NIGHT'S BELOVED

              A L U C A R D ( ᵖᵃᵗʳᶤᶜᵘʳˢᵉᵈ ) “ HAS SPOKEN             ❝ DAMON SALVATORE STARTERS | still accepting ❝

MORTALS OUGHT TO LIVE IN FEAR OF THE SHADOW HE CASTS OVER THEIR LIFE. Under the guise of darkness, he comes to them, the night serving as a witness to his terrible crimes. Feeding from those who are destined to the Hades, he slowly regains his ancient powers ( they rise within his chest, like the fires of Hell ), soon destined to greatness ! Oh yes, he'll gladly once more crown himself, ruling over dominions like he did many centuries ago- for they are parasites and he is a god.LIKE A WOLF HUNTNG DOWN LIVESTOCK, he plagues the night of villages - and tonight is no exception. Descrete, not even a scream can warn the mass of his presence : he'd rather empty more and more of them before the sun rise ( no war will be waged tonight, for the foolishness of Dracula prepared those insects too well against the like of his ).

            S O M A ( ᵈᵒᵐᶤᶰᵃᵗᶤᵉ ) “ HAS SPOKEN             ❝ DAMON SALVATORE STARTERS | Still accepting ❝

RED HUES GAZE DOWN ON HUMANITY. Youth nowadays hasn't been forged by wars, kept away from the dangers of the wild and the fear of the unknown. Foolish, the tales they've been told as children hardly prepare them for what's to come. They see the Darkness, but they do not understand it - as much as they do with their mortality. Without the arms that despair and sacrifices offers, how could this one ever be ready to face what he realy is ? For the vampire knows : something is clawing this boy from the inside ( but this powers of his may very much devour his very soul ). MOCKERY SINGS ITS SONG, Walter's laughter echoing against the black veil of the Night. —— Do not humor me, child ! Your strength isn't even your own. ” A snarl follows his words, disdain slitting his lips open.

            M A T H I A S ( ᶰᵒᵗᵗᵉ-ˡᵃ-ˡᵃᵍᶰᵃ ) “ HAS SPOKEN            ❝ DAMON SALVATORE STARTERS | Still accepting ❝

EYES FLICKER RED, attention concentrated on vexation : this is how a snake slithers away from danger, by showing a face that isn't his, a courage so foolish it hids the real genius under the veil of one's anger. Blinded by his godhood ( or the mere ruins of it ), the vampire snarls under his breath - keeping his smile to mock and conserve dignity ( but this is a game he doesn't play well, outmatched by a race he despises ) —— And you have the audacity of an immortal. Yet, you are still human. ”THREATS ARE LEFT UNSAID, mortality being enough of a promise - a sword of Damocles held over one's head. Nonetheless, eyes cannot lie : the pits of Hell have opened wide in Walter's irides and he's fallen for that trap. The pale face of his interlocutor turns into one of a puppet : a soul so easily bent to his will and plans, offering to him the perfect distraction only to be thrown away once the hero of this story will perish ( Ô sweet irony, if only the beast knew it was being preyed on ). Who thought humans could be this vicious...

                  A Y I N ( ᵉˣᵉᶜᵘᵗᵃʳᵉ ) “ HAS SPOKEN                = ❝ WITHIN THE CASTLE WALLS | @executare ❝

PALE FINGERS DANCE AROUND HIS FIERY LOCK, a carnivorous smile adorning a familiar face - one that welcomes him with a vicious joy. How he had missed this peculiar companion, as strange as this feeling felt for a lonely soul such as his. HIS WAR STAINED ARMOR CRIES AS HE BENDS FORWARD, a faint snarl suggesting his slight annoyance despite the amusement that burns in his eyes. Bloodied gloves paint in red the immortal's wrist, gently inviting him to let go. And though he could in his turn stand tall, he remains at eye level, mimicking the disdain of a tutor adressing his pupill ( he does recognize the irony of this situation ). —— How you must have suffered, indeed, with no other soul interesting enough to torture than mine. ” His laughter echoes within the corridors until once more, he regain his proud stature ( but not before his fingers return the favor of a swift caress, spreading reddish hues accross the vampire's cheek ). —— I brought many gifts from the battlefield, though now I am not quite sure if you are deserving of them. ”

                 And so a monster roils close enough to the surface to breach the lordly pride of his companion’s mien, enough to set a thrill sparking along the vampire’s every nerve and vein alight with a hubris all his own–so close he comes in these terse moments to plucking this one’s resolve to snapping, and what a hearty disappointment it would yet be to think his friend no better than his hunger. The beast shudders to life in all parts of him, eyes that turn abyssal and empty of all but their baser insticts, a demeanour that quakes with the force of this one’s urges clawing their way to the surface of one who fancies himself more than what he is–more than his whims.

                  Perhaps it is only the faintest bit of a surprise (such a grand and wanted joy) that Walter proves himself as much. Proves himself better. Proves himself as more. The wine of Ayin’s flesh stays untasted, unknown, turned aside with hands that once paraded themselves upon the Lord’s grinning face. His pierced skin removed with a single push that Ayin idly permits. He sneers–that wounded hand taken instead back to the smirking part of his own lips where his tongue can lick closed the trivial opening of flesh. His eyes burn, proud and pleased under the lowering swathe of his lashes. “Good.” The word rolls off his tongue to the tune of a growl as his gaze roams and wanders the retreating silhouette of his companion. But Ayin is keen to follow–cross that distance with silent haste and lean past one broad shoulder to purr his so-called praise into the wawrlord’s ear, as a hand tangles and pulls in the flames of the other man’s hair to yank back that high-held head of his. “Good, Walter. I see that you have shown yourself before me as wiser than your uglier, baser impulses. For all that you are and aren’t, so unrefined as you yet remain–that you are patient enough only to outlive their demands is telling of your promise. The good you are worth to me, and the good you are to the future of your own self.”

                The twist of his fingers only surrender their cruelty when Ayin once more sates the urge to laugh. The music of his voice rings deep and sweet against the curve of the other’s ear, fingers carding their way free of that fiery mane as he steps back, aside, around. His arms open wide with more theatrical, grandiose gesture accompanying the prideful, indulgent declarations his lips all but bleed. “Yes. We are honest to a painful fault, as nothing of consequence is learned without some hurt. But I am honest with you whether I am pleased, or whether I am repulsed, or whether I am disappointed. And it is in your best fortunes that today I am the former. Endlessly so.” His dark head tosses back, lips hooked to a smile that opens wide around the sharp cut of fang (for show as much as it is for amusement, for mirth.) “That you are even a step above common rabble that would bite at the first taste of something from so very far outside of their world. You are a thing of some delight to me for that alone. I am not wrong to think there is more to be done with you. And that I can teach and shape you as you most need to be.”

              A moment’s perch is taken at the table’s edge, arms folded upon that narrow chest after a moment’s toying with the gold and silver that threads this way and that across the breadth of either shoulder. His knowing gaze rests languid, intent upon the set of Walter’s face. “Drink we shall, to the proof you are bright enough to be taught. To the fact that your first lesson has not failed my hope of you. But it is not for me to advise you on the lessons forthcoming–it would spoil the honesty of your replies. Your actions. Your handling of them each. And I want only the most honest examples of you when it falls to you to heed when I call for you to learn.”

WORDS SWEET AS HONEY HE DEVOURS, listening with an attention he has so seldom given to a guest's parable. Hungry eyes scan thin air, as if thoughts were to materialize before him - he weights every remarks, every propositions that are breathed to life, trying to find joy in those claims ( it really isn't such a hard task, a smile cripping upon his lips every time Ayin humors and flatters him ). EVEN WHEN FINGERS GRIP ON THE FLAMES OF HIS MANE, he smiles, leaving his burning anger behind. Understanding this game better, knowing that you give Empire over your soul to one by allowing to rule or take what they please, he'll keep his wrath to himself ( as this first lesson taught him ). Divine and ancient, he doesn't need to reaffirm his crown and godhood.

—— A curious way to teach one some manners - as curious as the teacher, I have to admit. Modernity is so intriguing - but at least it sounds thrilling. " RAISED WITH THE MOST SIMPLE PEDAGOGY, kill or be killed, win or fall, fullfill expectations or suffer the punition you deserve for failing your blood and name, he wonders what new outlooks this tutor can make him see ( Surely things as dark as they are beautiful, , strange and twisted : something that, at least, can make him transcend this lethargy he's been drowning in for centuries. )

WITHOUT ANY MORE CEREMONIES, the Night's protégé empties his cup - blood still warm poured over his fangs and tongue, like a sacrifice to please the old gods. Life quenching his thirst, a faint smile adorns his lips as the iron of his calice rings once laid back on the table.—— But before I am remodeled to your liking, surely you will forgive me for acting one last time like the archaic beast that I am. " GLOVES SLITHERING AWAY TO REVEAL PALE WRISTS AND SHARP CLAWS, animal like and hardly as elegant as his peer's ( but as efficient, if not more, to dig the skin of mortal things ), fiery eyes look at the hand held to their level, searching for a vein. —— After all, bad manners make one's charm, and this is one custom that I quite enjoy. Of course, I won't subject you to the whims of this ancient 'protocol' - or ceremony, call it as you wish - as you so often told me that I wouldn't partake in your blood. So, to show you that I am not only hungry, but generous - a quality that animals cannot possess - let us seal this pact in blood, as our predecessors have always done. One last antique gesture before you lead me upon the roads of change. "

            “I will pray for you,” for all it is worth, though the sentiment itself is not something born of his own desires. Terrence endures the malign atmosphere for all it’s worth, too; withstanding the pains and howls of hatred from a creature knowing nothing else. It is not his threats which cause him grimacing, or the unhappy beat of his heart, but the notion that the vulnerable ones may be indeed lead astray, and he himself would require methods he is not accustomed to utilizing. Nonetheless… 

             “But I will not allow you to prey on the innocent, even at the cost of my reputation! You, of fouler beginnings than the worst sinner,” the mallet of his father is once more wielded, brought fluid in arms, allowing it strength with the accumulating of flora and branch the very weapon sprung to life: adorned, in full. “I am not your prey. I am the thorns you despise, that I will never be trimmed away,” he is approaching, carrying with him the airs and manifestations of fields in full bloom; “I will cause you harm. In that you will turn from your wickedness, or live with the misery of my chasing your darkness with an ever-burning spirit.” He stands some breaths parted, a narrowing of his gaze, “I give you one last chance: cease your chaos of these lands, and the terror you bring its people, and I as the sun will not chase you into your hiding place…” 

FANGS ARE BARED IN A GRIMMACE, pious words inspiring disgust to one who dwells within the shadows. Evergrowing is the light that surround this strange child, wielding justice and nature like other would simply present a crucifix : but the blessed character of his magic is even more stronger than any christian artefact, older, more threatening than he who died on the cross ( foolish are the men who casted aside the help of older Gods ! Those called pagans and heretics held within their hands the salute of nations ). EVIL ALMOST RETREATS, a step back taken as the song of Hell fills the darkness of this room. Screams and growls, hissings and laments that seem to come from a thousand souls ( but it is within the pitt of his chest that those cries are birthed, and from the castle itself ). And yet, despite the blinding light of the whitest petals in bloom, fiery eyes still watch from the shadows, attentive and burning with wrath, hatred growing with every passing minute, with every threat articulated into words.

Where Eros had so desperately sought remorse, he could only find madness. Those eyes, ones there were so much like his own and yet so different, only reflected the cruelty and despair he bestowed on others. His heart had grown cold, and he shivered from it.

“Wait, no —- “ A realization that came too late. The hall had become quiet, a grave. The silence that came with death. Or the noise that came with suffering. He knew not which he’d rather stand in. Within that silence, however, an ember sparked to life.

Fingers found the clasp that laid above the other’s chest. Nails grown into claws. Fangs – as immature as they were in his condition – bared like a beast. The eyes that once looked to Walter in cowardice now burned. Raging with anger. Glistened with tears of sorrow.  “Do not toy with lives!”

FINALLY : MONSTRUOSITY SHOWS ITSELF, washing upon the vampire's features, fangs bared like a wounded beast protecting itself - a beast who growls like a tamed dog ( at least, he is now promissing, acting according to his nature rather than crowning his weakness ). But all too human he still remains, pity found at the root of his anger, hungry for justice, to avenge the death of a meaningless prey ( the young are always so attached to their humanity. can't they understand that they were born again as something new ? Another blood flows in their veins - another nature needs to take over. ).

THE  THICK  STENCH  OF  BLOOD  AND  DECAYING  FLESH  WAS  A  WELCOMED  PRESENCE  (   almost  akin  to  embracing  an  old  friend  once  more  ).   ‘  you  mock me  ! ‘  the  harsh  snarl  cutting  through  the  dimly  lit  street  ,  eyes  focusing  on  the  all  too  familiar  figure  (  he  was  in no  mood  to  be  played  with  ,  especially  by  the  likes  of  him  ).

yet   as  he  spoke  ,  his  words  seemed  to  ring  true  .   the   hunt   had   ripped   and   twisted   at   his   mind   for   years  ,  perhaps   he   did   need   to   kill  ?  maybe  he  enjoyed  cutting  down   the  sick  and corrupt  ?  no  surely  not  ,  he  was  better  than  the  beasts  he  hunted  .  the  guiding  light  wouldn’t  couldn’t   steer  him  wrong  .  ‘ i’m  nothing  like  you,  or  your  kind ! ‘  

HE SNARLS, his laughter akin to a wolfish cry, his pale face showing only disdain and amusement. Waltzing among the carcasses that fill this narrow streets, he treads on gore and blood, unafaraid - for his noble nature was crafted by those disgusting things. —— Oh, please ! A hunter is a hunter, whoever is prey might be. "

                  It’s a first, Ayin will give him that much–sudden force on either shoulder and the clattering, ugly sound of things raining around him as his senses spike with the swift change in gravity and place as he is shoved and trapped against the unforgiving wood behind him. The pain isn’t much, if it could be called that at all; a scattering of sensation ingiting his nerves where the shelves and the somethings they hold press hard into the narrow frame of Ayin’s back, sharp from the impact of push and shove, powerful hands holding him back. Trying to, rather. Pretending to. Even as Ayin snarls to the command lorded over him and is held there precariously as captive, his lips tear back in a dreadful smile–a moment’s wildness flashing over the bottomless red of his feline eyes. An instant reminder that he is not a thing tamed so easily by any man’s hands, whatever his momentary compliance (or the feigning of it.) oh, but the Lord could admonish him–laying hands where he was not told to, applying the menace of force that begs him to be still, pliant and at the other vampire’s orbit for a speech Ayin didn’t ask to hear.

               But for all of that possibility, Ayin does not resist. Moreover, there is a welcome to the mockery in his gaze–cold where that split second of ferocity had peaked and fled. Cold, but wickedly hungry and endlessly awash with mirth as that intruding hand and its meddling fingers parts his mouth to to the sight of fang and teeth; and then, the sweep of Ayin’s tongue as it traces their edges and their vicious shapes once again for himself. Allowed. All of Walter and his bold, sudden trespasses and lofty speeches are serenely allowed. Enjoyed? It begins to seem it, as that new and tremendous glee surfaces in the delicate set of the Lord’s face when his eyes vanish under the swathe of his lashes and both hands fan along the wrists and arms of the companion still pressing him firmly into place (still permitted to do so–the amusement of Walter’s brutish habits makes itself quite known in that Ayin has not raised a dissenting hand.)

                 “Of course. You are possessed of more worth than they, even to my eyes. You would be no good to me if you were but a dog snapping at my heels, as so many of my worshippers are; loyal to a fault, unquestioning, and so dull with devotion that they think nothing that I do not permit them to think, feel nothing I do not permit they feel–” He breathes deep, a thunderous noise quite so like a purr rattling through his throat as his jaw begins to burn with ache under those grasping fingers holding him open. Not minded, nor punished. Ayin’s fingers are busy with their distant waltz upon the trappings of the man’s clothes and armor dressing his wider frame, lazily following their path to the shoulder and then to the lone, vulnerable stripe of skin peeking above the collar. Ayin’s smile is languid and indulgent, lidded eyes and poisonous tranquility and all–and such a look of knowing when his gaze is lifted back to Walter’s face.

                  “They serve a very different purpose to me. They attend my desires, my whims, my battles, and they die as I need them to. They are toys. Utilities. And you…? Mm, no, dear friend, you would not enjoy the glory nor the safety of my companionship if all your use to me was to bark and bite and roll over as I bade you.” His fingers spread their chill up along the line of the Warlord’s jaw, fanned gentle and ghost-like beneath one ear. Mockingly soft–but all of Ayin is made of mockery in this moment. Warmed the slightest with whatever passes for fondness in his world as he tilts his head against that squeezing hand. “But you need sense and patience beaten into you, nonetheless. I know very well what you want of me even without such a colourful, desperate declaration. I know you want our quarrels to exist in the flesh, not the spoken word, that you want to parade yourself in front of me as the brute that you are and tempt me to bare my teeth and bite like one, too. Hurt one another. War with one another–settle things as beasts, not men. So that you might see me at my worst, my most terrible, my most wrathful–as you so long to know me in ways you have yet failed to entice. To experience. It troubles you, doesn’t it? That I will not show this to you, that you do not know all of me. And you do not understand me, nor know how to.” A hand moves, lightning-quick–latches itself tight in the flame-red fall of Walter’s hair and wrenching him painfully close for the whisper shared into that tiny space between them.

               “Your empire is built all on violence and mindless fear. Mine is only dissimilar in that it was built too with wit, with loyalty, and with words as much as it was with blood. You will become a prophecy of defeat, if you are too quick to depend on only one means of ruling this pitiful world–you have merely not been humbled enough to realise it. Oh, but I will teach you. I will beat that into you, as you have now pleaded that I do here in the realms of your own abode, unknowing; and the ways I will teach you will all be in ways you too, haven’t known before me. And rest assured– when we meet each other with that violence you crave of me, you will see for yourself that I am far from growing dull.” A palm sighing over the other man’s cheek, threatening in its gentility as much as the thumb pressing that bottom lip beneath its deceitful softness. Slipping its way between. Catching the keen edge of one fang upon tender flesh until the faintest scent of blood perfumes the air, slight enough to be only a dream (but the kiss of red on Ayin’s skin says otherwise.)  “Though that you have been so honest with me today, Walter, perhaps is deserving of praise.”

GROWLS THAT COULD WELL BE PURRS ROLLS WITHIN HIS THROAT, echoing in hs chest as both a warning and an approval, finding such pleasing promises and yet still decitful threats within this man's words - ô so cunning, he seems to slip between his fingers whenever he thinks he has him strangled between the vice of his hands, like a viper, so swift to turn its head around to bite back. As if invisible binds held him down, he already feels the consequences of such a rude teaching - it leaves no scars, costing only irritation and a wounded pride to an immortal who does not yet understand the value of such knowledge. CURSED DIGIT SLITHERS WITHIN HIS OPENED MOUTH, and he lets him do as he pleases, for it is in his interest too, caught once more in the vice of this immortal's whims, he sees again the errors of his way - and yet, he won't fight it, for the binds now crush his wirsts ( willing and yet reticent, it is the price of Ayin's new victory that he relinquishes to pay, pride still dictaties his mind ). Ruby eyes, curious and yet filled with menaces invite to play, but with caution, never leaving once his fellow beast's gaze. IT IS ONLY WHEN THE RUMOR OF BLOOD AWAKEN HIS SENSES THAT THE LIGHT SEEMS TO SHIFT IN HIS EYES, becoming something darker, like pitts leading straight to the fires of Hell, blackholes devouring the light that touches them ( Ô such a gaze filled with red, it follows you like a bad dream ). Can he feel it too ? Invading his mind, it grips on your soul like a parasite, looking into sins and crimes, it gives the sensation that he can unveil any mystery, any secrets that have been kept deep within ( but it is only a mere promises, the reflection of those plans he has for him ). Ô HUNGER ! It calls once more ? But should he follow his desire, or play a wiser game ? Instincts call for his attention, while a sacrifice would have him go further upon those roads this peculiar soul traces for them both ( and how he wishes to walk like a King upon those roads ! ). But surely, compromises can always be made : playing along, it will be according to his nature that he will slightly twist this game. And so, fangs of ivory deliver their sting, his hands abandoning the the vice he held over's Ayin's jaws to chase away this blooded fingers from his lips, before one drop could ever be tasted.

@monstruoasa· | Continued from  ❤

His approach was hesitant, slow and unsure. The claws of dread slowly sank into his heart with every step, every part of his being tensed and coiled. There had been no reason for his being here – no reason other than a series of unfortunate circumstances. Being at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

The other’s presence was overwhelming, his mocking gaze weighing heavily on his shoulders. Yet, despite the growing fear, how his heart. He still found himself by the man’s side. That same gaze coerced him to lift his own, to the spectacle that laid before them.

“Ah—” He clasped his hands over his mouth, preventing his own cry from joining the choir of screams and laughter.

“Why would you…? What is the meaning of this?” He would question – confusion and horror muddling his speech. His eyes searched the other’s expression, as though attempting to seek out what little humanity may be there. “Please, let them go.”

—— Ah, it seems like our honorable guest is not enjoying the show. “ ATTENTION SUDDENLY IS OFFERED TO THE IMMORTAL, eyes red like ruby watching their almost exact reflection. And while the aria of cries still grows louder every passing minute, it is a twisted silence that seems to still fall between the two vampires. The world's song is muffled behind walls, illusions and magic tricks found in the pitt of the Lord's gaze.

“A wolf, yet you certainly yip like something that had its balls chopped off,” Vlad reciprocated the taunt bluntly, a slash of white cutting his countenance wolfishly. What gaming words, of two vampires who crossed paths more often than they’d like to admit, all for the sheer thrill of banter and battle like territorial beasts. 

“I think it’s time an end was put to this enmity. Clearly Europe doesn’t have enough room for these pissing contests of ours.” The meaning was clear: some unattainable cooperation, or perhaps all out war. He would hardly be remiss for either.

—— Ah, such vulgarity... And they even call you "Lord" !. “ HE SCOFFS, disdain burning brighter than ever in those fiery eyes of his. Though he shouldn't indulge so much in hs own disdain, for the foe that stands before him has more than once proven he was not to be underestimated, this situation inspires him mischief ( hatred and pride being the venom that poison his every word and action ).