Italy, Venice
May 1347
Sylvenius held in his hand the blood glass and looked distractedly at the
weak reflections of a torch in the reddish and dark liquid.
Cries in the corridor leading to the throne room drew him from his
thoughts. His men? Yes, it was his men who were yelling of pain and
terror. Sylvenius slipped an eye on his guards; the three vampires
were nervous and had the hand on their swords, ready to declad them.
A
deaf noise followed an animalistic howl: the wooden-door cracked, then
split in the middle of the right leaf, displaying two bloody helmets,
embedded in it. The door half-opened slightly, but the heavy bar that
locked the two panels refused to crack plainly open.
Sylvenius beckoned his guards to wait further and to not leave their
station: neither to attack, nor to flee.
The two helmets were abruptly grabbed behind, getting disembodied from
their wood gangue. Not for a very long time, as they were used as
ridge-plough a second time against the door, which this time gave way. The
two bodies rolled on the red carpet, a few meters from the entrance.
Sylvenius contemplated with indifference the crushed faces of his guards.
He raised an eyebrow, as the only evidence of his growing irritation.
“So, you’ve finally come! Don’t stay outside, waiting an invitation to
come in… There are only vampires here..” he yelled.
A
cruel snigger answered him, followed by heavy footsteps. Marius the
Terrible emerged from the darkness of the corridor, so large and powerful,
terrifying in his black amour decorated of two death’s-heads, one on each
shoulder. The Latin inscriptions painted on his cranium, together with the
determination and cruelty painted on his face was an enough frightening
sight to make the guards quiver on their feet.
But not Sylvenius. Although the witchcraft had already met the War Lord,
and knew how painful this kind of encounter could be.
“That has been a long time, Sylvenius…”
“How did you find me?”
Marius burst out of laughter:
“Ishara and her dear Gàbor talk so much when they are together… And Bàlint,
Lùitgard, Adorjàn, Lôrinc, Wolrad…. All they have in their minds is your
name, and all the promises you made… It looks like you try to corrupt my
lieutenants and make them rebel against me…”
“I
see, they couldn’t keep our little secret…”
The laughter of Marius doubled in volume. Then he drew his sword and
decapitated the head of the corpse that lay at his feet. It rolled against
a piece of furniture, while a pool of blood darkened the already red
carpet.
“Oh! But what have we here! A vampire who uses humans as guards! I thought
that you knew better than any of our kind! They are food for us, weak and
wretched creatures, preys… Nothing more!”
“For the moment. Soon they will be there to serve the intentions of my
people… And don’t forget one thing, Marius: unlike me, you’ve born human…
You were once one of those wretched creatures!”
Marius emitted a mocking laugh, but tainted of anger. Of a precise
gesture, he decapitated the second guard. With a kind of annoy, he dug his
sword right in the middle of the deformed face, and held it up above him.
Blood streamed along the bluish blade.
“Me, have I once been one of them? No, never… And can you tell me how
those miserable things will be useful to you and your people?”
Sylvenius looked at him with hatred:
“Why should I give you explanations? You will have already disappeared
from this world when the doors of my dimension open, and that my people
invade this planet”.
Marius laughed, and of a swift gesture threw the bloody trophy the bottom
of the throne of Sylvenius.
“The last time that we’ve met, it ended nastily for you… Well, not as
badly as I thought, because you are still alive, if I dare to say…”
The face of Sylvenius contracted, making him look like a panther ready to
leap on his prey
“You will not overcome me this time, Marius!”
The warlord drew aside his arms, taking a theatrical expression.
“Do you know that I’m eager to see that? No, truly… Can you prevent me
from drinking your blood once again? I don’t think so… And I’m also eager
to do it again… That was tasty!”
“You took my power and my skills, without my permission!” barked Sylvenius.
Marius licked his lips with a serpentine tong.
“And today, I ‘ll make you disappear from the surface of this planet …
And, once again, without your permission… But this time, forever!”
May 28, 2004, 1: 30 AM (May 27, 11:30 PM GMT +2: 00)
“Stronso!”
howled the juggler to the young driver of the speedboat, which flew rather
than he floated on the dark wavelets of the Canal Grande, very
close to the Ponte di Rialto. The boat created on its line such a
wave that the gondola went almost upside down. The lower part of the quay,
leveling water, broke down.
“Mama
mia, young people don’t show any respect for this old lady that is our
beautiful city!” grumbled the old man, pushing on his pole to reach the
quay. He sighed: this kind of boat was however forbidden in the narrow
channels…
Once he accosted the gondola, he started to secure it to a stone post off
the floods. He had hardly tied the second knot with the cord that he felt
water quivering around the gondola.
“Is this young imbecile again?” he sighed, readjusting his cap on his bald
head.
Another strong quiver sent the gondola against the floating stage.
Intrigued, the juggler bent over the edge of his gondola, and contemplated
with astonishment the surface of the water. It was just like boiling.
“What… What’s going on down he…”
He
did not have time to finish his sentence that he saw a kind of black wing
emerging from the water and clutching the back of the gondola. The boat
danced violently, sending the juggler in the water.
He
never came back to the surface.
Japan, District General of Ermengardis, May 28, 2004, 8:30 AM (May 27,
11:30 PM GMT +9: 00)
Training gymnasium, main building
Camus and Shura were facing each other on the boxing ring, holding their
swords on guard position. They were as motionless as statues, with the
same gracious and noble posture.
“Camus! Just get rid of him!” Milo howled, “Don’t make me regret teaming
up with you!”
Camus didn’t answer a word.
“Go ahead Shura, Show this kid what it is to hold a sword!” Angelo added
on the same challenging tone.
Shura didn’t answer as well.
Milo and Angelo looked at themselves, and flashes seemed to illuminate
their glances. At their side, Aphro was quiet, observing the two fighters,
his elbows pressed on the cords of the boxing ring.
Suddenly, Shura leaped on his side and cut down his sword on Camus. The
French avoided the blade easily, and was to counter-attack the same way
when Shura grabbed his throat.
“Stop! That’s unfair! It’s against the rules to fence like that! You’re
cheating!” Milo protested, pointing the two fighters out, indignant of
such a treachery.
“Milo, we must train ourselves under real conditions… Vampires don’t
follow any rules… We must be ready to act the same way… “Retorted Angelo
dryly.
On
the boxing ring, Camus punched the shoulder of Shura; his punch had been
carefully measured, not too strong to hurt, but enough to push back the
Spanish and allow Camus to set free his throat. His fist was to strike
again on Shura’s shoulder when the Hidalgo blocked it in his right hand.
Quick as the light, Camus struck a second time, aiming at his stomach.
Shura moaned in pain and crumpled in a heap.
“Oh! Camus, you go a little too far!” shouted Angelo, “That’s a training,
not a real fight!”
“What! A few moments ago you didn’t bother that much that Shura strangled
Camus, and now you’re complaining!” Milo protested.
“A
few moments ago, that was a few moments ago!”
“You’re really a bad sport…!”
Aphro sighed: Angelo and Milo were squabbling again… He really wondered
why Saga, when he had decided to divide the former gold knights into two
groups for training, had decided to put them together. Milo and Camus, it
was understandable: they were like brothers. Himself and Angelo, that was
also making sense. They had known each other for quite a long time, along
with Shura. But why had he put them all five in the same team? That was
completely obvious that a kind of rivalry had settled between Milo and
Angelo, although their bad characters had largely softened since the
Sanctuary. They didn’t come to the fists anymore, as it had happened so
many times at the Sacred Sanctuary. It was rather now a question of verbal
tournaments where the most caustic humor and nasty remarks were a deciding
factor of victory. And let forget the times Canon added his own venom to
the squabbles. Fortunately, he was not in the team, and could be harmful
only occasionally.
Aphro deferred his attention on the situation on the boxing ring. Shura
had left the top, Camus being now sitting on his back, pinning firmly the
Spanish’s hands backward. Aphro felt the cords of the boxing ring vibrate,
and saw that Milo had jumped over the limits, and was running to the help
of Camus. The cords vibrated once again, and Angelo felt down silently on
the ring. He leaped without hesitation over Milo, and tackled him down.
Aphro looked at the clash, a smile gracing his lips.
“Hum, effective… But not as stylish as what we used to be when we were
gold saints…”
He
set his forehead against the upper rope of the ring, looking thoughtful.
“I
wonder how long we will be able to face real vampires…”
Italy, Venice, May 28, 2004, 4:00 AM (May 28, 2:00 AM GMT +2: 00)
“Well, how’d you find the ride?” asked the young man to his partner, still
keeping an eye on the trajectory of the speedboat. “Not bad for an after,
isn’t it?”
The young woman shrugged her shoulders, and put back her sunglasses on her
face. Pure stylistic effect; it was completely dark.
“I
wonder whether you’d be able to make the same acrobatics at two o'clock in
the afternoon, in the middle of the gondolas…”' she retorted, annoyed.
“Of course I can do it! And not only on the Canal Grande, but also on your
dear Yang-Tse, in the middle of all the possible and conceivable boats, Lu
Wa!”
“Okay, Gustavo…. Stop babbling! And try really your wild ride, at two
o'clock in the afternoon, in the middle of the gondolas… Then, we’ll see
for the Yang-Tse!”
Gustavo glared at the young Chinese who had just thrown him the challenge.
Her lips wore a scorning but so sexy expression. Her finger was pointed at
him, aggressive and disdainful. ‘Little bitchy thief, I’ll find sooner
or later a way to put you on my bed’ thought the young Italian,
redirecting his boat towards the Canal Grande.
The boat had just entered the famous channel when Gustavo turned around to
face Lu Wa.
“Wanna come at home?”
As
an unexpected answer, Lu Wa just howled of terror. Gustavo turned around
to check what was causing her such fright, and felt his hair drawing up on
his head: in front of him, was the most horrible vision a man can have. A
creature that it would have been difficult to describe as human was clung
at the ships’ rail. His face had something of human features, but his body
was an amalgam between a man and a bat, surrounded by two large wings,
hung at his back.
The creature rested against the wind breeze, shattering the thin glass in
thousand pieces. His immense wings spread on both side, and he pushed an
alarming howl. In the grip of a sheer terror, Gustavo felt on his knees,
and started to retreat slowly at the back of the boat, staring at the
terrifying sight. Unfortunately for him, the creature noticed that one of
his preys was trying to escape; he lengthened one of his gnarled arms, and
sliced the throat of the young man with his claws. Gustavo felt on his
belly, holding his torn throat, then rocked face against the floor in a
pool of blood.
Lu
Wa pressed her hands against her mouth, and chocked the cry of terror that
inspired this horrible scene. She stared at the water of the Canal
Grande, where the boat, now deprived of any driver, was running at
incredible speed. She saw the pier of the Piazza San Marco was
looking bigger and bigger on the background, and understood that if she
did nothing, she would die. Killed by the creature, or killed in the crash
of the speedboat. The thought was horrible, but pushed her somehow back to
reality: she looked straight in the direction where the bat thing was few
minutes ago, and found herself staring at a pair of red blood orbs. She
felt a shiver going down her spine: the creature was looking at her the
same way it was looking at Gustavo before killing him. Lu Wa quivered of
fear and felt to her knees:
“O
night creature, I will serve you, I will be yours! Command and I will do
what you want!”
The creature looked at her, and then burst in laughter, which
unquestionably reminded a human sound.
A
few seconds later, the speedboat struck the pier of the Place San Marco in
an explosion worthy of the best fireworks of the Carnival, lightening of a
violent orange the frontage of the Palace of the Doges.
France, Lyon, May 28, 2004, 5:00 AM (May 28, 2:00 AM GMT +3: 00)
Ruins of the Roman theatre of Fourvières, a few feet under the ground…
One of the two men set closer the flashlight to the red-bricked wall. He
stared with great attention at the inscriptions engraved in black letters,
half erased by the time.
“Here lies the One whose name has been banished from the memory of the
men, and whose sleep mustn’t be disturbed”
“Did you find it?” exclaimed his companion.
“No, I don’t think it’s him!” sighed the man, still absorbed by the
unclear meaning of the inscription.
“What? Ober, are you kidding!?”
“No!!! I think it’s the epitaph of a roman soldier, buried here… It’s just
what’s written on the wall”
It
was the turn of the companion of Ober to sigh.
“We must find at least a clue, and quickly… If we don’t, the Goddess
Persephone will condemn us to eternal torments! We’ve been making our
research for two months, now, without any results!”
Greece, Temple of Elision, May 28, 2004, 6:30 AM (May 28, 4:30 AM GMT +2:
00)
Temple of Apollo
A
ray of light struck the legs of Ishara, draped in crimson silk sheets.
Apollo tore off himself from the contemplation of her perfect silhouette
and rose nimbly. He moved towards the curtains, which he closed dryly. He
had got used to doing that – hiding his own star – since Ishara had
accepted to share her nights with him, in the most delicious intimacy.
The God turned around, and the vision of the brown hair widespread around
her perfect face was enough to make fly away his regrets to hide the solar
star. His star… He silently came back to the bed, sitting on its
edge, and traced gently her feature with his fingers, enjoying the
exquisite curves. He thought with happiness that Ishara had never staid
here a so long time. She was used to runaway before the rise of the sun,
while darkness still ruled the landscape of the Sanctuary, using the
undergrounds connecting the old Temples of the Gold Knights.
It
should have been more than 6 o’clock by now, but Ishara was still there.
And she was beautiful!
The charm faded away as Ishara awoke in a start.
“I
have to leave now… It’s late!” she whispered, collecting her dress on the
side of the bed.
Apollo caught her wrist, obliging her to sit back. The Babylonian threw
him a begging glance.
“Apollo, my God, let leave me now…”
“Who are you afraid of?”
Ishara withdrew her wrist from the pressure of the God of Music. Apollo
wasn’t surprised he couldn’t prevent her to free herself. A
thousand-year-old vampires like Ishara had capacities competing with his
own power.
“I
fear no one!” she replied, her voice filled with fainted self-assurance.
Apollo seized her wrist once again, pulling her closer, and looked right
in her eyes as if he wanted to invade her mind.
“This man or this creature… that you fear, who is he? Is it that strong
that you fly away from my embrace when the morning comes?”
Ishara looked drawn, before a mask of sadness petrified her features. She
reached his face, staring at the scarlet irises, and deposited a light
kiss on the lips of Apollo.
“Bàlint de Szeged is strong… He will punish me if he discovers what we’re
doing!”
The red irises flashed of a blazing red.
“Who is Bàlint de Szeged? I won’t let him touch you, and even less arm
you!” he declamed of a vibrating voice, cherishing the nude shoulder of
Ishara.
“He’s a former lieutenant of Marius… I don’t know where he acquired his
powers, but they are terrifying… Now I must go!”
Ishara released once again her limbs from the gentle grip, and fled out.
Apollo stared at the empty room with sadeness, and felt a dark anger
blossoming against the so- called Bàlint de Szeged…
Ishara ran up in the labyrinths, as quickly as she could. She didn’t even
take care to the walls, passing by here eyes in a grey swirl. Fear was so
strong she couldn’t think about anything else that the possible punition
she would receive.
Finally arrived at her quarters, she pushed the door hastily, and leaned
against it once closed. Her gaze wandered anxiously in the half-lighted
room, in search of the feared shadow. The black curtains flew in the wind
brought by the Aegean Sea, projecting their dark shades on a fringe of
orange light. Ishara sighed: it looked there were nobody here.
“Where were you?” asked a male voice filled with anger.
Ishara started: she peered into the darkness again, and discovered with
horror the so familiar silhouette: Bàlint was standing not far from her,
back to the window, bathed in the light of the morning. Ishara wondered
how he could stand even the weak rays of the sunlight. She could hardly
keep her eyes open because of the brightness.
Her thoughts were cut abruptly when a firm grip grabbed her brown
hair-locks.
“Please, no… I’m sorry… Forgive me!” sobbed Ishara, clutching the
leather-gloved hands that caused her so much pain.
“I
have no intention to let you screw up my plans, Ishara… I believed that
the last punishment I dished out was enough! It looks like it wasn’t!”
“I
was bad! I won’t do it again, Bàlint! Please, stop, it hurts!” begged
Ishara.
Bàlint pushed her back disdainfully. Ishara ran up against the door, and
slipped slowly to the floor, throwing frightened glance to her torturer.
“You’re disgusting me! Look at you! Where is the proud vampire princess
who once seduced my younger brother and humiliated him so relentlessly? “
“No, Bàlint listen to me, I really loved him… I…”
Bàlint felt anger boiling in his veins:
“Silence, enough lies! You are a vampire; you are unable neither to love,
nor to respect anyone!”
Ishara didn’t dare to retort anything, barely able to stare at him with
fear into her eyes.
“Now, listen, unfaithful princess… I forbid you to leave this temple
without my permission. I already said it, and I’m fed up repeating it: our
survival in this Sanctuary lies in our discretion, and I swear you on the
memory of my brother, Gàbor de Szeged, that if you break once more this
rule, I’m going to send you and join your dear Almaric in the countries of
the petrified souls. Is that clear?”
To
conclude his warning, Bàlint punched the door, a few centimeters above the
face of Ishara, digging his fist in the wood as if it was paper. Ishara
nodded, trembling like a leaf.
“Very well. Do not push me to the edge one more time, I might be not so
lenient next time. Anyway, I’m going to order to your dear Glaucus to
watch over you… Don’t expect any help from him; he has totally embraced my
cause…”
He
threw her a last glance, between hatred and contempt.
“And it is the cause of the stronger!”
Saying his last words, he disappeared in the shades of the sunlight.
Ishara burst in tears.
“Gàbor, my love, I’m so sorry… The curse, it was the curse…”
Jabu withdrew from the darkness of the pillar he was hidden behind, and
observed carefully the red-haired man leaving the quarters of Ishara.
He
had initially followed Apollo and his partner at good distance last night.
After many hesitations, he had made his way into the apartments of Apollo,
a little ashamed to violate the intimacy of the God and his “guest”, and a
little afraid of what he could face if he was discovered. Then this
morning, he had followed the young woman in the labyrinths, struggling
somehow to keep up with the quick pace of the vampire. A good call,
because it had led him to witness the scene between the young man and
Apollo's lover.
Ishara, such was the name of the woman. Gàbor de Szeged, the name of the
man whom she truly loved, and Bàlint de Szeged, the man who frightened the
most in the world. The only question was to know what they were actually
doing in the Palace of Elision.
Deep in his thought, Jabu folded back the hood of his cape on his face,
and decided to follow a little more the so-called Bàlint. Something just
told him that this powerful vampire was the key to many secrets…
Japan, District General of Ermengardis, May 28, 2004, 1:35 PM (May 28,
4:35 AM GMT +9: 00)
Bishamonten Pavilion, Main lounge…
When he entered the living room, the large TV screen was switched on,
broadcasting CNN News. Always curious of what happened in the world, Camus
abandoned his bag on the ground, and sat down on one of the coaches. He
settled more comfortably in the leather sofa, feeling with certain
happiness a soft languor seizing him. ‘Oh my god! Those trainings are
more like hell than a preparation to our daily life in Ermengardis!’
he thought. Six hours of physical training per day, then four to five
hours spent at the library to study their enemies, the vampires… But what
almost drove him crazy was that the cocktail composed by Saga and Dohko
was only one hundred time less terrible than the training he had to go
through at the Sanctuary. Don’t even speak about the one in Southern
Siberia!
Camus sighed; his glanced felt on the chimney, and he realized that the
glass box, hosting a strange Japanese doll, was empty.
“At last, somebody had the good idea to remove this horror!” he exclaimed,
feeling a kind of relief burgeoning in his chest. No, no way, he couldn’t
bear the crystalline glance of the small porcelain girl. But she was gone:
he turned his gazed to the TV set, forgetting the creepy object.
“Camu! Do not run in the corridor!”
Camus started at the tone of this voice. ‘Could it be…?’
“I
said… Do not run! Camu! Do you listen to me?!” mumbled the familiar voice.
The heart of Camus was now beating wildly in his chest.
“But… I want to see him!!!” a childish voice answered, from behind the
door of the living room.
Camus hold his breathing, when the door opened slowly. Through the
half-opened panel, a little blond-haired head slid timidly followed by an
azure blue gaze that set on him.
“Hum… Is it you, Grand Camus?”
Camus stared at the child with utter disbelief, almost knocked down by his
resemblance to Hyoga when he was a child. Yes, this child was the living
portrait of his little apprentice when he had arrived in Siberia for his
training, 25 years ago.
“Is it you, Grand Camus?” the child repeated, and finally totally opened
the door and trotted in. He stopped in front of the couch, where Camus was
still glued, looking at the little prodigy in a kind of owe.
“Hyo… Hyoga?” he eventually gasped.
“You are dad’s master, aren’t you?” the child continued, crossing his
hands on his back and looking shy. “I know it! Dad told me lot’s of
stories about you, and it showed me your drawings. Will you draw something
for me too?”
“
What?” Camus hardly answered, the feeling he was living something unreal
clouding his mind.
“Camu, come, and don’t bother my Master!”
“Yes dad!” the child exclaimed, running towards the new comer.
‘Camu… Dad??’
Camus repeated himself, his eyes following the kid until he reached the
man. The little boy hid behind his father, keeping a malicious glance on
Camus.
“Camus, my Master, I am so happy to see you again!” declared the man,
emotion distorting his voice.
Camus looked at him, and hardly recognized Hyoga. How he had changed! He
still had his wild blond hair, but had lost the adolescent features Camus
remembered. It was a little more angular and masculine, and betrayed
somehow Hyoga was now in his thirties. He was also as tall as Camus now,
while the Aquarius Saints used to deal with a youngster 10 centimeters
shorter than he.
“Hyoga!?” Camus exclaimed, as to check once again he was not living a
dream or an illusion.
“Yes, it’s me!”
The two kept looking at each other during a good minute that seemed an
eternity. Then Hyoga moved towards his former Master, knelt and hugged him
tight. Camus had a time of surprise, then returned the gesture.
“It’s a miracle!” Hyoga exclaimed, glancing at his master through eyes
washed with tears.
“One can call that so…” answered Camus, outlining a smile.
The child walked to his father, and drew on his pullover.
“Dad! Why are you crying!?”
“Dad?” asked Camus.
“Oh yes! Let to me introduce Camu, my elder son. He is five years old…”
proudly explained Hyoga, pushing the child in front of his master.” I had
given him this name, as to pay you a tribute…”
“Well… That’s so much surprise…” Camus answered, smiling even more
largely.
Greece, Earth Sanctuary, May 28, 2004, 6:50AM (May 28, 4:50 AM GMT +2: 00)
Temple of Elision
Having recovered some cold blood after his outburst in the apartments of
Ishara, Bàlint was walking rather arrogantly in the deserted corridors of
the temple of Elision. The smile he wore when he left the terrorized
female vampire was still gracing his lips; he just felt like if he was the
king of this dark shrine. The new God of Hell, if one could say. But one
day he would be so, wouldn’t he?
The strong waves of a burning cosmos stopped him in the middle of his
dream. He stood there, somehow bewildered by the intensity; it was like a
volcano, ready to erupt. Fire in a pure state… Bàlint stepped back a
little, and hated himself for that.
“Who’s there? Show yourself!”
No
answer came. Irritated, Bàlint examined carefully the surroundings: in the
badly lightened corridor, he finally made out a tall silhouette. Somebody
was walking on his direction.
“Who are you, Are you deaf or mute? State your identity!” howled Bàlint.
The man kept walking slowly, as if each step cost him an effort.
Gradually, russet-red hair and a pale face emerged from the darkness.
Seeing the features he had so many times observed from a hiding place,
Bàlint burst out of laughing, then outlined a pretence of reverence.
“My Lord, you here? Persephone was not aware of your arrival, Ô God of the
Music, of the Sun, and… Uh… What else?”
Apollo tensed up at the mocking comments of Bàlint.
“So, it is you who pulls the strings from the darkness of this temple?” he
asked.
Bàlint stared at him right in the eyes.
“Oh! I see... You succeeded in making speak Ishara…. Pillow talk, I guess…
After a pleasant night…” laughed Bàlint.
He
walked straight to Apollo, his gray eyes not leaving the sun-like orbs of
the God.
“I
don’t advise you to walk any closer, vampire” threatened Apollo.
“Tell me the truth… You couldn’t resist to the beauty of her eyes, could
you? That’s true they are so rare, so similar to the green of the purest
emerald, but…Beware, they lead any men, vampires or Gods who have the
misfortune to stare at them, to their loss!”
Apollo followed the movements of Bàlint, unaware of the real intents of
the vampire. The Immortal moved quicker and quicker, creating gradually a
swirl around him.
“She doomed Amalric, then my brother, Gàbor… It will loose you also,
believe me…”
Apollo felt the air whirling around him, as the movements of Bàlint had
become too fast to be watched. Suddenly, he felt a hand clutching his
throat, and saw the face of Bàlint closing dangerously to his.
“Tell me, Apollo, why are so crazy about her? What is so fascinating in
Ishara? Her powers? Or her beauty?”
Bàlint smiled, and brought closer his face to Apollo’s. Their lips almost
met contact, and the God couldn’t help but to hold his breath, fascinated
by the audacity of Bàlint.
“I
would rather say you are hypnotized by us, the vampires… By our eternal
life… The one you don’t have; unlike us and your father, the mighty Zeus,
you have to reincarnate every two hundreds and fifty years… We don’t, we
live eternally, in the same body… Like REAL GODS!”
Bàlint lowered his face to the neck of the God. His lips brushed the white
skin, in the lower part where an artery beat.
“Do you want me to offer you Eternal Life, God Apollo? No more
reincarnation…You would live eternally in the same body… Like your father…
Like a vampire… Like a God…”
Bàlint looked up again, a playful light on his eyes..
“But if you prefer, I can ask Ishara to do it… It might be softer… She
will put more feeling, if one can say, despite her cruel lack of heart…”
The vampire giggled like a naughty child, revealing his canines. Apollo
pushed him back, almost choking with disgust.
“Monster!”
“Oh!! Yes, call me as you wish! But I know that I made a point, Apollo!
Your only desire is to become the equal of your father!”
“Silence!”
“Do you believe that I am afraid of you and will keep silent myself,
Apollo?” laughed Bàlint.
“How dare you talk to me like that? It’s just a question of minutes I
reveal your miserable presence in this Sanctuary to my father! You’ll be
properly punished for all your offenses!” Apollo howled.
“And me, to reveal your plot with Persephone, so that your father imprison
you soul in a box for some centuries!” mocked Bàlint.
“You would lose Persephone…”
“I
lost so many already…”
Apollo moved backward, a doubt suddenly assaulting him: could anything put
this creature on his knees?
As
an answer, Bàlint looked sufficiently at him:
“Apollo, take time to ponder my proposal. When time comes, only my allies
will find mercy to my eyes.”
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