his entire world, they all did, but most simply trembled with the shock of being reborn. Melchiah was the only one who shed tears.

 

Tears of happiness, pain, overwhelming sensation I am still not sure. But when all the others had shook and tried to speak he simply held onto me and wept. At the time I was exhausted and greatly weakened, my vision had swam, my stomach turned inside of me and cried out for blood, my own body trembled almost more than my fledglings; and I found his tears beautiful. I am still unsure if I simply became somewhat mad in my weakness but he was beautiful to me then as he wept, tears staining my chest, cold and damp. I think I may have made a sound or some other such action because he looked at me so suddenly then that I jerked in his hold; he said nothing, simply watched me as I watched him. His eyes were large and sore, his face peppered with blood that leaked from his pores as his skin struggled and failed to heal itself.

 

I would like to say that I said something meaningful in that moment but it would be a lie for I said nothing; I was simply silent as he looked at me. He too said nothing only finished his study of me and leant back against me holding tighter. Many people would call him simple and other more cruel people would say he was pointless but they would be wrong and most likely dead at my hands for their insolence. He is not simple or pointless, yes he says little and what he does say rarely has great metaphysical meaning but he is profound in his silence, he sees what others do not and I am unsure how but he calms me when others enrage me.

 

So what could I possibly learn that would make me think allowing him to fall to such disgrace would be an adequate consequence.

 

I cannot stand this place any longer and with a simple thought almost completely subconscious I break myself apart and lift to the skies. Bat form has been a mixed blessing in my life; it is a most convenient way to travel but it has its down sides. When I was young and thought I knew everything there was to know about the world and those who dwell in it, I found the disjointed vision of bat form sickening; Many times I would find myself landing in some god forsaken field only to fall to my knees, losing all I had consumed in the last night. It was revolting and a weakness I did not need. But with age and evolution comes habit and practice, now the disjointed vision does not bother me, I hardly notice it, simply seeing tree, ground, sky, smoke.

 

Smoke catches my attention, why should there be smoke? A little here and there was understandable and expected; from the towers or from humans trying feebly to keep warm in this desert of a land. But this is no campfire, nor even a large bonfire; something large is aflame. Almost without thought I find myself twisting towards the smoke and it takes me only a moment to realize it is coming from Melchiah’s home. Strange, maybe there was an accident or something of that nature, for it cannot truly be war. I would know about it if Melchiah or any of my brood were going to be threatened and I have not noticed any such action, I snort to myself reminding myself that there is no one around to threaten us any longer.

 

All living mortals are in one of two places, the farms or the citadel. The farms were Zephon’s idea, cruel but practical. He realized that when the mortals die then by default so do we, and so he came to me and sneaked his way into getting an audience; he spoke of stopping the rampant attacks we were still launching and instead of simply attacking we should take prisoners. He spoke of camps, of fences and guards and of livestock. I found truth in his words and silently kicked myself for not realizing this problem sooner; I called the rest of my brood to me and the idea was thrown to open court. Everyone had their own take on the idea some crueler than others, some spoke of pens and chains while Rahab and Melchiah spoke of something resembling a village. In the past humans had made offerings to Gods, Melchiah and Rahab had an idea resembling that and it was their idea that I agreed to in the end. Simply for practical reasons, of course. Mortals would become depressed and die if we caged them like animals which in effect is what they are, animals in denial. So I agreed to build small mortal villages in each of the clans’ territory; each village had a wall and guards but other than the occasional ‘harvest’ the mortal would be left to their own devices. It did not take long to organize and surprisingly most mortals were amiable to this idea, strange creatures. However some were not, those who were not fled to the human citadel and walled themselves in, never to come out again.

 

So it could not be war, it made no sense for it to be war, there must be another explanation. But as I neared the scent of blood and death hit me like a wall and the sounds of anger and pain became deafening. I descend a little and land on one of the taller towers, pulling myself together. It is unlikely that I would be spotted here and I am well able to see the ground below.

 

It was an attack, mortals were standing and fighting against us and they seemed not to be doing as badly as I would have assumed. I am slightly confused as to how this happened, my arrogance it seems is my weakness once again, yet I am not afraid for we are stronger although we seem to number less than the mortals. Strange I do not remember their being so many of them in the village in Melchiah’s territory. A few of the buildings have fallen and some remain aflame, many bodies litter the ground but it matters little, my youngest is able to raise more. With a little effort I stand and move, he will be here somewhere and some deeper instinct tells me to look for him; briefly I find myself wondering if it is a fatherly instinct. The though is shaken from me when I spoke my youngest and I find myself smiling.

 

While not the strongest of my brood he was still of my blood and it showed. He moved powerfully, fast and strong, his movements those of practice and training. Even with his weakness he was still strong enough to rule, independent enough to want to and empathetic enough to do so well. He did not deserve the fate that I had seen, but unless I could form a plan he would fall to it. Suddenly a strange thought enters my mind; if he were to die he would not degenerate.

 

If he were to die now then his future would not happen, he would be saved from such devastation and loss. The idea of simply murdering my youngest plays with me for a small time and I find myself pained at it. I am aware that I am not without compassion and I know that I do have an attachment to my children despite trying to minimize it. Raziel for instance has managed despite my effort to squeeze his way into the very forefront of my affections, bastard that he is. Melchiah also is one I have held in high esteem, he has been dealt nothing but hardship yet he does not complain at least not to me, instead he takes what he has and he turns it into something grand. It would pain me to destroy him.

 

But would it truly be destruction or would it be pity, would I be saving him from a fate worse than his death. The idea twists and lashes inside of me and I find power coiling through me at it, I could end him now, here in this place in the strange battle I knew nothing of.

 

The power ignites and dies, I stand and walk away.

 

End chapter.

 

Authoress note: Random and odd, woo!

 

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