Chapter 16

The wails were chillingly close. They'd grown in intensity over the last few minutes, but no one was paying attention. When the monitors showed Col swooping and diving around the shadow giant, Kandais turned around on the couch. She grabbed hold of the couch's backing, gently at first, then with aching fingers.

Conir and Danil cheered as they watched Col do battle with the giant, and Yasha yelled out:

"What? What Happened?" from the darkness of the hallway where she was fumbling at the fusebox, trying to bring back the lights. Of the four of them, only Kandais found it odd that the monitors were still functioning while the power was clearly dead everywhere else.

When Col sunk his fangs into his opponent's neck, the serfs moaned a harmony of curses and despondent cries. Whatever recorded and broadcast the image of Col victoriously feeding, zoomed closer in on the scene.

They could now see his face clearly. Not Col's face, but the face of the Master; Aged and lined from time, a graceful middle-aged loosening of skin, a long tapered nose with angling nostrils, and thin lips now parted in release. Long dark hair, thinning at the temples, spilled behind him and rested in the hanging hood.

The wailing turned into excited screams and thick horrid laughter. Conir stood angrily, as if he intended to punish the computer screens for their display. Then came the face of Col as he rose from drinking, appearing refreshed and eager; oddly radiant as would be the face of a victor returning from combat.

The monitors went dead.

Kandais nearly lost her grip on the couch in the sudden darkness. She cringed against the padding, expecting some awful fiend to step out of the night. She felt a stab of betrayal. Col said she'd be safe. Now here was some new trick; Some new horror approaching.

She gasped when her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and her stomach knotted in fear. Conir had dropped to his knees, only inches away from the computers. He groaned and rolled over onto his side, then screamed and choked and scraped at his face. And there he lay, rolling back and forth with his legs pulled up to his chest.

Kandais pushed off of the couch. Her hand flew unbeckoned to her mouth, the other crossed her middle to hold her hip. She tore her gaze away from Conir only to find Danil curled up fetal at the foot of his recliner, spittle flying from his lips in a torrent as he choked and cried aloud. For the third time that evening, Kandais found herself utterly helpless; a feeling that sickened her to the core.

"Conir, Danil.. what's wrong?" she was asking, feeling stupid. She was answered only with shrill, nearly gleeful chorus of shrieks from somewhere beyond the apartment walls, and the sobbing of the serf's writhing on the floor.

For a moment, Kandais thought only of joining them; But gathered herself, realizing that she would have to do something, anything, from bursting into frightened tears. She tip-toed over to Danil as quickly as she could then crouched next to him. He had ceased to move, but whined with every breath. He was sitting curled up facing her, his arms crossed in front of his face, his knees pulled up and touching his elbows. Kandais reached out but hesitated with her hand just above his shuddering shoulder. She pushed past her apprehension.

"Dan..." started Kandais, her hand gently on his shoulder.

"Master... Seal..." were the only intelligible strings of sounds to leave his mouth. He continued on dazed, not moving or shifting, finally dissolving into soft sobs. Kandais nibbled her lower lip as she stood and tip-toed over to Conir.

Conir was hunched awkwardly over his knees, his forehead mashed into the carpet, hands were balled into tight fists clutching either side of his head.

"What... Down...Col?..." he stuttered. When Kandais laid her hand gently on the small of his back, he didn't seem to notice. Kandais frowned, wondering how a man of Conir's size could have such a out curved spine. She craned her neck to get a better view. Even in the darkness she could tell that something was different. Conir's sleek, black hair had been replaced by scraggly gray strands. His clothes hung loose from his limbs and scrunched under his torso.

Footsteps approached fast from the hallway to the right of Kandais. She shot up into a crouch. She squinted against the darkness. Before she could make out the form, it collided with her, sending her crashing onto her bottom. The form smashed into the closest recliner and clung tight to its backing.

"Yasha?" asked Kandais looking over her shoulder, resting on the heels of her palms.

Yasha turned her head slowly, her hair limp and stringy, her eyes dull in the darkness. She clamped her eyes shut and used the chair to springboard herself toward the doorway. The chair toppled to the floor with a muted thud.

"Yasha!" called Kandais. Yasha fumbled with the locks, threw open the door and disappeared into the pitch of the hallway. Something, wispy and shaped as an ill-defined man, peeked into the apartment. It moaned and chased after Yasha. The door shut with a loud bang.

Kandais groped in the dark, trying to stand. She felt something round and solid beneath her left hand and brought it up to her face. It was a flashlight. She found the switch on the side and slid it downward. It came to life, casting a wide cone of light up to the ceiling. A splash of relief washed over Kandais, but soon dried. She had light, now she needed answers. She directed the light to Conir, and found he'd risen to a kneeling position, his head bowed, his arms hanging limp at his side.

"Conir..." Kandais stopped as a wail came from the hallway. Her mind drifted momentarily back to Yasha's eyes, the blue of them drained dull in the dark, in them a desperate sadness. "Conir! Are you alright, what has happened, what's going on? Yasha, she..." It all came out at once, no pause for words, only for breath.

Conir let out a soft grunt. Kandais shivered at the wails. They were too close now, perhaps just on the other side of the door.

"The Light," said Danil's voice behind Kandais. It sounded ragged and worn. Danil was on one knee resting his cheek on the other one. "Turn off the light."

"What, why? I can't..." sputtered Kandais.

"Just turn off the fucking light Kandais!" screamed Danil hoarsely. Startled by his anger, she switched the flashlight off.

"Alright, Danil, now give me some fucking answers," Kandais hissed. "What in the depths is going on?"

"No time," croaked Conir.

"The hell there isn't!"

"We've got to get out of here," said Danil. "Those screams; Can't deny them."

"What do you..." Kandais blinked., She could just barely see that Conir was now stooping, clutching the couch for support, his hair a thin nimbus around his head. Kandais gaped at the bare curve of his crown.

"Ghosts, Spirits, Spectres, whatever;" answered Conir. "They're going crazy!"

"Col said they were harmless!"

"They were," Danil coughed then continued, "but not anymore."

"Your master doesn't have anything to keep them out?"

"The Master is dead." Conir choked back a sob. "Anything bound by his power has been freed. Who knows what now roams these halls? We must flee!" He ambled toward the door, but stopped at Danil's chair to rest. Kandais followed, and put an arm around his waist to steady him. Conir leaned against Kandais and motioned for Danil to stand, emphasizing the need to hurry as best as his weary limbs could. Kandais pressed her lips together, her chin trembling. Conir was light, so very light.

"Yasha!" Danil called out shakily, as if his own excitement tired him.

"Yasha ran out," Kandais pointed to the door and slowed the next word until it faded to a breath, "there..."

"We have to leave," repeated Danil.

"We can't leave her!" shouted Kandais. There came a piercing cry, as if in response, and something slammed bodily into the door, rattling its locks and hinges.

"Col," croaked Conir, "entrusted you to us."

"We have to leave, Kandais," repeated Danil.

"Yasha will have to make her own way out," reasoned Conir.

"If she hasn't already," added Danil.

"But.." Kandais had interjected the same after every excuse.

"But shit!" interrupted Danil, "You've got that flashlight, right Kandais? That's our ticket out of here." In response, Kandais switched it on.

"No," said Conir. "Leave it off..."

"What? How-" interrupted Kandais.

"It' has to be sudden, unexpected. It probably won't get rid of them permanently, but it will make them scatter."

"They'll come back, but it'll give us enough time to keep moving," Danil explained.

"Can you two move?"

"Still very weak."

"Cut-paste."

"But I can manage if I just take your hand," said Conir, sadly, "I think." To illustrate he slipped slowly away from her grasp and took her hand. "Danil you take her right, and I guess the flashlight too."

"Wait." Kandais lifted her arm out of Danil's reach. She couldn't see his face clearly but she could tell there was anxiety all over it. "If I'm going to be leading, I insist that we go back and get Yash-" Just as she spoke the name, there was a loud thud on the door, followed by another. A third impact tore the door off its top hinge and sent it toppling to the floor. Packing the doorway were dozens of interspersing forms, some wispy and ill defined, some grotesquely ethereal. Frightened, Kandais switched on the flashlight and the forms dissipated into a heavy mist.

"Go! Now!" screamed Danil. Kandais bolted forward, Conir stumbling behind. Danil managed to take hold of Conir's hand as he passed. They stomped out of the apartment. Fear made the hallway it seem ominously lengthy and their stunned eyes assumed that it was colored in death's colors- blood red, yellowed ivory, pitch black.

"The light.." warned Conir. Kandais switched it off. They moved toward the elevator, Danil moving to her right as they went and taking the flashlight from her. When Kandais's vision had cleared she saw that the paint on the walls was cracking and crumbling in places.

"Straight ahead!" shouted Conir. A wavering Ghost rose from beneath the floor and slammed solidly into the ceiling, sending bits of plaster raining down. It spread itself sheet-like across the hall but disappeared as the flashlight sparked alight. Then darkness again. Kandais stumbled in its weight, nearly crashing into a wall. Danil scanned behind and expelled a trio of spirits trailing them. In that flash of light, Kandais saw the wood paneled doors of the elevator so lurched toward it.

"The stairs, the stairs," panted Conir. "Can't trust the 'Vator. That way." A placard sign stating STAIRS in bold embossed letters hung at the end of the hall. A chorus of angry screams followed them as they moved away from the elevator.

"Danil?" Kandais asked, gripping his hand tight.

"Waiting," He croaked in response, "'till we get to the stairs. Give us more time."

Kandais chanced a look behind and saw a group of shimmering spirits floating slowly after them. She gasped; Each one of them appeared to be someone from her past. Were it not for the oddness of seeing them all together in the dark hall, she would have run to them with open arms. Even so, she found herself whispering their names slowly until Conir's voice interrupted:

"Apparitions! Pay them no mind!" He urged, he and Danil tugged her arms. Kandais hastened to regain their lead. The flashlight flared on then went off.

---

The blood was sickening sweet, sugar-and-honey and more. Thick and intoxicating. Col drank deep, wrapping his free arm around the vampire and squeezing every last drop from his veins. His eyes felt thick and closed with little resistance. He felt a smile pass over his face. But he remembered his mission, his master.

Col's eyes snapped open. The room swam nauseously. Something was wrong. Cols feelings of glory and victory passed like shadows in his sick-spinning sight. The fire blazed high behind him, licking higher than Col stood. His neck rolled limply and his eyes fell upon the Nosferat. Its hood had fallen back so that it now stared blankly into the dark depths of the ceiling. Col's jaw fell wide, his eyes added blur to intoxication. He very nearly vomited.

The face...

That face...

Things came from the fire, leaping from the smoke that issued from its wavering, blue fingers. Someone grasped his arm above the elbow, pulling his sword free of the Nosferat.

'That Face!'

Its expression was of blank amazement, pain, and shock just before it melted with all of its form. It fell into a pile of bones and dust, resting gently beneath the folds of a heavy, black robe. The bones finally collapsed into self-same dust which blew away on an unapparent wind.

Hands pushed Col toward the fire. Someone removed his trench coat then set upon him a heavy robe. For the first time in ages, Col felt warm; Not like the drinking of life essence, but like his heart was alive and beating. Yet still, as he stumbled blearily toward the raging flame, he shivered from some inner chill.

It was the cold touch of memory (That face!) it pulled his focus, snatching him away to a time past-

-"...Know now that I am Draz..." said the person Col had sought- The real killer. Five years in prison avenged by a single bullet. That very bullet was lodged in that haunted, shocked face. At the time it had been the most terrifying thing Col had ever witnessed. Blood had tricked down that face after Col had shot him, but then suddenly, it ran upwards, neatly ringing the round wound, seeping inward. It had kept up its diatribe, but Col had been too deep in terror to pay full attention; "...Vampire of years that are like unto me as a Middle age, and to you the rise and fall of a dozen empires." -

-"...As was the claim to vengeance yours to make due, so is this choice. Die as you planned," The face had turned cruel and unyielding; the eyes tired and tormented. "or..."

Col blinked. The world was swirling, a vertiginous mix of past and present. Forms danced about him in a fire-lit cavern in one world. In the other he debated the outcomes of two terrible choices. He could still feel the harsh angles of the gun pressed against his temple.

The first world shifted, the forms dancing still, but now as they passed they slapped him hard on the back. Col teetered on the edge of the flame.

"Col Aikkul Drakkul... Col Aikkul Drakkul... Col Aikkul Drakkul..." Each repeated as they passed. Each time they spoke "Col" the name became less and less distinct before the utterance of "Aikkul". The forms began to take up positions, each standing in front of a throne, waving their arms and wailing into the flames.

-The World swam-

-The gun was warm and uncomfortable at his temple. His conviction kept it there, dug it in deeper as he contemplated that last fatal twitch between thought and oblivion. Yet he was halted by disbelief. 'I've gone mad,' thought Col, both in memory and at present, 'truly mad.'

The man he had sought continued to speak. As he did he passed a hand over the gunshot-wound. When the hand had pulled away, the wound had disappeared. The bullet was a tiny crumpled piece of metal glinting between the man's index and middle fingers.

"Die or live forever...

"I will show you the way...

"Coldrain Demorte..."

The world spun faster now. A third world interspersed, growing where the first and second met. The third was black and clumsy; Col was loosing his balance.

The first world slipped. One final hand slapped his back. Col had lost count of the others... had he been counting? Thirteen? The thirteenth hand was heavy, defeating the weak clutch of his knees and sending him tumbling into the blue flames.

A voice, familiar, "Coldrain Demorte."

Three voices, "Col... Col... Col."

A chorus, all of harsh command, "Col Aikkul Drakkul."

Then one with near paternal authority, "Aikkul Drakkul."

The third world came in hard, jolting. Juxtaposing as blue flame flickered over him. Warmth became heat, became pain, became nothing. The nothing won, took over with endless black. Col's mind clenched.

"Live forever... Coldra...Aikkul...."

'What is my name again?' he asked himself.

'Col/Tom/Jack/Aikkul/Ed/Mark/Col/Aikkul...?'

'My name...'

And was answered only by the spinning of the third world. The black spiral curled onward, sinister and lurching.

Drazhan sat down in his throne. The other Nosferatu followed in suit, each by rank. They stared unblinking as Col writhed in the heart of the blue flame. The black robe they had given him reared up over the flames like some proud spawn of hell, and cackled soundlessly.