The Lightbringer
꧁ Gleeon Onyx ꧂
⚜ Former Billionaire ⚜ Warlock ⚜ Half human, half Draconic ⚜ Immortal ⚜
Occupation:
Gleeon has and still operates a safe haven for supernatural, beast-like, and other non-human-type beings, any entity that seeks refuge from mankind without the fear of being poached or persecuted. This can include everything from mages, to anomalous people, vampires, sentient creatures not of this world, and even dragons. All are welcomed if they are not a liability or a risk to his group. Not a place for murderous beings to hide.
This haven can be found his estate: A large property that sits on a lakefront, surrounded by woodland mountains and forests. Since a few members of his group consist of giant reptiles, it provides wide-open spaces with the terrain obscuring it from the sight of his neighbors.
Disposition:
Selfless is one way to describe him, more than willing to aid others in need. Regardless of what species, ethnicity, religion, or what world somebody is from, they’re always welcomed with open arms, no individual is antagonized for their background.
Gleeon is both kind-hearted & a warrior all in one, low-energy, and often seen as the voice of reason by those in his group. He's proactive in tending to those in need, also a good listener when somebody needs to get something off their chest. Can be a good mentor figure for younger individuals in his family of monsters.
When it comes to entertainment and hobbies, he's into a lot of Sci-Fi shows, reading, swimming (thanks to a certain Siren), and model-building.
Beware: He's a bad cook. So much that he burnt tea. Others in his group have banned him from making anything in their kitchen.
Appearance:
Skin Tone: Pale
Hair Color: Jet Black
Eye Color: Gold irises with black scleras
Feral Form
Skills/Attributes:
Long ago during his youth, he caught a fatal illness. Unable to bear the thought of losing a child, his adopted mother of a Dragoness injected him with her own blood. This process rewrote his DNA, which in turn gave him extremely high resistance to many diseases and viruses, with inhuman strength, and increased senses.
Due to the wish of a siren he courted, the man was bestowed with immortality. This does not mean invulnerability, only that dying of old age is no longer a risk.
Gleeon is well-versed in the use of Aeromancy: Wind magic. This enables him to manipulate the very air molecules, either by creating jetstreams of air, conjuring up tornados, use it for levitation/flight, or redirecting the wind. This can include the ability to make spheres of compressed atmosphere before launching them as explosive projectiles once the pressure is released. Since Gleeon can tap directly into oxygen molecules, he can cause a vacuum to instantly put out fires, or as a counter against pyromancy.
Sorcery aside, the Warlock also favors the use of modern firearms, useful for the sake of avoiding unwanted attention since magic can be quite destructive. His preferred ranged weapon is a Judge or Governor pistol, despite having a collection of rifles and many other items, many of which are unsurprisingly illegal.
Three decades ago...
Amazons, a large warrior tribe comprised of all women from ancient folklore that still exist to this day who live a life of isolation in the modern world, being nothing more than a shadow of the conquers they once were.
To sustain a consistent population, women of the tribe venture out of their territory to find and seduce men, where they intentionally impregnate themselves to later give birth to baby girls. However, doing so comes with an occasional problem: Sometimes they will receive a boy instead. Any male offspring are usually disposed of by dumping them off in the wild, typically in forests in hopes they’ll be mauled to death by predators or die from exposure.
However, there is one known case where one of these discarded children survived. Roughly thirty years ago, one Amazonian diverted from one of the usual dumping grounds and left the child by some ruins instead for unknown reasons.
Little did this cruel mother know that there was a Dragoness inhabiting the temple, an eastern one. Upon discovering the abandoned kid, she took him in and raised the boy. Gleeon, as she named him, would grow up under her guidance, learning how to wield air-based magic, and many other talents that would aid him in life. The two formed an inseparable bond.
Not long after he became of age, the young man was sent out by her for him to experience life and mingle with other humans. The first few years were rough, having to scavenge for food, find temporary shelter, avoid arrest while snatching leftover meals, and seek a job simultaneously. Eventually, his efforts paid off.
As for the specifics of what exactly happened and led his current situation in life, that is for you to find out, should you embark on that adventure.
~Side Characters~
Abraham Sullivan:
Perhaps the last and only surviving World War One veteran still alive to this day, in addition to being David Sullivan's twin brother. Well over a century ago, Abe was drafted and enlisted, having become the driver of a Mark Five tank his crew nicknamed: Steelheart.
The final operation they would participate in was the siege of a weapons lab, under the control of another nation called the Dominion. He and his crew managed to break through enemy lines and enter the facility, only to discover a device capable of freezing time in its immediate vicinity called a Stasis Bomb. Rightfully fearful of what would happen to their fellow troops, Abraham and the others loaded it onto their vehicle before driving away in an effort to move it off-site. Unexpectedly- it went off, putting him and the surviving crew into suspended animation in time for the next hundred years.
Upon being released into the modern age from the stasis bomb deactivating, he was discovered by Gleeon's group and taken under his wing. With help from the family man himself and Cassella, Abe was brought up to speed for the most crucial things with the current era and history. Slowly but surely, they assisted him with integrating back into modern society, which felt like a whole new world to him.
Abraham is indifferent and welcoming to most newcomers, well-disciplined, along with not wanting to start emotional conflicts or participate in one. While not the most talkative person out there, he still attempts to socialize with others.
Personality aside, he has a few passions due to having some artistic skills: Sketching, aviation enthusiast, model trains, automobiles, naval architecture/history, and rail-fanning. (Due to him being a railroad engineer before the Great War.)
Being a man with no special powers, Abe is heavily experienced with firearms and operating large vehicles from driving a tank during his military career. Thanks to a number of other smaller conflicts on Gleeon's end, he became even more battle-hardened.
Valery Koslov:
Out in the wilderness of the city Pripyat in Ukraine, a young mage was growing up under the care of a witch, who had been orphaned at the time. The infamous Chernobyl nuclear disaster occurred, which unsurprisingly contaminated its surroundings.
Much of the radioactive smoke and particles came down on him. Valery had sustained a fatal dose and radiation burns, which left him bed-ridden in what was thought to be his last few days alive. Unexpectedly... A deity of some sort had entered his home. This mysterious being cast a number of powerful spells upon him before immediately leaving.
In a short time span, Koslov mustered enough strength to rise out of bed, no longer falling victim to cellular death across his body. The spells used gave him immediately to radiation, and the ability to absorb it at well. While this was a blessing, it did not undo the cosmetic damage: His face and skin were ruined far beyond recognition, making him resemble a charred zombie.
To hide his horrific appearance, he wears a cloak and covers his face/skin in white bandages. Valery wields a sharpened shovel as a melee weapon, which he dipped in damaged uranium fuel rods to make it volatile. This vile item can cause severe radiation burns to anyone struck by his shovel, or foolish enough to grab it. Any living being can expect to get cancer later on and experience radiation sickness in the short term. In addition, he uses pyromancy-based magic, often lacing it with radiation for more devastating effects.
While his methods for defending himself are highly questionable, Val is a cinnamon roll for the most part, one with a lot of energy. He tends to be an extrovert around anyone that won't judge or find his appearance suspicious. Currently, he travels the world in search of anything that could help him achieve his ultimate end goal: Reconstructing his face.
In the present, he's recently joined the Sullivan family and has developed a close friendship with Cassella.
Comments
Ralph makes a petulant noise with his lips, a sort of pop. And his brown eyes move over the property, sweeping across its entirety with his gaze. “Well,” he begins, scratching his fat neck absently with unkempt nails, “job kinda failed then. Cuz ain’t nothing more suspicious than a large-ass expensive house, sweet car, and no cover story for a guy like me who might blabber about it far and wide. I’m just surprised ya ain’t gotten raided by the cops yet, thinking yer some kinda drug lord.” A short laugh escapes the rotund man, who then takes another drag of his poison, a playful smirk across his features as nostrils blow a stream of swirling greys. Oh, how he loves to tease sometimes. But not everyone is having such a fun time as he is. Robin, for example, was certainly far from amused. He was growing impatient and frustrated with Ralph, who was bit by bit eroding his patience.
The vampire makes a low growl in the back of his throat, a warning, and he hobbles up to the man, whispering in a viper tone that only the cab driver can hear, “I told you. Stop.” He looks strained and pale, angry underneath the harsh light of the sun. Ralph immediately responds. “Hey, hey, I didn’t say I was gonna rat the dude out; calm down, Robby ol’ boy.” The middle-aged man murmurs back softly, trying to defuse the situation. He gives a broad smile to the others, Abraham and Gleeon, “we are fine. Just marriage squabbling, nothing else,” he assures. Ralph then turns back his head to Robin. “Yo, you have to keep it together, buddy. You might want them on your side. Or, at least Gleeon. The man is more than what he seems.”
Huh? The British vampire cocks his head to the side in silent questioning at that last spoken part, but before Robin has a chance to ask what it meant, Gleeon says; “You can hunker down at our house for a day if need be, though I’m going to strongly urge that you feed yourself good to avoid biting one of us.” Robin, in turn, forces a smile in response. He knew he couldn’t stay that long, or even for an hour or two; he had to be off within the hour. Yet he said nothing and thanked his could-be host graciously. Then, they all followed Abraham.
The trip around the house, although short, caused Robin great pains. He could barely walk. Luckily, despite his previous attitude towards the man, he got help from Ralph, who dragged the lad along. “There ya go, you can do it, you old blood-sucking cock sucker; I believe in ya.” The heavy man says (encourages?) The vampire sighs, stifling a chuckle. “Have you ever thought about adopting a more gentle, more formal approach, mate?” He questions and Ralph promptly shakes his head. “Nah, ‘mate’, you’d be bored of me, and you’d go to another cab driver who caters to the supernatural.” A tired tug at Robin’s lips, the previously pulled back chuckle slipping from him. He then opens his mouth to apologise for earlier when Ralph cuts him off, an understanding smile on the otherwise crude man. “No need to say yer sorry. I forgive ya.” The two seemed to be back on peaceful terms and watched together as the Steelheart was finally revealed, the revelation about Abraham’s past coming into the light. Needless to say, it took Robin by surprise.
He slips out from under Ralph’s grasp, taking a few hesitant steps towards the once-deadly machine, though, in the end, he backtracks and remains in place. “You aren’t a vampire,” he states in a daze, looking at Abraham and the tank with befuddlement. His focus shifts between the two. “So I assume something else has prolonged your life? Either that or you are one of the most well-preserved men I have ever seen. This is not stranger however than my last encounter." Robin thinks back to Synova with a chill up his spine.
Robin tethers in-between states of absolute animalistic frenzy and relative civility. He wasn’t able to answer Abraham, at least at any point when spoken to, he just stared at him vacantly, and hungrily, licking his chops like the emaciated and starving predator that he was. He even snapped at him a couple of times but was luckily far too weak and slow to catch him in his grip. He got tied up without much trouble and thrown in the backseat of the car. The worst he could do was smear blood all over the place, causing Ralph to relent a tired sigh of annoyance and stick another cigarette in his mouth.
Lighting it, rolling down the windows, he sighs and murmurs to himself in response to Abe’s telling him that he knows a place they’d need to visit. Ralph mutters; “I know a place I will definitely need to go to, pronto after this fuck-up of an ordeal. Mcdonalds. This whole thing stresses me the fuck out. Gonna order me 20 golden fuckin’ nuggets.” Finally, he takes a long drag and from flared nostrils comes a friendly puff of toxic wonderful smoke that would have filled the cab, but thankfully wafts out easily from out the open window.
The journey from there is smooth, though Robin here and there attempts to free himself or bite at the other occupants of the car. But, realizing he cannot free himself, or actually get at any human prey, he reserves himself to just lick at his jacket for leftover blood or suckle pathetically at his formerly white shirt. He remains unresponsive until the end and only does react when the car door is opened, and the tantalizing aroma of the blood from the cup reaches his sensitive nose. He looks up, his eyes an aggressive shade of red. He does not at all look like the hero who supposedly saved Abe’s life, but just a regular monster.
He grabs the cup when freed, desperately, and in the process of his hurry spills some on himself. It is brought to his mouth and drunk from greedily, guzzling it all down. Soon his tongue trails around the edges of the cup and his lips. Then, finally, the monster within is satiated enough to start to retreat back into his inner core, allowing some sense of control and humanity to resurface. Immediately, a sense of shame falls upon him, seeing how everyone around him is basically staring at him.
He also feels confused, not really sure how he got there. Ralph pats him on the back. “Oh don’t feel bad, Rob. You haven’t seen me chug down a fifth of tequila, one calzone and a bag of chips in less than thirty minutes.” Ralph chuckles.
Robin doesn’t answer and just stares emptily at the three. Ralph takes this as an opportunity and he steps out of the car, walking over and patting the front of the Lamborghini Murcielago. “Damn. How do you afford this, huh? My guess is either a sorcerer or vampire. But you got too much color in yo cheeks” He says to Gleeon, blowing another cloud which obstructs his face for a second.
He whistles, impressed. “I might have to retract my earlier statement about you not paying, buddy,” he says to both Gleeon and Abe. “In fact...–” He starts again. “Ralph. Stop.” Robin says, cutting him off before he went on any further. He then finally looks at Abe. “Thank you. I think you saved me. So, thank you…” He smiles.
Ralph adds with a devious smirk, "You wouldn't have needed savin' if you'd just stuck to the plan and not gone out during the daytime like a slack-jawed idiot. I'm sorry, but that's just askin' for trouble."
"Yes Ralph, my stupidity is duly noted." Robin snaps back.
"Very duly noted. Very stupid." Ralph returns to taking long drags.
‘If he really is a vampire, no wonder he survived all those shots.’
Ralph shot him a confused stare from behind the wheel that lasted for half a sec before his eyes went back to the road. “Huh.” He muttered surprised while rolling with his fat tongue, slapping the roof of his mouth and resulting in a few random ‘bop’ sounds.
“So ya didn’t know Robin after all?” He does not question, but rather states, and there’s another ‘bop’. He then continues, saying; “Well calm that flapping puss o’ yours, this ain’t my first time on the rodeo, champ. I’ve been in plenty of car chases - on both sides actually. So I’ll bet you anything ya will get the chance to git to know ‘em in time. I guarantee it.” He flashes a yellow-toothed grin of confident reassurance. He then puts the pedal to the metal and really speeds after, allowing Abraham to close the distance so that he was within shooting range, but only just. Which just goes to show Abe’s level of expert marksmanship at full display, because soon enough a few of those speeding bullets shot in pure desperation puncture rubber, and for a moment there’s that god awful screech, of bare steel kissing the road. But there comes an abrupt end when, suddenly, the car flips.
It begins to roll, violently, tumbling down the road several times. And like a fine dining glass thrown into the washer, it smashes beyond recognition.
When it finally stopped, standing upright and in a fixed position, not a single window remained intact, and the casing was bent, dented, and horribly twisted beyond reasonable repair.
Boom. The hood burst open, the metal sheet bending upwards in an explosive display of fire and smoke as the engine caught on fire. Meanwhile, Ralph has to twist the steering wheel sharply and just so narrowly avoids a sideways collision. He manages to stop his cab, fifteen or so feet later.
“Well, shit…that was close.” Ralph comments, massaging the wheel nervously. He runs his hand over his head, lifting and then putting back his ballcap. “Now please, can you go and get Robin?” He asks.
“And don’t you go shootin’ less ya have ta, aight? Murder on humans ain’t something I’m comfortable watching.” He adds.
Ralph then notices something, in the rearview mirror…The three men were escaping by foot from outta the car! And one of them Ralph saw was holding his hand to his neck, bleeding profusely, red coming squirting through his fingers, despite how tight he kept them together.
The second in tow was helping the third, for he could scarcely walk by himself, him leaking blood from his foot still.
They were trying to go - fleeing into the forest, apparently leaving Robin behind to burn.
…………………………………………………..
A moment earlier, in the car -
The force of the impact, of the sudden stop, hurls the vampire forwards, and he lands slumped across the seat in front of him. He can hear a gasp of fear, elicited from beneath his weight, and sees with red wanting eyes a little bit of delicate, exposed skin.
There is no hesitation, not even for a split second, as he bites down hard and viciously enough not only to sink his elongated fangs into the driver’s throat, but to rip into flesh, tear apart muscle.
Almost immediately the world becomes clearer, as life pours into him from the other beings' cup.
He drinks and he drinks, suckling at the barest teats of life until he feels a bit stronger, enough so that he feels sensation return to his limbs. He can move.
He reaches out with desperate hands, and he clings to the other person's clothes, arms, head - anything to keep on gorging himself with blood without his prey escaping, for it thrashes and it fights in his arms something fierce. Like a fish on a line.
Somewhere he knew there was a fire, he could hear its breath, sense its heat coming closer. But it didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was the blood. And if he would perish in his pursuit, burn to death - so be it.
Kapoow! The very thing happened which he wished did not, as he’s hit in the head with something blunt, and terribly heavy, yet it certainly saved his unlife.
It knocked him off his prey, and in a daze, he can hear it scramble to get away, yet he still holds on with his claws. “GET OFF OF HIM!” Someone screamed and hit him a second time, harder, this time causing him to let go fully. And as they escaped from his iron grip, he savoured the sweet taste of the ones who hurt him, licking his chops.
He is far from sated, but it is enough to bring him back to the now, anchor himself somewhat to reality and snap back from being a simple-minded, feral animal only looking to quell his infernal and unholy urge to feed.
Ralph watched the young man hurry over to his car and he followed lazily after, dragging his feet in the gravel and kicking the spent canister on his way, for fun, apparently.
And as he went what was left behind in his wake was an acrid cloud of cigarette smoke.
He mumbled, from his lips when speaking, came gushing out clouds of his signature greys and whites, and he said; "Damn, you must have a strange sort of death wish involving yourself in vampire politics like that." Another plume, spilling at the end. The dude's mouth was a veritable chimney spewing toxicity.
He then shrugged his shoulders, and saw the unlocked passenger seat, front door bust open, and the unknown man hopping in. “Well, fuck me I guess.” He blurted out in sharp response, and followed Abe's example, hobbling over and sliding into the driver's seat, a loud thump sounding once his rather sizable arse made contact with the seat.
"I need to invest in a proper ashtray." He noted to himself begrudgingly with a sigh of exhaustion, taking then one final drag of the shrivelled smoking remains of his cig, which was then snuffed out in between an old sandwich, one already chock full of old cigarette butts, soaked in mayo.
"You don't want a bite, do you?" He asked jokingly with a deeply resounding chuckle that turned over into a cough at the end. He then turned the key to his car and started the engine, and soon had the radio on, blasting some generic punk music, and off they were, speeding after.
"Oh and you got the cash on you then for this highly risky car chase do ya? Because I don't take checks, or credit cards. That is unless ya wanna swipe it down the crack of my once toned ass." He chuckled again.
“And yer right, by the by. High speed chases are gonna cost ya that little bit of shiny extra dollars, look 'dere for an estimate." He says, nodding and lightly tapping with a finger towards a sign plastered clumsily on the roof of the car that says just that. That the chase would be about 134 dollars an hour, a full 50 over the usual rate.
"However,” he begins. “I like Robin, so we can skip that extra fee.”
He twistst in his seat, swiping a hand across his face and drawing a deep breath.
“In fact,” he adds, “For once I’m gonna do this for free. I ain’t totally without mercy ya know? You just make sure that he gets back. Cuz dude is alright, for a vampire that is. And he is technically a war vet too. Fought like a hundred years ago - and then again, 'gainst the Nazis." Ralph nods his head and checks a odd sort of map plastered on the empty space on the dashboard. It had odd symbols, strange letters, ones that Abe had never seen before. And before his eyes the map shifted, changed, right before his eyes.
"Hella respect for any guy who ever threw fists against Hitler, even if he’s killed a buncha people. And I mean the number he’s killed I bet far outweighs the amount he’s saved anyways. I’m sure that’s why mortals like us dig the guy, eh?" Ralph taps the map with his finger, and it flashes a distinct green for a second before settling.
The man let out a grisly shriek, registering pain, and suddenly felt his center of gravity shift, his foot giving way beneath him. And before he knew what was what, or what exactly had happened to him, he was on the floor, writhing in torment, yelling and screaming, as he saw with a glance down how the cloth around his ankle had become wet with glistening red, and drizzling blood all over.
Nevertheless, despite that, there was some level of struggle, as he limp-bodied turned around quickly, and tried to aim at his incoming opponent -- but Abe was too fast for him, and before he could fire, or muster up enough strength, the gun was wrestled, pulled from his hands.
Now left on the floor, as Abraham sped his way, continuing on towards the exit, he began to crawl pitifully, like a dog on all fours, and indeed even whimpering like one, as he hurried after, cursing viciously behind gritted teeth, dragging his poor little trotter behind him.
Speaking of Abe, once the war veteran came upon the entrance, flinging open the doors with all the subtlety of a head on trainwreck, he was greeted by the oh so friendly sight of two barrels staring him in the face, and he had just enough time to retreat, and duck behind concrete cover, before they began to fire a suppressive fire, shooting in his general direction.
This allowed their briefly separated and injured team member to crawl, hobble, and limp his way back to them, on his way pushing open the museum door by use of sheer adrenaline alone.
Finally, one of the men helped him into their four-seat pickup truck, which stood parked just outside, chucking him into the backseat where Robin lay, slumped to his side.
The two remaining followed suit, with one of the hitmen literally flinging their rifle aside on the ground, magazine empty anyway, for sake of quick entrance into the vehicle.
With a sudden roar the engines came alive, car doors closing with a slam, and the car sped its way down the highway, a grenade incoming, flying out an open window.
It landed on the gravelly ground with a lame thud, and with a vipers hiss it began to spread a plume of thick white smoke, smelling of garlic and clouding one’s vision–forcing perhaps a tear or two to come rolling down from the corner of Abe’s eyes.
Very strange, and certainly not intended for use on humans, yet ridiculously effective, as once the ‘gas’ dissipated, without having done any damage beyond making his clothes reek, the car had driven far enough away. Certainly beyond the accurate shooting range of anything other than a sniper rifle with a scope attached to it.
As the car then finally dipped out of sight behind trees, a head then promptly popped up from behind a large green bush nearby.
It was Ralph, the taxi driver, who sighed loudly to himself, shaking his head and brushing off powdery remains of garlic off his shoulders.
"Good thing I got my BJ Franklin up front, beforehand." He declared silently to himself with an indifferent shrug, and dug for his pack of cigarettes in his left pocket, and lightning one up, taking a good long toke.
"Such a cryin’ shame. Boy was a good vamp, considering most are grade A dickholes." He muttered solemnly with smoky breath in between drags.
Ralph then notices the man who had been fired upon, stumbling out from an entrance riddled with bullet holes, and he himself holding an assault rifle, with blood staining his entire outfit top to bottom, as if somebody had dropped a bucket of red paint on him.
He coughs in sudden surprise, and pounds his chest, as if trying to bang the toxic fumes out of his lungs. "Oh shit, you survived?" He asks with a raspy voice, spewing an accidental gray cloud into Abraham's face.
__________________________________________________________
// Meanwhile, in the speeding car…..
"Fucking asshole." The man spat out in seething hatred, referencing Abraham, clenching his teeth.
He then winced in pain as he, with great difficulty, managed to remove shoe and sock, both soaked and dripping with his blood. He then gripped firmly with his hands around the entry and exit points of the bulletwound, holding tight despite shaking fingers, in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
He screeched, yelling the most extreme, the foulest insults that popped into the forefront of his mind.
Despite his efforts, however, to keep his life from seeping from his body, Robin could still see, now more awake, how the red continued to trickle its way out, leaking like a broken faucet from in between his fingers - and how the man grew ever paler.
He moaned, longing for a long and succulent taste of that sweet sweet nectar, even if only to lick it, like a beast, from the car seats and dirty floor.
In fact it was all he could think about, that intoxicating iron scent of blood, which was laid so thick in the air, you could carve a piece out of it with a knife.
It filled the small enclosed space, made his head spin, throb, out of sheer desire alone.
These things in there with him now, they weren’t human anymore, not men,they were simply repositories of life. And he wanted to kill them, steal their spark, slaughter them, like pigs, but not before opening their flesh sacks belly to chest, and rip out and suckle at their shiny, mushy innards, like a hungry baby suckling at the teats of its mother.
"Hold still, I'm trying to stop the bleeding." Robin heard, breaking him out of his wonderful, drool-inducing, delicious fantasy.
He saw that the man had thrown his leg over, and into the front seat, whilst one of his mates, the one who wasn’t driving, was tending to him.
Robin watched how the lad tried with red, slippery hands, to open up a small red box, and succeeded after one or two failures. A bandage or two, no…three, were snatched from the container thereafter, and were quickly applied, wrapped tight around the ankle. The white of the gauze quickly turned an appetizing red.
"You'll live." The fellow in the front said with a reassuring smile on his lips, as the man reclined in the back, a long winded sigh escaping his mouth.
Robin smirked, exposing parlor white teeth and signature vampiric fangs. "Don't be so sure." He said.
"Shut the fuck up, leech, you are paralized and unable to heal during the day, you can't do shit but run your mouth." The driver muttered.
"Going to be a long drive though if he keep talkin'. Gotta shut him up someway, cuz I don't wanna hear it." The one riding shotgun said.
"I've got an idea." The wounded one whispered with a weak chuckle, and swore loudly as he searched the floor with his blood slick fingertips, and brought his grasp around his discarded bloodied sock, which he promptly stuffed into Robin's mouth, who willingly bit into it, squeezing whatever juice there was from the fabric.
The driver looked back, and he laughed, saying; "Hah. Nice. But that fucker back there, whoever he was, still got Murdock. Dolingen lied. She swore we'd only ever be going after vampires...fucker was human. Human.
Can't believe anyone could directly kill another man. Shit, I could never do that."
It had happened much too fast, and the men, trained and hardened professionals as they were, had nonetheless been taken off guard when they suddenly and unexpectedly watched one of their own, known to them as Murdock, but a nameless face to Abraham, how the back of his skull blew wide open, and how his brains came splattering wetly onto their clothes, then falling in bits here, and there, onto the floor.
His body then fell backwards with a loud thud, and from all sides around his head came pooling a roseny red, which soon reached the front part of the men’s shoes.
They could not help then, as that happened, but to give in to their animalistic instincts, adrenaline rushing through their systems, evoking sensations of panic, of fight or flight.
But only for a heartbeats moment did they allow themselves to give in, as they steeled their nerves as they had prepared for, took their aim, and they shot off a spray of bullets after him, Abraham, who due to their momentary weakness had been given just enough time to quickly duck down for cover behind the tank.
Ting, tang, tong, sounded it then, as the old metal still held firm, effortlessly, and the bullets bounced off the old war machine like they were droplets of harmless rain.
“CEASE FIRE!” One shouted, and the men one after the other they stopped, and they each reloaded, one first, and then the next.
They then stood at attention, ready, whilst from the muzzles of their guns a line of gray smoke snaked its way outwards, and the last bullets fired fell to the floor, each clinking melodically as they made their light impact. Visibly now their tip lacked that point as the bullets lay all throughout, looking more like blunt stumps as they had tried their might and failed against inches of reinforced, thick steel.
One began to move in, but he was quickly halted by another to his right, grabbing him and pulling on the back of his suit and bringing him back to the others, back into the line.
“Fuck you doin’?” The man asks the one who had made his advance.
“I was just..-” He began as his response, but was robbed of his full sentence as the other cut him off, right then and there.
“NO! We are not here for him.” He says with determination. The man continues. “And Murdock, well he damn knew the risk of the job, didn’t he? So no use trying to get even.
No. No, we are here for a reason, so let’s just grab what we came for and go.” The man finishes, before he releases his hold of the other.
The other, in return, frowns. While he had wanted to get even, for daring to take out one of their own, and fully against letting such an act go with impunity, the man did understand what was at stake, should they fail to bring Robin in.
And so he nodded, moving forth to crouch down to hook under the arms of the vampire, then beginning to drag him outwards, leaving a snail trail of red that blended with the blood of their mate.
Meanwhile the other man held out one arm, his other still having a firm grip around the rifle.
“Look, no harm no foul alright?” He proclaims with a light chuckle to himself.
“All we wanted was this pretty little bastard, and I don’t know how ya know him, but he’s not worth dying for is he? So we go our way, you go your way, and nobody gets hurt? That sound good?”
Quite a good proposition, only…they weren’t snatching a corpse from the ground.
“I…I can’t move.” Robin mumbled to himself in definitive horror, as when he came to, opening his eyelids slowly, like the lifting of the drapes on a sunday morning, he could feel no sensation below his neck. He was lifeless, and as limp as a boned fish.
“H-help…help me…” He whimpered weakly, his voice now a mere mouse squeak at this point, barely audible, as he flickered in and out of darkness, a terrible thirst beginning to settle within, one that he was helpless to quench, unable as he was to move a single muscle.
“Vampires are freaking me out, you can cut them in half and they’ll still come after you.
It’s like on the show The Walking Dead, I swear.” One says jokingly as they sneer down at Robin, as they all now slowly begin to make their way towards the exit, pulling the leech’s near lifeless body along.
Robin nodded his head slowly as the other spoke his first piece, agreeing with this ‘experiment’ that the higher ups had supposedly orchestrated. This because he wasn’t at all opposed to the idea of women in combat, as he held the belief that they too should have the right to fight for king and country, if they so had the desire for it.
And that was a belief he held even way back during the war, as it was not some new modernity he had picked up just recently when the world truly had become more enlightened and progressive.
Now of course, as to the actual validity of this man’s entire claim at hand, well of course he couldn’t verify this way or the other, but this fellow, as Robin listened to him, he spoke with enough conviction that one really believed in what he was saying, and strangely enough he had a way with infusing, putting emotion into his words, and speaking with a solemn, sorrowful, almost reminiscent tone of voice, almost as if he’d been there himself.
It seemed to Robin that he actually missed this lady, whoever she had been, and had in fact known her in person, as well as the rest of the crew, as when they were spoken of by him it was very much in a tone of reverence.
Very odd, he thought, but in his mind he didn’t come to the immediate conclusion that Abraham had -actually- been there, in the flesh. No, instead he assumed Abraham as some sort of passionate historian, one who buried himself fully in his work. Well that is until he, when looking in the face of the other, noticed some glossiness shining on the surface of the eyes.
He, better than most perhaps, knew the first up and coming signs of tears, as he had seen them in person many times on the faces of his prey, as he had then robbed them of their lives.
This man was holding back tears, no doubt.
Nevertheless he faked the best that he could a facade of composure, and in doing so let Robin know that there really was more to the story, hiding beneath the surface, something he wasn’t letting on.
But the vampire didn’t pry, of course, and as Abraham introduced himself, extending a hand to shake, Robin immediately took it, and shook it ,eagerly, not showing on his face any sort of indication either way of his suspicion.
After all, he had years of experience hiding his true intentions, from everything and everyone, and so he simply said; “Pleased to meet you.” And he answered the question. “And I’m a delivery man, by trade.”
He then let go, placing back his hands, tied, behind him.
He so wanted now to know, truly, just how Abraham could speak about these people in such a manner. Because he didn’t lie, and by his calm demeanor and speech pattern, he clearly wasn’t mad.
Robin however didn’t get the chance to ask, nor think about the matter further, because suddenly he heard the footsteps of four individuals, coming up behind them.
Now at first he didn’t think much of it, thinking them tourists eager to satisfy their curiosity of the past. But then he heard with that keen vampire hearing of his the unmistakable metallic sound of a safety lock being disengaged, and the gentle squeezing of the trigger.
Next he knew, hell; a cascade of fire, bullets, and smoke, coming from one singular firearm.
He acted, almost on instinct, and he placed himself as the literal meatshield between him and what he knew would kill Abraham, as bullets went flying, penetrating harshly into his flesh, burrowing into and by the pure impact shattering bone, and turning his innards into mush.
He didn’t know where, or when he was then, only that every single fiber of his being was wracked with pain that made every single synapse of his brain scream for relief.
He whimpered and he shrieked, but then even his undead body could take no more abuse, and all became dark for him as he lost consciousness and crashed forwards, bringing the other male with him as together they hit the floor hard, and Robin’s body slumped atop Abraham’s.
Now from every hole, as he lay there, gushed a river of blood, positively coating every single part of Abraham’s form as he lay on him, with his back almost looking entirely ripped open, with even parts of his spine showing in places where the merciless bullets had torn apart flesh.
Speaking of bullets…the gun was silent now, as the moment was over before any sense could have been made.
Abraham would now hear someone reload, and then saw four faces show up shortly after, towering above him as they stood all around him, as he lay pinned down by Robin’s weight.
"Fuck you doin'? We don't wanna kill him!" One of the guys said to the one who’s gun still ran hot with what he had done, showing a trail of smoke from the barrel, going upwards.
"Oh he'll be fine my friend.” He says. “Oh you act like you've never seen a leech before. He'll be just fine. A little rest, maybe a painkiller or two, and the boy will be just fine!”
"So I can tell the boss?" Another asks.
"If you wanna go ahead and disturb her while she's napping, go right ahead. But I'd like to keep my head.” The shooter replies.
"We wait then?"
"Smart choice, and you got to that conclusion all on yer own, I'm impressed." The gunman once again says, then crouches down, seeing Abraham.
"Now who do we have here?" He asks with a vicious, shit eating grin, as he then proceeds to place the barrel of his automatic rifle against Abe’s forehead.
“Robin, a friend of yours? Why were you with him?”
He listened to the other as he spoke, and here and there he looked back to the several ton behemoth in front of him, as images were added in his brain, and he thought back to the days of war and carnage, of suffering, and of acrid gunpowder smells and horrible human decay.
He imagined himself back in the muddy trenches, surrounded by his fellow countrymen, and in his mind’s eye he stared at their gaunt, strained faces. Some were wide eyed like terrified children, others were curled up with their eyes shut tight, as if they could will themselves into another place and time, if only they tried hard enough. Some still hid behind brave faces, yet Robin knew they’d rather be anyone but there.
And all across there was that deathly silence, which was punctuated only by stifled sobs and the occasional burst of gunfire. A flashback, if ever there was one, and only ended when the other mentioned the presence of a lady, or a Lady, he didn’t know which, in the other’s story.
“A Lady among them?” He asked, all confused like. He then continued, “Oh but sir, there must be some mistake, because no women were allowed to partake in the fighting, no less a Lady at that. Or was she American then, and just a ‘lady’?” Robin asked, a tad bit confused.
“I mean I remember….-” He was about to say, but realized he perhaps overstepped his place by correcting, or somehow doubting the man’s knowledge, because perhaps there were women allowed in the US military, and he just did not know. Either way, he thought it rather improper, and so stayed his tongue from further making a fool of himself in front of someone who very well might be more versed than him, despite Robin’s first hand experience.
“Nevermind, sir. Forgive me, I must be mistaken.” He says to the other man. “But I’m sure it was quite the scandal back then.” He said, allowing a short bubble of silence to grow between the two, before the temptation to burst it became irresistible, and he spoke, asking another question. “In any case whatever happened to this Steelheart? What became of it? Blown to bits, I gather?” He asked, turning to look upon the tank in front of him, then back to the man to give him all his attention, and remain courteous by not straying away with his gaze much more.
And, looking upon the man, and into his eyes fully, Robin felt a weird something with Abraham, something he couldn’t quite rightly place in his hall of feelings or recollections. Like a weird sense of connection, or familiarity? Robin didn’t know, but he did not like the sensation at all.
He realized though, as he did this and felt in such a manner, that he’d made another mistake, that he hadn’t properly introduced himself.
“And I’m sorry, sir, my name is Robin.” He says quickly, flashing a smile and exposing sharpened, and slightly lengthened upper canines, very briefly.
12 JULY 1959
19:57
LONDON, HIGHWAY CEMETERY…
How could things ever have come down to this, just how could things have spiralled into such a deep, dark abyss, of madness and despair? His house of cards, it’d fallen over. Though he didn’t quite know how, nor why, as it seemed to him only yesterday's memory that he was on the white shores of Whitby as a young child, standing on soft sandy plains.
Oh to be back there once more, to feel how with every motion forward there was some backward, and some down. Just like walking in freshly fallen snow. And then of course the waves they would roll in, spreading themselves like fine lace over the beach, accompanied by the smell of the sea, and the song of the gulls. And even now in this cesspit of utter loss he can still remember his dear mother from atop the cliff, calling for his attention as lunch stands ready, and how his father rustled the newspaper as he turned a fresh leaf.
He imagines himself with a red bucket and a spade along with his two siblings to play along with, with nothing ahead to worry himself with.
No fears, no responsibilities, just him and his family, on a nice and sunny summer day.
Yet of course the sight before him is quite different than all that, as Robin now sits 40 years later, perched atop a tall tree, well hidden behind the thick canopy, not unlike his namesake the robin bird.
And the view, as he looks down from there, well it is horrid, gut wrenching.
And above all...it is black.
Black was the clothes that the people wore, and black was the sky that loomed above, admitting tiny droplets and the occasional thunder. It was a funeral, his very own fathers funeral in fact, and he couldn’t attend.
This was because he feared, feared that they’d know the monster that he had become.
Because how could he ever hope to explain being back, his face as young looking now, as back then. He was frozen in time, seemingly forever, and hadn’t changed a bit, not outwardly anyway.
His family however, as they all stood gathered, they were all different, like strangers.
His own sweet, sweet dear mother, she looked old and frail by now, sitting in a wheelchair with her face covered by a thin dark veil. And by either her side was Charlotte and Graham, his siblings, looking mature, feigning strength for the sake of mama.
There were children present too, and aunts and uncles, and people he’d lost out on, that had joined the Harker family through the years that he had been away.
He wanted to cry, for it felt like a maggot was inside his chest, eating away at his being.
Yet he couldn’t, because the ability to feel, to truly feel, was out of his reach. And it frustrated him, being there and knowing he should feel more than he did.
He did feel something, but that life was like a shadow to him now, yet he longed for it all the same, and wanted nothing more than to go down there and hold his mama's hand, as the preacher finished.
“..---Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. In sure and certain hope of resurrection of eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, who shall change our vile body that it may be unto His glorious body, according to the mighty working whereby He is able to subdue all things to Himself. AMEN.” He said, as the crowd joined in silence, stifling cries and sobs, and then it was all over.
“Goodbye father, may you rest in peace.” Robin said, moving to climb down the tree when suddenly he saw it, his mother’s head, turning upwards to look his way. But there was no way that she could see him, could there?
“Mother…?” He whispered, and he could have sworn just then that he saw his mama smile back at him, her glistening eyes filling momentarily with joy.
____________________________________________
MANY YEARS LATER….
He still didn’t know, still didn’t know whether his mother had seen him, that evening all those years ago. She couldn’t have, not through all those leaves, tree branches, and not through that thin dark veil obscuring her vision, if ever so slightly. Yet it was a thought, a sort of wondering that passed by in Robin’s head as he sat in the front seat of the car, as he and ‘his’ driver, drove onwards towards their destination. It’d been a long, long journey, and they still had plenty more to go.
And it’d be longer still, he realized, when he saw something that made him turn his head.
It was a poster, one advertising for a World War I museum located some three miles from there.
He simply had to go, if only to pay his respects to the fallen. He then informed the driver of his wishes, who looked at him sourly, patting the wheel with fingers adorned with fake gold and silver rings, with skulls on some, and strange, unknown symbols on the others.
“Are you sure we have the time for you to fuck around?” The slightly overweight man asked.
“Drac’s gonna be pissed if this thing isn’t done properly. And I’m not gonna be dying because you wanted to go take a trip down memory lane or something. It’s a no from me my man, I ain’t doing it.”
Robin sighed. “Fine. I’ll pay fifty bucks if you’ll take us.” He replied, fishing out a 50 bill from his wallet.
The driver chuckled and tapped the dashboard, pursing his lips. “Make it a hundred and you are on. If I’m gonna die by that old bat's hand for being late, I ain’t gonna go for anyone lower than good ol’ BJ Franklin.” He says as a shit-eating grin spreads from ear to ear.
“Fine. Fine.” Robin says, fishing out another fifty and offering.
“You went deaf before you became a vampire or sum’? Cause I think I said I wanted good ol’ BJ Frankling. Oh yeah, that’s what I said, and that’s what I meant.” The fat man thundered comically, chuckling amusingly to himself as Robin begrudgingly chucks out a hundred dollar bill and hands it to the man, who pockets the thing and laughs, patting the vampire on the back.
“Alright, alright, let’s go then.” He says, stopping mid-road to change direction. And, luckily for him he didn’t hit any other cars, nor were there any cops around to withdraw his license.
The vehicle then turned and began down the road to the museum, unaware that a car was following….
“I’ll be back soon. I promise.” Robin said, some time later when they’d finally arrived and parked.
“Just don’t get crisped by the sun if these clouds decide to let up, because I’m not coming in there to dust up your ashes.” The driver says.
Robin doesn’t reply, as he knows the answer would be too long for the man’s interest to hold up anyway, and that he’d only ever get a sarcastic remark for it. No, instead he makes his way inside the museum, looking this way and that, trying to make sense of modern contemporary design.
He also notes how alone he is, how loud his steps are, as the noise bounces off the walls like some ping pong ball being thrown at it.
The one man in the room, well he does not react, and stands utterly still, not much unlike a pale mannequin, staring at the warmachine that Robin knew so very little of, and had seen ever only once, though long enough for him to have witnessed first hand, its devastating effects. And to think of what came after though, the tanks that he saw unleashed in the second World War, it was a chill, seeing the original.
But this man was more than fascinated, beyond even frightened. There was something more?
“Are..are you all well, sir?” He asked, joining the man by his side.
He was quiet through the entire duration of their trip and in a way she wondered what's going on through that head of his. Now that they were on air, he didn't seem to be so sad anymore. More like distracted… even. Perhaps that was the only thing that mattered to her at that moment. Recently the man has been so preoccupied with his own thoughts that work seemed to be like the only escape he has. At the end of the day, she can only help in a few ways, other than offering an ear to his dilemmas.
As soon as she felt the slightest knock on her side, she descended. The place seemed obscure enough, the skies clearing away as soon as she landed. There didn’t seem to be any sort of danger lingering around either, as far as what little scent around them can offer. With the man hopping off, she was left to look around, snaking her way in.
Gleeon seemed to be in a hurry to claim a spot, an adult man a little too giddy in hopping into the steaming water. She obviously didn't mind. Upon settling her massive meandering body amongst the rocks, she quickly morphed into a form that suited the moment better. A noirette that somehow looked human enough, clad in a loose, plain dress. Her son had always insisted for her to wear something more convenient over her old robes to fit in with the region where they are, and while she begrudgingly did so at first, perhaps this time the comfort finally settled in. Dark silks still seemed to be the main point of preference, but this one didn’t seem to be anything too conspicuous.
Xeryssa spared a moment to fold his discarded clothing, neatly placing this aside on dry land. "I won't be surprised. Places like these had always enamored people even in the past. Many of my people believed that it offered relief for a lot of things, and I can see why. " She simply took a seat down on the edge, unflinchingly dipping her bare feet into the steaming water. That was sufficient. A quiet exhale left her lips. "This place is quite hidden. How did you even find it?”
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