To Whom Shall We Go?

 

Of sin I am sorrowed and weary

In the darkness of death enshrouded

The cloud of chaos in its descent

Brings light and laughter to silence

While fear and confusion hold sway

And truth is distorted and frayed.

The hands of hatred take hold

As the simpering vicissitudes drown out

The words of the One who alone

Speaks life and love to the lost

Whose Blood with its burning may cleanse

And whose Body once broken may satisfy

The wounds of our weeping and bitterness

Our hearts now healed of all hurt.

To Him and for Him to turn

Alone whose life is our hope

Who to ignore is to kneel eternal

To the Abyss that in brokenness rejoices

And in misery and unmoving despair delights.

Poor to Riches Story

A man sat on the filthy ground of an alley in New York City. The sounds of activity was all around him - cars driving by on the streets at both ends of the alley, airplanes flying overhead, people on the balconies of the buildings to either side, his two children playing in front of him - yet all seemed dead silent. All was quiet in his mind except the piercing, never-ending scream of his despair. His kids played on, in the rusty old Chevrolet in which the three of them lived. They each held broken toys which he had found in nearby dumpsters. He didn't let them come with him on his dumpster-diving expeditions - he couldn't risk anyone knowing about them. He knew the government would take them away from him and he would never see them again. He had been on the streets for so long; his wife was dead and his family couldn't care less. The thought of his two beautiful children, jewels in a world of filth and sin, living in a foster home, maybe even separated from one another, terrified and sickened him.

He almost gagged at the thought. His children, John and Elizabeth, stopped right in the middle of an action scene and blinked at him. "Are you okay, Daddy?" John asked.

Now he did gag, but not in disgust. He felt his face crack, the wall of strength and fortitude crumble beneath the force of their love. They deserved so much more than he could ever give them. Guilt flooded him, despair  brought rivers of tears down his face. He struggled to breathe, clenched his eyes shut and turned away from them, wanting to shield them from his failures, his regrets. He didn't want them to worry, yet he wondered every day how they stayed so content living as they did.

Elizabeth began to cry as well. John looked dumbfounded and tried to comfort her, holding her head against his chest as he gazed at his father. "Daddy, what's wrong? Did you hurt yourself or something?"

"I-" David still could not bring himself to look at them, to face them. He thought that maybe if he cried without looking at them, he could disguise it, but his inability to speak betrayed the depth of his depression.

For so long, too long, they sat there, he and Elizabeth crying while John cradled her and wondered why they had started crying for no apparent reason. Finally, David rose to his feet, still turned away from them. "I-.. I'm g-going out. I'll be back later. B-be safe, I won't be gone long."

He saw John nod just before he scrambled out of the alley. Once out, he dropped against the wall facing the street. The sun seemed brighter at there, hotter, as though the universe itself were giving him no solace, nowhere to hide his pain. He released his tears again, pressing his dirty, ripped shirt against his eyes. Short of breath, he convulsed, trying to suck in breath but his sobs preventing any intake of air. He felt light-headed, dizzy, as though the world were spinning off its axis.

Star Wars: Way of the Master - Part Two

Chapter 4
Their footsteps echoed down the vacant hallway as Maul led Thyma down a series of hallways and corridors. Eventually they came to an elevator, which automatically shut down in the emergency. Quickly, Maul activated his lightsaber, sliced through the locked door, and hurled it down the elevator shaft. The elevator itself was not there. Maul glanced up the shaft and saw the lift’s underside a level up.
Hooking his lightsaber to his belt, Maul pulled out a liquid grappling hook dispenser and aimed it at the far side of the shaft. Firing its mechanism, a gelatin string shot across the chasm and the metal hook at its end lodged into the tunnel wall. Silently, Maul pulled Thyma close and felt her wrap her arms securely around his waist just before he jumped into the shaft. Using the Force, he guided his leap, his feet pressing against the tunnel. His hatred bubbled deep within him, fueling his body and affording him the strength required to hold himself and Thyma. The dark side focused his mind and gave him the precision to repel at a careful but expeditious pace down the shaft.
After passing half a dozen levels, they finally arrived at the starport basement - but had he not memorized the building schematic beforehand, Maul would have been unable to tell. It was completely dark, with no light fixtures recognizable along its walls. Maul grasped his lightsaber and activated a single blade, holding it up to cast a deep rufescent hue within a ten-meter radius. The room seemed very common for a basement: a bare gray cement floor, stained with paint reminiscent of its construction; a ceiling crossed with metal bars and stuffed with turquoise insulation padding; and a plethora of boxes, crates, droid parts and tools scattered across the room.
Maul knew something few others in the galaxy did, however, and as he took a few steps forward, what he saw validated his knowledge. Appearing out of place, as if belonging more to a high-tech science lab on Coruscant than an ordinary basement on a Mid Rim world, at the back of the room an incubator-like tube was pressed between the floor and ceiling. Wan fumes poured out of exhaust pipes at its top and bottom, and a computer screen and keyboard extended at waist-level.
A pale blue ray shield that shimmered with violet tones against Maul’s crimson lightsaber luminescence encased its central chamber. Deactivating the blade, he moved closer to the tube, staring quizzically into it as if looking for something in its emptiness. A dry chill coursed through him, gripping his bones. Maul closed his eyes and breathed softly, almost inaudibly, and then slowly turned to gaze at Thyma. His yellow eyes blazed with fury as he saw the Rejino woman standing with a blaster pistol aimed at his chest.
“I should’ve known you were looking for the Rejin Jewel too,” she said, a level of purpose and intensity to her voice not evident before. “You know of its powers, and you want to use it? Is that why you’re here? Who are you, Zabrak?”
Maul licked his lips, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “I am Darth Maul, a Dark Lord of the Sith. My Master, Darth Sidious, learned of this jewel, its immeasurable value, and its capacity to enhance one’s connection to the dark side of the Force by triple its natural attunement.”
Thyma looked away for a second before nodding and returning her focus to him, her finger tight against the trigger of her pistol. “But why would you tell me that? I kind of have the advantage here, if you hadn‘t noticed. I could kill you, and go tell everyone about your so-called ‘Master‘.”
Maul ignored her question. “What do you plan to do with your prize, Thyma?”
She sighed and grasped the bag hanging at her side, which Maul had failed to notice until her betrayal. “Something like this… This jewel is evil. It can only cause death and destruction. I work for a select group of private agents who search the galaxy for items like these… so that we can take them somewhere safe, where people like you will never use them. No one knows we exist: in our missions, we are very careful to use disguises and fake identities, and to cover our tracks well.”
As Thyma raised her pistol and gripped the trigger, readying to pull it, time seemed to slow in Maul’s mind as he gave himself to the Force. He telekinetically propelled her blaster across the room and allowed her time only to gasp and widen her eyes before he equipped his lightsaber and activated a single blade. Traversing the dozen meters between them in a step, she tried to recoil but fell onto her back. Maul brought his blade down and amputated her right arm. She screamed in pain as her bare joint smoked from Maul’s cauterizing blade.
Extending his free hand, Maul raised Thyma into the air with the Force and hurled her against a near wall, jarring her injured shoulder and sprained ankle. She cried out and moved her back towards the wall. Looking up just in time to see Maul stepping towards her and bringing his blade up for a final deathblow, she reached into a pocket of her mangy, stained vest and removed a small remote with a single button on it. She closed her eyes and pressed it.
In a split-second of anticipation, Maul barely managed to push himself away from Thyma as a plasma grenade in her pouch - containing the Rejin Jewel - erupted in a blaze of fire, emanating out as a shockwave throughout the room. The explosive plasma, his cloak singed and burned, scorched Maul’s uncovered face. As the aftershock and smoke slowly cleared, he looked at Thyma’s cremated corpse, and saw a small pile of dust where her bag had been.
The Rejin Jewel was gone. He had failed his mission.

---

Chapter 5
Maul struggled against the anger he felt at his failure and the suicide of Thyma that caused it. He attempted to use his passion to focus his mind, but the shame was too great, penetrating through his efforts and leaving him raw and burnt, both in body and mind.
The elevator quickly descending its shaft caught his focus. By now, he expected the Rejino security had discovered the Jedi corpse and noticed the recent basement-level explosion, and were on their way to investigate. He had to act swiftly. Pulling himself to his feet, his body felt weighted, burdened by fatigue and the dozens of cuts and burns he had sustained from the plasma grenade and the shrapnel it had created. Placing his faith in himself and the power of the dark side, he called the Force to him, basking in its protective, energizing warmth.
Driven to action, he hooked his lightsaber to his belt and made his way to a conduit vent spotted beside a rough-hewn, dark corner of the room. He quickly pulled the covering away with the Force and slipped into the tight passage, replacing the grating behind him. Thick, dank air forced him to breathe through his mouth, but he let the dark side nourish his strained muscles, pulling him along the shaft with extraordinary speed.
Despite the darkness, Maul extended his senses to perceive his surroundings through the Force. He felt the presence of at least fifty guards just entering the basement, determination and vigilance radiating from them as they searched for the explosion’s culprit. Closing his eyes and letting his body act on its own, he focused on the guards’ minds. Gently, imperceptibly, he offered the proposition that the instigator of the explosion was Thyma, the burnt corpse they saw on the basement floor, that the dust by her side was the missing jewel they sought, and that she had been the murderer of the Jedi Knight they had discovered. Giving the thought added agreeability and prompting them to accept it, they did so, and he felt resignation and anger permeate their psyches. He must avoid implication.
Returning his focus to his immediate surroundings, Darth Maul entered a dark storage room filled with boxes and crates, red alarm lights providing the only illumination. Guided by the Force, he weaved through the obstacle course of storage containers and came to the door on the opposite end of the room. He walked onto a hallway he felt through the Force to be empty, and sprinted down it through another series of doors and corridors until he came to the private employee-landing platform at the western end of the starport. Unlike the public platform, it was enclosed by a dome and fully air-conditioned.
Despite himself, Maul grumbled at their deliberate roofing of only one dock, but ignored his disdain and made his way onto the platform. It was empty of people, as regulations ordered all employees to a pre-designated area within the starport interior during an emergency, while every guard was still on the task of investigating Maul’s infiltration. Weaving between and around ships of all classes, customization and quality, he found one with obvious hyperspace capability and a fast engine. He used the Force to break its entrance door lock and refastened it behind him. Utilizing his training in hacking and his mastery of piloting, he hotwired the ship’s controls and carefully lifted off before firing the engines at full power and blazing through the atmosphere, managing to escape Rejino sensors.
Extending his senses, he checked for any tracking devices before entering hyperspace. The dead weight of his failure demolished even the satisfaction he recalled at killing a Jedi. The loneliness of space forced him to meditate on his shame in the time before arriving at his destination, the silent hum of the hyperdrive creating a morose background to his regret.

---

Epilogue
Darth Maul knelt before a figure cloaked in black, his face veiled even to his own apprentice. Cold, artificial air permeated the room, accentuating the raw throb of the burns across Maul’s face, which he had intentionally left untreated until he met with his Master, Lord Sidious.
“You have done well, my apprentice,” the phantom menace said, his voice genteel but piercing as a knife.
Maul craned his neck to peer up at his Master, frowning, his brow furrowed. “But, Master… I have failed you. My mission was unsuccessful.”
“You are yet blind to the deeper mysteries of the Force and the galaxy, Lord Maul,” Sidious whispered. “The threads of lies and deceit holding societies together are frail but pliable like strings on a mandoviol. The path of a Sith Lord is learning to play these strings to one’s advantage, creating a symphony of disorder, confusion and corruption that opens the way to seizing power.
“The Rejin Jewel is a meaningless trinket. A rare object, yes. The only one of its kind. However, the special powers attributed to it are legend. And, who do you think created those myths? I did. Though the Rejino had always possessed legends of the jewel’s unusual past and ancient superstitions surrounding it, they knew it was simply a rock. I used the superstition to create a lie that would make it even more valuable and intriguing to people.”
“Master… the Rejino woman who killed herself to destroy the jewel told me she worked for an organization that hunted potentially destructive artifacts as she believed the Rejin Jewel to be, to destroy them,” Maul said, his voice low and reserved.
Darth Sidious cackled quietly, his sickly yellow eyes flashing under his hood like the eyes of a snake hidden in shadow. “Young fool. The true purpose of your mission was the death of a Jedi. I anonymously led Thyma to learn of the myths I had spread about the jewel, knowing she would accomplish her task, but I also knew you would encounter her. If you were told her true mission, or her true profession, you would not have brought her with you. She would have died along with the Jedi. I knew the Jedi would capture her, and that it would exactly coincide with your arrival and the instigation of your own mission.
“The Jedi you killed was named Arias Kreen, a Jedi Knight who was once the apprentice of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, his first padawan. Jinn is a strong and wise Jedi, with insight into the Living Force that could prove detrimental to my orchestrations to renew the Sith Empire. Jinn will soon receive word of Arias’ death, and it will wound him deeply. His second padawan, Xanatos, turned to the dark side, so the death of his first apprentice will give him an even deeper wound to his pride and confidence. That will further cloud his vision in the Force. You did not fail, my young apprentice.
“However, you were not meant to believe you had succeeded. This is a lesson to you, Lord Maul. I am the Dark Lord of the Sith, your Master and superior. Despite your power and your intelligence, you are and will always be inferior to me. While I encourage your desire to someday replace me - and indeed you may - I will do everything in my power to prevent it, including killing you if you become too great a threat. It is my destiny to rule the galaxy. None shall interfere with my plans to do so - even you. Remember this day, and always remember your weakness. I am your only opportunity for true power and liberation - but I will not give it to you freely.”
Without another word, Darth Sidious turned from his apprentice and departed. For many long minutes, Maul hung his head, his eyes closed as his mind numbed in silent meditation.
No one is invincible, Darth Maul thought. No one.

Star Wars: Way of the Master - Part One

 Chapter One
Plumes of titian exhaust poured out of thin, broken factory towers extending for hundreds of kilometers around the dilapidated central spire, the oldest and most used public shuttle service on Coruscant. The emissions formed a dome of smog overhead, blotched with occasional eruptions of atmospheric lightning meeting with the highly volatile pollution mixture. The air was thick and dark, even inside the shuttle service tower, clouds of smoke forced into the heavy, recycled ventilation each time a docking bay portal opened. Florescent glow rods cast a dim, sickly green light in limited-range cones from their even-spaced, rusty wall fixtures throughout the building.
Darth Maul gazed up at the grime and rust-covered structure, reminding him more of an Outer Rim smuggler den than a government-funded service station. He wrapped his black cloak tight around his lean shoulders and his hood over his horned Zabrak skull, concealing every feature - including the double-bladed lightsaber hilt hanging from his belt. Maul had quickly learned to mask his presence, both from the physical senses and probing minds in the Force, but usually looking like someone best left alone was sufficient. On a city-planet, all but those brought up in perpetual naivety by the rich and powerful understood that it is best to leave some people alone.
His efforts succeeded. No one gave him a second glance as he weaved almost imperceptibly through the crowd entering the skyscraper. Though he kept his focus forward, he extended his senses in the Force and could see in his mind’s eye the plethora of exotic species from across the galaxy surrounding him, some he could not even recognize. However, they were not his concern or goal, so he paid them no attention.
“ID please,” a nasally, wrinkled Chevin male said from behind a transparent plasteel shield extending up from his counter.
Reaching into a pocket of his cloak, Maul flashed a forged identification card indicating him as a young Zabrak merchant visiting Coruscant on business. Scanning the number encrypted on the card, the Chevin waved Maul along without looking up from his computer. How can the Republic tolerate such lack of discipline in its own workers, Maul thought. Although he detested the Chevin’s flippant and lackadaisical attitude, his only concern was accomplishing his Master’s task, and so he took the opportunity to bypass the otherwise-troublesome security droids at the bottom of the massive, spiral staircase leading up to the dozens of docking bays in the tower. He matched his pace to that of the others in the crowd moving up the staircase, climbing briskly as most of them were hurrying to get to their flights in time.
As he climbed the broad, stained and chipped stairs, no other thoughts entered Darth Maul’s mind except his goals, the completion of the mission his Master had given him. The beings around him were background noise, a living ocean of flesh carrying him to his destination. He kept his eyes forward, focused on his route to Docking Bay 372, within it the only shuttle going to his destination for another month. It would be leaving in exactly fifteen minutes, and Maul would not be late.
Drifting between people of all shapes and sizes, from thousands of worlds, he was a shadow, unheard and unnoticed. Using the Force to extend his awareness to those around him, he waived any stray glance or preoccupation with a thought, making them dismiss his quick movements or unusual appearance as a mere curiosity, nothing to contemplate longer than a moment. Keeping his arms crossed within the long sleeves of his cloak, he pulled his hood tight against his head to keep it from blowing off as he passed by hundreds of wide doors. They led into pressurized docking bay chambers, with each shuttle departure or arrival exposing the chambers to the thin air of increased altitude, particularly at higher levels of the spire.
Arriving at the floor of Docking Bay 372, Maul moved to the back of the crowd waiting for the entrance doors to unlock. As a new shuttle entered a docking chamber, the entrance was set to lock until the room was fully pressurized. They would then open and specialized air buffers would prevent any extreme burst as air within the chamber naturally attempted to match the pressure in the waiting area.
As he waited for the doors to unlock, Maul turned and gazed down at the sea of beings ebbing back and forth along the spiral staircase extending the entire length of the tower. Their faces seemed to blend to him. Though he knew they were each unique individuals, he could not separate them. They were as sand in a desert to him, indistinct and undifferentiated from one another. Just slaves to greater masters, Maul thought. Only a Sith is truly free. Masters. Only slaves had masters; yet, Maul was completely subservient to his own Master. Was he truly Sith, as he believed himself to be? He often fantasized of the day when he would kill Darth Sidious and replace him as the singular Sith Master in the universe, the most powerful person in the galaxy, truly liberated from all chains of restriction or servitude. The thought made his mouth water and he closed his eyes to relish the image: his double-bladed, blood red lightsaber decapitating his former Master with one swift strike, the mangled corpse laying at his feet as the dark side of the Force surged through him, designating him as the new Dark Lord of the Sith.
Flashing red lights above the entranceway jerked him from his fantasy as they flickered to green and the doors opened. Flimsi paper, hats and debris flew through the air and clothes rippled as a gust of gray-orange smog billowed into the waiting area, lasting only a moment. Maul squinted against it, but did not take his eyes off the opening, quickly moving through the crowd and into the docking bay despite the pushing and shoving of the mass as it relocated inside the chamber.
Streams of pale light crisscrossed the interior of the docking bay chamber, unreflective against the rusty, dented shuttle hull. Using the Force to augment his already well-trained physical speed, Maul sprinted across the vast chamber, his dark form drifting through the white fumes of engine coolant pouring out from underneath the shuttle, as he was the first to walk up its lowered entrance ramp, the usher barely seeing him pass by. Finding a seat at the exact middle of the vessel, against the left side window, Maul sat and wrapped his cloak around him, pulling his hood closer to conceal his bright yellow eyes and crimson tattooed face.
Closing his eyes, Maul extended his senses in the Force, perceiving the life of every being that entered the shuttle. In his mind, he watched them find their seats, chat with each other, give their luggage to a droid whose ten rotating arms sent them down categorized chutes to the ship’s cargo hold. And then he saw himself in the ship, his own presence in the Force, pulsating like a red-hot ember in a fireplace filled with ashes moved only by the wind, while his own fire carried itself wherever it wished. As if physical, Maul could perceive in his mind the chains of social and mental bondage on every person in the shuttle, their freedom restricted, their wills captivated by delusions of duty or necessity.
As a younger man, a less-trained Sith Lord, Maul would have instinctively felt pity for them, even desired to lead them on the liberating path of the Sith. However, in his maturity, he realized only some were qualified for the freedom granted by the Sith philosophy, only those gifted with the tool called the Force, which gave Sith the unique capacity to free themselves from all limitation. Now, he understood that most were destined to be dependant, to serve those with power - like him. Alongside the fantasy of defeating his Master and taking up the mantle of Dark Lord, Maul had also imagined the day when the Sith would rule the galaxy, using their power to dictate the lives of everyone, bringing order and discipline to the random, chaotic lives of the masses scattered throughout the galaxy, leading aimless lives without direction. Where the image of defeating his Master brought eager moisture to his mouth and tension to his muscles, picturing the day of Sith dominance in the galaxy filled his heart with fire.
The effect of inertia was barely felt as the shuttle repulsed off the docking bay ground and flashed into the dusk sky, bursting through the clouds of smog and atmosphere now crimson in the setting Coruscant sun. Though Maul’s eyes remained closed, his mind contemplating his Sith fantasies, he felt the slight jolt as the shuttle streaked into hyperspace, stars transforming into white lines, arrows pointing Maul to his destiny.

---

Chapter 2
The Rejino System came into view through the window on his left side as the shuttle reentered real space, the stars once again pinpricking the infinite darkness. Adhering to his training, Darth Maul had thoroughly researched the setting for his mission, the worlds and cultures. Nevertheless, the sight of five stark white orbs encircling a deep blue sun was unsettling. Every planet in the system covered entirely with ice and snow made the artificial shuttle air he inhaled feel cold, making his throat and nostrils raw with the imagined chill.
Ancient explorers named the Rejino system after the native sentient species inhabiting each of its five planets. Viewing war as barbaric, the Rejino culture was peaceful and centered entirely around politics, with constitutional monarchs on each world constantly vying for land, wealth, prestige, resources and anything else available to them. Though they had originally used cloning to multiply their stock of domesticated animals and plants for food, utilizing aqueducts to funnel fresh water from underground lakes, they had been a center of galactic trade for millennia. With their almost Hutt-like shrewdness for parley and business, the Rejino monarchs managed to amass immense wealth despite their limitations of habitat, natural resources and conscientious objectivism.
Darth Maul’s mission had little to do with their culture, however.
As the shuttle began its landing on a massive circular platform, indistinguishable from the tundra surrounding it except for flashing indicator lights at its perimeter, Maul steeled himself. Before every new mission, he felt a rush, a thrill at the prospect of trial and success, which his Master had instructed him to quell, calling such feelings a distraction from his task. Focusing on his mission, Maul rose and quietly followed the small group departing the shuttle, on its last stop before returning to Coruscant.
Usually, Maul would have traveled in his modified Sienar Star Courier ship, the Scimitar, a unique prototype vessel fitted with a cloaking device, advanced weaponry and intrinsic dark side energy. The Rejino were not usual, however. Despite their free market economy focused on intergalactic trade and their pacifism, they were incredibly suspicious of outsiders, even those registered as professional merchants. Because of this, they had developed a highly advanced stealth dissipation shield around each planet in the system, using a network of satellites linked to ground level shield generators, forcing Maul to use public transportation and a forged ID as a merchant from Iridonia.
He was not surprised at the fierce, biting winds whipping across the open landing platform, having wrapped his cloak around his mouth and nose before leaving the shuttle. The chill penetrated to the bone, stiffening his muscles as he followed the group towards the main starport interior entrance. Taking a deep breath, Maul summoned the dark side, filling him with its furious lava as it burned through his body, focusing his mind and using his discomfort from the cold to strengthen him. Why did these idiots not construct a shelter over this platform, Maul seethed thoughtfully.
The starport interior seemed to radiate heat, despite being well below temperatures normally considered comfortable. While the other visitors dusted the snow from their shoulders and got out their passports, Maul cleared his mind, forcing his anger to simmer and wait for the proper time for its release. Calling the memorized blueprint of the starport to mind, he calculated the exact route he would need to take to reach his destination as he took out his ID and passport from pockets inside his cloak.
A Rejino male was the acting receptionist sitting behind a clean, smoke-grey desk in the entrance room. His piercing white irises, the only shade exhibited by his species, gazed intensely at the foreigners, eyeing each in turn as if analyzing their threat level. He paused as he came to Darth Maul. Squinting to peer at him, his face expressionless, Maul returned the stare, glaring into his eyes and emanating a spike of fear at him through the Force. The Rejino man blinked, his face softening briefly, before he collected himself and quickly looked away from Maul, back at the computer on his desk. Maul suppressed satisfaction; only the pleasure of completing a mission from his Master, or the defeat of a Jedi would he permit.
Rising to his feet, his violet Rejino skin glowed with the pale yellow glare of light from a ceiling lamp. “If you will all form a line in front of my desk, I will begin registering you into our system and you can be on your way,” he said with a strong but smooth voice.
Joining the line, Maul eventually came to its front and presented his ID and passport to the receptionist. Imputing his passport code and information into the system, the receptionist then examined his ID and furrowed his brow, glancing between Maul and the picture displayed on the card - digitally altered to represent Maul’s face. He frowned.
“I’m going to need you to remove your hood sir, to verify your identity.”
Maul peered at him from under the rim of his hood. Despite his irritation with the man, Maul respected his bravery against the fear he had given the receptionist. Nevertheless, he would not allow anything to hinder his mission - drastic measures would become necessary if they did not accept his ID.
Maul slowly pulled back his hood, revealing his black head, intricately designed with crimson Sith tattoos, and intense golden eyes. Without looking, Maul felt the eyes of all in the room focus on him, awe, fear and curiosity flooding their minds - and disgust in that of the receptionist, flaring Maul’s anger and causing him to involuntarily sneer. The Rejino leaned away from him and frowned in distaste, holding Maul’s ID with a light two-fingertip hold.
“Eh, yes, you check out. Please, replace your hood,” the receptionist said, placing Maul’s ID and passport on the counter.
The urge to call his lightsaber to his hand, activate its scarlet blades and remove the man’s curled lip, and the rest of his head, threatened to overwhelm Maul’s self-control. The anticipation of finally releasing his anger and completing his mission allowed him to focus, taking a deep breath and picking up his papers. He had not anticipated such xenophobia as a facet of Rejino distrust of foreigners, as its researchers had not documented it in articles written about their culture. They remained largely mysterious, however, due to their isolationism, so xenophobia escaping the notice of xenoanthropologists who had visited Rejino was understandable to Maul, though it did not make him detest it any less. In my empire, there will be only one standard of worth, Maul thought: power.
As each visitor veered off onto separate passages leading to transport speeder buses with distinct destinations on the planet, Maul slipped undetected through a door labeled “Starport Staff Only”. Extending his senses, he felt the presence of at least twenty Rejino employees in the building, some moving back and forth along corridors in a specific pattern, indicating guards on patrol, while most remained at their workstation continuously. He could see no one in the corridor he was in, by physical or mental eye.
Jogging at a brisk pace, multicolored lights blinked and computer circuitry buzzed on either side, giving a somewhat intrusive background to the soft beat of his boots against the metal floor. Coming to a four-way intersection with a door at each side, Maul immediately opened the right, knowing his desired route by heart. The room was palpably dark, and as Maul shut the door behind him, he waved a hand and cylindrical lamps affixed to the room’s four walls came to life.
The room was an office, two boardroom tables in its middle topped with dozens of computers, datapads scattered across them, evidence of recent work. Remembering the employee work schedule, Maul knew the usual workers here were on break, as he had planned. He quickly sat in front of a computer and took out his datapad, linking them with a cable and activating both simultaneously. As he hacked into it, Maul gained access to the entire network of the starport. Bringing up a readout listing security cameras, laser tripwires, and a detachment of emergency battle droids, he systematically deactivated them, and then heard the expected howl of alarms and flashing red lights as the system recognized an intruder. Maul had expected - hoped, for that reaction.
Extending his senses, he could feel the starport reacting to the emergency, employees gathering in pre-designated locations for safety as guards rushed to the site of the instigation: Maul’s room. Just as he had planned.
Quickly, he stepped up onto a table and used the Force to remove the grate covering a ventilation shaft. Jumping up into it, he barely needed the Force to augment his already well-trained acrobatic abilities, and he then telekinetically replaced the vent covering. Hearing both doors open and guards pour into the room he had just occupied, Maul slid along the shaft, moving carefully to conceal his commotion. He passed several openings as he neared his destination, all rooms vacant during the emergency, and he finally got to the desired room, pushing through a grate and landing in the middle of a completely empty room.
Or so Darth Maul thought, until he turned to see a tall, lean human man wearing the dark brown uniform robes and holding the lit blue lightsaber blade of a Jedi, serenely gazing back at him.

---

Chapter 3
At the sight of the Jedi, Maul’s heart leapt to his throat, his muscles tensing instantly in eager preparation for combat. He nearly overlooked the other person in the room: a pinched-faced, gaunt Rejino woman, her wrists clasped in front of her with stun cuffs, standing beside the Jedi. His Master had instructed him to leave as little trace of himself behind as possible; the presence of an unknown native girl was an inconvenience he could not tolerate. However, the thought of retelling his defeat of a Jedi Knight and the completion of his mission drove him to find a solution.
Why was a Jedi even on world, he wondered. There had been no record of the Council commissioning a Jedi presence here. However, Maul knew all too well the secrecy of the Jedi Council, their capacity to conceal their activities even from Republic record, so he was not overly surprised. Moreover, the Jedi appeared to be escorting a captive - a native, no less. Her crime must have been great to require the skills of a Jedi to capture her; the Rejino police force was famous across the galaxy for its efficiency.
Those questions would have to wait. Maul activated the twin blades of his lightsaber and dropped into an offensive Form VII Juyo stance. The Jedi abruptly waved at the Rejino girl, telekinetically propelling her against a far wall. She dropped to the floor, twisting her ankle in the fall and grimacing against the pain. The Jedi’s eyes were locked on Maul, however, as he brought his azure blade slightly to the side and assumed a bent, open stance, the classic opening of Form IV Ataru.
The dark side pulsated in every cell of his body, heating his muscles and tendons, lending flexibility and strength throughout his body and focusing his mind, removing all other thoughts but the ensuing duel. His lifetime of Sith training let Maul identify the Jedi’s stance immediately, and coupled with the Force to let him anticipate the Jedi’s first move. Simultaneously advancing towards one another, the Jedi brought his blade overhead and slashed down, but Maul met it with one of his own, sizzling sparks erupting from the contact of their magnetic plasma beams. The hue of blue and red cast an ethereal haze of violet around them, electrified by the sparks of their contacting blades.
Using the innate physicality of Ataru, the athletically built Jedi attempted to kick Maul’s left leg as their blades remained locked, but Maul anticipated it, bringing his second blade around to intercept. The Jedi barely avoided amputation, Maul’s blade burning a deep gash in his knee as he just managed to pull back. Letting out a cry of pain, the Jedi stepped back. Maul did not hesitate, quickly closing the distance made between them and unleashing a flurry of strikes, bringing one blade at the Jedi’s shoulder, another at his abdomen; one at his wounded knee, the other at his left arm; nicking the Jedi’s right shoulder and executing a Teras Kasi spin-kick at his chest, sending him against a wall.
Maul was relentless. Though the Jedi, obviously a fully trained Knight, was strong in the Force, he was no match for a Sith Lord. Slowly, Maul caused a dozen small wounds, leaving the Jedi fatigued and battered, his breathing shallow and rough, and his anticipation of Maul’s strikes gradually slowed. After several long minutes of sparring, Maul managed to amputate the Jedi’s lightsaber-wielding hand, leaving him defenseless and injured as Maul paused, savoring the moment, before finally decapitating him. The Jedi’s blade flickered and died, as did his mangled corpse sprawled against a wall.
Breathing hard, Maul closed his eyes and harnessed the darkness he had just caused, the murder of an innocent, defenseless Jedi, the symbol and upholder of goodness in the galaxy. His death pulsated in the Force, splintering life and destiny and sending ripples of death and chaos throughout the universe as the Jedi’s future actions, choices, and his very life was ripped away by Maul’s will. He called the affliction in the Force to his mind, let it course through him and energize his mind and body. There is no greater source of pleasure than the death of a Jedi, Maul thought.
“Y-you… w-what are-…”
Blinking, Maul frowned and grunted, remembering the Rejino girl, the captive left behind by the Jedi. Turning to her and deactivating his lightsaber, he crossed his arms and eyed her intensely. Though her eyes conveyed a life of pain and hardship, a flicker of fear crossed her face as she met Maul’s penetrating gaze.
“Who are you, girl?” Maul asked. His low voice reverberated in the silence. Imbued with the dark side, his voice seemed layered and deep, as if long dead Sith spirits were speaking in unison with him.
Gulping and pressing against the wall, the girl tried to stand but failed, her sprained ankle giving out as she fell. “I… I’m Thyma. Who… what are you?”
Maul’s eyes narrowed at her tone, almost resembling the repugnance of the earlier receptionist. However, extending his senses to Thyma’s mind, he knew she in fact felt deeply afraid, while simultaneously trying to appear strong and independent. He felt a touch of admiration for her willpower, but suppressed it. “Who I am is irrelevant to you - only that I am your destiny. Your fate is in my hands, Thyma. Whether you live or die is for me to decide now. You are a fugitive, of your people and the Republic. You are dead to the world, and whether you rot in prison, die at my hand, or go to pursue your pathetic view of freedom is for me to decide. Do you understand?”
She stared at him blankly, before licking her lips and nodding once. “Uh… alright. I get it… So what’re you going to do with me then?”
Maul thought for a moment, before responding. “I have not decided yet if you could be of use to me in my mission here, or if leaving you alive would betray my presence or identity. I am here for a specific purpose, and I will succeed - without hindrance.”
“Um… ok,” she mumbled, sitting up against the wall and cringing at the pain of her ankle and cuffed wrists. “I’m sure I could do something for you… What’re you trying to do exactly? You an assassin or something? Or some sort of… rogue Jedi?” she asked, glancing tentatively at his lightsaber.
Maul’s mouth twisted into a cruel smile as he recognized her awe. “You will never know who or what I am. But know one thing: I am not a Jedi, and I have never been. Your captor is dead, Thyma. You are now my captive. Because you had the misfortune to witness my power, you will come with me until I can determine your fate.”
“But… I’m injured. Won’t I slow you down? You seem to be in a hurry…”
Maul gazed at her silently, his eyes piercing her façade of strength and revealing her inner anxiety. She recoiled slightly as he stepped towards her, but tried to hide it by straightening against the wall. “If I wished you dead, you would be a corpse, as your captor is now,” Maul stated.
“You’re probably right,” she mumbled and watched him intently as he knelt in front of her. “What’re you doing?”
Glancing at her, Maul ignored her question as he reached out and held a hand over her sprained ankle. He focused on the pain emanating from the injury, coursing through her in intermittent paroxysms. Her muscles tensed in synchronicity with the agonizing pulsations, frustration and despair filling her mind each time, threatening to pour out as tears. Maul could feel her pain as if it were his own - and he savored it. He enhanced it, letting it become his only thought. His body reacted to the affliction, hatred consuming him as the dark side overrode his senses. Slowly, the pain transformed into strength, the agony into determination.
Returning to his senses, Maul heard himself growling deep in his throat, adrenaline enhancing his body’s reactions and instincts; and he heard Thyma fuming angrily, taking deep breaths and pulling herself to her feet. Though the pain was still evident in her eyes, the hatred Maul had lent her gave her the will to push through it, letting it strengthen her and become a source of drive and focus. Standing, Maul grinned at her and she nodded pointedly.
“Thanks for… whatever you did,” she said, a new depth and confidence to her voice. “We should probably get going. The starport guards will start looking for us soon.”
Without reply, Maul waved a hand at the door in front of him, using the Force to unlock and open it, and then stepped into a hallway. Red alarm lights continued to flash, their fixtures rotating circularly to give the passage an almost ritualistic, cultic feel, but the automatic alarm control system had already deactivated their shrill sirens. Maul took off down the hall at a brisk jog, deliberate enough to let Thyma keep up, but not so slow to make her comfortable. He kept his mental connection to her pain open, letting it feed his rage and drive his movements.

Requiem: Invasion

 1

"Goodnight, and please drive safe! It's a very rainy night!" Father Brian called over the bone-chilling, howling winds to a parishioner.

    "Thank you Father, you too!" the little, slightly rotund lady called, shaking Father Brian's hand and cuddling close to her husband as they quickly moved toward their vehicle.

    Only a glimmer of light illuminated the chapped faces of his parishioners as they passed by, each shaking his hand and hurrying off to the warm enclave of their vehicle. As he did every day after Mass, especially on the Sunday and this Saturday Vigil celebration, he waited for every person to leave. Once all were in the safety of their vehicles, he scurried inside, rubbing his hands together for some semblance of warmth as his entire body threatened to freeze. He checked the bathroom and extracurricular rooms in the Church and finally checked the nave and sanctuary, kneeling and performing the Sign of the Cross with holy water as he entered and exited the sanctuary. Despite the force of habit, each time he entered the sanctuary into the presence of Christ in the Eucharist, his spirit was both elevated and calmed, reaffirming his faith.

    Finally, he gathered his small suitcase of carried belongings, mostly his rosary, missal and some individual papers for parish matters he had to consider over the night, turned off all the lights except that illuminating the sanctuary, and went out through the Church's back entrance. Before going home for the night, he had one last task. The biting cold and violent winds tempted him to forego the self-appointed task he did after every Saturday Vigil Mass, he remembered its purpose, took a deep breath and headed out, wrapping his thick winter coat tight around him.

    There was even less light behind the Church as in front, with no street lamp or light fixture. As he seemed to every Saturday, he kicked himself for not taking at least a flashlight with him. Fortunately, he knew the route by heart, and he let the feel of the gravel pathway underneath his feet guide his steps.

    The cold was unable to prevent the cloud of placid sorrow that came over him every time he visited his Church's cemetery. Since it had been ten years, his sadness had gone from overwhelming to morose, just a cloak of solemnity that enshrouded his heart. With the path through the graveyard to his destination burned into his memory, he soon came to the specific grave he intended and fell to his knees atop it. He sat his suitcase beside him and reached out, running his fingers across the words etched into the gravestone: MARIA FERRER - BORN: 2003 - DIED: 2010 - MAY SHE BE KEPT IN THE SACRED HEART OF CHRIST.

    Father Brian closed his eyes, moisture quickly ringing them as tears slipped down his face, soon blown off his cheeks by the wind. "I'm so sorry, little Maria," his whispered inaudibly in the gales, "I-I just didn't see you that night. It was so dark… and you were so little, only a child. In penance, I have given up my car. Even in the worst weather, I walked home every night. Nevertheless, the shame of killing such a young, innocent little girl will forever haunt my soul. God forgive me."

    He bowed his head and kept his hands outstretched against the tombstone as he began praying silently. He did not care how much time he spent, if the wind took his belongings or even injured him. Guilt filled his heart, even though he had complete faith in the power of God's grace and forgiveness, and even though he knew Maria's death had been an accident. In truth, he felt not shame but sorrow simply for the death of Maria Ferrer, her life taken without purpose or provocation, her future stolen. She is with Christ now, Father Brian reminded himself. Even random deaths are in the hands of God, her soul now content in the peace of God's presence.

    As he pulled himself away from his vigil, reluctantly ending his prayers and performing the Sign of the Cross and a blessing over Maria's grave, he picked up his suitcase - which had miraculously remained by his side - and stood. Only the pale light of the moon gave any visibility, even if it was quite sparse. He could just make out the outline of Maria's gravestone and the bright white Church building in the distance - darkness obscured anything nearer. However, as he glanced toward the cemetery ahead, stretching for about fifty yards around, something caught his eye. It was there just a moment, passing in and out of view. He could only make out its silhouette, which appeared to be human-like, tall but thin and slightly bent. The impenetrable night darkened any other feature.

    His heart leapt, but he swallowed and calmed himself. Just a specter in the night, he told himself. Nothing to worry about - fatigue can do things to the mind, especially in such dreary and hazardous environs. But he didn't waste any time moving to the path and walking at a steady pace towards the Church. His pulse quickened as he heard the sound, softened by the wind, of displaced gravel, inharmonious to that moved by his own steps. But who could possibly be in a cemetery at this time of night? Maybe an animal or some sort of criminal, he thought. Despite the shock of seeing and hearing such unusual things, he felt no fear. Perhaps it was the solemn image of death he had just experienced, or the castle of faith in Christ in his heart, but he did not intend to bolt to the Church or, if attacked, giving the aggressor any pleasure from intimidating him.

    After several minutes of hearing the discordant footsteps behind him, recently joined by a low, deep, almost growl of breathing only a few feet away, he made a decision. Abruptly, he stopped and turned to face his follower.

    Even though he still felt no fear, the sight of not only one vampire, with its hideous red eyes and sharp pronounced canines, but an entire pack of at least twenty did manage to send a chill down his spine. Or maybe it was just the weather.

 2

 All of them are on the gravel path. As Father Brian gazed at the pack of vampires staring back at him, growling low and hungry, fresh blood dripping from their gaping mouths, he noticed all twenty of them were standing on the wide cemetery pathway - the only part of the graveyard that had not been blessed. They cannot stand on blessed ground, he realized. Even as the vampire in the front, a tall, lithe woman, her pale iridescently pale in the moonlight and sharply contrasting to the red of her bloody mouth and gleaming eyes, lunged toward him, Father Brian jumped off the path.

    He landed hard, knocking the breath out of him and flinging his suitcase a few feet away, but both were far from his mind as he rolled onto his back to look back at his attacks. The vampire woman's comrades had just managed to catch the lining of her thin white dress, her only clothing, before she fell onto the holy ground. Father Brian wondered what would happen if she had fallen, but the knowledge that his predator hated something gave him distinct pleasure and reassurance.

    "Your world is at an end, priest," the vampire woman whispered, her voice shrill and hollow, almost mechanical. "Your humanity is obsolete - God has abandoned you."

    For a moment, Father Brian simply laid there, taking deep, raspy breaths as he regained composure from his fall. Obviously, until now, he had not believed in vampire. Although he was not beyond believing in the existence of things like magic, as the work of demonic forces were capable of such occultisms even in the Bible, vampires had never really crossed his consideration. Nevertheless, having a pack of them staring at him, hungering for his blood, their eyes empty of any soul other than a bestial desire for death and domination, certainly caught his attention. A million questions ran through his mind. Where did they come from? How did they originate? Are they demonic, or simply diseased? Are they corpses or just infected living humans? Do they desire evil or simply to live in their condition without harm?

    Had God abandoned them?

    Her words had little weight in his heart. Father Brian knew that God would never abandon His Creation - if He could, He would not be God. But why had she mentioned it? Was she perhaps apart of some satanic cult impersonating vampires, or possibly real vampires controlled by demons? Unfortunately, he could not answer his own questions; but he believed the vampire would not acquiesce to his curiosity either. For now, he could only try to escape and find help - and to spread warning. With twenty in such a small place as his parish Church, he could not imagine how many could be out there.

    "God never abandons," he replied quietly, rising to his feet and dusting off his black priest uniform. "Whatever your devices or goals, they will eventually fail, and all your destruction will only strengthen us."

    The vampires glanced at one another, then began laughing, cackling terribly. While they were distracted, Father Brian took the opportunity. He grabbed his suitcase in one hand and with the other, quickly dug a handful of blessed dirt in the other and threw it at the vampires. Instantly, the dirt burned the vampires' skin, making them howl and cry in agony as they frantically tried to clean each other. He jumped back onto the path and, while the vampires were occupied, sprinted toward his Church. It was still deep night, darkness surrounding him, but the moonlight seemed to have brightened, casting a wan sheen around him and giving some measure of visibility.

    As he neared the Church's back door, he continued to hear the vampires screaming, with no sign of pursuit. He burst through the door and hurriedly closed and locked it behind him, hoping the Church's rarely-used locks would suffice against possibly-supernatural strength - now enhanced by rage. He knew they would soon be after revenge, so he had to work quickly.

3


The first thing Father Brian did after stepping inside his Church and bolting the lock behind him was turn on every light in the building. Seeing a horde of vampires step out of darkness gave him a new appreciation for illumination. His dress shoes gave little sound as he sprinted down the short hallway which forked, the entrance down one break and the nave on the other. He raced towards the entrance doors and locked them as well, and nearly had a heart attack as a group of vampires jumped at the double doors, clawing at the thick wood and its diminutive, round windows, but were unable to break through, to Father Brian's astonishment.

    As he stared down at them, their eyes wide and eager for blood, mouths biting toward him, he felt a mixture of horror and pity. If he knew anything about vampires, these beasts had once been normal human beings. He wondered if they had died, or if they were simply possessed - if their souls had been replaced, transformed, or incarcerated deep within while the invading spirit took over. In his complete ignorance of their condition, its cause and the range of the vampires' predation, he could do nothing about it.

    Pivoting, he moved to his office and tossed his suitcase onto his desk, then plopped down heavily in his chair. He ran his fingers through his shoulder-length black hair,  which was straight but seemingly immune to a brush or comb. His dark eyes were red and puffy with fatigue; closing them, he leaned back a moment, letting his recent panic gradually flow out, replaced by calm focus. He couldn't just sit here while vampires ravaged the world - he had to at least know what was going on.

    Quickly, he activated his PC and logged onto the internet, which to his relief was still working. Relief soon gave way to horror as his homepage was consumed by a headline news article, posted thirty minutes ago at 6:30pm: VAMPIRE INVASION. He read on:

"Approximately one hour ago, at 5:30pm EST, the military reported an attack on our nation's capital. No terrorism - no foreign country at work. We were attacked by vampires, creatures of myth and legend, but now, their reality is indisputable. The military hasn't given a specific figure, but the number of vampires said to be invading our country estimates in the tens of thousands. How they avoided our notice until now, we do not know - perhaps the ancient tales and sightings weren't so silly after all.

"At 5:30pm, ten vampires covertly assaulted the White House while the President and his family were at dinner. They appeared as if from nowhere, taking out the security silently, somehow bypassing all locks and alarms, and finally murdering the presidential family before they could even react. Soon, the attack was noticed by government officials, but as they sent out warnings to all government facilities, separate groups of vampires assaulted military installations and state government buildings, as well as their homes, across the nation. Whether these vampire groups are in contact with one another is unknown, but their alliance is presumed.

"Only three army bases, two air force bases and five naval bases survived. No marine, national guard or coast guard escaped the vampires' strike. By report from witnesses who managed to send us an account before they… lost contact, the vampires move with almost imperceptible speed, possess supernatural strength and the ability to distract their victim even standing right in front of them, possibly using some sort of trance or hypnosis. Some managed to engage the vampires in combat, and although a few vampires were killed, all the combatant humans died in the process. Witnesses say the vampires can be killed by gunfire, but only in heavy amounts - usually, the head and heart must be destroyed, and the blood must be fully drained, or else they will regenerate.

"Much has happened in only an hour - but that is often the case in such times as these. Never has the United States been invaded to this degree. Our government and military are almost completely destroyed. The extent of the damage to the civilian population is unknown - estimates range from half of the population dead or infected with vampirism, to 90 percent. Channel 5 News has been… very fortunate to have avoided an attack yet. Thankfully, the vampires haven't destroyed our power lines yet - why, I can't say. Maybe to let us tell the story, to spread fear? Or perhaps they want to use our electricity and fuel for themselves? I cannot say. And whether or not this has affected the rest of the world, I also don't know - all international contact was broken recently, possibly by the vampires. The US seems to be the only nation still posting on the internet. We can only hope survivors will see this article. If you do, please, stay safe and do whatever it takes to stay human. From Channel 5 News, this is Karen Lopez reporting."

    Father Brian felt frozen in place, his gaze locked on the screen. He felt as if someone had hit him with a sledge hammer. Only thirty minutes ago, he was celebrating Mass, his parishioners happy and safe, receiving the Eucharist, praying, shaking hands and giving peace to one another. Now, where are they? Are they still even alive - or human? What does it all mean?

    And why did the vampire mention God?

    Realizing he had been holding his breath, he let it out slowly and leaned back. The sound of two groups of vampires banging against both entrances to the Church filled his ears, but he ignored it. He wondered about his family - his parents and little brother living just a few miles north in Chicago. Maybe living in the city gave them some protection? Or maybe it just made them more vulnerable…

    Gasping for breath, panic threatening to overwhelm him, he quickly jumped up and ran into the nave, kneeling before the sanctuary and performing the Sign of the Cross. He gazed up at the altar, a crucifix hanging above it, the tabernacle just behind the altar with a candle proclaiming the constant presence of Christ. The light of the world, the hope of man, the salvation of the universe, physically before him. Father Brian felt almost surprised at his lack of despair or indignation. Normally in such a crisis as this, it was natural to doubt God's Providence, to wonder what His plan was. But while he did wonder what was going to happen or what had caused all of this, he knew that even this wasn't out of God's hands.

    "Even the gates of Hell will not prevail against the Church," Father Brian whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek and he smiled softly. Even amid the hideous banging and growling of demonic vampires only a few yards away, separated only by wooden doors, he felt more assured of God's love than ever.

4

 As he continued to pray silently, gazing up at the altar and tabernacle, Father Brian knew he couldn't stay here forever. If he was one of the few people still alive, he had to do something to help them - and to keep the Church alive. But he also couldn't simply abandon his parish. Even though they hadn't been able to walk on blessed ground or break through the doors of the church yet, he could not be sure that was how this vampirism functioned. Despite his very limited knowledge of vampire lore, he knew that their nature and behavior varied considerably from one legend or story to the next, so he had to be careful.

    He wouldn't let the Eucharist be damaged, however. Racing back to his office, he grabbed two large plastic baggies, two empty water bottles, his suitcase, and brought them to the preparations table beside the sanctuary. He opened the cruet holding the wine host and poured as much as he could into the empty water battle. A pang of irreverence shot through him, putting the Blood of Christ in such an unceremonious container. However, the cruet itself was too rounded to fit in his suitcase, so he had no choice. The other bottle he filled with water from another cruet, then fit every Eucharist wafer into the two plastic baggies and situated them between his missal and the suitcase itself, being very careful not to break any and to position them so none would be disturbed.

    Blessing both entrances with holy water, he then used a rope he had found in his office - where he got it, he had no idea - and tied it through the handle of his suitcase and around his waist, holding it in place as he climbed up into the attic. It was relatively empty, since the church tended to use or give away everything it received. Only a couple boxes used when they had first moved into the church remained, pushed against the dusty walls which were padded with insulation. Though it was very dark, moonlight streaming through the attic's single window across the room gave some visibility, reassuring Father Brian as he stepped warily toward the window. Opening it, he unrolled the rest of the rope and surreptitiously dangled it out the window. With their attention completely on getting through the seemingly-impenetrable doors, the vampires didn't notice as the rope touched the street below. He hoped they couldn't smell him, but he had no choice - this was his only possible escape route.

    Gripping the rope tight, he slipped out the window and thanked God he wasn't afraid of heights. The rope burned his hands as he carefully slid down it, crawling down its length until he finally felt his feet touch sturdy concrete. Unfortunately, he couldn't retrieve the rope - he had no choice but to untie it from around his waist and leave it, hoping the vampires wouldn't try to climb up it. Gripping his suitcase tight, he tiptoed across the street, his eyes riveted to the horde of vampires banging and gyrating against the church's doors. Abruptly, the image of old medieval paintings of Hell came to mind, with bodies gyrating against one another in an orgiastic trance of pleasure and destruction. He could only hope the human souls once present in these vampires' bodies were not experiencing that fate.

    To his astonishment and gratitude, the vampires didn't notice as he moved, crouched low and on his toes, across the empty street to walk on the frost-hardened sidewalk. He hoped the darkness of night would conceal him in his black priest robes and black suitcase, with even his face obscured by his long black hair. But from the online article, he knew the capabilities of these vampires, so he could only assume they were distracted and driven by revenge - a thought which quickened his pace. He didn't know where to go - he had no real friends or family nearby. The closest church was at least ten miles, but he knew most priests headed home before he did, due to his cemetery ritual. To the bottom of his heart, he prayed that his priest friends, many of which he had gone through seminary with and been ordained alongside, were safe. He tried not to think about their alternative fate as he walked to an unknown future, an unknown destination, and an unknown world.

5

 As Father Brian continued to walk along the sidewalk, he saw a house in the distance, one which he had passed many times as he drove to the store, gas station, or to a Church function elsewhere. He saw one car in the driveway and a window illuminated by a light inside, but as he came within fifty yards of the house, his heart sank as he heard a woman's scream and saw two vampires standing guard outside the front door, with four more seeming almost casual as they watched the scene inside the house through the only window Father Brian could see. He couldn't make out their words yet, with the winds still strong and biting, but he had no doubt they were vampires. Even though he had seen normal humans with exceptionally pale skin, lithe bodies and even reddish eyes as the vampires had, there was one distinguishing signature feature which every vampire he had seen shared: their heads were completely bald. Though some had eyebrows or even a beard, their heads were absolutely clean. He did not know if they had intentionally shaved or if baldness was some sort of consequence of vampirism, but alongside their other unusual traits, baldness made vampires easily discernable.

    His throat was tight and his breathing stiff as he continued to hear violent cries from inside the house. He tried not to think of what was happening, but having personally met the resident of that house, an elderly widow, many times, both in passing and at Mass, he felt a personal sorrow and guilt at her plight and his inability to help. He had no weapons, and certainly wasn't strong or fast enough to fight one vampire, much less a pack. As he watched in silent pain, a thought suddenly came to mind: he did have one weapon. The Eucharist.

    Quickly he pulled out the bottle of Eucharistic wine from his suitcase. He had no time to waste. Holding it sternly in front of him, his heart steeled and mind resolute in faith, knowing the power of God in the Eucharist would overcome such evil, he ran towards the vampires posted outside the front door. At first they simply stared at him, their brows furrowed in confusion, but as his image cleared and they identified his priestly collar, their expressions turned to panic as they frantically ran away in random directions. He smiled and kissed the bottle, then kicked open the door and almost feinted at what he saw.

    The entire living room was covered in blood. Lily Hammond, whom he had just talked to about two hours before, lay sprawled on the soaked carpet, her corpse contorted, ravaged and torn, flesh ripped and eviscerated. A pool of her own blood enveloped her, obscuring most of her remaining clothes and features. Every wall, every piece of furniture and decoration was painted in crimson blood, dripping horrifically like a surreal wax museum, so terrible it couldn't be real.

    Father Brian stared transfixed at Lily's corpse, unable to rend his gaze as both revulsion and anguish overwhelmed him. The sound of his shoes splashing in her blood, the air filled with the stench and taste of death and fresh blood, almost made him vomit. But the sight of his friend, so defiled and desecrated, replaced all nausea with deep, piercing sorrow.

    "Mmm… isn't it beautiful," a low voice, overflowing with pleasure and seemingly echoing from a cavernous emptiness, whispered. Stepping closer to Father Brian, the vampire stopped by his side and slid a blood-covered hand onto his shoulder. "Death is inevitable… Only moments ago, she was filled with life. Now - she is nothing. Consumed, eaten, destroyed… And you're next."

    Having closed his eyes during the vampire's speech, Father Brian suddenly felt consumed by a righteous fire - not anger or vengeance, but a drive to exorcise the evil taint in the room. Turning, he grasped the bottle of Eucharist Blood and pressed it against the vampire's head - which, he silently thanked, was clean of blood - and the creature immediately let out a screech of agony. Unable to touch Father Brian, the vampire tried to step back but fell into a corner.

    "Depart! You have no power here, demon!"

    Though his eyes were filled with torment, the vampire smiled terribly, a deep laugh rumbling in his throat as he gazed up at Father Brian. "I am no demon, priest. But I am legion. God has abandoned humanity - faith is gone. Within hours, your world will be nothing but servants t-"

    Forcing out his words, the vampire croaked in agony and tried to escape into the floor, but Father Brian persistently pressed the Blood against his head, which abruptly caught fire. The vampire tried to pat his face to quench the flames, but they simply moved to his hands, arms, down his torso and legs, consuming his entire body. Father Brian stepped back, making sure to watch as the vampire was completely devoured by the holy inferno which only affected the vampire, no spark touching the house or even the blood around him. Soon, only a pile of ashes floating in blood remained.

    Father Brian closed his eyes as the full weight of the terrible scene around him finally hit. A satanic, bestial slaughter of a helpless, innocent widow, ambushed inside her own house. Looking around the living room, the TV was still on, displaying a show with Mother Angelica of EWTN, his personal favorite Catholic network - the screen now dripping with blood. A cup of hot chocolate sat on a table beside the only chair in the room, both of which were drenched in blood. Stepping closer to her, he knelt down, trying from base instinct not to let the stolen blood of his friend get on his clothes.

    "I… I am so sorry, Lily," he whispered, his voice quavering and tears streaming down his cheeks. Holding out two straightened fingers, he made the Sign of the Cross over her, blessing her spirit. "I will never forget you. May your soul find consolation in the presence of Christ."

    Closing his eyes, he prayed silently over her for several minutes, giving no thought to the possibility of vampires returning for vengeance, and finally stood. He couldn't just leave her here, surrounded by such horror. Walking tentatively, Lily's blood having seeped into the house's single hallway and kitchen, he opened a closet and pulled out several long, clean beach towels. With one, he managed to slide it underneath her without moving her body or getting blood on his hands. He then raised her onto the sofa, where he had laid out another towel. Draping a towel over her, he wrapped another around her head and the last around her feet, tying them with rope he had found in the closet. As he turned to the front door, he carefully draped Lily over his shoulder - the one which hadn't been tainted by the vampire's bloody handprint - and moved to the open door, clenching the bottle of Eucharistic wine tightly. Christ transubstantiated had been the only thing that preserved his life, and gave the opportunity to bury his murdered friend. He would rather die than leave Him behind.

6

 The squish of blood-soaked carpet almost made Father Brian vomit as he switched on the outdoor porch light and carried Lily's wrapped corpse outside. Walking into the front yard, he glanced around. Apparently all the vampires had been scared away by his aggressive approach and destroying the primary predator of the pack, possibly its leader. But he gave little thought to danger - he knew the Eucharist would protect him, and that giving Lily the dignity of a burial was more important than his own safety.

    Laying Lily in the grass, he sprinkled a few droplets of holy water on her to make sure no vampires could touch her body as he walked to the garage. Some vampires must have broken in through that way as its door was already opened. Holding the bottle of Eucharist wine at his side, he strode in and flipped on the lights and left them on after finding a shovel and returning to Lily's burial site. Still no vampires in site. Despite his confidence, he thanked God for solitude.

    It took less time than he expected to bury Lily and bless the front yard acting as her cemetery plot. Checking his wrist watch, it was only ten o' clock. Gazing at Lily's grave one last time, he pulled the shovel head off its pole and pushed the pole into the ground at the head of Lily's gravesite.

    "No vampire will come here, on blessed ground. At least this pole will be a marker of your sacrifice, Lily. Rest well."

    Kneeling and performing the Sign of the Cross, Father Brian finally turned and reluctantly walked back into the house. Although Lily had been a simple widow, she had lost her husband only five years ago. Grimacing as he once again stepped onto the bloody carpet, he went upstairs to Lily's bedroom and rummaged around in her closet, on the top shelf, until finally finding what he had been looking for: a .38 pistol and a .22 long rifle. His knowledge of weaponry was limited, but he knew enough to fire them if need be. With a twinge of revulsion, he grabbed two bags of ammunition and put them in his suitcase alongside the Eucharist and holy water. He hoped his purpose for using these weapons - protecting others - would overrule the possible desecration of the Eucharist, but regardless, the sight of bullets next to Christ brought the immediacy, horror and depression of the situation fully to bear. Making sure to load both weapons, he shouldered the rifle and makeshift holstered the pistol in his pocket. For the first time, he was happy his pants were too small, as the pistol was securely pressed against his hip.

    Leaving all lights on in the house, hoping refugees might could use it as shelter if need be, he was happy to finally leave the scene of Lily's brutal murder. The instinct to call the police instantly came to mind, again sadly reminding him of humanity's desperation. He did not know where to go - looking in both directions down the street, he only saw darkness and a couple houses, none of which seemed to be occupied, thankfully. He didn't know if he could take burying another friend tonight.

    Closing his eyes for a moment, he intuitively decided to walk left - east - down the street. His step was heavy and burdened as the weight of the future pressed down on him, but he continued to remember the Eucharist so faithfully residing at hand. Hope remained, and he would do whatever he could to bring it to whoever remained of humanity.

    Another opportunity wasted no time presenting itself.

    After walking for only a few minutes, Father Brian came to a four-way stop, the only one before coming to a major highway. Pausing, he looked around and in the darkness could only just make out a couple buildings, but couldn't discern anything else about them - except a gas station on a hill on the southeast corner of the intersection. Its lights were on and he thought he could see several vehicles parked outside. Maybe some people established a shelter there, he wondered as he began walking toward it. If so, he wanted to do whatever he could to help them, especially spiritually. He couldn't imagine the spiritual strain on humanity during this time - at least, not until he remembered that in his own heart.

7

 The winds had subsided, giving way to a heavy, sticky fog which made the darkness even more impenetrable. A sheen of humidity gradually masked Father Brian as he walked cautiously towards the gas station. Dabbing his forehead with his sleeve, he trudged up the steep paved hillside, keeping his gaze locked on the gas station but his other senses on alert for an attack.

    As he neared the hilltop, he decided to move to the sidewalk across from the gas station to survey the area before advancing. With its interior and exterior street lights on, it was relatively easy to reconnoiter, even from at least a hundred yards away and through the misty night. Squinting, he could make out three trucks - one pickup - and two cars. By their separation and apparently random parking, he surmised their owners hadn't come together, or at least with any sort of strategy. While that probably meant vampires had not driven them, it could also mean the people inside had been attacked during work - or while going to their vehicles. Swallowing tightly, he continued canvassing the area and gasped silently when he noticed two groups of vampires, two and three each, peering through windows into the gas station.

    He had not seen any other vampires around, and five vampires alone seemed unusual - every time he had encountered them thus far, they were in large groups. Whether this was intentional or they just naturally gravitated toward one another, he hadn't been able to discern yet. Swinging the rifle around his shoulder awkwardly, he gripped it and laid down on his stomach. Having never actually fired a rifle in his life, he had to go by his memory of movies and TV shows. He hoped that would be enough.

    Father Brian wondered if Lily's husband had been a hunter, since his rifle was affixed with a scope. But thankfulness replaced curiosity as he peered into it, the gas station instantly clarified. He mentally kicked himself for not using the scope before. Maybe he was just too reluctant to use the weapon then, he thought. With vampires in sight, possibly on the verge of finding and killing more people, his anxiety dissolved.

    The five vampires were still staring into the high windows when he located them again, a woman with two men in one group, and one very tall man with a very short man in the other. His desire to observe the behavior and possibly gain some useful knowledge of their nature was overcome by the urgency of the situation. Taking out a rifle projectile from his suitcase, he pulled the breech handle up and back, unlocking the bolt and opening the breech. He placed the projectile inside, pointy end forward, and locked the breech again. He was surprised how easy it was to load a weapon, and the thought gave him a slight twinge of nausea, afraid he was becoming too accustomed to violence and death even after only a couple hours in catastrophe.

    The scope had a simple black cross-shaped reticle which made it seemingly easy to target. Then Father Brian remembered that projectiles do not travel on a straight line - they're moved by wind, gravity, angle, and other factors he either didn't know about or couldn't calculate anyways. He could only guess where to aim for it to actually hit. Intuitively, he guessed the peculiarly tall vampire to be the leader and targeted him first. He zoomed in as far as he could, then aimed a little high for gravity. Since the air had almost completely stopped, he could only hope it wouldn't affect trajectory too much. As for other factors - he could only hope.

    Taking a deep breath, he waited until the vampire peered into the window, his head still, and pulled the trigger.

8

 An instantaneous muzzle flash and shoulder recoil made Father Brian clench his eyes shut and look away instinctively. Quickly regaining composure, he looked back into the scope and almost squealed as he saw a tall, spindly vampire with only half a head. Usually such grotesque brutality would turn his stomach, but seeing it in a vampire somehow removed that distaste.

    Falling to the ground, the re-dead corpse was soon flanked by his companions. Father Brian scowled as he saw the woman take charge. She had been the true leader, he realized. Hastily, he took aim again and fired at the woman's head, but anger stole accuracy as the projectile only scraped her scalp, splattering blood on the ground and piercing the window behind her with an abrupt crash. The sound of shattering glass falling to the ground both inside and out of the gas station cut through the previously silent air, making Father Brian jump in surprise. But the disgust he felt with himself for missing his target quickly replaced his shock.

    Hoping he could fix his mistake, he took aim again, but when he looked back into the scope, he realized he wouldn't have to. Three figures - two of which had visible hair, the other's head wrapped - leapt out of the broken window and burst through the gas station door, catching the vampires completely off guard. A massive man holding an even larger axe came out of the window and swung at the vampire woman, lopping off her head before she could even react. Though it was obvious the man lacked any formal weapons training, he swung the axe with violent rage and passion, driven by self-preservation, protecting his companions and destroying an enemy to which he could give no hesitation.

    Whirling his axe in a circle around himself, the other vampires stood just on the perimeter, their mouths gaping and bodies poised to pounce at any opportunity. Finally the extraordinarily short vampire lunged at the man's legs, but a companion of the valiant figure, a lithe, youthful woman with bright red hair let out a battle cry and hurled a crowbar at the diminutive vampire like a spear. Catching the vampire off-guard, it pierced him through the heart just before he reached the burly axe-wielder. Even though the creature fell to the ground, grasping the stick of metal protruding from its chest and unable to move otherwise, the man turned and brought the axe down, decapitating it. Apparently, Father Brian surmised, decapitation was the only sure way to kill them - as far as he had seen so far, at least. Even though he balked at the morbidity in his thinking, he found himself hoping there were many more ways to kill the creatures, giving humanity as much chance as possible to survive.

    Before the axe-wielder could bring his axe back up, the other two remaining vampires jumped at him. His companions yelled in terror and grabbed whatever makeshift weapons they held, moving to encircle the axe-man. But before they could help him, both vampires plunged their unusually-long canines into his neck. Blood spurted out before their mouths could cover the wounds and begin hungrily devouring the man's life. Knowing he had no hope, the man laid down and yelled at his companions something Father Brian couldn't make out, but could guess at.

    His guess was validated as the others paused, glanced at one another, then attacked the vampires. The figure whose head was covered appeared to be an elderly woman, based on her size and bent posture, but she showed no frailty or hesitation as she jabbed a long shard of wood through a vampire's skull, killing it instantly.

    The young woman yanked her crowbar out of the dead vampire's heart, but seemed reluctant to kill the remaining vampire attached to her friend, who had already passed away. Father Brian saw the elderly woman turn to the girl and encourage her - gently at first, then after several seconds passed, more sternly. She obviously wanted the girl to do it herself, to learn how to kill a vampire without hesitation as she was evidently capable. As the girl finally moved the crowbar back to strike, the vampire turned its head and lunged at her.

    Without thinking, Father Brian instantly fired his rifle. He slowly opened his eyes and saw the elderly woman holding the girl close, looking around for the source of the shot. But he was simply happy to see the attacking vampire dead, splayed out a few feet away with a bullet hole in its head. Despite the macabre absurdity of the scene, Father Brian allowed himself a little satisfaction.

9

 The priest was weird. Something about him seemed off, but the sort of peculiarity you couldn't quite put a finger on. Nicki Carew stared at him from across the table, unconsciously eating a French fry as she studied him. Father Brian, as he had called himself, at first glance seemed normal for a Catholic priest - kind eyes, polite expression, burdened shoulders and distinctive collar. But Father Brian was just not quite right. The way he avoided eye contact; the way he picked at his food, barely taking two bites despite asking for a full meal; the way his voice seemed strong and quiet, but trembled at the end of every sentence. Granted, Nicki had met only a handful of Catholic priests in her fifteen years living in the same area, but she had never seen one with such…

    She groaned audibly, interrupting the conversation between the priest and her grandmother which she had been ignoring until that point.

    "Nicki, don't interrupt us now, you know better," Gran said, her voice feeble but firm and evidencing the strength of spirit Nicki loved so much about her. With a scowl, they continued their conversation - with the priest not even looking at her when interrupted, simply gazing down at his food until the conversation continued.

    Nicki frowned. She wasn't angry at him; he seemed like a decent enough person, and he had probably saved their lives. And obviously it was nice to have another human to replace her father who had died in the vampire attack an hour ago. Despite her attempts to ignore his eccentricity, however, she could not let it go. There was something deep within him, some hidden drive or urge which he kept securely locked behind a veil of how he thought a priest should behave - something he didn't even want to see himself.

    "Excuse me Gran, I need to um… do something," Nicki said, smiling innocently at her grandmother while interrupting the conversation yet again.

    Sighing softly, her grandmother smiled. "Ok dear, but be careful. You know how dangerous things are now."

    "I will Gran, don't worry," she called back, already walking away from the table.

    When the vampires first attacked, she, her father and grandmother had just been getting a late night snack on their way home from a school basketball game she was in. Looking down at her basketball uniform, she sighed, remembering how quickly her entire life had fallen apart. Making sure to keep a safe distance from the windows and doors, even though they had boarded them up as best they could, she couldn't help but move against the wall as she passed the storage closet in which they had put the corpse of the cashier. He had gone out back just after ringing up their groceries to take out the garbage, the last thing he had to do before going home Nicki had assumed, and the vampires got him. They managed to fight off the beasts, but he was dead before they even had a chance to save him. Despite their bare means, they gave him a small ceremony and wrapped him in a heavy-duty storage bag they found in the closet, where they had decided to "bury" him. She felt sick as she passed his makeshift tomb, recalling her own father's death. As thoughts poured into her mind of the millions across the world dying similarly, she cringed and hurried on, trying to leave her worries behind.

    The back bathroom was tiny and dirty, but it was quiet. She sat on the toilet and gazed through the small space between the thick boards they had put up over the window. A couple stars twinkled in the night sky, somehow persisting despite all the darkness around them. Looking down at her hands, she recalled hurling her crow bar through a vampire's chest, the rage that had filled her, spilling out in a perfect spear throw, something she had never done in her life. The anger had felt good, temporarily distracting from the horrible catastrophe surrounding her. But as her father fell, she couldn't find the strength to be angry, or to do anything else. Only the cold, dead despair of losing one's beloved parent crashed down on her. Tears ringed her eyes as she remembered and she held her head in her hands.

    As tears streamed down her cheeks, she suddenly heard the boards covering the bathroom window burst open, flinging splinters of wood at her hands and exposed forearms. Before she could react, two combat boots slid through the open window and a tall, emaciated-looking vampire stood before her. She couldn't tell if it was male or female; its face was hideously disfigured, but with its glowing red eyes, bald head, deathly skin and protruding fangs, she had no doubt of its nature. It smiled hungrily down at her.

    As if toying with her, it let her frantically bolt for the bathroom door and even take a step outside before it moved toward her with blinding speed, grabbing her by the jersey and yanking her back into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. The vampire pulled her close, and as its mouth moved close to her neck, stopping just short, she felt a horrid disgust wash over her at its complete lack of breath. Within seconds she heard her grandmother and the weird priest banging on the door, trying to knock it down, but she knew they didn't have time. Even if they managed to get it open, the jaws of death were too close for anyone to rescue her.

    Closing her eyes, she felt all panic and anxiety flow out of her. She couldn't explain it and did not even try. A wave of peace and acceptance came over her, clearing her mind of all fear. Looking back at the vampire, who gazed back with mouth agape in shock, she smiled at it sympathetically.

    "I'm so sorry for you."

    With a growl, the vampire plunged its fangs into her neck. As the light dimmed and her life drained away, she heard another window break. The priest and her Grandma screamed, their horror counteracted by terrible howls like a wild wolf. Nicki knew they were as close to death as she, but the peace she felt did not abandon her. Silently, she prayed the priest and her Grandma would share her serenity as they died, and that maybe even the vampires could someday live again.

Requiem: Prologue

Silver shards of light broke through black clouds, penetrating the high forest canopy and creating a macabre ballet of shadows bloodied by red autumn leaves which covered the dry ground. Jack's eyes strained against the darkness of dusk, the last remaining sunlight either blocked or distorted by tree and cloud. The air was thick and moist, alluding to a coming thunderstorm. His muscles tensed each time he bent to pick up a log, adding it to the dozen he carried in a sack slung around a shoulder. Eight straight hours of trudging into the forest for firewood, walking back to his cabin and returning yet again stole all beauty from the changing season.

    Finding a final log, he turned to head back home but stiffened as he saw a shape pass in and out of view before he had time to identify it, moving between trees several yards away. Blinking, he grabbed his pistol hanging at his side which he always carried in the forest. He waited several long moments until turning again towards home - but then he saw it again, a blur of long, deep crimson hair flowing behind a pale face, sweeping black clothes obscuring its form. Jack's breath quickened and he tensed instinctively, raising his pistol to readiness, though he had no clue what - or who? - the figure was, or whether or not it was dangerous. He knew a bear or wolf when he saw one; after living near a Romanian forest for ten years, you're bound to encounter them. But this was no animal, at least not one he had ever seen. It looked almost… human, though its movements, its physique seemed almost ethereal, primal in a way people can never be, even the most insane or primitive.

    Locked in place, he didn't know whether to wait or try to sprint home. Was the figure even interested in him? It hadn't stopped or looked at him; it just passed by, twice… the second time closer, and slower. Maybe it had heard him? He couldn't be sure. He was afraid yes, but… for some reason, he felt drawn to the figure, partially out of curiosity, but also in a way he couldn't quite explain. So he simply stood there, gripping his pistol tight and preparing to run if he had to.

    Finally, he saw it again - no, not it. Her. She was close enough now, no longer running, where he could see her a bit more clearly. Lithe and lean, the black dress she wore hung loose from her body, moving with the wind as if in communion with it, blending into the pale darkness around her. Though Jack had seen pale women before, she was not simply of light skin pigment. She looked almost… dead? But not as a corpse normally would after any amount of time post-mortem. It was as if she had died, lost all blood flow and color, and then simply froze in time. He couldn't explain it. But as he looked up at the woman standing only a few yards away, he gazed transfixed at an open mouth, smiling brightly, with sharp canines double their normal length - and dripping with blood.

 The pale dusk light seemed to bend around her as if avoiding her. But as Jack gazed into her eyes, he couldn't give the same response. He wanted to look away, but he didn't. His mind throbbed with an intoxicating desire. While his instinctual danger sense screamed for him to look away and either run from or shoot at the ethereal woman, even giving a sense of supernatural evil as if she were some sort of ancient specter or malevolent spirit, he could think of nothing else but her - the soft wisps of her black dress, the slender, smooth pale skin only just visible underneath, her high cheeks and full, pale blue lips, piercing bright eyes and beast-like, abnormal teeth. Time seemed to stand still as they gazed into one another's eyes. He couldn't - and wouldn't - pull away.

    Despite his hesitance, he was forced to eventually blink, and he momentarily lost his breath when he opened his eyes and she was gone. But before he could search for her, as he was willing to do for the rest of his life if necessary, he suddenly felt a tender, almost tentative touch against his shoulder. He didn't have to check to identify the sensation: he could feel her presence. Though he didn't feel her breath, no living warmth which would normally radiate against him, a raw fire coursed through him at her proximity, his skin tingled, his breath tightened. She pressed lightly against his back and licked along the nape of his neck, leaving a smear of warm, fresh blood - from what, he didn't care. He knew it wasn't her blood, but it didn't matter to him how it had gotten there. Any attempt to think was immediately barricaded by her image, her intoxicating, entrancing gaze.

    Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, and the scent of her filled his nostrils, a sweet, yet dry fragrance reminding him of fallen leaves in an autumn forest, beautiful but lifeless. Suddenly, he felt a sharp incisory pain on the right curve of his neck. Instinctively he gasped and recoiled, but she gripped his shoulders with impossible strength, holding him in place. Soon he felt his blood draining out of the neck wound, quicker than it naturally would, and he heard a soft moan from the creature holding him. He made no resistance - he didn't even try to think why she was drinking his blood. He didn't care. Lava rivers of pleasure rippled through him, filling him with deep, overwhelming heat.

    As she continued to drink his blood, he abruptly intuited a presence in his mind, cold and hollow yet familiar: her. She didn't speak, audibly or telepathically; she was simply there, empty, dark, but present. Amazed that she could give him both chill and fire, he closed his eyes and enjoined himself to her, giving up all resistance or struggle and ignoring the panicked screams of his survival instinct. He had wanted this all his life, had searched for it, longed for it - now he had it, and he had no intention of giving it up. Even if it meant giving up his life.