Reunited
Disclaimer: Legacy of
Kain belongs to Edios and
Warning: it has to be said . . . . This
fic contains YAOI (GuyXGuy), blood
play and a lemon, if this offends or upsets you do not read this, it’s that
simple.
If you choose to avoid any of these things the back
button is right there for your use and I hope you find what you are looking
for. By continuing you are acknowledging the above information and accepting
it.
Pairing: Kain/Magnus
Rating: NC-17
Part: Five of FIVE. Magnus has finally given up the chase; finally, I
was getting worried there for a bit.
Believe
it or not it was meant to be a one off but Magnus got out of hand.
Set: Post Smooth. Kain has left
Sebastian dead in the industrial quarter and now finds himself colliding with
another visage from his past
Authoress note: I’m
tired. I’ve been working all day, my body is screaming for sleep but my brain
won’t listen, it wants to write! I can’t stop it!!
* \/ * /\ *
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Chapter Five
He is
hunting.
Running,
his entire body thrown into the rhythm of running, feet thumping against the
cold stone, tiny icicles of pain shooting up through his legs reminding him
that at least part of him is still soft flesh, not all of him is made from
whirring, grinding, painful machinery. He picks up the pace, each movement
sending an ache through him. The heavy metal is not meant to move like this,
but each ache is a burst of physical joy, his body thanking him for running,
for using it once more, for moving it out of the dark hole and into the cool,
open air to hunt.
The more
he runs, the quieter it is.
The
screaming, wailing voices deep inside his mind are quieter now, and he is able
to ignore them, drown them out with the scent of humanity, the hunger for
blood. Those voices, the ones that had appeared from nowhere a countless time
ago, destroyed everything inside him. One by one they come, pulling apart his
memories and his mind, until all that is left now was a half-starved mad
creature that is deaf to everything except the voices, except the howling
madness.
He is
running almost blind, sometimes into walls, but he is not interested. Walls
fall before him. Nothing stands before him. Nothing hurts him anymore. Nothing except the voices. His eyes are almost useless; only
dim shapes and dimmer colours litter his vision. The strange machines that the
dark ones put inside of him when he was weak have destroyed his sight, but now
they cannot hurt him anymore. He is too powerful, but also too mad to use that
power.
The voices
scream at him, drowning out all rational thought. He cannot escape them. Much
of his waking hours are spent trying to forget them, but they are always there,
and so they are impossible to forget. Only through hunting and hunger would the
voices become dim, dim enough for him to feel alive, for him to start to
remember, remember a great many things, a great many smells, a great many
colours and sounds. But when the hunt is over he would lose all thought to the
deafening wordless scream of the voices once more.
The dark
ones have not brought food today, but that makes him happy. Now he can let the
hunger grow until it is louder than them, loud enough for him to be able to
hear things once more. Today he would hunt his own prey, chase it screaming
through the corridors. Chasing it, but not catching it. No, he would run for it
till it couldn’t run any longer. And then, when it collapsed from exhaustion,
he would . . . play.
Their
frightened eyes would follow his every movement, knowing what he is doing, but
too exhausted to move. Careful little bites that would make the prey scream
more in fear and frustration than pain, careful bites that would torment him,
driving him on until he would sink deep into the last vein, sink deep and feed.
Something
ahead of him is running, something young and male, screaming out in fear,
begging to be freed. He hears words and tries hard to understand them once more.
The understanding is easier than he had thought; the wailing must be extremely
low for him to be able to actually understand what the human screams.
“Let me
out, I didn’t do nothing!” A gasping sob, “You can’t let him get me!! Help me!!
Help me!!”
The human
has become tired quickly, crouching down in a corner and screaming. It would
continue to scream until its throat becomes raw, they always did that. The
scent of human is stronger now, and he is closer. Forcing solid iron bars to
relent under his claws, he makes his way forwards. He knows suddenly that
‘play’ will not be an option this time. He is simply too starved to play, his
entire body trembling with the need to eat. He is so engrossed in the cowering
human he doesn’t notice he is being watched. Three pairs of eyes - two are regarding
him with anger, and another pair with a strange curiosity.
The dark
ones have come. They are speaking to him, but he is not listening. The pounding
of heartbeats, of blood rushing through veins, is too powerful to ignore. The
dark ones are louder, their heartbeats more powerful than the feeble human
creatures and he leaps. Teeth sink in through wrinkled fowl, smelling dead
flesh; he almost gags with the rank and overpowering smell, but then the blood
comes, clean and pure, and he forgets the disgusting vessel and knows peace for
an instant.
The
human’s wailing draws him out of the haze faster than he would have liked. His
mind clearer now, the blood inside him settling, he is able to form words of
his own.
“I’ve had
my allotment,” he explains, his voice raw, his throat almost bleeding from the
effort of speaking.
The human
creature doesn’t appreciate the effort he has made and continues to scream and
whimper. The blood has settled inside of him now, the hunger appeased, and with
its fading the voices return. His own wordless cry of frustration escapes him,
and claws wrap around the human’s collar and hurl it aside. He throws it to
silence it, sending it through glass; it’s dead when it hits the floor. The
silence from the human is wonderful, but now the screaming voices are growing
louder. He is about to fall to his own knees in despair when a scent touches
him, coming in on the cool air through the hole he made in the glass wall.
The smell!
He knows that smell! Something long forgotten… The screaming madness that never
quietens gives up that one scrap of information. He knows that smell. A strange
excitement curls inside of him, in the pit of his stomach,
very similar to the feeling he gets just before it’s time to hunt. The voices
in his mind, all those voices suddenly become loud and start saying the same
things.
Follow it.
You must follow.
You must catch!
You must feed!
The memory
of prey struggling against him, the pounding of weak human hands against him, the memory of their writhing in agony against him makes him
shiver. He wants that again, only he wants the familiar one to be the prey. He
does want to catch. Leaping forwards, his half blind eyes do not see the dirty
glass, and he to falls through it. It doesn’t slow him much, yet it is enough
for the strange familiar one to run.
He
follows.
He follows
half blind through corridors that reek of filth and waste and fear. He follows
the ‘prey’ into a room; the creature pauses for a moment and he comes close
enough to snap at it, but not close enough to break the skin. As he closes the
distance, the creature suddenly leaps away into the centre of the room. There
is a warm rush of power, similar to the power the dark ones use to operate the
evil machines in this hellhole, but warmer and familiar. A bizarre feeling of
safety and warmth wash over him, but is drowned out by the voices and the new
rising hunger.
Leaping
forwards, his half blind eyes still useless to him, he follows his nose, and
for a fleeting moment his claws sink into something soft. Something
warm, not quiet as warm as prey, but with more warmth than stone or metal.
Then it’s gone; the prey he’s hunting moves, twisting out of his grasp and
lashing out, slashing at him with claws of its own. He is forced backwards. For
a moment he sees a rising metal disk, and then he is falling.
Burning.
Blind burning. Blind burning with no beginning and no end in sight.
Had he always been burning? Then cool, cool stone. He remembers
stone, hard cold stone. The voices stop their mindless screaming for a moment
and he is blessed with silence for a fleeting second before all join as one
once more and yell.
You were slow!!
You were useless!!
You fell!!
You failed!!
Letting
out a scream of rage, loud enough to drown out the screaming voices, he sinks
claws into the cold stone and pulls, the metal on his back making him work hard
to climb out of the hole he is in, his rage boiling beneath his skin, wild and
furious enough to keep the voices drowned until he is able to pull himself over
the rim and onto dry cold stone.
Try again!
Follow it!!
Catch it!!
Try again!!
And he
obeys, trying again and again. He comes close enough to sink claws into warm
skin every time, and ever time he is forced into the burning water. Every time
the creature’s strange power, warm and familiar, but deadly accurate, makes the
ground beneath him fall away, and every time the voices return together, as one
to scold him, to make him rise again and to try again.
* * *
He can
smell it, its close!! It’s close but . . . below him; falling to his knees, he
pounds at the stone beneath him and feels it crack under his fists, crack and
fracture until huge chunks of it come away. The stones are thick, but weak,
held together by ancient means, and they are not difficult to break through. He
falls for a moment before his feet land on more cold stone. A sharp cry of
surprise makes him turn; the prey is right in front of him. This close his
almost useless vision is able to make out some things.
The prey
is white.
White; the
word rings in his memory for a moment, and then is gone. He knows it’s
important, but does not know why. He struggles with the thought for a moment,
clawing at his own head. The white one in front of him uses that moment and
leaps over him and races forwards.
Vampire!
Same as you!!
Powerful!!
FOLLOW IT!!
The voices
give up scraps of information, but the scraps are enough to make him run. The
creature, the other vampire, has entered the shifting maze. Magnus feels a note
of panic strike him. One wrong move and the creature could be impaled, or fall
into one of the deadly traps littered around this twisted room. Using his own
entrance he appears outside of the moving walls and watches as the creature
moves. A lump forms in his throat. If it dies here, he will never have it!
But it
surprises him; it makes its way through the maze without being harmed, dealing
with the traps with its peculiar and familiar breed of magic. More eager than
ever, Magnus slips out of the maze and races around to where he knows the
creature will end up, but it is not there. A sudden shaking in the building
alerts his half aware mind that something is wrong. The heavy feeling of magic laying over the entire complex shifts a little; it trembles
like a fish forced out of water, gasping, trying to twist back into where it
belongs. A sudden harder shake in the building frees it completely of the
magic.
He can
feel time start to move again, time that before now has stood completely still,
making the air thick and heavy, keeping the buildings inside bubbles of stale
air, is now once again moving. The air is suddenly cleaner, and for the first
time since he arrived he can smell the salt of the ocean and hear the birds. A
feeling of weight is pulled from his shoulders, but the voices, the heavy
machinery inside of him, remain.
Something
deep inside tells him that this is his prey’s doing, and somehow he knows that
the creature he is hunting was responsible for the evil magic’s disappearance. But
that knowledge does not dissuade the still growing hunger, the urge to sink
fang into white skin, the want to catch it, to feel it struggle against him. He
shivers at the thought and jerks when he realises that the other vampire is
here. He knew it would come!
Sending
out his own magic, red hot and half wild, he drops the weight holding the door
aloft and traps the prey. Now it cannot run, now it must fight, fight and die
by his hand. He knows better now than to use physical blows to destroy this
one, so leaping inside the room he lands on a safe point and turns to face his
prey . . . it’s gone.
But its
scent is still here, he knows it’s still here, it’s . . . hiding. Something
inside of him whispers to him that this is odd, but he ignores it and closes
his useless eyes. He uses his nose, sending his magic out to wrap around the
creature. His magic hits something and he feels it break beneath its force; however,
opening his eyes, he sees nothing but a broken statue. He growls and pulls his
magic back in towards himself for another blow, but suddenly he is struck by an
invisible force. It knocks him from his safe place into the burning water
below.
TRY AGAIN!!
Again he
tries, and again his magic cannot get through the stone to get to his prey. Again
he is knocked by the invisible force into the water.
TRY AGAIN!!
And again, and again. But the burning becomes too much. His skin peels away and
falls to the ground in burnt clumps, making him bleed, making the hunger rise.
Without thought he flees, racing through the doorway which he pulls down around
himself, racing away from the burning water. With time back in place he finds
himself able to heal, feels his skin pulling together under its own wish, not
the sowing together he has become so used to. He almost cries out wit joy, but
he has suffered a great deal in the time when there was no time and his healing
is slow.
The voices
are becoming quieter now. The fact that time is moving once more seems to be
weakening them, yet they are still loud enough to affect him.
You ran!!
Coward!!
Go back!!
Hunt it!!
Feel it break beneath you!!
He turns
to look up at the ledge he has leapt from and tries to find a way back up, but
to his surprise the prey leaps down to him. The roles of hunter and prey are
becoming confused inside him. The prey runs and the hunter catches
it – that is the rule. The prey does not chase the hunter. There cannot be two
hunters!
But there
are now. He feels claws sink into his skin whenever they meet, but to his
confusion the other vampire he had thought was prey doesn’t seem interested in
him. It does not fear him the way the others did. It only hurts him when he
goes to it. He suddenly feels another of the invisible hits and turns to face
the direction it came from. The other is just standing there, so he runs to it,
but it leaps away before his claws can sink in and he collides with a statue.
Again and again this happens and his confused mind tries to think, but the
voices stop his thoughts and so all he can do is repeat his mistake, again and
again.
The other
has gone back to ignoring him and he can sense magic in the cleaner air again,
the same magic the invisible fists are created from, the magic from the
creature, the other vampire. Turning a corner, he suddenly collides with it. Anger
rushes to the surface as they both fall to the ground in a tangled heap, the
other trashing beneath him. He wants it to hurt, to hurt as much as he is
hurting. Leaning forward until his mouth is inches away from the other’s ear,
he whispers, “Feel my pain!
The other’s
thrashing pauses for a moment and there is exquisite silence. All Magnus can hear
is their heartbeats. It feels so… familiar. Then with a cry of pain the other
forces his way up, throwing Magnus to the side. The smell of burning fills the
room and Magnus knows the other is having his pain. But much to his anger it
fades quickly and the smell dies, as the magic rises one more time and the
ground begins to shake, the fragmented rocks pulling themselves together.
“What
magic is this?” he breathes, his throat bleeding inside from having spoken so
much in such a short space of time. The main statue is built, but nothing else occurs
and he relaxes, hunting out the other vampire once more.
THERE!!
It was on
the raised dais and he threw himself at it. Part of the statue fell away, but
he didn’t care. His right arm was split open from the force of the blow, but he
didn’t care. He could practically taste the other already and he knew he would
have him now. The other’s plan had failed. The new statue had brought no new
magic with it. It was just dead stone, and the other had nowhere else to run.
He threw himself again at the dais, hurling all of his weight and the weight of
the machines inside of him at the stone and felt something give way.
The giant
statue was falling!
He ran,
but it was of no use. It fell, and he felt his legs give under the weight of
the stone. A sickening crunch came as parts of him broke, unable to withstand
such weight. Pinned by the heavy stone, he knew he was beaten. He felt the
world turn dim, and then there was blackness.
The light
was silent, the voices gone. His mind was his once more. He knew where he was and
he knew who was walking away.
“Sire,
wait!” he cried, blood coming from his throat as he spoke. He spat onto the
stone, trying to ignore the agony of his impending death.
“What
trickery is this?” Kain turned and frowned at him.
Magnus
felt the world stop.
Kain did
not remember. Something had damaged his Lord . . . The death he had been told
of may not have been entirely untrue. Somehow Magnus just knew, Kain didn’t
remember Sebastian. Maybe it had something to do with the expression on his
face. He could faintly smell Sebastian on him and knew that they had met, but
there was no overwhelming anger, no sadness at the betrayal.
He
understood Kain might have been aware of names, but the memory of the time set
together was missing, like a part of his soul had just been pulled away. Memories too painful to remember. Swallowing around the
thought of what that meant, he managed to speak.
“No
trickery, sire, I am your servant once again. Your champion, once again,” he
whispered, throat raw. How many nights had he lain awake in the mansion,
wishing Sebastian could just be erased from Kain’s mind? And now he had his
wish . . . and it was too late.
“Pathetic
wretch, I have no . . .” Kain paused, and Magnus saw a little bit of memory
slip into place. “Magnus?” Kain sounded confused, as
if he wasn’t sure if the name fit the creature now lying broken in front of
him.
“It is I,
sire,” Magnus nodded, and to his dismay he saw anger filling his Lord’s face.
“Magnus, the traitor! Tell me, is this your reward for
betraying me?” Kain let out a strangled bark of a laugh, forced and unreal, and
looked around the ruined prison.
“Sire, I
did not . . .” Magnus tried, but pain swallowed him whole and he had to stop,
unable to form words.
“You left
my camp in the night like all the rest,” Kain accused. Magnus nodded, and then
shook his head, swallowing, trying to drown out the pain before he spoke again.
“I wanted
only to serve you; I went to kill the Serefan lord alone!” He watched the words
sink in and he knew Kain heard truth in what he spoke.
“You never
returned,” Kain mumbled.
“I failed
you. Even now I cannot remember how he defeated me. I was struck down helpless
at his feet, and then through his fowl magic he took my mind and transported me
to this hell hole. But what of you, sire? I heard that you were dead!” the
short speech took nearly all his energy and he felt himself sag backwards
against the huge machine at his back.
“Not so
dead as some would like to have me,” Kain muttered, kneeling next to him. Using
what little of his strength remained he tried to move his arm. He wanted to
touch him. A blood-covered, clawed hand covered his own,
recognising the gesture. A sense of peace so profound covered Magnus at the
gesture so completely that he didn’t hear the last words Kain spoke to him,
before claws opened his throat to the world and the blackness covered him
forever.
The End
Authoress Note: Yay I managed to finish it at long
last. I apologise once again for how long this fic has taken for me to write as
you all know I have no real reasons just excuses.
I hope I managed to keep it in
character etc and I hope you liked it
Please Review.