V - Narul's Story
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Narul is the first vampire of all time and wants to set the record straight:
1. Vampires are killers who drink human blood 2. No children may be vampires
3. Vampires are survivors 4. An invitation to a vampire may not be rescinded
5. Vampires do not live in the sun 6. Vampires are not bothered with moral
dilemmas 7. Vampire size is irrelevant to power - age and lineage matter
8. Vampires can have a sense of humor 9. Vampires may tend to be arrogant
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ISBN: 9781483504681
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V - Narul's Story - Milton W Mannix

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It's a wonder! Why should I expose myself now? Long I sought to live this clandestine life. It might be argued - all these years of incognito existence have rendered me an invulnerable but droll vitality. It's apparent, I need death's kiss to invigorate me; that, and I have become enraged by your inept attempts to portray myself and my brethren. So, to put the salsa back into my life, and for the sake of historic accuracy, here is my story.

When you live forever, start and finish mean nothing; time is static and you are what moves. This shall be a department store narration, I mean to say at times you will find yourself engrossed in one isle of sundries only to take a few steps metaphorically, then find yourself perusing an entirely different set of merchandise. Time and perspective in my story run like elevators in a department store analogy, by stepping in and pushing a button you can shift chronologic zones and points of view as easily as changing floors. I hope these sudden shifts are not too jarring. Remember the return to now is just a button away, and the buttons are nothing more than concentrations of focused thought. Shifting time spontaneously is the only way I can tell my story; I have lived so long that whole generations are like the seconds hand on your watch, tick tick tick they go and are gone. Therefore, it would be utterly pedestrian to offer a view of my existence as if it merely traveled in one direction; nevertheless, the whole is all about me, enough of this, let's move onward.

My veritas is that I am a pure predator. I have listened with amusement as your marine biologists praise the hunting prowess of a shark. They cite this mindless beast's ability to scent a drop of blood a mile distant in the ocean. Posh, if I pine after a Nubian dainty, I will draw her perfume into my nostrils, although at that very instant I may be feeding in Brooklyn, New York. I gather my dark girl's scent easily, even as she dances unawares continents away, gyrating under her wild African sun. Your finned prehistoric brute, which naturalists so admire, is lucky to lumber through his ocean at about thirty miles per hour. Flying at near the speed of imagination, I can dispatch my New York feast and be playfully nibbling at my Nubian charmer before the hour passes. Truly, I scream through my beloved night skies faster than panic strikes in my intended victim's heart, gone for years upon years is my dawdling in the air at bat-like velocity. If I never grew tired, I could soar in lovely darkness ahead of time, not ever having to contend with the blistering rays of your sun.

This brings me to the first of what you should anticipate will be a number of corrections concerning my character. I do not miss the sun! Solar light blinds me and my kind, while sufficient exposure boils the very flesh from our bones. What intelligent creature seeks such exposure? No, it is the night I love. Beautiful Night!. With eyes a hundred times more keen than are an eagle's, I pull out those colors caught among the black velvet thread of night. In mine and my brethren's nocturnal meandering, we absorb a richness of chromatic display which your feeble optics can't even imagine. Those writers who suggest we yearn for surreptitious glances at the sun are moronic. They are merely attaching a weakness to our kind, because they, as members of your kind, have an abundance of such foibles. We do not! We are the next generation, so enhanced, it is correct to forget our human roots when classifying us.

If I haven't already given you your first view of my Achilles heel, let me tell you how I began, and that, may give you some insight on how to annihilate me; up the ante of the game, so to speak. Mm. This I find stimulating. Very well, let's proceed. I have existed since those times when real man first walked. By the way, you did not evolve as your scientists suppose. You popped wholly formed from the genetic soup; actually, as you now are, is a devolved version of homo sapiens. You became nearly extinct, and that is what your scientific detectives have unearthed. Those nearly extinct versions have left your evolutionists stumbling down their wrong avenues. Parenthetically, it is I and my followers who allowed ourselves to become overly prolife Rous; our hunger became insatiable, our early blood lust nearly wiped you out. That debacle caused the blind into which your geneticists have stumbled. Of course, you needn't worry, since then, we have learned. We won't ever again so thin Our Herd; we actually had to turn upon ourselves in those lean times, ugh. Enough rambling from the pulpit, let's go back…

I was born to a high station. My father and mother…I don't even care to recite their names…were seers. Spiritual folk who communed with the cosmos, The True One. This makes me and what I have become even more ironic. Nevertheless, before their frightful demise, I got my elders to respect me. Their time was before the dinosaurs, before those cataclysmic changes to this planet which hide your origins. Their time was the time of Atlantis, as a matter of fact we all lived a true Atlantean existence, as did many of the communities of Earth. Magic, science and religious belief were comfortably coexistent. Each exercised influence over its respective domain, powers balanced. Balance was so important! Dark forces also had power, but were kept at bay. Yet, even then, not every citizen sighed with contentment, and darkness found germinating room. It only required one trained and genetically pre-disposed, such as myself, to upset the apple cart. You could say it was my parent's fault how things turned out; how I transformed. After all, it was they, the mystics, who schooled me in the sublime power of meditative concentration, without which, I could not have mustered the necessary elements from Patient Darkness to hearken my metamorphosis. Maybe, if they knew how gifted I was, they would have exercised their guardianship over me more judiciously. Still, I was not the favorite, and was only one of seven. Low on that list which parents use to determine who gets the boon of parental love and direction, I was instead given the ability to caste my consciousness beyond the corporal realm and leant complete freedom by virtue of mild neglect…

By the way, does it seem at moments as if I am talking directly to you, my reader? I hope so. I hope you feel as though I'm leaning right over your shoulder, perhaps now! It is my breath brushing the flesh at the base of your throat, not the breeze from a loose window. My long nailed fingers drawing the goose flesh at the nape of your neck, my shadow you imagined crossing the dimmed doorway at your periphery, and it is my rubbing on the shingles of your roof, causing those persistent rasps heard overhead, those ticks you imagine emanating from your plastered wall, those creaks in your wooden floor, not the pat explanation you usually satisfy yourself with. It is I! Close your eyes and picture me, I am tall, muscled but lean; for a moment, imagine me bending at my waist in a cordial greeting. A salutation that a nineteenth century gentleman might employ, his top hat and black satin cape shining in gas fueled street lamps. Imagine the brush of my lips gently upon your throat. Feel the quickening of your heart. It is I! Convince yourself it is merely fancy, but know you can not shake that sensation which warns you of my extended canines edging toward your jugular. You didn't just touch your throat, did you? Does the skin itch just a little? My teeth are tuned to your pulse. Close your eyes. Does what you are reading right now seem ridiculous, incredulous? Good. Later, it may not! Ha ha, later it may not. Remember, I've been invited.

Of course, sometimes, you are right to accept that phantasmagoric things are not real, those very things which your `rational mind' argues are not, often aren't! Leprechauns for instance, I have lived centuries upon centuries and not seen a trace of one. Other times, you might benefit from suspending your disbelief, after all, you are reading this and not only am I real but I have met other beings: dark witches, off worlders and chimerical specimens of creation. Though it appears unsubstantiated under scientific scrutiny, The Son of Man is said to be where two or more gather for his name's sake. Time might prove believers have justification in their faith. What would science make of me? I am not nearly so demanding as your savior. However, rest assured, I do not require two of you, I only need for one of you to imagine my invitation, and like the song, I'll be there…you got a friend. Naturally, I accept the invitation when it's convenient to me, and worry not, you not need invite me twice to have opened the door and such a door will not again easily shut.

Silly, re-start your intellect. This is, after all, just a story, but don't you find it a more vibrant reading, having it be introduced conversationally?

Had my parents more carefully cared for me they would have seen the split in my character. I can not bring myself to call it a fault, not when it is that very crack in my personality which led me to my wonderful chrysalis. Still, blame does not entirely rest on them. There was another catalyst. One more instrumental, more catalytic. You see, in our so well ordered society. Things were supposed to run seamlessly smooth. When you fell in love, it was right! This is what we were taught. My parents certainly loved one another and my friends' parents had the same bond as mine. Mutual attraction was pre-ordained. But not in my case, the schism unique to my psychic profile, tricked me.

In error, I became enamored with Leenla. She emanated light. She woke the dawn simply by opening her eyes. My heart raged deliciously at her slightest smile. I thought she aimed its gleaming brilliance at me; I threw my heart to her in return. Naturally, she was aware of this. But, in a totally contrary fashion she cared nothing for me. This was Not supposed to happen! Attraction….was supposed to be mutual. Yet, she loved someone else. Fruitlessly, I used every device to win her favor. Nothing. Rage enveloped me. To our society of supposedly enlightened folk, rage was an emotion of lowly creatures, so I was shunned. From my isolation, I turned to those tiny dark corners of our world, and there I came upon an answer. How wrong my then fellow beings were in their disregard for hate and its power. My hither-to-fore overlooked talents were more than appreciated among the low, grey, mostly powerless folk, who resided in shadow; they had none like me. Gleefully, they led me to evil's main door. Without quandary, I embraced pitch, which germinated in my then twisted heart until it blossomed into a black rose. I broke all taboos and focused my meditation toward the void. Darkness cut light. A baleful glee enveloped me in its ravenous embrace. Finally, a voice offered to make my desire come true. To make me eternal and to form a never ending pact, no identical pact would be entered into with another. I the First and the Last so precisely formed. I needed merely to kneel, give homage and offer myself in sacrifice. In reward, I would be reborn, made immortal! I could not stop myself if I had wanted to but I did not want to stop. No, I leapt into the fall. Vermillion flood painted the dark. Brilliant, wet, warm blood, my blood. Jet turned red. I bathed in it until I was empty and I died. After a time, the voice kept its promise and resurrected me with new darker more wholesome blood. Rich red milk of everlasting existence suffused my body. I was transfused with power. It was wonderful. I was splendidly remade. I rejoiced whole-heartedly before drifting into a deeper slumber. There all parts of my metamorphosis except one incidental detail became complete.

This first homage was the only time I ever bent my knee to another. That rip at my throat and the out pouring of my blood made me conclude I had come to my end, yet I had never felt another feeling as sublime. It was a wild flight into the void, but it was just the beginning. Just as The Seed must split and die to give new life, so I was rent in order to revive to my new life. A new existence where I owned a great new force, a new hunger, and a new knowledge. Every intense sensation in the universe seemed to now course through my veins. Then I slept the second sleep, where each schism inherent in my feeble human form was eradicated. What I had become I became completely. My canines were enlarged, retractable, rapier pointed and lovely. I was darkly beautiful, a creation formed with a single pure intent. I needn't even view my reflection in a mirror or pool, I was able to project myself to an astral vantage and look down upon my form with my mind's eye, intrinsically, I knew my own beauty. I never calculated the duration of my second slumber, but when I awoke I was utterly without confusion and went to my Leenla.

She was peculiarly withdrawn.

Leenla, my love… I cried out. Love, its utterance seemed leaden, but I was not deterred. Leenla, I am returned for you. To me, it was impossible she could feel un-enamored with this magical creation I had become! She did not even move when she first saw me. I have become wondrous, have I not, I turned offering myself for appraisal. She was frozen, with what I assumed had to be unbridled admiration. My heart pounded with a wild rhythm. My entire body churned with violent yearning. Desire… My teeth, I felt them harden and extend. I was still new to my metamorphosis, not fully understanding. Sexual lust drummed in my ears until I was deaf. Leenla glowed amid the darkness, her yellow hair luminescent. But she did not move. Her lips quivered with anticipation. Finally, certain she wanted me as I had always wanted her! I floated toward her. My dream to finally be loved in return by my Leenla was fulfilling itself. I was not prepared, when she, no longer entranced, croaked with revulsion and fear. It stalled me for an instant. I had not yet mastered the art of charming deception, but my true nature, revealed without artifice, was too much for her. Leenla, it is I? Another scream. Instinct, more ancient than dust embraced me and flung me upon her. Oh the blood! That exhilarating intoxication of another's fear. It was worth everything! Carnal gratification enveloped me. Her hair dimmed against the dark ground. Then, I fell into her last blood with her final words deliciously resounding in my soul, Narul, why Narul? At least, at the end, she uttered my name and acknowledged me! This was her only important contribution, her blood, my first kill, confirmed me to my catharsis, I was wholly an un-dead being, and finally, I saw her as the dull creature she had always been.

No morality, no remorse, bothered my conscience. Much later, I awoke where I had swooned. Immediately, I learned two things. When feeding, never gorge oneself in an open unsafe place, and never fall in blood stupor where dawn can catch you. The sun will bake you as you lay obliviously unmoving, and you'll die in this defenseless time as you roam those euphorically soothing corridors assigned to the `sleep of bliss.' Fortunately, where I had fallen was shaded by dense trees and the sun rise was heavily filtered by a canopy of dense vegetation; nevertheless, I awoke blistering. In a mad fit, I dashed blindly seeking sanctuary from the sun's mortal rays. None too soon, my new instinct riveted my attention upon a not far off cavern into which I blindly dove. I was severely burned and upon entering I again fell into a catatonic like slumber. I remember thinking as I drifted off, `if I re-awake,' I will die from my burns. I did not even scar! My mind was clear. Another night was begun. Upon reawaking, `Leenla deserved to die' was my first thought. How had I loved such a dim witted mutton? For her to not appreciate the magnificent being I had become was proof of her worthlessness, damn her eyes! She had never seen me, not properly, it was a blessing to not have my love reciprocated by such a toad.

"I carried my anger

in an iron headdress

rubbed raw by ritualistic rancor

until there was no redress

to dissuade my shredding your devotions.

ALL that remained was THE PROWL

The Hunt

The Howl…"


I would like to make a confession: though I'm loath to admit it, I use computers, I even like to play games on them. I especially like Jezz Ball and Black Jack. However, I know, Black Jack is rigged, they will regret this transgression once I have time to hunt the perpetrators of this fraud down. Enough of that, I really want to talk about other games.

Infinity requires ingenuity. Therefore, in my first century, I began what I now see were very simple games. Over time, I refined my strait forward rather simple episodes of death defying feats into complex pastime, gyrations even the Spanish Inquisitors might label muy peligroso, very dangerous indeed! (I rather enjoyed the Inquisition.) We will no doubt talk more of my advanced forms of play later. I'm certain you'll find some of those vignettes even more entertaining, but for now let's stick to the early days.

A thought just occurred to me: by this point you might be wondering, do I report in to the Dark One with whom I first communed? A soporific presumption! I have myself become the essence of darkness. I do not need ITS' affirmation and IT certainly does not need my input. IT was satisfied to have re-made me, and I am satisfied to have been so divinely transfigured.

We digress, back to those early games. What I needed was inventive mayhem. So, I began to slay just before dawn. It was thrilling to draw in my life's sustenance just before daylight, stretching my hunger, working the time of my kills closer and closer to day break. Churning need drove me nearly insane until I allowed myself to hunt, while simultaneously I was titillated to know a poorly timed arrival of sunrise could expunge my very existence. Adding a strong dash of hot salsa to my late night frolic was the fact that as fairly new vamp, I still required an extended after feast resting period. During repose, I couldn't move or I would convulsively vomit, lose my sustenance and possibly become comatose from a kind of temporary starvation. The thrill was achieved because the end of hunt and day break were so closely timed that if I didn't recover quickly enough, I would fry. For a `new-be' vamp it was a grand game.

Bet you were unaware of a new vampire's need to rest post feeding - they never show it in any of your movies. Nowadays, adolescent Nosferatu are shielded during their susceptible stages of development. However, let's get back to me, I had no such protective blanket buffering my folly; I was very alone and my respites lasted for varied lengths of time. Why different siestas? The amount of blood taken fool and the richness of the blood can delay absorption. Naturally, this was what made the pre-dawn feasting so tantalizing - its probability for initiating horrendous and unpredictable consequences. No doubt, you'll consider it noteworthy, even disappointing to know that I now recover from a feast during the very suck itself. You can't be sulking over this revelation; you weren't really thinking the answer to a successful attack on me would come so soon in my narrative, did you? Don't be pedestrian, play along with me a bit. Where's your sportsmanship? The essence of the hunt is the fox is hard to get. Remember, I'm right by your shoulder, not the other way around. This is my game and my backyard we're playing in.

Time to shift to a different floor in our `department store' structure. We can talk more of games later.

What I just did: academia calls author intrusion. I'm told it's a bad thing. Too bad, they'll have to get used to it. As for theirs and your conventions, please, they mean nothing to me.


I gathered considerable architectural insight through centuries of observation, all of it has been incorporated into creating the hidden subtlety of my special room's design. I like to refer to it simply as `The Chamber', Minimalist touches are routinely offset by flagrant opulence. Baroque extravagance is the facade disguising the real structural brilliance underneath. Walls, ceiling and floor are all polished onyx, pure simplicity. Six columns appear to but do not support the ceiling, they are merely ornamental. There is one column for each master, while two of these frame each of three entries opening upon this cavernous chamber. A master's column has his or her rune carved into the stone, while each rune is emblazoned by the use of 24 carat gold inlay. Ruby tinted shell has been imbedded in vertical lines the length of the columns, behind these are secreted lights. The tongue tinted stripes are set to undulate rhythmically, creating the illusion that the very room is pulsing with a life of its own. Our meeting table has six chairs; both table and chairs are exquisitely buffed onyx as well. My end of the room is set off by a slightly convex wall, where the polished black is perfectly smooth. Its blank expanse creates a dizzy sense of one staring into - The Void That Is Without End. I have a cushioned bench covered in leopard fur; its legs are ivory and modestly longer than the legs of all the other seats in my council room. Thus, I can comfortably sit or recline from an elevated position when I preside over my special gatherings. Precisely drilled conical holes honey comb the room's walls; sound follows these conduits to the deepest recesses of my permanent safe house, shall we listen in? Although, I am telepathic and it requires little of the energy it once consumed; I like to eaves drop manually. In any event, regardless of the method I employ, I countenance no secrets to be kept from me within my realm! Especially not in my own primary dwelling.

Can you believe he hasn't changed this place in centuries. It's morbid.

Morbid, you've got to be kidding, what do you think you are, Bo Peep? Avery, you suck blood and then leave your victim for dead.

Marcea, we exist in modern times, we don't have to be surrounded by Bulgarian or what ever they are trappings every where we go; besides, blood banks make the hunt superfluous.

Avery, don't be a dunce! Not hunt, we might as well lie down and starve, we live for the hunt not the blood! It's only like this because he loves these macabre digs. What I don't get is, why does he continue to call us to these gatherings? None of us likes each other. And none of us likes him.

Shush, he hears everything.

Avery you're such a wimp, why do I talk to you…look at those two. You have to admire them; who'd have guessed that they would have the guts to show, wow! They really did try to finish him off you know, and he hasn't annihilated them. Maybe times are changing. Perhaps his power is lessened, like the two of them tried to tell anyone who would listen, maybe we should have joined them?

Marcea, his power is more intense, not diminished! Don't you go including me with those two idiots, and if you're smart, you won't start believing their rubbish; none of us can unseat him.

Quit sniveling. We're not at a democratic convention. Admit it, you'd eat his living heart if you thought you had half a chance to gain his power, but you were a coward before you were changed and you're a coward now; you don't even prey upon the strong herd members, only the invalid or dying for you and those stupid blood banks. Not one of us can even imagine how you made it to master. At least, you were only awarded Australia. What an awful place, aborigines and dust. You can have it. As a mater of fact, like I said, why am I even talking to you? Can you believe what she's wearing? Such and over the top floozy. If the bodice were cut any lower it wouldn't need to be there at all.


Look at the wall Avery…you've begun to bore me. This whole clandestine meeting bores me. No, don't you say another thing. I want to see if I can tune in to Lanay and Chin. Slut or not, she showed daring. Maybe they're still planning something entertaining. Possibly, they really have figured out his weak spot. If he dies, we all gain!

Lanay, I don't like it. We should be dust. We should have remained in hiding in China. I have secret places there, here we're vulnerable.

Chin, I told you, we weakened him. He knows it and brought us here to negotiate. If he could have crushed us he would have.

What makes you so certain this isn't just an ambush?

Look Chin, when has Narul ever shown clemency, answer: NEVER! Second, if he could have finished us off, why not just do it? Why risk having us here, so close? No, he must have gained respect for our power and knows our combined force would be too much for even him. We're here to bargain. Let's not give away the farm now that we have him where we want him.

Lanay, I don't like this room! It reeks of his power.

Of course you don't like it, none of us does. It's his lair. It's designed to put us in our place. Look at that chandelier `entirely made of real diamonds. Made it him-self!' I'm surprised he didn't claim to have carved the diamonds with his canines. Egotistical bastard.

It is beautiful…Lanay, look how it glitters.

It's grotesque, gauche, and without imagination, like he is. All so droll and so out of date.

Lanay, you wouldn't say that if he could hear you.



Narul hears everything…..sooner or later.

We shouldn't have come here.

Chin, Quit whining.


Oh Chin, put your fangs back in. You look like a bad Halloween advertisement; besides, mine are as long and twice as lethal; I have a hundred and fifty years on you. It's infantile to posture, especially while we can not afford to be at odds with one another, at least, not until the dust settles. Look at those four. Marcea…I never understood why he gave her Africa or why she accompanies that Avery, he's a fop.

What about those two she-he vamps, Andrea and Boche. And why two master's in South America?

Hello my reader, I'm back. This is just an aside to you: when you think you have discovered the secret to my demise, remember this. These beings you are overhearing are masters. Any one of them could with one hand toss an adult ox twenty feet in the air. Yet, despite all of their fierce looks and evil capabilities, every one of them followed my instructions to the letter and came here exercising exact punctuality, and none has touched the contents pooled within the fine black china bowls set before them. Drips of my own blood, its brilliant, still warm burgundy hue, by now has them quivering on the edge of insanity with their hunger lust. I have deliberately placed it before them. Trust me dear reader, to them it is irresistible! For them to not drink it, would be the same as it would be for you to be told to hold yourself from drinking cool pure spring water passing over your lips, after having spent three laboriously dehydrated days in a desert. Maddening!

Lanay's finger nails unconsciously drag across the onyx where she sits. All of them are attempting to block their keen sense of smell, but the blood has them twitching in anticipation, fangs are extending and retracting, yet my orders were explicit: Do Not Drink The Communion, not until I order it to commence while I'm in your presence. It has them so anxious, I get the full benefit of relishing their discomfort, especially Chin and Lanay's, those Judases.

I have drifted very casually among them. I want each of them to sense my power, to feel it wash over their heightened perceptions as I pass. Its intensity overwhelms them, dampens their bravado. Meanwhile, the two sub-masters whom I had previously chosen for this soiree, enter the room to a round of gasps. Borg and Arial, my new masters, arrest each of the seated master's attention. They are seen as interlopers and normally this is grounds in our world for them to be slaughtered instantly, that is if they were not standing next to me.

I allowed speculation to run rampant among them as I relished my own thoughts about what I was about to reveal to them, their suspicions turned to apprehension, angst, and fear, rising like a slow but powerfully swelling tide. Devastation is at hand. It climbs forward, gradually reaching up, up, and up, until its tidal mass rages irrepressibly down, until fatal realization dawns, too late. Desperation first hit Chin. Lanay's arrogance kept her blind to it. I held back as they inanely tried to exert force against me individually. Pointless! Children, did you really think yourselves so powerful? I raised my right palm. They curled their lips, fully baring their fangs. I toyed a little then I flung my spirit upon them. Their bodies writhed; agony became apparent as each one's breathing became strained. Briefly, Lanay stood before crumpling against one wall. At least, she made an effort to resist, Chin merely collapsed where he sat. My other vamps pulled away in fear initially, but smiled with pleasure at the spectacle, once they knew they were not to feel my invective. Utilizing, that true sense for self preservation which all of us possess, Lanay and Chin sensing their final moments, remembered they were supposed to be co-conspirators, rising from the floor, they re-linked their powers. I allowed them to drift through the air toward me. Allowed them this final vanity. The atmosphere sparked with violent energy. I was exhilarated. Just an arms length distant, they even began to believe they had a chance, I waited. I wanted the others in this room, my room, to be tempted to join Lanay and Chin against me. I stalled until I was certain the others thought to doubt my power, then I froze Chin and Lanay in their tracks. Their feet dangled uselessly midair above the floor. During their approach, they had regained some of their earlier confidence; now it abandoned them. Puppet like they found themselves suspended mere inches from my face. It was delicious.

Well, children. Oh yes! You are but children. You know it now…don't you wish you had better thought out your plans. My power was never diminished. I was merely testing you. You have failed, now you die! To deter them, I had not needed to scratch the surface of those forces I control, it was disappointingly easy to destroy them. I have lived from century's times centuries before your change was effected. My power is beyond even an immortal's imagination. Mesmerized and frozen, Chin and Lanay waited in anxiety filled silence. Chin's fear pulsed in my nostrils. I drew one finger nail along his neck, a slight red line emerged. We do not sweat, but he would have if it were possible. Once his demise was apparent, I hovered briefly, relishing it; then, without warning, flung myself upon Lanay. Her head rolled from her shoulders. I turned to the other vamps, FEED! I yelled to them. Lanay's power was shared by those feeding upon her, but I gathered most of it before her head hit the floor. Now it was time for Chin. The other vamps, especially the new masters, had become ecstatic with such high potency blood and the certainty of more master blood. Chin's eyes rolled in his head. His fangs retracted, much like a dog curls its tail between it legs in submission. He disgusted me, I crushed his head between my palms. His power was minor, I left it and turned again to the others: feed. While the remaining old masters drank, I performed the ritual that elevated Arial and Borg to full masters by giving them draughts of specially prepared blood gathered from Chin, Lanay and The Other. But I withheld The Vermillion Kiss, they really wanted. Finally, I reclined upon my divan. My power would not be challenged again for centuries. As I planned, these other vampires would remember this night, recount it over and over until it became legend. My theatrics had well served my purposes. It made me glad I had not dispatched Lanay and Chin earlier. It was time to offer the communion. High master blood such as mine carries oblivion's kiss, a true gift to an ancient's palate. It's real origin not a thing they needed to know.

"My brethren, you may drink this blood."

We are a selfish and cold lot. Lanay and Chin were vapor and forgotten. Our special communion blood brought each of them back to the table without a pang of conscience. Nor could they endure waiting any longer as they greedily drank the elixir I had extracted from a heart rich with power as only mine can be. With it, they briefly swooned into the well the truest power pooled. After they re-surfaced to consciousness, we shared the dark kiss which seals the confirmation of new masters.

Arial I gave Europe, and Borg was given South America, while I moved Andrea and Boche, my she-men vamps to Asia. It was a boon they most certainly deserved for their service to me. I felt it expedient to close the meeting with the following comments:

You are mine. It is I who created…transformed each of you. I am the power, your dark source. I am the path to the beginning at the end. This is the secret of life. Remember, there is no real beginning and no real end, no start no finish, only me for you forever. Do not again consider my demise! Think only of continuing. You may all leave, the exhibition of my power and our communion of immortality is finished. Nema!


I like how Marb Coalfire used journals to portray my kind. The technique causes even distant events to seem personal and current. You can tell from this introduction sentence I am about to begin using journals myself, specifically Disheeya's Journal.

At the time of D's Journal, my army of undead were still performing their deeds surreptitiously; however, its captains were fermenting seeds of revolt and becoming increasingly more brazen. In my naïveté I thought, they'll never again attempt to defy me, so I expanded their ranks somewhat indiscriminately which gave my minions courage to become openly restive. I only mention this condition for it, in turn, impacted Disheeya's development. Perhaps its best if I desist with my intrusion and we just chew D's Journal, allow it reveal its own slant on our story.

I encouraged Disheeya to grow unimpeded by my overt intervention, her only knowledge of me before the inception of her journal was a wisp of precognition, a fleeting sense that there was an outside influence upon her life, a distant whimsical protector; a benefactor her friends did not have. An conspirator she knew she could rely on to provide her with immunity from the vagaries of her world, even though she had no way of identifying me or what I was. I was grooming her to be my prize, my queen, My Disheeya! The Equal who'd come to rule by my side. As I became more and more closely involved in the honing of her talents, she began her journal, I provide a copy for you below….

Dear Journal: We are entering the year of what my parents call: The Year of Discovery. Everyone about me seems thrilled with scientific advance. My friend Allyanna says, she expects her research will soon turn our anti-gravity coaches into vehicles that can bring us beyond the confines of Earth! Joeclyf seems to feel the solution to all of our speculation for a better existence rests within the complex formulations he works on by combining varied chemical properties with different energy sources: induction of current through pulse waves. My other friends are similarly enjoined in their debates over what will toss us successfully into the future. Dear Journal I am not so certain. I feel knowledge resides within us, one which they in their corporal investigations do not recognize, this inner knowledge, I believe, offers greater flight. I feel a grand power ebbing and flowing within me; I can not focus on it for too long or I get feint. It is a Spirit place. Although I have only skimmed its surface, I know it can be penetrated and harnessed but Joeclyf and Allyanna do not want to recognize what can not be quantified. Here, allow me to recount our last conversation….

Joeclyf, I have put my conscious mind beyond chemical compounds, and Allyanna my real soul soars beyond flying machines. I am not referring as you suppose to an imaginary world, one only meaningful to mythic mystics and beings who barely survive on the fringe of our society. I speak of a plane with real dimension. My mind…my spirit brings my body with it. I feel things in this place and when I perfect my astral projection, I know, I will be able to retrieve concrete substance from these extra normal wanderings. Your machines will not be able to even fathom the speed or range of my travel.

Disheeya, tut. Blatant mysticism is all you're preaching.

Joeclyf, tut yourself. I know what I am talking about. I feel a real presence. Even now.

Joeclyf, our friend Disheeya is sincere. You shouldn't make fun of her, just because she adheres to the ways of our extinct ancestors and lunatics.

Fine Allyanna, you're supposed to be my friend, laugh with Joeclyf if you like. Your science is not everything! Our ancestors are anything but extinct. You'll wish you listened to me; some day you'll wish you heeded me. Credible to your sensibilities our not, it is written. Just two and three generations back we had seer folk who could see other people's thoughts, transport themselves by their will alone. It is also documented in our archives that those who were of the High Order could do greater things, just as I say I am learning to do. They projected themselves and other objects all over our planet. I grant you, it seems odd that a body of people such as this High Order, which alleged itself to possess so much power was virtually wiped out by a rare blood disorder…but, even that will be explained, I am certain.

Exactly, why should we follow a teaching that left all of its members mysteriously dead? Come on Disheeya listen to what you're advocating, if they had such strength and wisdom, why didn't they use it to save themselves?

Joeclyf, I have pondered that contradiction fruitlessly up to now. But, there will be a reasonable explanation, I am sure; besides, I am drawn to my investigations…just like you are drawn to your formulas. Believe me, I am near something tangible.

I'm practical, not drawn…besides I can see the results of my formulations. You say you have something concrete, what? For a while you were at the top of your class in Oceanographic research. You never told any of us why you changed and no one has ever seen any evidence of your `new research'.

I haven't wanted to show anyone. I have no concrete data.

Tell us Disheeya, tell us what you mean; we want to know, don't we Joeclyf.

Yes, tell us Disheeya, or show us, whichever….

Ok, but this secret must remain with us three, promise! I do not feel that I know enough to reveal what I have learned safely.

A bit dramatic…safely?

Yes, safely, I remain uncertain about the potential of what I seem to be unearthing.

My two friends agreed to keep a pact of silence. Dear Journal, what could I have been thinking? They were so poorly prepared. Perhaps I should not have sworn them to our silent contract, but it was done and I continued.

My parents, who as you might recall had been born of seer folk with great power; they told me stories of extravagant times. All members of their generation had been admonished to never attempt the arts; yet, they did. I have well hidden the documents proving their successful experiments. After their unexplained deaths, I found a unique book. It tells a very special story. I think its author guides me.

Get it.

I can't, Allyanna

Don't be ridiculous Disheeya, let us see it.

Joeclyf, look at her, she doesn't want to show it to us. If she doesn't want to, let's forget it. She can return to her dreams and we will go to our real world with real futures.

If I get it, you better not act silly and you better not make fun of it either.

Alright Disheeya, don't get over sensitive, we were just teasing you a little. After all, it's only a book were talking about, right?

The book is alive.


ALIVE, I said, if you touch it, you'll read it, and then you'll know. You will feel it. This book changes you, even as you read it, it enters you and you change. I'm almost afraid to show it to you.

Now it's you that is being silly, get it Disheeya. Joeclyf retorted. A book can't bite.

Dear Journal, I put the book on the table between them. I smiled inwardly. I could see the impact it was having on them. Their bravado, their certainty in science eroded as had mine when I first saw it. The volume appeared to pulse with energy. Its latent power issued a seductive appeal even to the coolest and most calculating mind. Despite their cocky attitude of earlier, neither of them reached for it. I should not have let it go any further, but a spitefulness I had never known before pulsed within me, and instead of lifting The Dark Bible off the table, I left it there to challenge them further just as they had taunted me. It was wrong, they were my friends, but I enjoyed the cat and mouse of it. I felt a palpable surge of desire, an intensification of power lust, pure control and I liked it.

Aren't either of you bold scientists going to investigate? Shall I turn the first page for you?

I imagined another being laughing beside me … inside me.

Give it to me Disheeya, I'll read it… Joeclyf boasted. His male bravado had suppressed his caution.

Dear Journal, my friend Joeclyf took the book. It was as if a bizarre covenant had been formed. His strong fingers trembled slightly upon the cover. He was afraid and I liked his fear. He rolled his eyes up to me…almost with a pleading expression…I nearly relented, but remembering how they had teased me earlier, I curled my lip into a condescending smile. I was enjoying my victory over their smugness, it felt good.

See Disheeya, watch me turn the cover. Wow! This lettering is incredibly fine. Its red ink is a brilliant shade I have never seen before. I'd like to study its chemistry….

Read Joeclyf. Allyanna prompted.

Very well, I'll read……`Long I have sought to live this clandestine existence….' A very strange beginning. Disheeya, how can you believe what it says?

Believe? I didn't at first, but it causes me to feel something….don't you, don't both of you? Your silence tells me you feel it too…read on, it's not too late for you to cover some meaningful ground before we have to quit for the day.

"Fine, I'll read, but reading stirs strange emotions, as if I'm participating somehow and not merely reading, he goes: `…Remember, I'm right by your shoulder, not the other way around…' This book was written generations ago, how can its author be at my shoulder? This is getting silly again. As scientists we can't really believe it? The author claims to be right here, now! I don't see anything or anyone but us. `Shadows at the periphery of my vision,' does that even mean anything? It's preposterous. How can someone or something generations dead be at my shoulder. `Blow on my neck,' …oddly…I sense something. I mean, I imagined I felt something. Listen to me, this is ridiculous. Say: …`Narul welcome'….that's all he needs. Needs to do what?"

You felt something cool. I offered