Necromancer
folder
+G through L › Legacy of Kain
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,528
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+G through L › Legacy of Kain
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,528
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Legacy of Kain, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Necromancer
************
Necromancer
************
Author: suspect501
Rating: NC-17 Necrophilia, I do believe.
Pairing: Kain and.. er.. Raziel?
Note: My very very first LOK fic! O_o I've only ever played SR2 and Defiance, so please bear with whatever inconsistencies crop up. (I err. Watched the SR1 opening? If it helps? T_T) I WILL play the other games soon though. As soon as I can coerce my friends into lending them to me...
-----------------------------------------------------
The wall of the crypt shuddered and cracked. Crumbs of plaster and dust tumbled off the white marble. Moments later, the wall caved in with a resounding thud.
Through its shattered remnants stepped Kain. He had a noble, dignified bearing, but this did not extend eingeing benevolent for his eyes had a peculiar, reptilian glaze that spoke of his ill purpose.
Inside the crypt were six sarcophagi, spread in a sunburst pattern and each bearing a stone likeness of their owners. Kain smiled to see the holy reverence given to these dead sarafan priests. There had been no greater honor bestowed on them in life; only death seemed to glorify their 'heroic' crusades.
Slaughter. Their fevered massacres had cut down so many, *too many* of his children. Well, the punishment should only fit the crime.
He approached the northern most sarcophagus, marveling sardonically at the craftsmanship on it. For a land that could barely feed itself, it certainly produced a multitude of talented artisans for the very rich or the remotely divine. The effigy was that of a fearsome warrior, be-decked from head to toe in vainglorious armor. Impractical shoulder pads meant to personify the wings of a phoenix and an inscrutable helm should have made him laugh. Instead, he gave the slab, a quick, hard shove and smashed the ostentatious masonry to pieces. What he desired lay within.
The weak light revealed something that very nearly took his breath away. There had to be some gross mistake. The contents of the sarcophagus could not have been more different than the outside. The garish armor was not present on the corpse. It wore only a simple, sashed robe of plain white linen. Where there had been a mask slitted in blood fury, there was a smooth, youthful face of astonishing beauty reposed as if in sleep. The overall effect was not so much a priest or a warrior, but that of a cold, marble saint.
He touched the cheek of the corpse with a taloned hand, pleased that the embalmers had preserved the body down to the softness of its skin. The body was not well built, but it must have taken down many opponents within its lifetime. Thin crisscrossings of scars traced a roadmap of hardship in the arms and neck. Its hair was spread on a stone pillow and wonderfully silken to the touch. Kain found it beyond his imagining why such loveliness would commit itself to the priesthood's strict rules of celibacy.
Thickly muscled arms moved to embrace the doll-like perfection with tenderness bordering on intimacy. He almost sympathized with the worship applied to these beings, if all of them were as alluring as this one. Lifting up the cold, dead flesh and placing it on a stone altar ahead, he noted the named inscribed at the foot of the stone box. He bent close to its ear and breathed one word softly.
"Raziel."
The corpse seemed to stir. Surely the beguilingly long eyelashes fluttered in recognition?
"Raziel," he called again, this time drawing back his upper lip elegantly to reveal his monstrous teeth, each with the keenness of well-kept daggers. A thin stream of green mist issued from his mouth and snaked it's was into the corpse’s. Its chest heaved like a half-drowned man, but its eyes remained shuttered.
The scent that rose from the body was unnaturally sweet and chemically noxious. He wondered how many had mourned the loss of this one, that they used such fine preservatives. He would see more of the embalmer's art and with that thought, he tore the white fabric clean down the middle. Had this creature been alive, it would have shuddered at the sepulchral air that struck its exposed body.
The vampire felt himself stiffen at the carnality of the sarafan priest, served up on an altar like some obscene offering, arms and legs haphazardly spread in a decidedly wanton fashion. It amused Kain further to see that its brotherhood had removed all the hair from its underarms, legs and nether parts as if they were sending off a young whore to her first customer. He supposed it served to enhance its holiness by making it more of an object, a relic rather than something that was once human.
To defile a relic. How chillingly exciting.
He climbed atop the altar like a great predatorial cat ready to feast on its fallen prey. Giving in to the blood thirst he had been holding back, his teeth first piercing the delectable column of its neck. The rush of blood was full of ether and other chemicals used to protect the body, but it didn't matter. His own immortal flesh would separate that away from the rich blood of the corpse. Briefly he leaned upwards to kiss the perfectly arched lips and to breathe the strange green mist into them. He left traces of it own blood there like petals of an artfully blooming rose.
Its fingers twitched, and its lungs struggled to fill with air. A hollow rasp from a voice unused for weeks escaped from its mouth.
Kain unbuckled the straps on his breeches quickly to unleash his lust. It was then only a matter of flipping the body over and grasping its hips with his talons. He paid no heed to the damage caused to the dead, fragile flesh, sparing only a contemptuous look at the carven, pious angels looming in relief before them. The first thrust was violent, like all the hatred for the sarafan sharpened to a fine point and impaled into that unresisting body. The body moaned, barely alive, it's dark hair mussed around its too white face. Its knuckles clenched but it did no more in protest.
He relished that feeling of cold tightness around him. This was unsullied meat of the highest order. No other had touched it like he did now. Not in life had it experienced such brutal violation. He left more trails of destruction along the scarred skin, heavy bite marks near the base of its back where wings might have sprouted in a pantomime of divine rescue.
The sarafan's entrance grew slick with dark, near black blood, and Kain felt the very edges of release. He would peak, but not before he bent over to expel a final bout of that mysterious mist into the dead thing's face. As Kain drove into it a final time, its eyes suddenly opened, like a shock of electricity had run thought it. It gave a low shriek.
Kain withdrew, letting the limp body flop on its side, gasping. What was formerly a warrior priest of considerable rank turned unfocused eyes of the most brilliant green onto him in confusion and hurt. He was a child reborn.
"Where am I?" aid.aid. "Who are you?"
A simple enough answers for both questions. "This is the crypt where you and your brothers lie, for the people who have turned against you had buried you here. And I am your new master. You may call me Kain."
He stood up unsteadily, his nakedness a glowing torch in the half-light. Kain turned and proceeded to answer a question that had not even been asked yet, "You are my new lieutenant, Raziel. Together, we could make this world our throne room."
Finite
--------------------------
Personally, I don't like this story. It's not much of a character piece and doesn't have much plot. I rather enjoyed this first step into necrophilia though. Forbidden fruit kinda thing. Any suggestions to improve?
Necromancer
************
Author: suspect501
Rating: NC-17 Necrophilia, I do believe.
Pairing: Kain and.. er.. Raziel?
Note: My very very first LOK fic! O_o I've only ever played SR2 and Defiance, so please bear with whatever inconsistencies crop up. (I err. Watched the SR1 opening? If it helps? T_T) I WILL play the other games soon though. As soon as I can coerce my friends into lending them to me...
-----------------------------------------------------
The wall of the crypt shuddered and cracked. Crumbs of plaster and dust tumbled off the white marble. Moments later, the wall caved in with a resounding thud.
Through its shattered remnants stepped Kain. He had a noble, dignified bearing, but this did not extend eingeing benevolent for his eyes had a peculiar, reptilian glaze that spoke of his ill purpose.
Inside the crypt were six sarcophagi, spread in a sunburst pattern and each bearing a stone likeness of their owners. Kain smiled to see the holy reverence given to these dead sarafan priests. There had been no greater honor bestowed on them in life; only death seemed to glorify their 'heroic' crusades.
Slaughter. Their fevered massacres had cut down so many, *too many* of his children. Well, the punishment should only fit the crime.
He approached the northern most sarcophagus, marveling sardonically at the craftsmanship on it. For a land that could barely feed itself, it certainly produced a multitude of talented artisans for the very rich or the remotely divine. The effigy was that of a fearsome warrior, be-decked from head to toe in vainglorious armor. Impractical shoulder pads meant to personify the wings of a phoenix and an inscrutable helm should have made him laugh. Instead, he gave the slab, a quick, hard shove and smashed the ostentatious masonry to pieces. What he desired lay within.
The weak light revealed something that very nearly took his breath away. There had to be some gross mistake. The contents of the sarcophagus could not have been more different than the outside. The garish armor was not present on the corpse. It wore only a simple, sashed robe of plain white linen. Where there had been a mask slitted in blood fury, there was a smooth, youthful face of astonishing beauty reposed as if in sleep. The overall effect was not so much a priest or a warrior, but that of a cold, marble saint.
He touched the cheek of the corpse with a taloned hand, pleased that the embalmers had preserved the body down to the softness of its skin. The body was not well built, but it must have taken down many opponents within its lifetime. Thin crisscrossings of scars traced a roadmap of hardship in the arms and neck. Its hair was spread on a stone pillow and wonderfully silken to the touch. Kain found it beyond his imagining why such loveliness would commit itself to the priesthood's strict rules of celibacy.
Thickly muscled arms moved to embrace the doll-like perfection with tenderness bordering on intimacy. He almost sympathized with the worship applied to these beings, if all of them were as alluring as this one. Lifting up the cold, dead flesh and placing it on a stone altar ahead, he noted the named inscribed at the foot of the stone box. He bent close to its ear and breathed one word softly.
"Raziel."
The corpse seemed to stir. Surely the beguilingly long eyelashes fluttered in recognition?
"Raziel," he called again, this time drawing back his upper lip elegantly to reveal his monstrous teeth, each with the keenness of well-kept daggers. A thin stream of green mist issued from his mouth and snaked it's was into the corpse’s. Its chest heaved like a half-drowned man, but its eyes remained shuttered.
The scent that rose from the body was unnaturally sweet and chemically noxious. He wondered how many had mourned the loss of this one, that they used such fine preservatives. He would see more of the embalmer's art and with that thought, he tore the white fabric clean down the middle. Had this creature been alive, it would have shuddered at the sepulchral air that struck its exposed body.
The vampire felt himself stiffen at the carnality of the sarafan priest, served up on an altar like some obscene offering, arms and legs haphazardly spread in a decidedly wanton fashion. It amused Kain further to see that its brotherhood had removed all the hair from its underarms, legs and nether parts as if they were sending off a young whore to her first customer. He supposed it served to enhance its holiness by making it more of an object, a relic rather than something that was once human.
To defile a relic. How chillingly exciting.
He climbed atop the altar like a great predatorial cat ready to feast on its fallen prey. Giving in to the blood thirst he had been holding back, his teeth first piercing the delectable column of its neck. The rush of blood was full of ether and other chemicals used to protect the body, but it didn't matter. His own immortal flesh would separate that away from the rich blood of the corpse. Briefly he leaned upwards to kiss the perfectly arched lips and to breathe the strange green mist into them. He left traces of it own blood there like petals of an artfully blooming rose.
Its fingers twitched, and its lungs struggled to fill with air. A hollow rasp from a voice unused for weeks escaped from its mouth.
Kain unbuckled the straps on his breeches quickly to unleash his lust. It was then only a matter of flipping the body over and grasping its hips with his talons. He paid no heed to the damage caused to the dead, fragile flesh, sparing only a contemptuous look at the carven, pious angels looming in relief before them. The first thrust was violent, like all the hatred for the sarafan sharpened to a fine point and impaled into that unresisting body. The body moaned, barely alive, it's dark hair mussed around its too white face. Its knuckles clenched but it did no more in protest.
He relished that feeling of cold tightness around him. This was unsullied meat of the highest order. No other had touched it like he did now. Not in life had it experienced such brutal violation. He left more trails of destruction along the scarred skin, heavy bite marks near the base of its back where wings might have sprouted in a pantomime of divine rescue.
The sarafan's entrance grew slick with dark, near black blood, and Kain felt the very edges of release. He would peak, but not before he bent over to expel a final bout of that mysterious mist into the dead thing's face. As Kain drove into it a final time, its eyes suddenly opened, like a shock of electricity had run thought it. It gave a low shriek.
Kain withdrew, letting the limp body flop on its side, gasping. What was formerly a warrior priest of considerable rank turned unfocused eyes of the most brilliant green onto him in confusion and hurt. He was a child reborn.
"Where am I?" aid.aid. "Who are you?"
A simple enough answers for both questions. "This is the crypt where you and your brothers lie, for the people who have turned against you had buried you here. And I am your new master. You may call me Kain."
He stood up unsteadily, his nakedness a glowing torch in the half-light. Kain turned and proceeded to answer a question that had not even been asked yet, "You are my new lieutenant, Raziel. Together, we could make this world our throne room."
Finite
--------------------------
Personally, I don't like this story. It's not much of a character piece and doesn't have much plot. I rather enjoyed this first step into necrophilia though. Forbidden fruit kinda thing. Any suggestions to improve?