Disclaimer: I don’t own LoK, blah blah blah, or anything of it. I don’t own any sexy vamps, though I oh so wish. *evil grin* Please Read n review, I’ll give you a plushie.

Warning: Yaoi and other fun and violence in here.

The wind gusted about the plateau, tan dust swirling around in small dust devils about the stone effigy. A monument from the past. A vast structure of stone set here by the Sarafan for their fallen long before he first walked the land. It was circular, somewhat reminiscent of the pillars. Instead of pillars themselves, there was a single stone set in the center of the great stone disk, spires of other stone raised around it, like vaulting archways, watching over that smaller center stone. It was interesting, this memorial here, close to the Pillars. He had overlooked it before, it being hidden in part of a large hill that surrounded the Pillars themselves.

He walked past the worn stone to a rock wall, carved with glyphs and symbols. unimportant, he didn’t spare them a glance as he walked past, down a carved tunnel in the bedrock. At least until his path was blocked by a large stone slab that sealed what lie beyond. It mattered little to him for he easily possessed the strength to move it. With a heave of his strong muscles, it was pulled aside.

The room beyond reeked of death and incense. He calmly stepped in, not at all haunted or fearful of what may lie beyond for here lie less animate corpses than himself. He strode into the circular room, elaborate in every regard. This tomb, for its seclusion, was not raided by he grave robbers. Of course the stories he had heard not too long ago, most likely started by those who wished this place undisturbed, would have kept any unwanted visitors away.

Everyone except him. He looked around casually, taking a role call of who was here. He was a little surprised seeing one familiar name there, but he did not want that one. He softly whispered their names in turn, almost as if he were calling them back. His head turned sharply, his sensitive ears picking up a faint sound. He looked away, figuring it was air moving for the first time in a long time in this place.

He walked over to the first one, the leader, sneering at Malek’s as he walked past. He looked down at the carved stone lid of the sarcophagus. A finger traced the life-like carving’s cheek. A handsome one in life apparently. He would be even more beautiful in unlife, he thought with a smile. Carefully, his strong hands took hold of the heavy lid and moved it cautiously, careful not to damage the occupant in any way.

The ghastly smell of decay rose from the stone box as the lid was moved. More assured now, he pulled it away, setting it on the floor with a heavy thud that sent a billow of dust into the air. When it cleared, he looked into the sarcophagus to see how well time had treated this fallen religious fanatic. Remarkably, he was well preserved. His skin looked like old leather, still having some of its shape. His hair was matted about the angles of his face. The armor he wore was dusty, but looked good enough, except for the slot in the chest, which was apparently evidence on what killed him. A powerful sword had apparently run him thought. So like himself so long ago...

He leaned forward to sniff at this dead thing, testing. What he hoped to be there still was. This being still possessed blood. Impure, stale, old, rotted and foul, but there. His lips curled, revealing the long white points of his fangs, the thought of what he had to do for this to work nauseated him. He had to raise his own army though. His unique heritage, different from that of every other vampire in Nosgoth lent him this ability. To make more out of the long past dead if he so desired. He would have asked Vorador, but the Ancient vampire now, after feeling his sire die a second time had disappeared, permitting himself in the hopes of no having to feel such losses again. It was up to him now. No other could, too young and not possessing the strength to raise a fledgling.

He turned his thoughts back to the present, a pale hand reaching down to caress the cheek of his soon to be child. How to get to him was the next question. How he fed on the run would perhaps be a quicker, less nauseating, but too harsh upon the delicate corpse. He would have to do it more personally. The problem was again, getting to him. He dared not lift him from his stone resting place for fear of him crumbling to dust. He would have to go to him.

He carefully climbed onto the stone box, his expression a mixture of aversion and insecurity. He didn’t like the idea of pretty much sitting over something more dead than himself, and one slip and it was all over. He succeeded though, having lowered himself in, the sarcophagus being rather large compared to its occupant. He held his breath, glad he did not need to breathe so as he could hopefully not take in more of the smell and possible dull the taste.

His obsidian lips carefully touched the leathery skin, his teeth close behind. Slowly, he brought his fangs down, piercing it. He caste a spell to keep the poisonous, rotted blood from affecting him while holding his breath, internally cringing as he finally started to suck out the foul, half clotted liquid sluggishly obeyed him, oozing into his mouth and down his throat. After a few mouthfuls he had to pull back, trying to resist retching it right onto the floor.

If it wasn’t for his strong willed mind, he would have never finished this. Drained finally, the corpse was ready. Him however, his mind reeled as his stomach swam, threatening to overcome him. It would be difficult to even finish this venture. he would have to come back for he doubted on this day he could finish raising all six of them.

He looked down at the drained corpse, seeing no difference in appearance, well beyond something so simple as blood loss. One clawed hand reached to the other’s wrist and slashed, droplets of blood falling free to land on the dusty armor. He raised his wounded wrist over the other’s mouth, carefully prying it open. Precious drops of pure blood fell upon dead lips and into a decayed mouth.

Nothing.

He reopened those slashes, letting more pour in. And again. And again. He frowned, looking hard at the corpse below him. He should be rising by now, but wasn’t. He then remembered the one detail he had been told. He had to give this being more than his blood. He had to literally put his soul into what he was doing. He stared at the other’s leathery skin, the same feeling as earlier turning his stomach. A slight shudder and he concentrated, trying to recall the words of the ancient vampire whom had told him.

He drew a deep breath, turning himself inward. It took him a couple tries, but he exhaled a bit of his own soul. He blinked at the small glowing ball, weakness eating at him rapidly. He plucked at it, guiding it down to the other. The little glowing thing disappeared as it touched the other. A creaking sound came soon after words, followed bu the cracking sound of dry flesh breaking as the mouth slowly came open. Kain reached over him, slashing his wrist again and letting anew burst of blood flow free.

Finally the being’s face started to come around, the small amount of blood partially reviving dead skin and flesh. Slowly, those lips turned dark, so like his own, life there, but not quite apparent in his face. Withered eyes opened up to look up at him, the dead pale orbs unseeing, the mouth opening more, wanting more sustenance. He lowered his wrist to those lips, allowing him to take it more directly. Very clammy lips locked upon his wrist and slowly began to suckle blood form it.

Over time, with the small mouthfuls, his body began to revive itself, sitting up some, wanting to be closer to this being who was nursing him. He held the fledgling close, letting him lie against his shoulder in the small space, allowing him to drink down more.

A short time later, he became dizzy, the slow supping of blood from him was taking its toll and he had to get the other off of him. With a yank, he pulled his worst free. The other gave him a childish fearful look, like that of a child begging for food but not daring to ask. He panted, watching the other’s golden eyes look at him in a pleadingly.

Finally, he spoke, “You will feed again soon child. We both must.”

The other gave him a curious look. “F....father....?”

He nodded. “Yes. I am Kain. You are,” He glanced at the wall, “...Raziel.”
“Raziel....” he said, his voice barely audible. He looked back up at Kain, looking a little more sated after a couple minutes to let what he had taken settle in him, a thousand questions flashed in his eyes.

“Come, we can’t stay here.” Kain started to move, then fell back where he sat, gripping his head, hoping to stop the spinning sensation that just welled up again.

“You’re not well....” Raziel said, moving a little closer, putting a hand on his shoulder as if it could help heal him.

“No...raising you has drained me a lot. I can’t go on and do more right now.”

“Then rest, please,” he answered.

“No...cannot. This place is too dangerous to stay. Sarafan could kill us both...”
 

”Then I will carry you...”

“No...no, that will not be necessary...” he held out a single card, on it were strange glyphs. Kain has possessed it ever since the day he was resurrected, several centuries ago, but it still looked like the day he had received it for its sorcery. “I can take us to my own tomb, there we can rest peacefully until I am able to hunt again.”

Raziel tilted his head curiously again. “Go...close the tomb. You should have strength to do that hopefully. That must be closed before we can leave.”

Carefully, Raziel obeyed, getting out of the sarcophagus and falling over, defeating that effort. It had ben centuries since his body carried his weight. He clumsily got up, his armor scratching about the ground as he did so, and walked to the doorway on shaky legs. his first real exercise was complete shortly, as his body gained more assurance with itself. He looked back over at Kain, then walked over after he was waved over. He leaned on a side of the stone box. Kain took a hold of him carefully and teleported them away.

The place where they teleported to was darker and dank, nothing like the tomb they had just left that was dry and dusty. He shambled over to a greater stone sarcophagus and climbed in. This was Kain’s old tomb. It would do for now, the Sarafan very, very rarely looked here for him. “Come child, rest with me,” Kain said, waving him over.

Timidly, Raziel followed. He carefully clamored into this different stone box. Kain laid back, his hand over his forehead as he was getting quite a headache. He moved uncomfortably, not used to the close extra weight combined with clunky armor. “Raziel...?”

“Yes father?”

“Loose the armor. You won’t need it so much right now. Not here.”

He nodded and complied, getting back up out and carefully freed himself of his crimson and gold armor. Wearing only a light shirt and loose pants, he climbed back in. Before he lie down, he found his shirt in worn tatters, tore it and tossed it aside, useless now. He curled up against his new parent, lying his head on his shoulder. Together their clammy bodies stayed. Kain’s clawed fingers ran tough his new child’s hair, freeing some of the matted knots some. he smiled lightly, looking him over. Indeed he was beautiful in unlife.....very beautiful indeed...

An arm wrapped itself around him, holding this new fledgling to him. It would be day soon, and he was still wide-eyed to the world, sensations and senses he did not know in life. Even in the darkness of the long disused tomb there was plenty to sense, to smell, to hear.

Raziel could hear distant drips of water, seeping between the stone walls and pooling into scummy puddles, whispers of air circulating though the dank halls. Smells everywhere. The scent of mildew, rot and damp dirt. The smell of his newly risen self, the scent of must and rot still clinging to his skin. The scent of his father....

He leaned over, nuzzling the other’s chest, breathing his scent. Dead, just like himself, but the smells of himself lingered still from life. The musky scent clanged to his skin, reminiscent of whatever cologne he wore in life still slinging to him even now. The scent of hundreds of kills, samples of many a being;’s blood mixed and apart of him. The scent of...

His lips met that same, cool skin, tasting him, trying to double check. Finding it true, he lapped at him, wanting more of it. Kain looked down at him, feeling a damp tongue lick at him like a begging kitten. He stroked Raziel’s head softly, then pressed it down, stopping him. “Not now child.” He smiled lovingly, “You can discover the whole world anew in a couple days, when both of us are rested.” His voice changed to a soft purr. “You can feed, you can feel, you can desire...soon, my Raziel. Soon. Rest now child. Rest and dream of your new life, here, with me. My son.”

Raziel slowly breathed, hearing his words. He felt compelled to obey, like a child should. He almost purred though, listening to his voice. He wished to hear more of it, he wanted to fall asleep listening to his father’s beautiful voice, the nuances of how he spoke, his accent...just him. He craved sensation like he was blood, but yet, he was still going to obey. He nuzzled against him, feeling that strong hand release him, closing his eyes and falling asleep.

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