Monday, February 21, 2005

Vampire's Kiss IV

Finished from her fight, Kayrim asessed the situation. She had been seriously stabbed in the chest, although she was able to heal herself by the power of her blood. The armor of blood she had created in case any other unsuspecting attack showed up was wasted, since nothing else came, and, although she could recover most of the blood used in it's casting, it still wasted effort.

Concentrating on her blood, the armor dissipated, it's crimson tendrils entering her pores, her blood reabsorbed. Her flesh was bare once again, but flushed, like she were still alive.

Yes, the memories of her life came back to her whenever she saw herself like this, her body without the pallor that so characteristically comes to those who have been undead for so long. Her skin, soft and reflective for the wet sheen the blood left on her, gleamed in the moonlight that filtered through the drapes of this old castle. She was still nervous, as shown by her straight stark white hair, down to her bottom, snaking as if on a will of it's own, still wary of any attackers. Her breasts heaved in solitude, still active from her last encounter.

She knew better than to breathe. After her transformation, she didn't need to anymore. Yet, in moments like this, that required full concentration, some old habits sprang back unchecked. Breathing was one of them.

She continued on, aware that this was not the last attack on the castle she and her Master inhabited, yet knowing that she had to hold it's inner sanctum, lest their enemies disturb the Master at such a delicate moment. Her legs, strong and firm, effortlessly moved her foward.

Wait. There... A sound. Close ahead, coming at her. Reflexes already strung from the last encounter, she called to the darkness to envelop her as a woman might wear a cloak, to cover her in it's cold embrace. Shadows began to unfurl from their respective objects, and to surround her, covering her in the deepest black that could only come from such strong manifestations of darkness.

Finishing the incantation, she tensed her legs, making two quick jumps; one from the floor to the stairway railing, and another to the roof of the grand hall, and stood there, upside down, her feet anchored to the roof by the power of her Vitae. From here she had a perfect view of what happened, and, should things require decisive action, she'd be in the perfect spot to start her work unmolested for as long as required.

Three more men came in, crossbows in hand, stakes in the belts. Strong men, although a bit careless. They seemed alert enough, and, maybe, they could have taken other vampires. But not her. Not now.

Concentrating on her arm, her blood began to pour from her fingernails, and solidify as it came out. Guided by will and dark magic, her blood took on the shape of the most exquisite blade, a japanese katana that had proven it's worth thousands of years ago, so much so that she had decided to make it a part of her own flesh, so it may never leave her grasp. Perverted, yet greatened, by her dark power, it's handle resembled bone where wood once was, and the blade, previously made of the strongest steel, was now laced with dark runes in languages long forgotten. Yet, if any meaning could be gleamed from the crimson surface, this blade meant power.

One of them suddenly looks up, straight at her, and, with a few curt syllables, sends balls of intense flame in her direction. "Damnit!", she mutters under her breath, while leaping straight down. She tucks her knees in, flipping over and landing on her feet with a strong impact, to the protest of the stone floor, which cracks under the stress. Wasting no time, the other two still looking up, she dashes foward, and in an almost imperceptible move, her blade enters her victim's body through his lower back, and exits through the top of his chest, a clean cut that is noticeable only after the blade returns to her side. With her other hand, she intones, blood calling to blood, and suddenly, the inminent fountain of blood from the sliced hunter gathers in her right hand, and explodes just as quickly, vaporizing as a fine mist that permeates the whole room with a soft red glow, like a red light in fog.

Visibility reduced to a vague recollection of the surroundings, the other hunter begins to shoot his auto-loading crossbow randomly, fear beginning it's domination of his will. Some of the bolts do get to her, or rather, to the barrier she erected in front of her, thinking of precisely such an attack, or perhaps another fireball.

The sorcerer, however, still stands in control, focusing not on his quarry, but on the emanations her magical effects leave in their stead. Looking for these, she is as brights as the sun in this dark room. He begins to gather his energies, readying himself to sunder the barrier protecting her, and a split-second later force the stone beneath her to rise, impaling her.

And he begins. He shatters her barrier to the winds, and readies the casting of the stone spike. As soon as the barrier falls, however, a giant spike of steel skitters end over end, taking the now-crazed hunter in the face, to the hilt, impaling him to the wall. "A sad repercussion of his lack of control.", the sorcerer mutters, and continues his plan. Now!

The stone beneath Kayrim shuffles imperceptibly, and suddenly reshapes itself, protruding from the ground in the blink of an eye. The spike thrusts between her legs, seeking to quench her life.

For a second, and to the unexperienced, it seems like the spike succeeds, ripping her apart from the center out in a mess of gore. What the wise know, and the sorcerer realized too late, is that it's never that easy.

Kayrim had a close save. She barely sensed the magick under her feet, and quickly transmuted herself to her element, the blood that stayed suspended in the air from the earlier incantation. The spike still wounded her slightly, where it forced her to separate before her body was ready. But now, quickly moving her essence from droplet to droplet to coalesce behind the sorcerer, she knew how to finish this.

The sorcerer was content, seeing gore smear the spike, messily slopping down. By the time he sensed the suddent emmanation of dark energy behind him, the blade had already done it's job. Following directions from Kayrim, the sword disentangled itself from the remains of the hunter in the wall and flew to her side, where she grasped it and sliced.

The sorcerer had a brief second to look at his fingers dropping off before he saw the rest of him tumble down in chunks. It had been messy, but she wasn't about to underestimate the healing powers of a sorcerer.

In a moment of silent contemplation, she sensed the others outside. At least 20 more. She would need everything she had to pull this one off. She concentrated, her hair flying around her body, caressing her soft stomach, arms, and legs, and channeled all the enrgy she dared without calling too much attention to herself. She recollected all the blood on the room, concentrating it in a human-sized orb in front of her, which she entered, dancing with her blade in her arms. "Come, Darkshard, this will definitely be interesting."

Leaving only a soft sweet giggle in the air, she plunged into the liquid surface of the crimson orb, sword in tow. Then the orb receded into itself, to the size of a droplet, which fell to the floor, the one single mark of Kayrim on the floor.

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