Slaughter
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 Kain . . . then he’d be
mine. Maybe a Raziel as well to keep Kain company when I’m away.
Warning: this fic contains YAOI (GuyXGuy), blood play and a lemon, if this offends or upsets
you do not read this, it’s that simple.
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Kain/Raziel
Part: One of four
Authoress note: I’m trying again.
I can’t seem to let go of this fic, it’s got so much potential if I can only
get it right, so this is my new attempt.
* \/ * /\ * \/ * /\ *
Chapter One
{Spectral Realm}
“You are not worthy.”
The voice of the elder echoes through the soul that it
held captive, that it held forever in its purgatorial grip. It constantly
tightens its grip, even though the little soul does not fight. The soul hangs
limply, completely without hope of freedom from this purgatory. The soul no
longer knows hope, freedom or pain; all concepts of emotion are forgotten.
Long ago, when the soul had been newly dead, it had held
thoughts, memories and emotions from its life. The soul had writhed and fought,
because still he had held memories of life. But then it had become confused,
lost; it had begun to forget life, and then it had forgotten why it struggled
against the elder. For the soul, there had never been a life before. There had
never been anything before; there had only been the elder. It had forgotten why
it feared the elder so much, for the elder had always held it in this
unbreakable and timeless grip.
It did not remember that it had once been a great warrior,
that it had slaughtered thousands, or that it had been murdered.
It held no thoughts now; all had been sucked away by the
elder. No emotions stirred within it, save one - a deep, resonating fear of the
elder. It knew not why, it never questioned why, it did not have the capacity
to question why it feared the elder so. It was hollow, save from its fear. Hollow,
and almost lifeless.
“You are
not yet worthy,” the voice boomed, caressing the soul, causing it to
twitch in terror. “You will be, in time,”
the voice continued, “you will become
my Soul Reaver, my Angel of Death. You will kill Kain and save Nosgoth. When
you are worthy.” The words held no meaning to the little soul; it simply cowered
in the elder’s grip. “He will come for
you soon,” the elder continued to rave, “he will try to take you, to make you one of his abominations. I will prevent it.” The elder coiled
around the little soul possessively. The fear in the little soul magnified. “I can feel him searching,” the elder
hissed, tightening his grip even more so on the little soul. “He shall not have you. You are mine. You
have always been and will always be my Soul Reaver.”
The elder wrapped tightly around the little soul, hiding
it, covering it in darkness and fog. The little soul could not fight, but its
fear caused it to let out a strangled scream and glow brightly. The elder
tightened its grip and wove the fog and darkness deeper, concealing the bright
little soul from that which sought it.
But the little soul was found.
Something broke through the elder’s darkness easily, as if
it had not been there, or as if the other did not see it. It reached out and
touched the little soul; testing, the little soul felt no fear of this one. While
the elder was a cold lifeless creature, this new one was warm, alive - and yet,
strangely, not alive. It touched the little soul, entwining with it, caressing
it. The little soul responded, curling tightly around this new entity.
The little soul felt safe as the other touched it. This
was right, so very right. He belonged to this one, not to the elder whose grip
had begun to loosen as the new entity pulled. There was a brief moment of
struggle between the elder and the other, and then the little soul came loose,
free of the elder’s grip. This new entity broke the grip easily and, wrapping
the little soul in its embrace, carried it into the physical realm.
The elder watched hatefully as the little soul was pulled
upwards into the physical realm, by his enemy, his enemy who did not even know
of his existence, and yet it had still beaten him with so little effort. He
hissed and writhed angrily for a moment before thinking that, in truth, the
little soul’s escape did not matter. No matter how far the little soul strayed,
it would always return to him.
“You
cannot escape from me any more than you can escape from yourself.”
~
He could feel the darkness creeping in on the edges of his
vision; he was giving too much blood, far too much. Dry cracked hands feebly
grasped at his wrist, dead skin flaking away in dry grey clumps. He knew he
needed to break the grip soon, but he also knew he would have to break the other’s
fingers to do so. He could feel the dizziness intensifying, making him fall
back, slamming into the side of the stone sarcophagus. He had to stop this
while he still had the strength to do so.
With a gentle but firm push on the fledgling’s chest, he
managed to separate them without causing damage to his recovering child.
Leaning back, he gasped for unneeded air; weakness nearly swallowed him, almost
forcing him down into unconsciousness.
But he was stronger than that, able to stay awake despite
the almost overpowering dizziness and nausea.
Kain swallowed loudly. He had given his chid more blood
than had been originally intended, a lot more, and that was foolish. One of
them had to be strong enough to protect them, should anything happen, and right
now he knew he would be less than useless if they happened upon anything or if anything
happened upon them. The thought of a small army of Serefan marching into the
tomb and easily slaughtering both himself and his newborn played out in his
mind, making him shudder slightly, but he was jerked from his thoughts. Desperate
arms clamped around his waist as his fledgling curled next to him.
Without opening his eyes, he reached up, running a shaking
clawed hand through his fledgling’s hair. The wiry feel made him open his eyes.
Looking down, he couldn’t help himself from making a face. The body he had
pushed the soul back into had been dead for a long time. It had been dead so
long it did not have what was needed to live. It had to heal.
Loose grey skin was slowly turning pristine white under
his fingertips. The rough, brittle, dry feel was slowly lessening, becoming
taught and smooth as the fledgling gained bulk, muscles reforming and
stretching the skin. Hair which had come away in places was re-growing rapidly,
soft like a newborn’s, along with parts of his scalp and face, the skin
re-knitting where it had once rotted away. Tendons reached across to each other
and rejoined, once again becoming whole and perfect. Subtle blemishes that
would have appeared if he were still human were fading away. Scars gained in
the past showed for a moment before the healing made them vanish - all but one.
A small scar, no longer than Kain’s index finger, rested on ivory skin, a
blemish to heighten perfection elsewhere - his death scar.
His child was shaking violently, whether from the fear,
the exposure or the pain of regeneration, Kain wasn’t sure. Its thin arms clung
to him, brittle, yellow nails breaking easily against his skin as it tried to
hold tightly to him, desperate and frightened. Tiny distressed noises worked
their way up through its newly healed throat. Letting out a relieved sigh, Kain
continued running clawed fingers through his child’s hair, waiting for the
regeneration to stop before he decided what to do next.
Silently he chided himself. He should have thought this
through better. He should have known exactly what he was to do next. But in his
own eagerness he had rushed things and he had made three major mistakes already.
He’d given to much blood to the youngster now slowly calming in his arms,
weakening himself, making them both defenceless against any enemy. He had not
properly decided what to do once his child was aware and well enough to move.
Finally, he had not taken into account how much physical and mental energy it
would take to raise a child. He had planned on doing all of them tonight, but
now he doubted his ability to raise more than one a month, maybe even longer.
He prayed this was his last mistake, but knew it wouldn’t
be.
As its regeneration finally began to slow and finish, his
child continued to quiver against him, its constant shuddering making him
nervous. He didn’t remember being like this when he’d woken. His own dizziness
was fading quickly as his body healed itself, this taking yet more energy that
he didn’t have to spare. As a result, his stomach growled loudly, calling for
him to replace what he had lost. His child’s stomach echoed his own and he
nodded to himself, remembering the prey he’d set aside back in
They were silent for a few moments before it pulled down a
little and looked up at him with blind half-formed eyes, and Kain felt himself shudder,
completely
unprepared for the shiver of emotion that shot through him. Almost without
thinking he moved, slowly wrapping arms tighter around his new fledgling,
holding it to him.
“This is mine,
more than anything was or will be. This is mine. My blood. My soul. My child.”
The fledgling let out a small sound as if in response to
his words and buried its face against his chest, dead, useless eyes closing.
Kain smiled before he could prevent himself and reached deep inside himself,
tapping into his magic reserves and teleporting them away to where he knew they
would be safe. A village was not to far from here, a village with an inn where he
would call a carriage and take his child to
~
It was warm here, warm and wet.
The fledgling opened his eyes and found them seeing now.
He blinked slowly, marvelling at the sensation it caused. Small tingling
sensations prickled across his eyelids as he blinked again, moving his eyes
round to look at where he now was. He found it difficult to focus when he tried
to look beyond himself; distant colours held no shape or recognition to him,
but this did not frighten him. This place was alien, but he was not afraid. Something
inside told him he was safe.
Gently, he attempted to move, gingerly turning his head a little;
the dull pain that had enflamed his entire body before was ebbing away now,
drifting into oblivion where it would be forgotten. Warmth throbbed gently in
his mouth and he ran his tongue over his teeth, half interested in the hard
sharpness of his own teeth and the warm spicy flavour that rested so naturally
in his mouth. The same knowledge that had told him he was safe informed him now
that the flavour he was lapping off his own teeth was food.
His stomach growled loudly when he recognised the flavour
of food and he wondered at the strange feeling it caused to spiral through him.
It took him a moment before he realised he was hungry. The smell of food was overwhelming;
he coughed suddenly as his mouth filled with saliva. He automatically swallowed,
paused, then did it again, the sensation of swallowing causing interest for a
few moments before the smell of food pushed up to the front of his mind again. Looking
down towards the smell, he saw he was lying in a pool, a pool of what he knew
to be his food.
He stared at what he could see of himself for a moment
before he made a decision. Testing, he moved his arm, instantly becoming
fascinated by his ability to do so. Cupping his hand, he lifted some of the red
liquid from the pool to drink, but a pail hand on his wrist stopped him.
“This blood is old, months old. An enchantment keeps it
warm and from congealing, but the blood itself has no life anymore. It merely
aids in healing, and it gives comfort”
He looked away from his hand now dripping blood, towards
the voice. The same knowledge that he couldn’t comprehend, the knowledge that
had told him he was safe and that he was hungry, told him now that the voice
belonged to his father. His father, the reason he was safe. Blinking slowly, he
tried to focus on the hand still holding his wrist, and when satisfied he could
manage to move upwards. His eyes still weak, it took him a while before he
managed to focus properly.
The fledgling blinked at his father as his eyes focused,
seeing him for the first time. He was tall, even when kneeling, slim but strong,
with elegant features and paler than the moon itself. His hand had been
released, and now he reached out with it, running bloodied fingertips over his
father’s face, feeling the smoothness of his skin, watching as red rolled down
white skin and dripped back into the bath.
“You finally decided to wake up,” Kain spoke around questing
fingertips, frowning slightly when his child’s questing hand tangled in his
hair. “You’ve slept for nearly a week, little Raziel.” It was that moment that
his child’s strength faltered and his hand was dropped into the bath, dragging
hair with it.
Eyes that were still blue and had not yet taken on the
vampiric gold blinked owlishly, staring at the ripples in the blood.
“Hungry,” the fledgling breathed, looking back up at his
father. The word had sounded strange. The vibration in his throat almost made
him chough again, but he swallowed quickly and found the burning soothed. Once
he’d spoken the word, the memory of language came rushing back, and suddenly he
felt he knew words for everything in the room that was coming slowly into focus.
He knew what those words would look like written down, and he knew he could
write them down if asked.
“I can give you more now,” his father answered, nodding. The
fledging frowned, confused. “Blood lies beneath the surface,” Kain explained. “You
will find it in every living creature, but it is not given freely. You must use
your teeth to get at it.” The fledgling blinked, trying to listen, trying to
ignore everything else, the warmth around him, the sounds coming from beyond
the wall, the drop of blood falling down his father’s face.
“The best places are at a human’s wrist, throat, elbow or
thigh,” Kain continued, pointing to each place on himself in turn, illustrating
where he meant. He was met with a blank expression and tried hard to remember
anything from when he was young or from what he had seen when Vorador raising a
child. He came up blank.
“Here, come to me, you should have strength enough to do
that,” he said, coming to a decision.
The fledgling looked down at the blood he was lying in for
a moment before timidly reaching out and gripping the sides of the basin.
Sharply pulling his weight forwards, he rocked to his feet, crouching still for
a moment before trying to straighten his legs, which had not held weight in a
great many years and had forgotten how to do so.
He felt himself topple backwards and felt his father catch
him. The blood moved dramatically but did not escape the copper bath. The fledgling
looked to his father and gasped when he was lifted up and out of the bath, the
cold air not causing him any discomfort. He was set down on a soft carpeted
floor. He gasped again quietly, feeling his feet sink into the rug beneath him.
He watched as the blood on him slowly trailed down his skin, running over his
father’s hands which held his hips, balancing him as his legs shook under him,
re-learning how to hold his weight.
Kain frowned. Again, he did not remember being this weak
when he had been young, but he also remembered Vorador telling him time and
time again that he was an enigma. What he had done by surviving alone was
almost unheard of. Fledgling vampires simply did not survive on their own.
Still he had not expected his child to be so . . . fragile and dependant on
him. Blue eyes looked trustingly up at him, waiting, and he had to swallow a
lump in his throat before speaking.
“Here,” he managed, gently moving his child and tilting
his own head back, “from my throat this time.” Using one of his claws, he
sliced his vein open.
After a moment’s pause, the fledgling lunged forwards on
instinct, latching on to the wound. He only half heard his father’s breathing
hitch, as he swallowed, blood warming him within. Human hands gripped tightly at bare
shoulders, tight enough to hurt a mortal man. Swallowing, he could feel the
throb and pulse of his father’s heart beat on his tongue, which along with the
thunderous rush of blood in his ears deafened him to the world. Quickly, he snuggled
closer, and made to shift his bite on his father’s veins as the wound closed,
re-knitting and denying him. But his own teeth had not yet fully changed and
were still too blunt to do other than bruise white flesh.
Kain
winced as he felt blunt teeth close on his throat with surprising strength. He
was glad the wound had healed reasonably quickly, for after the raising, a week
of catching prey for another and giving his own blood without a proper feeding
for himself had left him a little less durable than normal. It was then that he
realized just how fragile he was becoming as now both he and his child were kneeling
on the blood-soaked rug by the beaten copper bath. Making a decision to hunt
properly tomorrow evening, Kain took a deep breath and drew his child back from
lapping at his –now bruised- throat. Drawing both of them to their feet took a
rather substantial amount of energy, and reinforced his decision to hunt.
The fledgling gasped as he was lifted and placed back on his feet, and shivered
suddenly, the cold air finally starting to affect him. He whimpered quietly
when he was pushed back a little from his father and tried to push forwards,
only to jump suddenly when he felt a towel wrap around his shoulders. Looking
at the fluffy blue material, he was confused slightly, until he felt clawed
hands rubbing hard against his back and arms, his own skin becoming dry and
warmer from the friction.
Still surprised by his fledgling’s complete dependence,
Kain rubbed him dry, smirking to himself as he imagined Vorador’s reaction to
him using one of the ‘best’ towels to dry blood, which stains. Why a vampire
had ‘best’ towels when they could never enter water he had never discovered.
Nor had he ever discovered the reason he had saved them from the ruined mansion
and Cabal. Raziel purred quietly as he was rather roughly dried and nearly lost
his balance twice. Raising an eyebrow at his child’s reaction, Kain lifted the
towel away, dumping it on his fledgling’s head, trying to get the worst of the
blood out of his short hair, and briefly wondering if this was what human
fathers did. He was even more surprised when his fledgling let out a strained
but loud screech of laughter before frantically trying to get away. But as he
expected it fell over doing so.
Blinking at the grinning fledgling now in a heap on the
floor, Kain shook his head, giving up trying to figure out what was going on.
He bent to lift his child, draping the towel over him again, hoping to hold off
the worst of the cold air. He made a mental note to get something done about
the room temperature, which was something he hadn’t had to think about in a
long time. Lifting his child, he made to move out of the room.
“Father,” Raziel murmured before yawning and nuzzling
closer. Kain smiled before thinking, then wondered why on Nosgoth he had done
it.
Kain walked gently, trying to move smoothly as he carried
his fledgling from what had become a bathroom to the bedroom he had taken for
himself, as it was the only room in the house which contained a bed. He made a
mental note to do something about that, but later. Maybe he should write these
mental notes down? Turning out into the hallway, he automatically paused to
listen. Despite the fact he knew the house was secure, he would always catch
himself double checking, listening for the clank of armour, the cries of
warriors that would announce his discovery. He tensed suddenly, feeling a small
hand fist on the end of his hair. Looking down at the bundle in his arms, he
blinked. The fledgling looked right back, the bloody hand gripping and soiling
pristine hair
“Soft,” it muttered. Not knowing what to say to such a
comment, Kain just moved down the hallway.
Entering the spars bedroom, Kain moved over towards the
bed and unceremoniously dumped his fledgling onto it. He smirked to himself as
he watched his fledgling look about the room in wide-eyed wonder. Again, he
didn’t remember being so . . . clueless when he was reborn. He remembered
confusion, but it was overpowered by anger. Raziel was still looking about the
room, fascinated, when his father spoke again.
“Sleep now,” Kain instructed, turning to walk away.
His fledgling let out a little noise that was not quite a
word, and moved quickly, reaching out. Kain jerked suddenly when he felt his
child grab at him, small hands locking onto his arm. The fledgling still didn’t
understand gravity and had practically thrown himself at him. His child’s legs had
remained on the bed, but the rest was hanging between the bed and himself.
Looking down, Kain sighed as frightened blue eyes stared at him with fear.
Looking away for a moment he gave into the silent request.
“All right,” he mumbled, putting his easy defeat down to
his own exhaustion and not the strange emotion curling in his stomach or the lump
in his throat.
With a yawn, Kain unattached his fledgling from himself and
settled on the mattress, pillowing his head on his arm. Taking a deep sigh, he
smiled a little before trying to ignore the fact he had. It was nice that the
bed didn’t just smell like him anymore. After a moment, he felt his fledgling
shift closer. Deciding to let it be, he settled again, but felt his child
shiver against him. Without opening an eye he reached over and drew a half-forgotten
blanket over them.
Without really thinking, he shifted his free arm more comfortably around the
fledgling. The shivering eased, but did not stop completely, and he began running
his hand up and down his child’s back stroking slowly, repeating the motion in
a constant, soothing rhythm. The shivering stopped and it was short moments
before he cracked open an eye to glance down at the bundle curled next to him.
Despite
his usually cold demeanour, he couldn’t help but smile tiredly. Holding Raziel
made him feel truly needed. The little bundle of limbs next to him truly needed
him.
It was a
nice feeling.
End of chapter one.
Authoress
Note: I think it was better than my last attempt. Yay for me.
A little
OOC, but . . . *shrug*
Please
Review.