Once and Future King

Legacy of Kain: Once and Future King

(A continuation fan-fiction for Legacy of Kain: Defiance)

/../- implies vampiric ‘whisper’ a.k.a. telepathy/mental projection.

The Soul Reaver isn’t capable of speech as such, but I gave it dialog anyway to show that Kain can interpret its wordless snark without difficulty? I have no idea. Just go with it.

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huge thanks to wanderingaddict, my long, long, loooong suffering beta who keeps me on task and on tone with this monsterous little story.

also thanks to various people who pointed out I was misspelling 'Moebius', amongst other things. Go fig. I'll have to go back and comb the previous chapters eventually to correct it.

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The End: Chapter 5-

At least the crumbling rubble made for excellent kindling. Kain let Raziel do the honors, admiring way the templar could easily ignite wood that moments before was coated in ice. The younger vampire was hanging back, allowing his hands to mend from where a particularly wet pile of slush had slipped down and scorched him to the elbow. Kain sent a burst of mental thanks to the blade across his shoulders as he shifted a chunk of wall off the pile and into the corner. The wet continued to remain nothing more than a nuisance thanks to the Reaver’s intervention. Packed ice crumbled beneath his claws as he pulled the next piece loose, sending it to join the rest on the floor.

They had made excellent progress. Already the stairs were mostly free. All that was left was to burrow out the side of the broken structure, and see what remained of the world beyond. The wind moaned mournfully beyond the wall of broken masonry and timbers. The storm had blown out after several wild hours. No doubt it was rolling north, punishing the already battered city of Coorhagen. Kain sighed and dug his fingers into the mess again, repeating the tedious process.

“What were you doing lurking about in Moebius’ strong hold anyway?” Kain paused to dig the embedded ice out from under his finger claws, hoping grimly that his younger-self was having an equally annoying morning. Raziel looked up, surprised at the question.

“My lord?”

Kain sighed at the hopeless task of breaking the man’s habit of formality. He pointed at Raziel’s chest with an authoritative claw. “You said that your lord was celebrating, the day I found you. A centennial festival marking his ascension to ‘Scion,’ did you not?”

“I suppose I did.” The vampire hedged, still confused.

“So why were you not at his side?” Kain inquired, turning back to his chore. The rubble would hardly clear itself, and magic at such close quarters was a foolish proposition. Grimly he contemplated what might happen if he buried the Reaver hilt deep in the mess and asked it to kindly clear a path. Likely the well-meaning but heavy handed weapon would bring the roof down on their little catacomb. Then again, if they survived, escaping through the shattered ceiling was as probable as their current course. He snorted at the idea. “What on earth were you doing prowling around in the basement of a stronghold long abandoned all alone?”

“I-” Raziel sounded chagrined. “I was… not invited.”

“What?” Kain blinked, unable to fathom the words. He turned to stare at the handsome vampire. The pronouncement was ridiculous. Not invited? Raziel? Even when he had been annoyed at his lieutenant’s means and methods in the past, he had never actively excluded the man from his court. To do so would mean not keeping an eye on him, for one thing. “What on earth possessed him to do a thing like that?”

“Or rather, there was a change made at the last.” Raziel held up his hands to defend against his incredulous question, protective of his Scion, even now. “Some disturbances had been noted in the area of the lake, small quakes, strange sightings… Someone needed to investigate.”

“So why not send a search party? Surely you have better things to do with your time.”

“Not really.” Raziel shrugged, lightly scratching at his healing arm with his claw tips. “I confess I rather welcomed the distraction. My sire gets- irritable during anniversary festivities. I often misspeak and cause unintentional upset. It is better for all that I am not around to excite his temper further.”

“I do not understand your meaning.” Kain shook his head, pulling another piece of wooden beam free of the mess and tossing it to the vampire to be added to the fire. “You mean to say Kain prefers it when you are absent?”

“I do not pretend to imagine I am his favorite,” Raziel laughed weakly, stacking the new kindling atop the blaze, staring at the small bonfire morosely. “I tend to annoy him. I can’t seem to help myself. I will never be like Dumah.”

“God help us if you become like Dumah.” Kain replied sharply, tearing at the debris with renewed spirit. Even the thought of Raziel adopting the lazy self-serving habits of his other lieutenant made him itch to dig his claws into something. “I’d kill the pair of you with my bare hands before I let that happen.”

Raziel shot him an odd look, choosing to let the comment by unremarked upon. “In any case… The festival itself isn’t all that exciting. Mostly it is just the procession, and the renewing of oaths. All of the vampire lords are required to bring tithe to the capital as a show of loyalty to the Empire once every hundred years. But it is usually a nervous affair. During the anniversary Kain is obliged to don the Soul Reaver. He is more quarrelsome than usual when he is compelled to take the blade from its crypt.”

“Seeing you wear it so easily, I confess I am amazed.” Raziel’s smile was genuine. “For my Kain, holding the blade seemed a loathsome thing to do. I always imagined it that simply picking it up put one’s soul in jeopardy and only the Scion could withstand its evil power. That was why none but he were to approach its resting place or attempt to touch it. It would eat any life-force within a hundred paces if not for his will.”

Kain gave up on any attempt to resume digging, stunned by the news beyond any ability to conceal. He turned and stared again, trying to read a deeper meaning in the boy’s words. Raziel simply blinked at him, startled by his sudden attention.

“Your Kain… doesn’t wear the Reaver? He sets it aside?” He couldn’t keep the absolute shock from his voice.

“Yes.” Raziel nodded. “In a special vault made to that purpose. Its coffin is lined with lead, gold, and steel. The outer casing was enchanted several times over by the empire’s finest mages. They created a special crypt for it where by it can be sunken on chains into a deep well at the heart of the castle to keep it safely hidden from any foolish enough to come near. Truly, it is a marvelous contraption. If not for the expectations of the people; the tradition of the Scion and his famed Sword of Blight standing in the main hall to accept the oaths of the clans once a century… the demon blade would never be taken out, it is so terrible to behold.”

Kain swallowed bile, stunned. He had put the Reaver aside for a matter of moments, and had felt at least a shadow of what the sword had experienced. To deliberately abandon it? Madness. Raw, undiluted madness. What on earth could Kain have been thinking? It didn’t require any particular brilliance of intellect to see exactly what that sort of treatment would do to the soul contained within the blade. A millennium of horror and isolation? Only to be taken out once a century and waived about as a toy? A totem?

Did Kain even think to feed the damn thing?

Probably not.

Kain grimaced at the revelation. This was his future. This was the wholesome world he had engendered through his efforts of the last thousand years. An eternity of suffering and despair for the one creature in the whole of history who dared to call himself ‘Kain’s Right Hand’, the author of his salvation? No good deed ever went unpunished, it seemed.

The terrible irony of it all almost made him laugh. What a sick joke! The world was wholesome and pure? How could Nosgoth count itself ‘restored’ when such a cruel and ungrateful creature as that claimed to be Scion of Balance? Better that the whole mess dissolve into oblivion, and let the false-god chew on the remaining crumbs.

“Are you ill, lord?”

“Yes.” Kain said simply. “I do believe I am.”

His surprise and upset were so absolute that the Reaver stirred against his spine, curious to know what it was that had alarmed him so. It took a long moment to get his thoughts in order before he dared to open himself up to the blade’s probing. Kain mentally soothed the weapon’s concerns, unwilling to share such disgusting piece of trivia with his faithful lieutenant. It took a few minutes to convince the blade that there was no threat of immanent attack. But eventually it settled to its usual level of indifferent acceptance. Opening his eyes he noted that the templar had drawn back a little, shying from the sword’s baleful light.

He rubbed his face remembering his alter-ego’s look of revulsion when presented with the sword back at the blood shrine. Was it so far-fetched to believe the vampire capable of such cruelty? No, the sick thing was, he could see it very easily. All it would require was for the Reaver to balk against Kain’s selfish intentions one time too often, especially at the beginning. Should the blade have ever become more of a burden than an asset, he would have discarded or destroyed it years before he learned its true purpose. By the time he did determine its nature, it would be far too late to undo the damage.

But why would the Reaver want to antagonize its master to such a degree? It had challenged him occasionally, but never beyond his ability to dominate. If anything, he had long had the impression that it liked him, in its perverse and parasitic way. At least it had recognized him as its lord, at any rate. After learning the source of the soul that gave his sword power, Kain hadn’t been terribly surprised. This new Kain’s sword sounded like an altogether more puissant blade, one willful enough to frighten the vampire who dared to call himself its master.

A blade not entirely dissimilar to his own now?

Kain drew the sword, instinctively needing to confirm that it was still his. As soon as his fingers wrapped around the hilt, Raziel’s fire coiled up and over his wrist, returning his grip with one just as assured. It would take more than a mere accident to separate the pair of them, he was certain. The only way the sword would ever leave his side was if they were both incapacitated somehow, or, more likely, he stupidly gave it away. The thought made him pause. His brain, refreshed by its recent rest, was more than happy to elaborate on the half considered idea.

What if his fledgling-self had accepted the sword? What if this disgusting future was the result, not of yet another plot by Moebius and his monstrous oracle, but the natural consequence of his own meddling? Trying to predict the branching of the time-stream was a maddening activity. There were simply too many variables. Kain shook his head in denial. The youngster running around out in the wilds was an idiot, but he was still ‘Kain’. He would not throw away a weapon destined for his hand. He would hesitate at first. That was to be expected. But as soon as he saw what a powerful tool it was, surely, he would come to respect the sword as the remarkable creature it was?

Kain hated that even in the silence of his thoughts he couldn’t entirely dismiss his doubts. “What a horrible thing for him to have done.” He spoke at last. “And very ill advised.”

“Was it?” Raziel looked at him, confused by his reaction.

“What is it that makes your blade so harmless, while his was painful to even look upon? I have noted that your blade inspires no ill feelings to those around it. It puzzles me exceedingly.” The knight shook his head at the mystery. “I could barely stand in the same room as it before now. Usually anxiety would take me before half an hour had passed and I would not be able to calm myself until I left its presence.”

Raziel smiled self-effacingly as he rested his elbows on his knees, studying the fire. “No wonder my lord thinks I am weak. None of my brethren are affected so strongly.”

“Nor should they.” Kain grimly replied, grimacing at the unexpected prophesy he had been given. “They have only conventional fears. They do know the meaning of true horror.”

It was wrong. It was all wrong; Raziel’s timidity, the Reaver’s fate, Nosgoth’s false fruitfulness. It was simply another road to defeat. It had to be. He did not doubt that without the Soul Reaver’s full cooperation, there’d be no way of defeating the beast lurking beneath the waters. The Scion’s powers would be hopelessly compromised. No doubt the false god was laughing itself sick, while it orchestrated the fall of the world in some new fashion.

“I was a fool. I thought your future was an ideal.” He ought to have been used to disappointment by now. Kain almost smiled at his own reaction to the unexpected news. Hope was a dangerous commodity, even in small amounts. There had been such potential in the future Raziel had come from, but it was not good enough. Better to fail utterly and know it, than to miss his mark by such a slight – yet critical – margin and pretend all was well. It wouldn’t do. He’d not come this far to settle for such a crippled version of the future. “Now I see it is just another false-start, a dead end. It cannot be the outcome I seek.”

“You think there is a better one?” Raziel blinked at him, as if considering the possibility for the first time. “A future where the Reaver isn’t blighted?”

“There has to be.” Kain folded his fingers over the hilt, rubbing at the Reaver’s skull with gentle claw-tips. “I refuse to allow future where the Reaver is so maligned. Hearing of such a thing disgusts me beyond all measuring.”

“Forgive me.” Raziel looked worried, his wings visibly drooping with his concern. “I didn’t realize how it would upset you.”

Kain looked over sardonically. “Had you known, would you have withheld the truth?” The knight winced.

“Perhaps I would have told it more… circumspectly.” Raziel hedged.

“Lying to protect me from those facts I find distasteful… That is how I am served in the future? I begin to see what sort of man I am.” Kain snarled. “No wonder you turned out so-” He forced himself to stop before he uttered the insult. It was hardly Raziel’s fault he had become spineless over the years. From the sound of it, his master preferred him that way.

The dark haired vampire grimaced just the same as if he had finished the thought, hunched over and studying his hands as they healed. He was supposedly the same age as his own lost-child had been before his death, Kain frowned. The knight seemed much younger than his years and evolution evidenced. His complete lack of self confidence and tendency towards slouching did little dispel the aura of helplessness. This was the creature who had survived an aerial battle with Janos Audron? This was a seasoned warrior of the Empire? It was as if a switch was thrown in the knight’s head, meek as a lamb unless provoked.

Snorting at some private thought, the vampire looked up at him, curious. “What would your Raziel have done in my place?”

“My Raziel?” He paused, genuinely surprised by the question. The knight shared his lieutenant’s face but was so different otherwise that it was hard to draw a correlation. He smiled as he considered the answer. “Sputter a great deal, for a start.”

Kain could easily see his Raziel’s reaction to such a Kain. The so-called Scion wouldn’t have had a moment’s peace. Raziel had been a difficult lieutenant even in good times, headstrong and willful. When he had felt he was wronged? His moods had a habit of infecting half the court within days. A rebellious Raziel usually meant months of unsettled politics amongst the clans.

“If he felt I was doing something stupid, he’d find some way to corner me and make his opinion known without delay. If I still failed to see reason? He’d try again, but louder.” The memory of his lieutenant’s frequent and stubbornly opinionated outbursts over the years was painful in its clarity. Kain shook his head again, dispelling the unwanted reminiscence.

“I suppose that if he had ever truly decided I wasn’t worth the effort of correcting, he would have set himself to overthrowing me. Raziel had little tolerance for cowardice, or laziness, for that matter. If it proved more expedient to kill me than continue an argument, he would have certainly tried. Better, in his mind, to clear the way for the Pillars to appoint a better, or at least saner, Guardian of Balance, than to suffer a fool. I’d have crushed him without hesitation, of course, but such a mundane threat wouldn’t have stopped him from trying.” Kain smiled at the fire, bitterly nostalgic for his old empire.

“He would confront you directly? Challenge your decisions to your face?” Raziel blinked in amazement.

“Frequently. Our fights were somewhat infamous over the years.” Kain couldn’t help but feel depressed about what he had lost. Verbally fencing with his stubborn child had been just as entertaining as physically sparring. Their contests had never been dull, whatever form they had taken on. “I always won, of course, but he never failed to challenge me. To test my resolve.”

How many years had they danced around each other in their elaborately petty games of politics? It had to have been better part of five hundred years, easily. Time had seemed to move much faster then. The shocked silence that had settled over the court after Raziel’s death had been positively stifling by comparison. No wonder he had disbanded the fools shortly after.

His new Raziel digested the information with a disbelieving shake of his head. “I don’t think I could do that.”

“No.” Kain agreed, looking at him regretfully. “No, you are too passionless for such antics.”

Raziel pulled back as if rebuked, and looked away, finding the piles of damp rubble suddenly engrossing. Kain let him digest the critique. He could do little else for the vampire, at least he could tell the man where he stood. If this new lieutenant of his had even the barest ember left of pride or self-determination, maybe the chiding would encourage him to make something of himself. It was a shame to see such potential wasted, even in a future as pathetic as the templar’s seemed to be. Raziel may have avoided being sacrificed to the false-god, but what did it matter if he lived like one dead for an eternity?

“It is not that my Raziel was right, child.” Kain offered, turning back to his work once again. A draft from between two of the larger piles of timber inspired him to direct his efforts in that direction. “Or that your attitude is specifically wrong…”

A forceful tug refused to budge the stubborn trestle. Frustrated, he pressed his hand into the debris and gathered a ball of kinetic energy around his fingers. The ensuing blast was extremely satisfying, especially as it worked wonders to clear a channel to the city beyond. “More, it is a matter of natural inclination verses external pressure. Does dutifully and diligently serving such a Kain as yours give you pleasure? Can you look in the mirror each day and recognize the man gazing back at you? I wonder if you can.”

The vampire behind him said nothing, lost in thought. Kain allowed the man his meditations, working at enlarging the opening he had created with both feet and hands. Kicking out a last stubborn slab of stone, he ducked to investigate the result and was pleased to see his cramped passage was complete. It was crude but there was space enough to wedge himself through. Kain pushed his way out onto the ice-coated street. The air was positively clammy beyond the cozy warmth of their dilapidated shelter. Ice sublimated into a thick fog as the weak sunlight did its best to correct the chaos the storm had wrought.

Cool grey light reflected from all sides. The sky above was leaden, but what light there was seemed to come from everywhere at once. The broken walls and buildings were glazed an inch thick with the residue of the storm. The shattered town had a winter-like aspect despite it being late summer. In the distance he could hear the raucous chatter of crows as the hearty birds circled somewhere in the mist overhead. The faint wailing of a child proved that at least one human was left alive in the ghostly remains of the city. He frowned, having no memory of such a disastrous event in his youth. Truly, it had been a long time ago. If he hadn’t been directly affected by the storm at the time, there was no reason for him to have remembered it. But still something nagged at his conscience. The storm, and the faint tremors that still racked the ground, weren’t part of any history he had ever seen or heard.

Turning to appraise the remains of his particular building, Kain found it pretty much as he expected. The house was just about flat to the ground, weighted down by a heavy layer of icy roof tiles. Even worse, the church adjacent had lost a portion of its roof as well, the additional debris piling on top of his crumpled building and filling the alley between. Kain shook his head at the poor workmanship as he set about widening the entrance to the cellar further. Now that he was able to see the source of the stubborn beams obstructing his tunnel, working to clear a path for the winged vampire still within was considerably easier. Wrapping his arms around a particularly weighty looking timber, he pulled it and the attached portion of roof to the side.

Raziel clattered about on the other side of the problem. Guilt and confusion set aside in favor of seeking freedom from his unwanted sanctuary. Matching his work from the other end of the passage with renewed vigor, the vampire pulled the loose piles of debris from the widening gap, despite the watery risks. Kain let him work unchallenged, not willing to cause further upset to his only ally.

Between the two of them they created a generous path within minutes. Raziel pulled himself out onto the road with an unusually grim expression. Glancing around them a moment, the winged vampire resolutely shook out his grey feathered appendages and launched himself vertically, climbing in the foggy air over the city. Within a few meters, his outline blurred, a dark grey shadow against a leaden grey sky. Kain couldn’t blame the creature for wanting to get back into his element after the stuffy night and morning spent indoors. He just hoped the fool wouldn’t stray far, trying to find him again when the world was gone mad would be a considerable challenge on foot. The sound of the muffled wing beats faded momentarily as the vampire gained altitude, but soon approached again. Raziel returned to circle the remains of the town square where he stood.

“What do you see?” He called up to the winged vampire.

Raziel swooped low over a roof and then caught an invisible upwards current, settling fastidiously on the broken remains of a wall like a brooding gull. His feathers blended in with the grey of the world around them, the brilliant red of his tattered surcoat a surprising burst of color against the monochrome. “Everywhere is ruination, lord.” Raziel kicked some ice away from his perch, sitting on his heels as he raised his head, seeming to scent the wind. “There’s not a building left unmarked, many are completely lost under ice. It promises to be an uncomfortable day for survivors.”

“Wonderful.” Kain sighed, wiping his hands dry on his clan-cape. “First that squid emancipates our young fool, and now the waterways freeze solid in a freak storm. It’s probably too much to hope that the beast was prowling in the shallows and caught in the kill-frost.”

His companion simply waited for him to finish venting, fluffing his wings for warmth against the chilly fog. There would be no useful advice forthcoming from that corner. Kain sighed, sorely wishing for a moment that he could trade lieutenants, sword for man. Perhaps his Raziel would have some inkling of where to look for his idiotic alter ego.

Closing his eyes, he tried to communicate his lack of inspiration to the Reaver blade resting against his shoulder. A burst of warmth flowed over him as the spirit within became aware of his predicament. Temporarily amused by his silent companion’s ability to handle his mundane wants as well as his more bloodthirsty ones, Kain enjoyed the respite from the fog.

/Where would the beast hide our little runaway?/ He let the question rest in his conscious mind, feeling Raziel’s faint curiosity. /We caved in the chamber beneath the Citadel, somewhere else? The Lake? /

The sword grasped his need with little prompting. For a moment he felt its preoccupation, and then tasted the sharp tang of bitter certainty. Flickers of images, memories, poured into his waiting mind, wooded valleys, swampy ravines, a portal into the earth, a passage in the darkness leading to a subterranean chamber filled with frescos… Beneath the Pillars? Kain opened his eyes, aghast at what he had seen.

The false god’s tentacles had coiled around the shattered stubs of the monument where they pierced the ceiling. Portions of their broken length were left protruding from the floor as they continued their decent, who knew how far down. The possessive way that the green-brown limbs had clung to the fractured Pillars gave him chills, as if somehow it was the beast’s handiwork, and not his own arrogance that had been responsible for the cataclysm.

Almost two thousand years he had sat as Emperor at the foot of the Pillars. Two millennia, and all that time, the chatty squid had been no further away than the length of his arm? Lurking beneath his throne like the proverbial rat in the pantry? To think he had been disgusted only a day ago by the idea of it prowling the lake beyond his front door. It had been squatting beneath him the whole time. It was a wonder he hadn’t heard it laughing! Why had they never dug down beneath the throne room? He couldn’t help but project his outrage to Raziel as he reeled from the shock. How had he never realized that the solid foundation he had thought to build upon was actually nothing more than a veneer over something truly pestilent?

Even if you had looked. You wouldn’t have found it.

The sword shivered, sharing his disgust. Kain winced, knowing Raziel spoke the truth. He had stood not twenty feet from it at the base of the Citadel when he had the satisfaction of killing Moebius for the last time, and he had no idea that he had not been alone. Not until Raziel’s sacrifice had lifted the fog from his eyes. How was such a monster to be fought, if he was truly the only one who could see it? He pushed away the despairing thought in favor of ones more productive.

The circular platform Raziel’s memories had shown him was a copy of the one above ground, except surrounded on all sides by water. A subterranean river, or lake, or both, flowed around and under the Pillar’s second shrine, a column of water sinking deep into the earth, side passages leading both to the lakes of the east-country, and deep into Vorador’s swamp. There, of course, would be an ideal place to store a vampire safe and dry, while awaiting the perfect moment to strike.

/Clever, child. I agree completely. / He complimented the Reaver, happier than ever that the blade was with him and not the fledgling.

There might be no easy way down to the hidden vestibule from the Pillars themselves, but the entrance his Raziel had used to the subterranean passage seemed to still be accessible. Kain matched Raziel’s memories against his own, and made an educated guess. “We’re heading back south, to the Great Swamp. I think it’s time that we were reunited with our wayward Kain.”

“As you say, lord.” Raziel nodded, launching himself into the air and circling expectantly. Kain frowned at the dispassionate acceptance of his orders from the templar, so different from his earlier grousing. Clearly he had struck a nerve with his critique. He hoped the poor fool wouldn’t take it overly to heart. The last thing he needed right now was for his only useful ally to have a crisis of faith.

“Follow me to the old-shrine at the southern edge of the forest.” He instructed, willing to give the boy his space for the moment. “We’ll walk in from there.”

Leading the way as a cloud of bats, Kain saw for himself the ruined expanse of countryside. Everything north of Nachtholm was smashed flat. Acres of woodland were little better than kindling. The trees, heavy with their summer canopy, hadn’t stood a chance against both wind and hail. The scattered farms and villages looked in equally bad shape. There was little he could do for the poor fools on the ground now. Perhaps if the Pillars were restored, some reparation might be made. Focusing his energy on the flight, he swarmed south past the battered landscape and into the wet wilderness beyond the storm’s reach.

-- -- --

The air of Vorador’s chosen hermitage was necessarily fetid with the dank smell of fermentation and rot. It required a particularly generous frame of mind for anyone to call the swamp lovely. Kain had never quite developed the necessary level of denial to agree with Vorador’s congenial assessment of the place. It was possibly the most miserable, inhospitable bit of scenery in the whole of Nosgoth, Meridian’s infamous sewers included. When the landscape itself wasn’t trying to kill a man, the sundry wildlife that lurked within it was more than up to the task. Certainly, even the Saraphan had suffered mightily in investigating the place, but then, so did everyone.

Massive trees crowded the valley, made more massive by a thousand creeping vines and mosses. Their towering branches blocked almost all daylight from the marshy floor of the forest. The lowest level was muddy at best, and treacherous sucking bogs at worst. Kain navigated from hillock to boulder to broken pillar by the simple expedient of jumping. Raziel floated ghostlike after him in the half light of the swamp. Wing beats softened by the humid air. Giving his blade a mental nudge, Kain followed its subliminal cues, navigating down one wet path and then another, veering sharply east when the dry high-ground that led to Vorador’s keep became visible.

The place was unspeakably dreary. No wonder the old vampire had become so sour over the long years of his self-inflicted exile. Kain paused at a particularly tall bit of masonry, choosing to climb it and get his bearings before following the Reaver’s goading deeper into the trees. Despite familiarity with the area, something in the dense vegetation was making his neck itch. He surveyed the shadows between the trees as Raziel landed softly beside him, unable to see anything amiss.

“Kain?” His lieutenant also turned, considering the forest.

“Something is following us.” He explained calmly. “But I do not know what.”

“Nor I.” Raziel flexed his claws. “But I feel it too. The swamp is strangely quiet.”

The boy was entirely correct, Kain realized. Rather than the low level chaos of animal noises he usually accustomed with the thick vegetation, the place was as peaceful; as a chapel. He listened keenly to the hush, trying to determine than nature of the threat. The freakish weather couldn’t be the sole cause. The storm had blown off hours ago, and had spared the region any particular damage. If anything, the beasts ought to have been more active than usual as they re-emerged from their hiding places. Instead the whole of the valley felt poised, waiting. Kain hissed softly, annoyed at the sense of anticipation.

A faint rattle caught his attention. The sound, like the chattering of ancient jawbones, was echoed first left, then right, then in a growing chorus on all sides. Kain frowned, unable to place the haunting sound. Something in it tickled his memory, but he couldn’t remember where he had heard it before. Perhaps it was some fragment of Raziel’s consciousness that he had absorbed in communing with the sword, and not his own recollection at all? He didn’t think they were quite that badly entwined yet. But it was a possibility. The dry clatter of teeth died away with the shift in the wind, almost convincing him that it was a natural phenomena. Kain stared into the trees and waited. Patience was rewarded by another guilty sounding rattle, closer than before. Just as one faded, another one sounded, the phantom noise seeming to close in on them one yard at a time. Raziel hissed softly at his side, drawing his sword as he too hunted the source of the oddity.

Strangely it was the smell that gave them away. The faint overtone of brimstone, and the vanilla-sweet tang of corpse-rot mixed with the acidic scent Kain had come to attribute to the Hylden’s unique brand of magic. The walls between dimensions had grown thin, he concluded. Too thin to hold against a concerted effort.

Hylden.

The Soul Reaver’s pulse of information was almost clinical as he slowly pulled it loose from its scabbard. The sword no more surprised than he was in regards to their latest challengers. He admired the cool white flames as they languorously traveled the length of the blade and caressed his wrist. If his sword was unconcerned by their impending fight, he was hardly about to worry.

/ How will they come? / Kain projected the thought, curious to see what his child could tell him.

The translucent flames of the weapon in his hand flickered with traces of blue. He blinked as the world around him twisted and changed.

Astral Plane, he felt the answer even as he stared, astounded. At his feet, stretching off into the distance, were hundreds of ghostly beacons of light, some clumped together into large vortexes, others scattered everywhere across the boggy landscape. Strange misshapen creatures scrabbled and ran along the ground beneath his perch, hooting sorrowfully, falling on one another in acts of random violence. They loped around the bases of the trees seemingly oblivious to his curious stare, while above him even stranger beings floated and chased each other effortlessly in the misty air.

Curious, Kain turned to look at the vampire standing behind him. But where Raziel should have been, was only a faint shadow, the vampire was as transparent as a soap bubble in the air, frozen in time between one moment and the next. Looking down at his own hands, he found he was equally shadow-like, his movements languid against the heavy-feeling air. Clearly the living had no business existing in this place, but the Soul Reaver burned as brightly as ever in his hand, its fire all the more real in the dreamlike realm. The blade flickered at him as if impatient with his distraction. Portals, Kain. See the shadows?

His eye was drawn to a different sort of movement on the floor of the swamp. Even in this realm of ghosts, it seemed there was yet another level, deeper still. For there were wraiths amongst the solid-seeming creatures of the world, green-tinted clouds of darkness emerging from all sides and skittering towards the various fonts of light energy littering the valley floor.

Death leaves a passage for the spirit. The knowledge flowed silently upwards from the sword to his subconscious. He’d have mistaken the revelation for his own, if not for the uniquely Raziel-like tang of irony. Kain watched, impressed, as one shadow after another was absorbed into the vortices.

“Kain! Revenants!” Raziel, the new one, sounded like he was miles away. Kain blinked and shook his head, remembering that what he was looking at was no hypothetical exercise. The Soul Reaver understood his desire even as he wondered how to break free of the enchanted vision. The world twisted slightly as reality reasserted itself, leaving him once again in the plane he was most familiar with. “Kain?! What has possessed you?”

“I’m fine.” He rolled his shoulders, dismissing his lieutenant’s anxiety. Eyes automatically seeking out the space where the shadows had fled, he was impressed to see that there was a visible result. All around them, corpses of the long-dead unlucky were pushing themselves free of the mud and loam. Skins tanned brown by their long soak in the peat, or missing altogether from where the maggots had worked, the formerly human bodies crawled from their resting places and slowly gained their feet. Looking up at their observation tower with hungry eyes, the corpses crouched and stared hungrily. Green auras burned brightly in the empty eye-sockets as the Hylden navigated their crude substitute-bodies, unable, or unwilling to confront him directly.

“Fascinating.” He remarked to himself.

“With all due respect lord, there are better times to meditate.” Raziel scolded, studying him with a worried look. “It was as if you didn’t even hear me.”

“I was studying our visitors’ means of arrival.” Kain mused, still intrigued by the layers unseen in their world. It occurred to him that his Raziel, being neither dead nor alive, had probably been able to see both layers at once, for some time. It explained several of his more esoteric feats in defeating his brothers, if nothing else. What marvels had the boy witnessed in the intangible realm? What monsters? He frowned, considering the effort it would require for the sword to share those nuances with him now. “It was most educational.”

“Perhaps you can study it further, after the threat has passed?” The vampire offered, ducking a bolt of green energy thrown from the crowd gathering below. “Revenants are a modest nuisance, it is true. But in such numbers as these, it is best not to be distracted. Even low-level fiends like these can be dangerous if opportunity is given.”

“Do not imagine, Raziel; that I need instruction from you on how to fight.” Kain raised an eyebrow at his lieutenant, wondering if he was being serious. “I am not without some experience in these matters.”

“I-” The vampire flinched and bowed his head. “I meant no disrespect.”

Kain reached out and caught the vampire by the collar, yanking the man out of the way of another angry spattering of glyph energy. Raziel hadn’t noticed he was in the new line of fire; too busy being cowed to give due consideration to the enemy. Crouching next to him on the plinth Kain hissed his annoyance. The urge to cuff him upside the head the way he had often done in the past was ignorable for the moment. The last thing he wanted was another demonstration of cringing from the vampire. It was bad enough to witness it when unintentional. Kain settled for shaking the man gently by the collar before letting go. “Enough child. I was absent-minded, you corrected me. You were overzealous, I corrected you. Now, let’s clear this rabble and get on with our afternoon?”

“At once, Kain.” Raziel blinked, expression shifting from fearful to eager with characteristic quickness. Timing himself to fall between glyph blasts, he launched himself into the air, rapidly gaining height until he was out of reach of the longer-range attacks. Kain made ready his own offensive by the simple expedient of stepping off of the side of the shattered watch-tower, landing in the midst of a muttering crowd of corpses before they could react.

“Time to die.” He advised them calmly, swinging the Soul Reaver around in a tight arc. The first two fiends the blade came in contact with seemed to explode inwards as their souls were pulled irresistibly into the sword’s fire. Their brittle screams were akin to the dry coughing cries of ravens as they dissolved. The next several emaciated bodies in the path of his sword were maimed in more conventional ways, green ichors and the odd limb falling to the ground as the blade chewed through papery flesh and dusty bone.

Driving the Soul Reaver down into the twitching body of the corpse closest to his feet, he felt the blade’s hum of contentment as it fed on the alien essence. Human, vampire or Hylden, it seemed to be much the same to his former-lieutenant. Kain wondered if the blade could even tell the difference, or if they were all the same, at some fundamental level. Did it matter, the origin of the spirit? It would make an interesting topic of enquiry for some philosopher, some day. He would have to remember to set some energetic young fledgling to work on the question if he lived long enough to care.

Kain turned to tackle the next wave of annoyances when a sudden gust heralded the return of his absent lieutenant. The winged vampire dropped like a stone from the shadowy canopy above, wings tucked tight against his back as he dove talons-first, into the center of another clump of animated corpses. The Hylden hissed and wailed as he threw them against one another, beheading and bisecting several with quick strokes of his blade. Pleased with the easy competence with which the knight moved Kain was forced again to wonder what it was about the vampire that his alternate-self so despised. To choose Dumah, of all creatures, over this one? It made no sense. He would as soon dismiss the choicest of drink in favor of attempting to consume a fistful of mud.

Raziel fought on, unaware of his admiration, buffeting two creatures that sought to best him from behind with his massive wings, twisting around to snap another litch’s neck with his free hand. Standing in a decimated circle of groaning corpses, the knight studied the ground beneath him with an annoyed expression. Tucking his wings in close, gave up any further fight in favor of catching his breath.

Kain called down lightening on a fresh swarm cresting the hillside. “Raziel?” He reminded the knight that the fight was still ongoing.

“I am aware.” The vampire replied grimly.

Arms and heads erupted from the soft loam all around the templar’s feet as a new batch of Hylden found their way through the gates between realities. For every one litch Kain fed to the Reaver, it seemed four more were crawing free of the muck around Raziel.

Their chattering whispers were unintelligible, sounding like the clicking of a horde of desiccated locusts.

Still Raziel stood, wings ruffling slightly as he glared at his stalkers, seeming to dare them to come closer. Kain cursed his lieutenant, wondering what earth the vampire was thinking. Weak they were, but only a fool fought twenty at once. One was bound to get a lucky hit. Determined to get to his ally’s side before the boy was entirely swamped by the maddened pit-spawn, he carved his way through a particularly ugly example of false-resurrection. The corpse attempting to stop him was practically faceless, the teeth marks of some long-ago animal marring the exposed skull bones. The Reaver sheered through the twisted corpse like it was mere straw and air.

Pushing forward, Kain beat off a dog pile’s worth of idiotic corpses, still no nearer to his found-child than before. For an instant he caught a glimpse of red and silver, the vampire almost entirely hidden by the churning mass of creatures surrounding him. Raising his sword to call down some sort of defensive around his lieutenant, he was nearly blown backwards when a clap of explosive heat swept across the marsh. He raised a hand to ward the blistering heat off his face, recognizing Raziel’s fire summon, this time at closer quarters than before. The mass of Hylden caught within the first several meters of the blast vaporized with cries of despair.

Kain felt the Reaver flicker with magic as it responded to the sudden powerful heat radiating off his ally. The itch of the scorching air on his knuckles immediately subsided to a vague sensation of warmth as the sword’s aura wrapped him in a protective cocoon. Their enemies had no such defense. Holding the flames in close to his body, Raziel simply paced forward, aura burning hotter with each passing moment until it was an almost-blue nimbus. The air itself burned on contact with his magic. His sword glowed cherry red with the heat of his elemental affinity. Raziel himself was apparently unhampered by his summon; moving easily as he struck some of the stronger Hylden back and down, setting them alight.

Glancing between burning sword, and flame-wreathed knight, Kain shook his head at the shared theme. Man and blade were truly one and the same. As powerful as the trick was in dispatching the wretched creatures they fought, the vampire ran a serious risk of torching the entire swamp if he wasn’t careful. Using his own magic, Kain called down lightening on the tail end of the mob, driving them forward into Raziel’s fire, or scurrying distractedly into his own blade’s path. Between two fates equally terrible, the Hylden’s nerve soon broke. Several of the corpses simply dissolved of their own will as their spirits retreated to the safety of the underworld, the rest were soon dispatched.

Just as suddenly as the winged vampire’s fire had begun, it was quelled. Raziel lifted a hand and clenched his fingers into a fist, seeming to draw his flames into him with a mental command. The clear mastery of the element was enough to make him grin. Man, swamp, and smoldering prey were simultaneously extinguished with an audible hiss. The smell of scorched earth hung in the air, but no further combustion seemed to be in the offing. Kain sighed in relief, not wanting to inflict further injury on Vorador’s not-so-distant home than Moebius’ thugs had already done. There was every chance the old fool would be back here sooner than later, if Janos cooperated. He didn’t want to be the one to explain to the old vampire exactly how it came to pass that his mansion was just so much charred cinder.

Control of elemental fire was a rare and dangerous talent for a vampire to have. But to also be able to extinguish it just as easily? That was a knack that ought to have proved truly priceless.

If nothing else, it was a trick that he himself was unable to duplicate, certainly one he’d never seen his Raziel accomplish. This Raziel had made the summon, and the subsequent dismissal, appear childishly simple. Perhaps that was what had disturbed his Kain so in the distant future? A vampire who could not only unleash an elemental catastrophe, but steer and subdue it at will…? Certainly, handling such a subordinate would require some care, but it wouldn’t be outside the realm of the possible. Especially not when the vampire in question was a biddable as this Raziel was.

“So, your control works both ways. That is indeed a rare talent.” Kain voiced his approval mildly. Unable to let such a feat go uncommented upon, but not wanting to praise too highly. He forced himself to appear disinterested as he scanned the area for fresh prey.

Raziel opened his fingers, releasing a curl of smoke into the air, before turning to him with a hesitant smile. “If you say it is, it must be.”

“A troublesome skill to use, when your allies are as flammable as your enemies, I imagine.” Kain sheathed his blade with a snort of amusement.

The vampire looked at him with sudden alarm. “You were-”

“Unharmed.” He brushed some of the blown cinder off his gauntlets. “Do not fear on my account.”

“You are invincible.” Raziel agreed softly, flipping his wings and planting his sword in the baked mud to adjust his armor. “I confess, I had rather thought you would be, or I should not have risked the magic. The fiends seemed disagreeably determined to return to life when dispatched by blade alone. They were not so keen a second time.”

“As they were dead to begin with, I suppose decapitation wasn’t a severe handicap for them.” Kain snorted softly again. “A pathetic fight. Truly. What could they have hoped to achieve?”

“A delay perhaps?” Raziel tilted his head and considered their surroundings. “Or perhaps a goad, to test our resolve?”

“My resolve, they cannot possibly question.” Kain grimaced. “But they are now in no doubt of your strength. They won’t underestimate you so badly next time.”

“You were not surprised.” The vampire flipped his wings again, belting his sword.

“No.”

The dark haired man smiled at the simple answer, “I suppose not. If your Raziel was at all like you described, my poor magics must seem mere child’s play by comparison.”

Kain shrugged, kicking one likely looking corpse before spying a twitching creature behind a boulder caught his attention. He moved to put it out of its misery. “I would not say that. You are different, in that sense, than he, but that does not automatically define you as weaker.”

“Tell me of your Raziel.” The winged vampire rubbed the blood away from his jaw where a fiend had nicked him. Following him as he sunk his claws into the last remaining Hylden, his lieutenant questioned him cautiously. “Was he anything like me?”

“In appearance, certainly.” Kain conceded, snapping the spine of a survivor with a methodical wrench. He cast the corpse into the deeper water of the bog, letting nature take its course. “Personality-wise? I don’t think the two of you would have gotten along.”

“He would have thought me useless.” Raziel frowned at his own failing.

“He was a firm believer in self-determination.” Kain mused. “Strength of spirit, more so than of arm. Although it could be said he had both in full measure. He would have found your patient tolerance of the intolerable… boring.”

Raziel seemed to meditate on that a moment, studying the woods around them. Mouth twisting into a resigned grimace he shrugged, and leapt into the air, letting his wings carry him upwards. Catching the humid breeze, the vampire drifted in a lazy circle over their scorched little clearing before gliding slightly ahead along the route they had been traveling. Circling again over the next dry patch of land, he waited for Kain to catch up before asking his next question.

“Was he your favorite?”

Kain looked up at where the vampire hung effortlessly above him, wondering if the creature had ego enough to be jealous of his alternate-self. The question sounded innocent enough, but he recognized something familiar, testing, in the too-disinterested tone.

“Yes.” He answered; grimly curious to see where the boy was going with his idle interrogation.

Raziel swept sideways between the towering trunks of two particularly impressive trees, weaving over and around the mossy drapes before banking sharply and settling on one to wait for him. Sharp claws on his fingers and toes bit easily into the thick bark of the ancient tree, allowing him to easily hang on despite the vertical surface. The dark haired knight rested against the mossy surface in calm defiance of gravity. Clinging to the trunk like some sort of arboreal fiend, the vampire looked down at him with predatory yellow eyes. For a moment, Kain could easily see the duality in the man. Something terribly lonely, almost feral, was just beneath the surface of the vampire’s subservient veneer. As hungry for information as he was for praise, Raziel would not, perhaps could not, help himself but to ask of his alter-ego’s nature. “Why?”

Both drawn by the familiar spark of obstinate determination – so painfully missing from the man until now – and alarmed by the realization that he was responsible for the vampire’s partial awaking of the spirit; Kain considered his answer carefully, using the treacherous swamplands between them as an excuse to hold his tongue until he drew abreast with his companion.

“Raziel was… special…” Kain looked upwards and matched the vampire’s stare for a moment before finding the dank forest a safer place to rest his eyes. He did not find the absolute focus in the creature’s stare any more comfortable than ever he had enjoyed similar looks from his own lieutenant. There had always an undertone of being measured, in his favorite’s captivated silence that was worrying. Strange to find it still was able to get under his skin after all this time.

The trend of the Reaver’s tugs carried him to higher ground away from the fetid sludge of the valley floor. The path curled up and over a grassy hillside. Passing under and around his companion’s perch, he could feel the vibration of tightly repressed energy seething beneath the vampire’s silent looks. The winged-vampire felt much like Raziel, his Raziel had in the beginning, all boundless energy, grace, and wild fanaticism. What a joy it had been to watch him fight once again, irregardless of the fact that this one belonged to a different Kain entirely. He shook his head and dismissed the idle urge to reach up and ruffle the vampire’s hair as he moved past.

“He was interesting.” He suddenly wanted to explain to the boy what it was that had so impressed him with his own Raziel. But the words caught in his throat. How could he possibly synopsize in a few sentences a man whom had served, fought, and then gambled everything on him? There were no pat poetic expressions he could utter that could encompass even a fraction of his rarity. In all the world there had been only one Raziel. No one else had ever come close. Only one vampire had dared to be so insufferable, invaluable, incalculable, and in the end, integral to his very existence.

Kain shook his head again and looked forward towards an odd little dead-end of a clearing at the end of the trail. A blank wall of stone stood nestled between the trees. With the Reaver’s help he could easily perceive the ancient illusion. Beneath the wavering false-surface, lay an ornately carved door; a secret passage for one with the appropriate key. The ancient, posing with arms and wings outstretched, seemed to be gazing down at him with world-weary candor. It too reminded him of what he had lost.

“None of my other children were ever interesting.” He finished his thought absently, stepping forwards towards his goal.

“That’s an impressive carving.” Raziel overlooked his woolgathering, distracted by their destination. The vampire launched off of his perch against the tree to sail past him, landing in a crouch at the base of the wall. “An ancient? They are usually portrayed as blue, are they not?”

“They are indeed.” Kain paused, realizing that the boy could see as he did, unaided. “You can see the mural?”

“Yes, Kain.” Raziel turned to him, surprised he had asked.

The vampire’s calm acceptance of the hidden shrine made Kain think back. “You saw the Elder God as well. At the lake.”

“Very clearly.” His lieutenant made a face. “Shouldn’t I have?”

“I don’t know.” Kain mused. “But no one else, save I… and Raziel, ever have.”

“But I am also Raziel, am I not?” The handsome man tilted his head, smiling at the paradox. “Why should it surprise you?”

“I don’t know.” Kain felt there was something obvious he was missing, but the mystery refused to become clearer. Staring at their destination, he got an inkling of an idea. “Do me a courtesy, child. Place your hand on the Reaver emblem on the door?”

“Will it hurt?” Raziel raised an eyebrow, considering the painted symbol on the stone.

Kain shook his head. “Unlikely.” Standing back, he watched the vampire approach the ancient portal, studying it curiously before reaching out to place his hand on the markings matching a handprint at the center of the door. The form may not have been as proscribed, but the soul as a good a match as any. Dust and lichens scattered as the stone slabs gave way with an occult chime, rumbling back into the hillside to reveal the hall beyond.

A colonnade lined the dark passage. The twin ranks of massive pillars faded deep into the earth leading the eye downwards into a subterranean temple. Ancient carvings in the polished floor demonstrated the age of the construction, despite its pristine appearance. Small fires burned in braziers close to the ceiling at regular intervals, their source, and means of staying lit, unclear. If Janos had been with them, undoubtedly he would have explanations enough for any historian. Kain wondered what in particular the ancient would have made of his companion. Had Janos even realized, possessed as he was, who exactly he had been fighting? It was an interesting question. One he doubted he’d get the chance to ask.

“Interesting.” Kain critiqued, finding his new Raziel a better match for his old one than he could have hoped.

“It seems attuned to vampires, lord.” Raziel shrugged.

“No.” Kain disagreed. “Just to you, I think.”

His ally stared openly as he walked past, studying first his hand, and then the doorway, as he was left behind.

“Do try to keep up, Raziel.” Kain turned back, realizing he was alone in his progress. The dark haired vampire blinked and hurried after him, turning himself, when the doors swung silently closed again as soon as he cleared their circumference. “Very interesting.” He murmured, amused by the demonstration.

“What does it mean?” His replacement child looked at him with a frown. “How is it this shrine is aware of me? Surely it would be you that was meant to find it, you knew just where to look!”

“Only because I was told.” Kain lead the way further in and down, following the sloping corridor deeper in to the shrine. The regularly placed lights flickered in the darkness, providing crude illumination between the columns. “Raziel knew of this place.”

“How?” The handsome vampire trailed after him, as full of questions as ever his predecessor was.

“Probably because he was meant to.” Kain turned a corner, only to find himself nose-to-shadow with a floating wraith.

Similar in nature to the annoyances that had plagued him in Moebius’ fortress and later at the citadel, it seemed little more than an inky black cloud with a fistful of light where its heart ought to have been. The creature lashed out at him with a ball of green fire, alerting a swarm of others with a whistling bark. Within a breath, the entire swath or corridor was blanketed in darkness, the hovering clouds emerging from all surfaces around them, growing spindly arms and spectral talons as they closed in.

The small ones had only one heart to their names, and were weaklings barely worth the trouble when taken singly. The larger shadows were the greater concern, he spotted several with not one, but three heart-sized balls of light shining in their chests. Concentrating on those, Kain drew his blade, letting the Reaver’s fire warn them of their impending doom.

It was an ugly skirmish. Incorporeal though they were, their claws cut at him in several small but annoying ways. His sword did a far better job of injuring them then they could ever hope to repay, however. He took the opportunity to vent some frustration. Smashing the Reaver repeatedly into the last of the stubborn three-hearted phantoms and smiling as it disintegrated silently. Turning, Kain prepared to finish mopping up, only to find the rest of his prey long gone. Raziel stood behind him, guarding his flank, sword dangling loosely from his fingers as he snarled at the darkness. Apparently the knight had frustrations of his own to vent, exhibiting more personality in the annoyed twist of his lips than he had so far in their acquaintance.

Catching his eye, Kain found himself troubled by the change. His conscience whispering that maybe he’d have been better off leaving well enough alone. What possible use could rousing and turning this Raziel against his lord serve? The boy had been content enough with his lot in life, before he had interfered.

A particularly ugly thought drifted up from his subconscious. He was the better Kain. That was why. Why shouldn’t he want this Raziel for himself? Clearly his alter-ego in the future had no use for the knight. This handsome, winged, powerful, well spoken vampire would do very well as a replacement for the one he had lost, wouldn’t he?

Something in Raziel’s eyes seemed to promise that it would take very little to sway the knight into feeling as deep a devotion to him as ever his old one had. Kain pursed his lips, remembering all too easily how a different Raziel had once looked at him with such zealous passion. How pleasant it would be, to feel the warmth of such regard again, after so much time alone.

“What happened to him? Your Raziel?” Seeming to read his thoughts, the dark haired vampire paced closer, feeling the unconscious pull as well as he did.

For a moment Kain was willing to allow it, wanting with cruel intensity what he had thrown away so long ago. Only the shiver of the Reaver against his back kept him from reaching out to accept the implied invitation. He forced himself to remember where and when he was, grounding himself in the present.

“You speak of him in the past tense. I assume he is dead?” The vampire’s question provided the necessary burst of guilt needed to bring him to his senses.

“Yes.” Kain crushed his lingering impulse to subvert his only-temporary lieutenant into a more permanent role with the memory of exactly how badly he had used his last Raziel. Glaring at the empty corridor, he could not meet the man’s gaze, furious at himself for forgetting, even for an instant, the debt he owed.

If the sword had supposed for an instant he was tempted to forget about it in favor of another, more pliant version, it would undoubtedly make its displeasure known in a myriad of ugly ways. To claim a second copy of the remarkable vampire for himself was both greedy, and stupid. There were paradoxes enough in this timeline without his adding to the chaos. He resolved to send the knight back as soon as Kain was found, before he did something absurdly foolish. “Yes. He died.”

“How?” Raziel simply stalked around him until he was compelled to meet the templar’s stare again, unwilling to let him look away.

“Turel and Dumah.” Kain felt the empty space where his heart ought to have been twisting in on itself with the half-lie. To tell the vampire the truth however would result in a fiendishly complicated explanation, and most likely, the loss of a valuable ally in his fight to correct the time-stream. The truth was something he could ill afford. “They thought without him in the way, they would be elevated. They were wrong.”

“Did you kill them?” Raziel’s eyes burned in the dim darkness of the corridor.

Kain rubbed his face, knowing that they were wasting time, but feeling how tenuous the vampire’s grip on control was. Like a starving fledgling chained just out of reach of blood, the boy had been kept leashed by his own self-doubt for far too long. In giving the Raziel the validation he had always been refused, Kain had opened the door to a lifetime of repressed passion. Either he would check the knight now, and direct his energy in a useful direction, or the man would probably be driven mad by the realization that the Scion he had dedicated his entirely thwarted life to was not at all worthy of his self-sacrifice.

“There was no need.” He sighed. “They died. All of them. A long time ago. Raziel was merely the first amongst ten thousand vampires to fall.”

That at least got the boy’s attention. Raziel drew back as if stung, expression relaxing from something uncanny to his usual hesitance as he responded instinctively to the regret that Kain allowed his voice to carry. Another step backwards and the lieutenant seemed to fold up into himself; a fire banked, if only for the moment. “I- I am sorry.”

“It’s nothing.” Kain pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache forming.

Yet again he was the author of a Raziel’s damnation, if only in a round-about way. Never again would the boy be able to passively agree to the abuse his master inflicted on him when returned home. God only knew what future lay in store for a vampire who refused to bend-neck to the insufferable jackass of the Kain that dwelled in that world. Likely it was nothing good. And yet he had to go back. There was no other way. For the vampire to stay in the past was a sheer impossibility.

He rubbed his face, feelings confused by a growing sense of kinship with his new Raziel. Kain hadn’t intended to grow so attached. A sign of extreme age perhaps, he had grown overly sentimental. Forcing the useless speculation aside, he turned from the conversation, letting the slope of the hall guide him lower. “Come. We are nearly at our goal.”