103 A Nightmare*
The city had become a battlefield. The sun stones had been destroyed, the barrier that kept Star Crash Coven in darkness disintegrating with them. All those cheerful and determined people that had dominated the city streets had turned on one another, their affiliation forcing a divide between the members of the Coven.
Rassa looked down on them all with narrowed eyes. After all the Coven had done for them, this is how they repaid it? With blood and slaughter and superficial doctrines that had brainwashed those who came into contact with it. Order had always been larger in number. It's influence more wide spread, but Chaos had always had more powerful individuals. Those who had unlocked darkness and revelled in it.
Rassa was no different, but he still now could not help the disdain that filled his expression. How dare they attack his Coven? How dare they move against the Vampiric race? What kind of arrogance did they have to possess to keep up their crusade with such vigor?
"Not arrogance," Victor spoke, "Pride. They were too prideful".
Rassa frowned, "But pride is-"
"An aspect of Chaos, yes," Victor nodded, "The Vampires, who were ruled by Gluttony, were the last to be attacked by Order in this great war, but there were plenty of other Chaos Races that Order attacked and decimated beforehand. The first of which, were the Demons. They, with their command over Chaos itself were Pride personified, and with their decimation, where do you think Pride would go? After all, nothing is truly eradicated forever. You cannot eradicate Chaos just as you cannot eradicate Order. Two sides of the same coin. When one is destroyed, it shall bloom in the heart of the other".
"You mean those who controlled the army of Order became the personification of Pride?" asked Rassa.
Victor nodded, "The cycle will not be broken. They will all return one way or another. You are a key to one path of Chaos, the path of Gluttony. Do not let it destroy you, but then, you can't let them destroy you either". Victor pointed out at the Magicians that were fighting on the streets, their powers granted by order and giving them such arrogant looks. No, prideful looks. They were looking down on his Coven. Looking down on his race and their path.
Rassa felt his wings unfurl behind his back, stretching them wide as he pierced the skin of his wrist and summoned the blood forth, solidifying it into a wickedly sharp red blade that shone in the sunlight. The shadows collected in his other hand, a black blade forming a twin. Rassa felt his fangs extend as he fell forward letting the wind carry him into battle.
His powerful wings stopped his fall short right before his brethren who retreated behind him, awaiting orders. He moved them once, blowing back several Magicians with their powerful beating. Then the wings receded as Rassa dropped to the ground gracefully. His world died red as he let his power roam free, intimidating his enemies with little to no effort.
"You have brought upon this war yourselves, do not blame me for turning it into a slaughter. You should have worked out by now, your deaths only serve to satisfy our thirst".
He lunged forward into the fray, his swords slicing through flesh and bone with no resistance as he moved with unrestricted speed, stopping every now and then to fill his stomach with the life blood of his enemies.
Such an addicting feeling it was, giving in to ones instincts. To let his power roam free and his gluttony soar forth unrestrained. He was unstoppable, and his brethren behind him took it as consent. They too followed in his footsteps.
Rassa twirled with his blades, slashing through another Magicians uncaringly and watching the torso separate in two. He grinned joyfully, the shadows dancing around him with the blood that rained on the streets of the city. He blinked looking down at the body of the Magician.
But it wasn't a magician this time, it was a guard in basic uniform, his head severed from his body. He looked familiar. A cool breeze rushed through Rassa, and he registered the darkness that surrounded him, how the shadows danced and answered his every command.
Severe his head from his shoulders.
Pin him to the wall like a hunting trophy.
Splay him in pieces on the ground.
Break his limbs.
Block his throat and choke him.
Bring him to me so I can feed.
Rassa watched all this occur around him in the darkness of the cave, moving with his shadows and sinking his fangs into unwilling necks to drink and drink and drink. He let his Gluttony rule him. His rage crashing through his being like river rapids.
He grinned just like he had on that battlefield. The shadows and the Mist revelling in the chaos with him. This is what he was, this is what he was born to be. It felt so right, so pure and unrestrained that he could not help the joyful laugh that burst forth from his lips.
He spread his arms, the shadows exploding outwards like spikes and skewering his enemies where they stood. His shoulders shook with his chuckle and the shadows receded, wrapping around him like satin cloth as he surveyed the destruction around him. The bodies and the blood, the true form of his gluttonous path.
Rassa froze. The voice all too familiar. The shadows screamed at him not to turn back, as if they knew. As if they were aware of what it would do to him. But Rassa couldn't stop himself, he turned anyway.
There, skewered to the wall of the mines, was his father. Blood leaked from his wounds, and he coughed, blood gushing forth from his mouth.
The question, the confusion, the fear. All lay within Phillip's gaze as he took in the true form of his son, and the look floored Rassa.
What had he done?
The small voice that escaped Rassa was nothing like the gluttonous monster that had revelled in darkness moments before. It resembled a small child, terrified beyond his wits. Rassa stumbled forward towards his father.
As Rassa took in the wholly dead eyes of his father, he caught glimpses of others on either side of Rassa, or the bodies on the floor and the pinned to rooves and walls.
His mother. Jane, Falla, Dig, all his friends, the knights he'd slaughtered in Cordon, the villagers, Aegin and Ebony...
Rassa dropped to his knees.
"No". His long claw-like nails scraped at the skin of his face, the cuts quickly mending back together as if to tell him, "This is what you are, you cannot run from it".