Chapter 2

To Break a Soul

They say your very life; your essence resides in the heart. Everything that is apparent in you radiates from the most important organ within ones body. To have such an element taken is not only to take life but also to extinguish spirit.

The vast cold night lay empty, it was unwelcoming and unforgiving, it was cruel and it was harsh, above all it remained to be a predator. Vorador welcomed it.

As a predator himself the Vampire used the harshness of the night, and above all the darkness of such, as a valid ally. He embraced it with full potential, wrapping his essence around the threads of such and reappeared a short distance away from Ushtenheim, the hamlet standing strong against the oncoming bitterness of snow and ice. Currently such elements were already present, and in the night snow laden house roofs could look quite pretty as the moonlight filtered the whiteness.

Oh but what was this, what was this cruel feeling entrenched deep inside of him?

The scenery did nothing to dispel the graveness of what Vorador felt; in fact it made him feel worse. A sickening sentiment rose, one that made him feel disorientated and completely alone.

The Vampire looked around, his claws already resting upon the hilt of his sword, and yet he knew that the danger he 'felt' was not his danger. Quite the contrary in fact, this danger was someone else's, and this was someone else's pain and someone elses suffering and someone else's 'death…'

Death, the coldness that suddenly seized him brought him to that very conclusion. There was no warning, no prolonged scene or any dying words, no grand finale of a theatre production before it is the final curtain closes - it was just… this.

No warning, a candles light being put out in a sudden breeze that was not even there before. A bitter conclusion.

It was almost like someone had whispered in Vorador's ears, the voice of Death itself, just passing within hair's breath of his own quintessence and just whispering that word to finalise anothers.

The Vampire Vorador took a few steps forwards, his keen eyes fixed upon the scenery that unwound itself around him. Though the conclusion had been so swiftly brought to him he still had no clear realization of the actual matter that was apparent before him. A hesitation and then…

This feeling of being incomplete something that had come moments before, swelling with the pain that he had also felt.

This gap, this bitter twist in a void, where once someone's essence once dwelled, bound with his own, and what was there formerly had now been cruelly taken, stolen, swept away.

Once there had been someone else's mind dwelling within Vorador's own, along with his own there had been someone else's thoughts, opinions, feelings… And now they were no more.

The Vampire had never felt alone even when he had seemed alone, for he could still sense the one who had created him close, hear his creators heartbeat, even converse with his creator over distances.

But now Vorador realized something that only silence could bring, and it was the harshest of realizations. He was now alone.

Vorador could no longer feel that 'presence' of his creator, of his Sire… There was no longer anything, but there was nothing, nothingness, that harsh element, the one to fill in that void in its empty delirium.

To always have a presence close to him and then for it to be taken very swiftly was the malicious thing, and he thought that the silence that now echoed within his mind would drive him into madness.

At first there was trepidation and anxiety, and then finally dread for the foundations of what had come to pass, and why he hadn't been there to prevent it, why it had happened and there had been no warning. Panic at first like how a child would feel in just loosing a parent, and after all Janos had been Vorador's parent. Janos had been there since the beginning, guiding, advising, and yet forever waiting.

Yet the panic was to fade when he consoled himself, something had to come from this… anger

'Sire!' Vorador's mind hollered. But there was no reply, there was nothing, and in everyway nothing was everything. Oh the cruelness of this was unbelievable, 'please let it not be so' was but a common plea that fell restlessly upon deaf ears.

'Janos…' The situation was desperate, where it is you feel as if you are pounding your hands upon a wall of stone whilst your voice remains ignited with the name of another. And your hands begin to bleed the harder you pound, and when no reply is made you pound harder, yet there is no reply only the sound of your own voice echoing and the blood that falls from your wounded hands like tears.

Janos… That name was but the requiem, the final sonnet spoken, it concluded everything. Janos Audron was lost to Nosgoth, for Janos was dead.

The one now left alone had hoped that this had been nothing more then a trick, some daft jest… But the longer the silence was drawn out, the loner the silence consumed him, the longer it made the truth.

Death… it had been Janos' death, that final Requiem had been for him...

In a moment of timelessness and emptiness a gentle flurry of snow stirred. Crisp flakes of innocence and purity which fell upon the Vampire, head bowed, sorrow being fought off with stifled silence.

Downy white drops dusted Vorador's shoulders. No one saw his distress, and he was glad of it, he couldn't be who he was if someone saw him in this way.

Janos' child fought with this conclusion and dropped to his knees, bypassing consistency and all clear thinking in hope of finding solace in the darker feelings, his claws clutching and digging deep into the ground as if to fight off the consuming sorrow.

More snow falling, and as Vorador regarded the flakes all he could see upon the whiteness was blood, blood staining what was meant to be purely innocent.

The blood he imagined he could see soothed him within a deep translucent way, it brought a gentle peace and a resolution.

When the moment passed, the snow was becoming uncomfortable. He starred at out at the horizon and highlighted the revelation of what death actually was.

To be forgotten, to be swept along within the tides of history, forgotten to the many yarns and threads of many life times. Was that what death was?

Only Vorador would mourn him, Vorador and that of another figure, who was but a contradiction within history itself, and the others, the others would celebrate.

Celebrate, the word grinded over within his mind.

Vorador's emotion shifted, the sorrow was slammed aside, and although still there something else was now beginning to take a hold of him.

The Vampire stood still, unmoving and allowing history to do what it willed, brushing over, around and past him like currents of water, resembling a very stone within a stream, a stubborn rock that would remain still whilst everything else passed it by. His claws were clenched together, his teeth gritted.

He did not need to go any further, for Vorador knew the results all too soon, the consequences and again that hellish answer to that forever forged equation. To think, that time would be passing like this, how cruel, how cruel… Oh but sweet disappear how swift is that element to form, grasping at the very minds of all those who have loved and lost, only to love again and loose again, alas, 'tis how the circle moves, the cycles rotation, the formation, what is, what will be…

Silence complimented the bitterness of the cold, silence and resonant currents of passing time, whilst the wind stirred. This whole place, no longer pretty like it had been in times before, now it was just merely a spectre, one who watched, empty, alone and lost.

Vorador lingered for only but a while longer; the emotion was unfathomable let alone slightly confusing. It was suddenly a fight between two bitter emotions, each a rival to one another, one that demanded he withdrew to mourn in a darkened corner, to swell in sorrow, whilst the other argued he should go out and destroy.

He who had always been confidant had now been silenced and it 'twas in the cruellest of ways. In the entire of his existence he felt uncertainties, uncertainties and the forever hatred that was always there, that had always been there, always since the beginning, since the first time he witnessed the act of those who dominated this land. And now that hatred, that disgust was beginning to be aroused once more and it was soon to replace the sadness.

Without another thought he took off into the night, unseen to others, unheard, but there. A twist within him formed, a darkening that only stirred further inside him.

The night underneath him lifted him high upon currents of longing, of wanting and now of nothing. His bat familiar hovered a while and then descended to set its sights on a new scene that had appeared before him on the lands below.

Ah, a scene such as this was familiar, for he had seen it many times before, yet it did nothing but only increase the resentment he felt.

Swiftly as the ground was close below so it was Vorador switched back to his usual appearance only to survey what beastly scene that also appeared here.

Just a brief distance away from where the Vampire Vorador stood were the remains of those that had got in the way of this brutish act. Merely placed here as a threat, yet covered up with the opinion of purification. So this is how the damned were purified? By being left to die by mornings light, if the impalement and pain didn't wrench the lives out of them first. He could only hope that death had beckoned and guided them quickly.

Yet, perhaps they had known all along that this was what awaited them, perhaps death had whispered within their ears within the first moment that they opened their new eyes to behold a new world through their new senses. Who knew? Who knew? Vorador certainly didn't know, and he knew not who did, maybe Janos had known once, maybe… But even Janos had lost hope, he who despite most things had always remained strong, and now to… think… this…

Looking upon the bodies Vorador was suddenly struck with the essence of this situation, the realization only became colder. Janos was no more, gone… Just like that. His passing had been but the faintest flicker upon the ever canvas of changing times, and in time history would warp his figure and image.

Rationality was lost, as was clear thinking, they had been lost from the first moments that Vorador had realised what had indeed happened. There was no need to think no more, no need to ponder, just react and allow a natural response to form. What was there to think about anyway, nothing, only but to dwell upon the very threads of… anger? Anger solved nothing, yet actions did, combined those two elements were the deadliest of enemies… and they would pay.

In taking one life from the papers of history so Vorador would take so much more.

He clenched his fists together tightly once more, eager with the newly formed proposition, there was only one way now, one way that called to him, and that was revenge.

There would be a feast, and Vorador would drink the finest blood.