Chapter 232 - The Birth of Death part 7

Perhaps you expected me to tell you how wicked he was, but Khronos, the God King of the vampires, was no soulless monster, no black-hearted demon. Not when he was a mortal man, at least. He was, like most men, merely a product of his environment, made violent and unsympathetic by a violent and unsympathetic world. Not all that different from you, Lukas, now that I think about it.

Oh, you can say that he was evil, if you judged him strictly by our modern standards. A killer, a rapist, a cannibal. He was all those things and more. His mate, Trava, was only ten years old when he forced himself upon her. Before the Strix transformed him, he had raped, killed and eaten at least six Neanderthal women—and one Neanderthal male, and I can think of no fate more humiliating for a warrior than to be sodomized and eaten by his adversaries. He killed Neanderthals, male and female, by the dozens. He killed one fellow clan member in a dispute over the boundaries of their living spaces, and another who had tried to couple with his woman Trava. He was brutal and demanding with the clan women, and later, when he became the chief, he enforced his rule on the entire clan, both male and female, with violence more often than reason. He beat his brother Nash nearly to death when the young man questioned one of his decisions. He tired of Old Zambi's meddling one evening and struck the shaman down with a stone. But those things were not unusual for a man of his era, and so I cannot say that he was a monster.

But he became a monster, and I'll tell you how it happened in just a little while. Let us quit this filthy alley first. I promised to teach you how to hunt, and we need to get on with it before we must retreat from the sun to our beds. I can feel the world rolling over, see the star-specked sky beginning to brighten, imperceptible to mortal eyes but as plain to our vampire senses as the moon peeking over that roof, the steam boiling up from that sewer grate, that rumbling taxi, those drunken college students staggering arm-in-arm down the sidewalk.

No, Lukas! Not them! Down, boy! Control of yourself! Haven't we talked about this already? We don't kill the innocent.

Don't glare at me, you insolent pup! My prohibition against feeding on the innocent is not simply a moral proscription. It is also a pragmatic one. In this technological era, with its advanced forensic medicine, with video cameras mounted on every street corner, and the transnational cooperation of law enforcement agencies, preying on the innocent is a practice fraught with peril for our kind. Despite our supernatural speed, we can be captured on video. Despite our strangely textured flesh, we do leave fingerprints. Our only recourse is to feed upon the wicked. Right or wrong, the police do not investigate the murders of criminals as thoroughly as they do the deaths of the innocent. I have been preying on the criminal element of Liege for decades without arousing more than fleeting interest by the police. Their tacit opinion is "good riddance to bad rubbish".

Do you think anyone has missed your cohorts Maurice or Hans? Do you think anyone is looking for you?

But kill a pretty college student, one with a family and a bright road winding ahead of her, and you'll find your neck in an ever-tightening noose of media attention and highly motivated criminal investigators. If your luck is especially bad, you may have to give up your lair and move to another city—if you are not dispatched by an irritated fellow immortal first. The strigoi value our anonymity, and there are many who will seek out and destroy any youngsters foolish enough to attract the scrutiny of mortals.

Now, come with me. Forget your lust for those drunken schoolboys. Let me show you how to scale a vertical surface without coming loose. There is a trick to it, you know. You have to keep your muscles rigid and lean into the wall or you will fall off, and there is nothing more embarrassing for a seasoned vampire than slipping off a wall!

Yes, like that. You're doing quite well. No, spread your limbs out wider. Really hug your body to the wall. Remember: move quickly, and try to keep to the shadows. And always be mindful of those electronic surveillance cameras. Before long they'll be strapping them to the pigeons!

Now leap!

Don't be afraid. The Strix has made you a powerful immortal. A fall from this height cannot possible harm you. Not permanently. Your flesh might crack; you might even snap off a limb, but you won't die.

Up… up… now onto the roof beside me.

There, safe and sound!

Yes, I know it is frightening. You are a vampire now, but you still possess the instincts of a mortal. Fear of heights. Fear of drowning. They will be with you for a while yet. In a few years, those instinctive fears will begin to fade, and you will fly audaciously through the glittering heights, throwing your body to the winds without the slightest concern for your physical safety. You will feel as if your vampiric powers are growing exponentially, but it is really only the waning of your mortal limitations.

Now, lower your mental barriers and allow your preternatural senses to flood into your consciousness. Yes, I know it hurts. It can be quite overwhelming at first, but you must learn to use your senses to their fullest extent if you want to be a successful predator.

Let it all in. The sights. The sounds. The smell. The tastes.

There! Do you hear that? In that highrise building three blocks away. The one with the red flashing lights at the top. There is a man inside, in an apartment near the top floor. He is hiring a hitman to murder his estranged wife. Concentrate. Filter through your sensory input. Block out everything but that apartment building, that room, the voices of the men planning a woman's murder. They will be our victims for the night. Our company for dinner, you might say. Two murderers. One for you and one for me. It could not be more perfect!

The men have struck a bargain. Two thousand Euros for the life of the woman. It does not seem like much, does it, but I've seen men kill for far less. I've seen them kill for the simple enjoyment of it. Yes, I am looking at you, Lukas.

He'll do it tomorrow, he says, as she journeys home from work. He'll wait for her in the parking garage of the apartment building she lives in. He'll do it as she walks to the elevator. He'll slip up behind her and…

Hurry, before they part ways! Leap with me across the street. Your immortal body, hollowed by the Strix, can glide so long as you're not too well fed. Just spread your arms and fly!

Here, across that rooftop. Leap again, and now with me! Climb! Up, up and we slither like vipers over the balcony rail-- Wait! Use your preternatural senses to scan the apartment first. Let us make sure there is no one else present, someone we didn't sense before. Some mortals can elude our senses, though I know not how they do it.

Can you smell the gunpowder? The hitman is armed. That one, the tall mortal in the jeans and black leather jacket. He is the killer for hire.

Don't worry. Bullets can do you no harm. Not anymore. But gunfire might alert the neighbors. They might call the police if they hear. We have to be quick with these two. Our prey must not make a sound.

When I force the balcony door, we strike as one. Move as quickly as you can.

I will take the husband. You can have the assassin.

The husband rises from the sofa! He is heading for the door.

Now!

You are mine, coward! Yes, see my shining eyes! See my glinting fangs! You might not have the fortitude to kill with your own hands, but I have no such reservations.

Oh, the blood… the glorious blood!

Kill him quickly, Lukas, or cover his mouth! Do not let him scream!

Kill you, coward. Drink you. Devour your life.

The red, orgasmic haze envelopes my soul. The hot fluid gushes down my throat. Filling my belly. Feeding the Strix.

Ahhhhh… No mortal will ever know such pleasure, not even in the throes of passion. I lie atop my victim like a lover, my mouth latched like a lamprey to his neck, sucking, swallowing, and when the sweet vermilion nectar is all gone, I rise. Reluctantly. Dizzily. Wipe my chin with the back of my hand.

Lukas sits huddled in the corner of the room, his flesh flush with the blood of the hitman he's devoured. He is trembling, his face and chest smeared with blood. Oh, my wicked protégé. My killer. My savior. How beautiful you are with your dripping red cravat.

You are a vicious little bloodsucker, aren't you? Why, you've nearly gnawed clean through your victim's neck! Ordinarily, we bite our own tongues and use a drop of the living blood to close the wounds we make on our victim's necks, but there's no repairing that!

Rise, my child. We've not much time to spare. We need to dispose of these bodies before daybreak. And all this blood you've wastefully spilled? We'll have to clean that up as well. Not a trace of our victims must be left behind. A hundred years ago, it might have been acceptable to leave our victims lying where they fell, but not in these times, not in this age of electron microscopes and spectral analysis.

Up, Lukas. Go and fetch a mop. While we clean, I'll finish telling you of our beginning.

Yes, I realize the memories will be yours after you have killed me, but it will pass the time, and besides, in case you hadn't noticed, I like telling stories. I'm a talkative old monster.

Perhaps you find me tedious, as mortal youngsters consider their elder's stories wearisome. Nevertheless, you are mine for now, and I mean to make good use of you.

Did you find the mop? Good! You can start over there.

No, I'm not going to help. I didn't make a mess of my dinner, now did I? I hardly spilled a drop. I'm going to sit right here on this nice leather couch and tell you the rest of my tale.

Ahh, comfy.

Now… where was I?

Ah, yes.

The Event.