The Beloved (Chapter 3)

The fall of the vampire kingdom

The Beloved

 

Ten thousand years ago in a land called Kemet…long before it was named Egypt, or had Pharaohs, there was a vampire King and Queen that ruled.  And for a while their position was not challenged.  Not by vampire, and certainly not by men.

 

Great numbers of the vampires called, Kind, lie dead alongside their human subjects in the ransacked capital of Kemet; drained of blood and in many cases with torn limbs scattered and rotting in heaps. The Kind were distinguished from the lowest class of the vampire race by customary dreadlocks and flaunted nakedness.  Even in gruesome death they were obviously once beautiful beings. 

Battered and drained Kindred lie dead too, with corpses of robed witches. With their decaying cadavers emaciated, it was clear they had been drained. Not even flesh-eating-worms, flies or birds picked at the mounds of dead left behind.  Nothing living seemed to stir but the wind which blew the sands of the desert through the city, promising to return the once thriving center to dust and forgotteness.

            The Kindred betrayed their makers by aligning forces with their greatest enemy, the witch race, to wage war against the Kind.  The assault on the capital represented the end of a long, bitter conflict wherein the empire of the vampire King had come to be no more than a remnant of Kind that remained against all odds to fight to a death they knew was certain.

            Deep below the fading city was the sacred chamber of Domm, the true name of Adam; also known by the vampires as the First Father, Lord of the Vampires, King of Kemet.  Such a lofty title for one who had been brought so low, the Kindred had boasted as of late. They intended to bring him lower.  They wanted to see the King on knee before them.  The witches had their plans as well.  Domm would suffer untold misery, and for eternity.

Witches in naturally tattered, and shredded, black robes flew down a wide stone passage growing closer to Domm.  Their torn-styled garments teased, showing areas of soft, tantalizing flesh that was mystically distracting even in the most heated combat.  Many kindred traveled with them; some flying; others crawling along the walls like insects or running at blurred speeds.  They knew they were getting closer and excitement filled the air.

            Witches whispered musical incantations.  A number of others shrieked like an orchestra of glass shattering.  Their shrills left vampires healing shattered eardrums.  The Kindred had complained, but the shrieks were a necessary part of how witches summoned their magical power.  So the Kindred tolerated the shrieks best they could.  Now, however, their minds were on distinct smell of Kind.  The thought of their blood was enough to leave many drooling and hissing in a crazed frenzy.  “First Father, Father,” many groaned with ecstasy, ready to claim him as their prize, or maybe as an item to feast from and gain enormous power.   The thought had always been at the forefront of the Kindred mind.  Who would be the one to drain him and gain all-that-power?   All that potency.  It was a guaranteed ascendancy to the throne.

            With the battle readied party rounding a corner, the corridor widened by twenty feet leading to where a dozen battle positioned Kind did not hesitate to leap into action.  Fangs pierced flesh of witches unable to parry.  Kindred, who were faster, countered, but their makers were physically overbearing, and sank fangs into their necks multiple times to exact pain before the final bite to draw blood and life in the blink of an eye.  Feeding only made them stronger, more difficult to handle, and radiate with vitality.  Kindred circled like cautious hyenas, probing for weakness that could not be found.

            Sharp shrills of dying witches clawed the hallways.  Blood tears ran down the eyes of dead Kindred that were drained and tossed to the side in disgust for their treachery.  Kind appeared to be unbeatable until the great numbers of the enemy overwhelmed them as they fell to unrehearsed, deadly retaliation by their children, and the dark magic of the witch race.  Magic that allowed witches to spit acid or fire with accompanied sharp screams and scowls that would have turned men to stone.  Magic that caused vampires to spontaneously combust, or age and wither into piles of dust.  Magic that seemed to have no limitations, except in the creativity of each witch.  And they seemed to have no limit to their contrivances. 

            As Kindred overwhelmed and drank from their makers they had to be careful.  The act of draining blood from these strong vampires could prove fatal because the potency of the blood.  It was easy to lose control of one’s mind and fall into an internal stupor or die instantly from the sweet liquor. 

Several Kindred attached to extremities of one Kind, feeding ravenously with him pinned to the ground.  Witches watched with a sense of curiosity, amusement, and disgust.  “Look how they feed on their parents.  Parasites,” one mocked.   Some of the vampires held back visceral remarks.  They despised the treaty between them and the witches, and sought opportunity to turn on them and be rid of the witch race in one strategic swoop.  But it would have to wait until every Kind had been destroyed or there would never be peace for them.

“Ahh!” a Kind roared, flinging a Kindred that flailed from his arm across the corridor.  Kindred tackled him from every angle, struggling to take him down.  Blood squirt as his arm was torn off.  Kindred scrambled to slurp the warm liquid as it splayed.  Others went frantic at the sight and smell of the enticing substance, and soon Kindred were fighting to suck as the vampire was literally torn and ripped to pieces.

Witches shrieked with spells holding the remaining Kind in place as she was devoured by Kindred that seemed unable to get enough blood.  It was a perfect partnership between the temporary allies, wherein neither alone could have managed the Kind so easily by themselves.  It was sheer numbers coupled with their abilities that made the difference.  But it was the sheer numbers that count more.

Moving beyond the mayhem at a more rapid pace down the corridor, the band marveled at the light cast by torches that reflect off marble floor that merged into gold pavement.  Domm’s chamber was so close the Kindred  heard his strong heartbeat, and felt their own fall into sync.  A sense of fear slowly crept and wrapped around their spine like vines.  Had they made a grave error? 

At the far end of the passage was a closed, great, bronze double door with emerald inlays.  Silver sconces cradled torches whose flames cracked and danced with fury around the massive door, highlighting the presence of twenty of the most perfectly chiseled Kind any of the attackers had ever seen.  Their visages were hard like mountain stone, but soft as moss growing on those rocks.  Serenity enveloped them.  Yet promises of death flitted in their eyes.  They hissed at the approaching intruders, revealing pearly white fangs: the top two were approximate three inches in length, thick and pointed.  The two bottom fangs were just as long but more pointed.  Flexing their fingers, sharp talons grew from manicured nails.  Their wonderful eyes turned black and opaque.

One undaunted witch took the lead of her party, giving a piercing scream.  Kind grimaced, covering their ears which bled.  Only the toughest vampires refused to flinch, and instead, hardened their stares.

 A female Kind leapt at the wailing witch.  Her speed so great, with such mortal accuracy as her teeth pierced her larynx, cutting off her debilitating cry, the attackers halted in place.  Everything seemed to slow as the two plummeted to the ground.  The vampress rolled out of the clench, standing in the midst of her enemies with a lofty pose over the dead witch.  Fresh blood dripped from her fangs.  Her eyes flashed red as her head fell back and she bellowed laughter.

It was enough, thought the angry witches.  The Kindred followed their lead as the two parties clashed with vehemence.  The battle was fierce, even though the Kind were few.

 

Meanwhile on the other side of the bronze door:  “I not gone leave me usband!” the Queen acclaimed.   Her royal female protectors lowered their heads in submission.  “Take da crypt of me son instead.”

            The warriors hesitated, giving one another nervous glances.  Would Domm approve?

            “Me usband is sleep’n. I am Queen, do as me say.”  She paused to overlook them.  Not one moved.  “Now!” she demanded, and a number of vampires ran to lift one of two beautifully designed golden sarcophagus’.  With haste they carried it through a secret passage that was resealed with no possible way of ever being opened.

Satisfied, the Queen sat on her solid gold, and jeweled throne.  Her dark skin glistened with slight perspiration.  She threw her long and thick hanging locks over her shoulders, raising a defiant chin.

            “Now let dhem come,” the Queen sneered, and the two hundred Kind that were present turned towards the bronze double doors.

 

With a shriek a witch thrust hands in the direction of a vampire and a molten stream of fire slammed him against the bronze doors.  His flesh liquefied with only a skeletal frame standing, but just as fast fleshed returned, only to melt away again.  The witch paused, screamed again as she threw her hands forward, and fire so pure made the Kind evaporate.

Like ticks, several Kind sprang into the air to take hold of victims.  They drank and were healed from wounds.  Witches scattered from the brash assault, throwing defensive spells to inhibit attackers.  Kindred filled the space the witches gave up, only to be slashed to shreds by talons of their makers; or bashed into walls before being drained by clearly superior beings. 

More witches and Kindred joined the battle.  However, the Kind continued to demonstrate why they were to be feared by drinking, rejuvenating, and defending the chambers of Domm with tenacious vigor.  They had only been twenty, and were falling one by one, but so far they had downed no less than one hundred of their foe, and were ready to take more to the grave with them.

 

The Queen gave a quick grunt and a group of her protectors took positions before standing drums.   In unison they raised palms and waited.  The Queen nodded, and rhythmic pounding began.

Leaning her head back, the Queen half shut her eyes and swayed to the intense beat.  The drummers shook their heads and their dreadlocks flailed wildly.  Chanting in the chambers followed.  Only a few sang at first, but the singing was contagious.  The language was ancient and only known by them.  Yet it was the first time in fifty thousand years a single word from that tongue had been as much as uttered.

Dancing erupted.  The Queen swayed.  The drums beat louder.  The Queen swayed, and clapped.  Her voluptuous breast bounced, and n*****s swelled.

 

“Sisters!” one witch cried in a pitch high enough to cause Kindred to withdraw.  She stood alone before the bronze doors with outstretched arms glowing in a mist of swirling green.  She looked determined.

Other witches joined in a flash with arms extended towards the doors shrieking.  Kindred quickly scrambled wounded and bleeding from the ears that naturally healed.  Now rows of witches with glowing arms, encompassed by swirling green clouds focused on the massive doors that slowly drew open.

From the rear the final of the twenty Kind sank fangs into the neck of one witch in the ranks of swirling clouds.  It was to his own demise.  As the witch went limp in death a violent retaliation by other witches fell on him in a mass of black robes pulling and tearing at his limbs with the power of their magic which could not be overcome.  The sight and smell of such potent blood instigated a vampric stampede.  Witches were trampled and tossed to the side as frantic Kindred fell upon the Kind to consume his precious blood with savage snorts and grunts. 

With blood covered faces and dazed glares, one vampire after the other quickly fell dead.  Kindred who at first were trying to participate in the feast, drew away from the corpses with curled nostrils as the putrid smell of poison intensified. 

 

More screaming witches pulled at the doors with their magic as greater numbers of them entered the corridor with even more Kindred.  Music from the royal chamber surprised the intruders.  But when the doors were fully ajar the inner celebration ceased.  It was so abrupt the silence was eerie, and though witches itched with anticipation, Kindred were now leery.

 

The chamber was massive, with nine stone pillars covered by colorful hieroglyphics supporting the ceiling.  Gold, diamonds, and other precious stones, along with rare artifacts were everywhere.  Marble steps led to a raised platform in the rear where the Queen sat with a regal flare.

            She was splendid to observe, and known to be far more dangerous than all Kind except for her husband, Domm.  She whispered to ethereal beings that drift about her.  Then they were gone; if they had ever been there at all.

            A gold sarcophagus was to the Queen’s left.  To her right were the drummers.  Before her stood what was left of her royal protectors.  Before them stood more of her warriors.  Their ranks were military perfect.  Their faces were belied nothing but peace, and quiet.  The ranks of the witches and Kindred were disorderly but swollen.  Their numbers however, were over two thousand.  They were visibly anxious.

Not a sound from either side was heard for a long while.  Then one witch dared step beyond the invisible barrier that separated the hall from the sacred room.  With a smug grim of victory she wailed fiercely.  Blood trickled from the ears of some of the Kind but none stirred.  Kindred winced, backing away.

Fixing a hand on each hip, the witch stated, “We will now have you hand over the First Father.”

A pale skinned, slant eyed female Kind that was close to the Queen folded her arms over her tiny breasts.  Her dreadlocks swayed like cobras, as if on their own volition.   “Ah, ya come fa da faddah.” She tilted her head.

Wailing again,  the witch hissed,  “We have.”

Looking toward the Queen, who only nodded with a quaint smile, the pale vampire turned again to the witch.  “Notin ere but dhat which would git ya much trouble.  Dead trouble,” she assured with a gleam in eye.

Again the witch shrieked just as each faction rushed the other with violent war cries.  The Queen waved to her female right hand who immediately nod to several other vampires who headed for the sarcophagus.  One quickly pushed aside the cover which was too heavy for a single human to remove.  Another vampire raised talons and thrust his hand into the crypt.  Blood splayed his face.

They were determined to let no one have the First Father.

 

I too will return to the dry dust no matter my trepidation of that impending, eternal oblivion.  No sort of contrivances of an ever existing soul will make it so.  We are no greater than the tiny ants we squash beneath or feet with indifference.  Not religion, devotion to rituals, heart-felt sermons from the most pious of men, or passionate prayers heaped as high as mountains will ever change that…

Men and women, as they are surely born, will come to the same demise as us.  Only sooner.  Death- with nothing afterwards.  As your scriptures so plainly state, “the dead know nothing”.  As the moments that slip by prove over and over, nothing that has died, whether loved or hated, has ever come back.  Nor will.

There was a time I savored the blood of others, and from it gained vitality, and a false sense of immortality.  I dined on men.  I danced around their fallen bodies.  Bathed in the blood of my enemies while sipping wine, making love, and engrossed in laughter.

I indulged in whatever preference or inclination hit me.  I was greater than any other.  Age had given me power like none before me, and for a time all called me God.  They called me God.

            -Domm