Bloodmoon: Wraith

[Phantomdarkrose]

Rathe arrived at Atticus’s castle just as the moon was rising. It was abandoned, had been ever since Atticus had been killed. Despite that, Rathe had been wary about coming back here; if he had his way, he would have never returned to this place. But he had no choice. Pryde was back, and if his brother’s words were true, the Master of Tolti’iq had begun his final plan. The note left in his room had told him to come to the castle and his questions would be answered.
Who the hell wrote that note? he asked himself for the fortieth time. He stood outside the front gate to the castle. This place gave him a bad feeling, but if he wanted to learn who the note was from and what they meant, he had no choice but to enter. He placed his hands on the giant stone doors and pushed them open. The hinges groaned from years of immobility. The halls were empty and dark, perfect for an ambush. Rathe took a deep breath and stepped inside.

***

Rafe followed the aura trail of the scent he had found outside his old room in Vladimir’s castle. Alexandra’s castle, he reminded himself. His paws silently padded over the ground as he walked, the world covered in a ghostly bluish tint due to his Sight. The scent had long since faded, but as long as he had his Sight he could follow the trail of it in the air, like a violet line of smoke that seemed to stretch forever. He had been tracking it for a week now, and hoped he was close to its source. As he followed the trail up to the top of a hill, he stopped and looked out at the area before him. A forest, untouched so far by humans lay in front of him. From where he stood he could make out a large clearing in the middle. The trail led into the forest, and as far as he could tell it ended there. He sighed in relief and made his way down and through the trees. His observation about the trail was right, it led straight to the clearing. Finally, he could find out who or what it belonged to. He charged into the clearing, and skidded to a halt, staring in disbelief at the figure before him. “I-Impossible…” he whispered.

***

The moment Rathe stepped inside, the torches lining the walls flared to life.
“This is crazy Boss, let’s just forget this place,” Rathe’s right hand said, the wizened old face of the parasite or whatever it was appeared on his palm.
“No, I need to find out who wanted me here,” Rathe replied, walking further into the keep. He made his way to the throne room, the place most likely to be where the mysterious writer of the note would be. He paused outside the bronze doors leading into the room. His sense of forboding had reached its max, whatever lay behind the doors, it had the ability to be more dangerous than anything he’d faced before. His hands were shaking and he felt a cold bead of sweat roll down his neck. He was scared, the feeling took him by surprise, he’d not felt real fear like this for centuries. Trembling, he reached out and pushed the doors open. The room was as dark as the halls had been, lit only by the stained –glass windows where the moon shone through. He moved inside, willing his knees to stop shaking. The doors creaked shut behind him. A sudden movement in the darkness caught his eye and he whipped out his sword, which had changed back to the 4-foot-long, thin, single-edged blade it had once been, and knocked aside the object rushing at his head. He heard it clatter to the ground with a wooden thump on the stone floor.
“I see that your reflexes have grown faster.”
The voice came from the center of the room, where the light from the windows couldn’t reach.
“Who’s there!” Rathe demanded, pointing the tip of his sword in the direction of the voice.
The torches in the room started lighting up one after another starting at the back of the room. A figure stood in the center of the throne room, dressed in a black outfit just like the one Rathe wore. Two shoulder guards stuck out about a foot over the person’s shoulders, and a black, body-length cape flowed out of it, some of it hanging done in front of the figure to the person’s feet, hiding their arms from view. A dark brown hat with a large brim covered the person’s head, sticking out about two feet and casting a shadow over their face. The figure stood at an impressive 7-and-a-half feet tall. Whoever it was, stood calmly and reached up to lift up their hat to reveal their face. Rathe’s grip on his sword slipped slightly as his arm fell to his side. He stared at the person, not believing what he was seeing.
“M-Master…?” he said, his voice hoarse.
The man before him had a perfectly set face, one that could only be described as beautiful, by both women and men. His long black hair stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin.
“You’ve grown since last we saw each other,” the man said.
“You… You’re dead,” Rathe said. “You’re dead, I watched you get killed!”
“It seems as if this world is not yet finished with me, Rathe,” the man replied simply.
Rathe just stared at him. The man reached over to his side with his right arm and pulled out a sword, the same as the one Rathe held, from between the folds of his cloak. He raised his arm and pointed the blade, centering it at Rathe’s chest, right where his heart was.
“I told you when you wanted to become a Vampire that this day would come,” he said. “As a Vampire Hunter, it is my duty to rid the world of the self-proclaimed Nobility whose ranks you now occupy."
Rathe barely heard his words.
“You knew that this would come to pass. As a member of the Nobility, it would always come to this,” the man said, cocking his wrist so that his sword was angled to slice through an opponent’s shoulder. “Now raise your sword and defend yourself!”
Rathe’s eyes almost didn’t follow the man’s movements as he charged, so fast were the reflexes of the Dhampir who became known as the greatest Hunter of all time. He quickly raised his sword just as the man’s blade came at him, sparks flew as the blades connected and the screech of metal on metal rang through the throne room. Rathe’s arm felt numb from the impact, so powerful was the force behind the man’s attack, and he slid back several inches on contact. He grit his teeth and locked his gaze with his Master, the man who had taken him under his wing and taught Rathe everything he knew. Rathe felt the cold trickle of sweat roll down the back of his neck as he realized the gravity of the situation he was in. The man he faced was the strongest and fastest he knew, and his body shook, though whether it was with fear or anticipation, he couldn’t tell, and didn’t care. Emotions in a fight were a distraction and had no place in combat. His Master had taught him that, and now, more than ever, he would need every lesson he had ever had. Even then, he couldn’t tell what the outcome would be, after all, this was the man he idolized, his mentor, the one who had made him what he was today. This was the Dhampir known everywhere. This was the only blood-child of Vladimir, the first Vampire. Rathe pushed the man back and dashed forward, bringing his sword around so that it whistled through the air as it arched towards his Master, Vampire Hunter D.  

[Phantomdarkrose]

“Ah, you managed to find me after all young one, I must admit, I was expecting to get farther before we finally ran into each other,” said the man in the center of the clearing. He brushed his shoulder length black hair out of his face in a rather regal manner and fixed his yellow eyes on Rafe. He stood rather tall at 6-and-a-half feet, and appeared to be in his early twenties, no older than 23, and was dressed in a white jacket covering his black buttoned-up shirt, which was open from the top about two or three buttons, had a sword in a sheath over his back that looked like it was only about as long as his forearm, and wore sleek, black pants that ended just above his polished black shoes.
Rafe stared at him, not able to believe his eyes as he returned to his human form.
“It appears that your bite has halted your aging,” the man observed. “It’s been centuries since you received the second bite and you don’t look like you’ve aged a day. I am very glad to see that you are alive, I was worried that you would have died from both bites my friend.”
“Vla….di….mir…?” Rafe said slowly, finally finding his voice.
“Ah, yes, you would of course not be able to believe this at first. After all, when we had last seen each other, I was much, much older, not to mention my death in young Master Syn’s mind several years ago,” the man said, a small smile appearing on his lips. “It is good to see you my young friend, and yes, it is me.”
“Miri!” Rafe cried, rushing forward as tears ran down his cheeks, prepared to embrace his oldest friend and the one who had raised him ever since he had washed up on the shores of Tuura as a young child.
A large gouge in the ground before him suddenly appeared, halting him in his tracks. Vladimir sheathed his sword, which Rafe realized had caused the gouge.
“M-Miri?” he stammered.
“Forgive me Rafe,” Vladimir said softly, suddenly behind him. “If it were my choice we would have a nice pleasant chat and visit Alexi, I hear she has the throne at last. But alas, I have been given a command that cannot be disobeyed…”
“C-command?”
“I’m sure you’ve realized it by now, afterall, I am in my original body, at the peak of my strength, after having been dead for years, centuries if you count my body. Come now, you know the answer to how this has happened.”
Rafe had a flashback to two years ago, when the dead were reanimated by Kairi’s old lover. “Y-you’re… a Wraith…”
“Exactly. And as you know, when Wraiths are raised, the one who brought them back is able to command them, and there is no choice but obedience.”
“B-but…”
“I would love to have more time with you,” Vladimir said sorrowfully. “Alas, the command was specific… I have been given the unpleasant task of eliminating you. Only Rathe’s blade and blood tools are able to give Wraiths their final death, and without those, only a Wraith can kill another Wraith. You have Wraith blood flowing through you, and therefor are unable to be slain by Rathe with his tools and a Wraith like myself. I am sorry my friend, but you have strayed too far from the path He has created, and He no longer believes you can aid the plan, as such, there is a death warrant for you.”
Vladimir drew his sword again and pulled his arm back. Rafe instinctively dropped to the ground as the sword stabbed forward, right where his spine was seconds earlier, and rolled away from the Vampire. Vladimir really intended to kill him, he realized. The first Vampire flitted forward faster than Rafe’s eyes could follow, bringing his sword down to where Rafe lay. The young Wolf flipped backwards, shifting to his Lycan form, standing a foot taller than his old friend-turned-enemy, and crouched low.
“Miri, please, don’t do this,” he pleaded.
“There is no choice young one. The order has been given and there is no avoiding it.”
With those words, Vladimir sprang at Rafe once more.

***

D sheathed his sword instantly and, quick as a flash, he raised both hands and caught the incoming blade in his palms. Rathe’s arm jerked to a halt painfully as the blade stopped moving the moment D’s hands closed on it. He tried to pull the sword away but for all his efforts he might have been trying to pull a mountain out of the earth, so strong was the grip of D’s hands. Surprisingly, D didn’t even seem to be exerting any strength and there was no blood from where the edge of the blade was pressed between his palms. It was as if Rathe’s sword was a harmless blade of grass against D’s skin. D twisted his wrists, wrenching the blade out of Rathe’s grip and kicked the Vampire in the stomach, sending him flying back against the bronze doors. Rathe grunted as his head crashed against the metal and dropped onto his stomach just as a dozen needle thin stakes clattered against the door right where his neck had been.
“Boss! Are you okay?!”
“Does it look like I’m okay?” Rathe hissed, rolling aside as D brought his sword down.
“You’ve retained your skills as a Hunter I see,” D commented.
“You’re going to need a lot more than this if you want to stand a chance against D,” the hand said.
“Shut up! Don’t you think I know this?!”
Rathe jumped back, using his hands to push him off the ground as D swung his sword again. He hated to admit it, but Damn Parasite was right. He needed to use something new if he wanted to have even the slightest chance of beating his Master, something D wouldn’t be expecting from him. But dammit if he didn’t have time to think while avoiding D’s attacks. D was relentless, pressing his advantage over Rathe so that it was all the Vampire could do to just barely avoid being hit. Rathe kept backing up, unable to jump away to either side, until he tripped over something and fell back. The something turned out to be Atticus’s throne. D saw his chance and thrust his sword forward. Rathe swung his legs up and, using his hands to push himself, flipped up to the top of the throne. D’s sword hit the throne, going straight through the bones that Atticus had used to make it. Rathe sprang off of the top, shooting over D’s head, swinging his arm out and launching a fury of needle stakes at his Master’s back, landing on the palm of his other hand and rolled with the impact, stopping just inches away from his own sword. He grabbed it and raised his arm just as D slashed down with his sword. Metal crashed against metal, sending sparks flying off the edges of the blades. Rathe pulled his legs up to his chest and struck out with both, knocking D back a few feet, jumping upright. He reached into his jacket and pulled out what looked like a regular white candle, raising his right hand just behind the wick. The hand instantly understood and opened its mouth, sucking in air like a vacuum, drawing in a small amount of flame from one of the torches. The fire washed over the candle’s wick and Rathe tossed it at his Master’s feet as it lit. Instantly, more light than should be possible from a single candle lit the area around D, who suddenly fell down to a knee.
“Time-Bewitching Incense,” D grunted, a hint of pride in his voice. “I never believed you would have held on to such a relic.”
“It’s the last one Master,” Rathe said, slipping his hand around the back of his shirt and grabbed a vial of Wraith blood. The effects of the candle, which changed time to the opposite of the state of day in which it was lit, worked wonders against Vampires and those with Vampire blood in them. When used at night, it altered the time around a specific length of space, the length was dependent on how long the candle was, and weakened anyone with Vampire blood in them to the point that even pure-blooded Vampires were paralyzed. But D had been able to handle the effects before, Rathe knew this, and it was only a matter of seconds before his Master destroyed the candle. Not wasting a single moment, Rathe uncorked the vial and brought it to his mouth, downing the contents before throwing the empty vial away. The effect was instantaneous. Rathe’s eyes went black as night as his hair suddenly became pure white and his fangs lengthed considerably and his senses became as heightened as possible. His nails grew into sharp tips strong enough to cut through armor and not break. D sliced off the wick of the candle and pushed up to his full height, eyeing Rathe with interest.
“This is new. How are you able to reach that level of Vampiric state? Only those decended from the Great Ancestor himself are able to gain that power.”
“I guess you could say that Damn Oldie managed to make us distant cousins, Master,” Rathe replied, gripping his sword tight.
D brought his sword back, prepared to strike. “Only partially it would seem.” His eyes flooded with darkness, turning black as death while his fangs jutted out of his mouth as he let his Dhampir side take over. “You only gained a fraction of the power. Let’s find out just how well that will serve you.”
Rathe and D sprang forward, lashing out with their swords.