Chapter XI

Defiance

I can feel the end drawing close: The dramatic conclusion to a hundred year struggle. When did this start? It could be that moment on the marsh, when I turned… or even further back… The night I met Jem? No, it all goes back further than that. This started with me. The fall of the vampyre was unstoppable, but the moment I became a vampyre all those years ago a seed of hope was planted. Could any other person have done the things I've done or lived the life I've lived?

The big picture - the whole story starts there. Like a distant prologue, my beginning was the catalyst for this: the Rise of the Vampyre. That makes it sound more glamorous than it is. The truth is I've been pushed and prodded in every way towards this destiny and thinking about it like that doesn't make it feel glamorous. It makes me feel used; makes me feel like some unimportant pawn; just a couple of moves in a game of chess. It makes me feel expendable.

That in itself was probably the faeries biggest mistake… to use me, someone so consumed by selfishness that he'd turn his back on his own kin to save himself. I’ll admit it served a purpose. It even kept me under the radar and out of the way while the humans forgot about the threat of the vampyre. The faeries waited until the idea of vampyre had been relegated to the realm of fantasy and myth and that’s when they called me back… or revived me, I suppose. It was like rising from the dead and finding, to no great surprise, that everything’s different.

Even I had changed. The cold calculated killer I had been had been replaced by someone else. Even when I was awakened- no, freed - from my mental prison, I awoke different. Hints of compassion glimmered through the black pool of my thoughts. Compassion itself I have no problem with. I felt sorrow when my vampyre companions fell victim to the human’s machine, but that was different. They were vampyre; Jem is human. His mind is primitive and slow. He works on a basic system of impulses that I can track and read almost as easily as the written word.

It doesn't matter anyway. I got away from him. I can't be near him, now. It's too dangerous for him. I know he's alive, I knew the faeries wouldn't let him die, but they damn near did. I remember the fight so clearly. Jem had improved greatly since I last saw him and not in the way I'd expected. He's more confident, now and that makes all the difference when it comes to fighting.

Beforehand he had the ideas, he was capable of doing things but self-doubt and inhibition held him back. Now he's come out of his shell. Granted he showed how capable he was when he was intimidating obscure researchers to investigate me, but I now consider him a threat. He's become strong and now that he has that sword - well, half a sword - he could probably put up a decent fight even against me. I know for a fact I’ll need both parts of the sword. I have the other half hidden carefully in my bag along with the fairytale.

The whole story lies uninterrupted in my bag. The brilliant white parchment glimmers black speckles, beneath the fine calligraphy. I feel it doesn't do my story justice. It reads as merely a fractured saga of events, each one itself a subtly crafted plot point delicately laid to reach the conclusion we all stand on the brink of. Some of it seems unnecessary and I suppose for this story it is, but I'm sure that later plans depend on those frivolous details.

So, anyway, I feel like a pawn, but I can respect the player that towers above me recklessly moving me this way and that to meet his own empty pleasures. The only way to understand the game is to play it and I have no problem rising from the bottom to the top. My ambitions aren’t so blatant. World control isn’t my goal, I don’t desperately want to raise the vampyre.

All I want is to take control of this life: This meaningless existence. I’m not even sure how to do that, but right now I’m an endangered species. And that can’t help me survive. I’ve got people hunting me, well not me; they’re hunting the last vampyre. Unfortunately for me, I am the last vampyre. So I don’t have any choice but to raise the vampyre right now. If I don’t then they’ll only keep hunting me. If I kill them, more will come in their place. I couldn’t bear to become human again. Those memories haunt the recesses of my mind like remnants of some faded nightmare.

They came back gradually, in fact they’re still returning to me: episodes of the mundane. Things I did in that simple mind and the reasons for each action. I don’t see them as reasons now though. I understand them as unconscious reactions to varied events; much in the same way the faeries would regard me.

And that was something that worried me at first. The faeries know me too well. They can predict my every move. I’ve now realised that doesn’t mean they can’t be beaten. Just because they make the rules doesn’t mean they can break them. Their only power is anticipation. They still have to play by their own rules and just like in chess; a true master can assure victory by following the rules and anticipating their opponent. In time I will undo them. It might not be easy, but in time I‘ll conquer them.

What I must do now is turn my attentions to what lies ahead. It’s certainly not as difficult as my next challenge, but still a challenge nonetheless. My challenge is the angel - no, former angel. I’ve broken, but not destroyed him. All I know is that he’s being aided by other angels and will be mounting some kind of attack - an attack that the faeries don’t think I can’t escape myself. The angels are fast and smart and I know that I can’t take them on my own. But with that sword maybe I can.

The Vengez goes by many names. In the far south it’s called the ‘Serpent Sword’, some call it ‘The Clear Buisk’, then in the north, in the borders towards the Darklands it’s called the ‘The Hooth’ and rumours from the far north talk of a sword simply named, ‘The Brute’. Either way, all of these legends describe a very specific sword. A sword forged by the heavens that can cut through anything. Whether it gives a man godly powers or whether he becomes possessed by demons is irrelevant. The point of the matter is that this sword grants power and anyway, I don’t need legends and stories to tell me that. I’ve experienced it first hand.

I was sceptical. I can admit it, but I had some faith - or possibly it was respect - and I went along with the faeries plans. I was told to get the sword. I still remember the arrival of that prophecy. I was holding the girl, when I saw it. I wasn’t really thinking straight, now that I‘m thinking back. I was so exhilarated with being freed from that prison and I was so desperate to feed on her, on anyone. Anyone that is apart from Jem, I hasten to add. I wanted him safe.

There was no shame in feeling the compassion though. I’m glad I ran when I did, because if I hadn’t then where would we be right now? The sword wouldn’t be on its way to me for one thing. Nope, I’d be on my own. Then again if I’d killed Jem, the sword would never have been cut in half in the first place.

It’s all so complicated and then, why shouldn’t it be? This is life. This is the world, the very fabric of existence - if we could see it’s beginnings, it’s ends, it’s tiny cogs turning there would be no life. If we can see things before they come to pass then there would be no sense in enacting the things we had seen, because we would have already lived their results. But the faeries live by this and what’s more - they offer us a taste of their vision. Show us glimpses of truth, never lying, but only supplying enough of the truth to meet their own ends. For example:

The vampyre abandoned the girl. He knew his final destination was the Temple, but first he raced to the hidden village where The Sword resided. He took The Sword and moved onwards to the top of the mountain where he waited for his challengers. The vampyre knew he must draw blood from the girl’s hand or his mission would fail.

It’s perfect, indistinct in just the right places, allowing me, myself to fill the gaps. I was instructed to take the sword, but there was no mention of how I was to take it. I could have stolen it; I could have massacred the village with it. I could have done any number of things, but the moment I saw that woman - the hermit, living on the edge of the brink of isolation, I knew I had something else to do. I didn’t have to act; I just had to be myself.

I sensed something in her… similarities, perhaps. I could tell she’d been to the Darklands; everyone who goes to the Darklands has a mark, an air around them. There’s something in their eyes that says they’ve really seen it: a shallow depth that’s accepted the impossible and witnessed the unthinkable. Perhaps I saw that or maybe I was drawn to her, by the way she moved. So few humans move like that. Humans are notoriously easy to read, but even some will give any vampyre a headache and there was something in her, something dancing just beyond that shallow depth created by the Darklands - something that said ‘I know who you are’.

She didn’t know who I was, but she knew my purpose, she knew I was danger, she knew I had ill intent and she knew I meant to harm whoever had that blade. But how could she know when I myself had only recently found out? Was she some kind of witch or soothsayer? Or perhaps she could read me just as well as I could read others. It made no sense to me. She was a human I could see that - I could smell it, but she was a mystery to me. Normally this would have been just cause to kill her. Anyone who could contend with me should be killed, but just as I let Jem live, I let her live. I wanted to keep a low profile and more than that, I felt some kind of connection. Like she bridged the rift between the rest of humanity and myself. I think that’s what drew me to her.

I talked with her. It required no effort. I knew that if I was doing things wrong, I could always just seize the sword and leave, but deep down, somewhere at the back of my mind, I knew that I was right. That I was to open this woman’s eyes, because as much as she has insights into the workings of my own mind, she was blind to things that were right in front of her.

She harboured some kind of pained, unrequited love and as though the fates had cast the very circumstances themselves (which I’ve grown to realise they had), the man for whom she harboured these feelings was the very man whom I intended to relieve of the sword. I didn’t plan any of it. I didn’t know I was going to kill him until I did it, but I felt righteous when I did it. I felt like I was doing Good work. Her cries pained me slightly, to know the anger I’d inspired in her - the hatred, but I stand by what I said to her and I think she may already have come to grips with the reality and realised that he wasn’t right for her. I can almost feel it right now; she’s finally free of her wasted passions.

Perhaps this is all part of my journey. Maybe my ability to sympathise with humans will lead me to victory where my predecessors failed, because I can still be myself when I follow these prophecies. I’m not dissuaded when I read these things. Every time I read one I think of it more as a good idea than an order, but I still do these things on my own, in my own way. I think that sets me apart from the rest.

Those villagers for instance. They sent this girl, Ivy, off to her death. They read a fairytale or a prophecy or whatever and took it as law, sending an innocent to the slaughter. That’s wrong. If I were given a prophecy that said I was to send Jem off to his death, I’d tear the thing up and dare the forces that made it to test me again. So I suppose I’m making choices and that’s a good thing. As much as I’m doing what they want right now, I can only be pushed so far. Not like the villagers. They lived in fear of the prophecies, they were told the world would cease, slip soundlessly into the void, if they did anything other than fulfil the faeries requests.

I suppose the faeries knew that. They knew that they could send the girl - this girl - away to her supposed death. I must be putting them through their paces, now though. I’m predicting their moves already. Taking unnecessary actions to make things harder for them - to make the next prophecy just that little bit harder to place (or predict). And I’ve found something very curious; rather then the prophecies getting more specific, trying to curb my flippant behaviour, they’ve become more lax. It can be seen clearly, just by reading the last few prophecies.

It was that prophecy which made me suspicious. Yes, it was a little hazy around the details, which gave me a little elbowroom with regards to how I would act, but it was desperately specific at the same time. Telling me to go to the village quickly and to take the sword and then climb the mountain and wait for a fight to reach me. On top of that I was to draw blood from Ivy’s hand. I would have to carry out these actions, but it was then that I decided to test the waters with my informants.

I made my way quickly to the village, but the prophecy said nothing about how long I should spend at the village, so I took my time - had a little fun - before I left with the sword. When I arrived at the mountain, I realised that my actions had not gone unnoticed. I found a new prophecy:

The girl and her companions were not enough to overcome the vampyre and although The Sword was severed, the vampyre defeated them all, casting the boy from the mountain, kidnapping the girl and leaving the remainder in ruin.

I knew as soon as I read those words that it was Jem who was on his way to me. It worried me. Why would they involve him in this? There was no need. I initially thought of it as some kind of reprimand from the faeries; a subtle slap on the wrists to remind me who was writing this fairytale. Perhaps it was Jem’s involvement, which spurred on my bout of defiance.

It was at that point I realised that I had to look out for myself. I understood at that point, the faeries didn’t care whether I lived or died in the long run. Once I’d completed their task they could dispose of me if they felt the need. It was by using Jem in their plans that they lost my respect. It was that decision that made me see I was nothing but a pawn to them.

So I was trapped between a rock and a hard place. To defy them at that point would have been my undoing. They essentially wanted Jem dead, which made no sense to me, but if I didn’t cast him from the mountain then I’d have directly disobeyed the prophecy and would have to raise the vampyre without the invaluable help of the faeries.

It was at that point I decided I would have to play things very carefully. Unlike the faeries I didn’t have the luxury of being able to see every possible turn of events. I had to be smart. So I broke the prophecy down into tasks. Defeating the girl and her companions would be no problem, even without the help of the sword. Kidnapping the girl would just require me to restrain myself from killing her. As for the enigmatic ‘remainder’; who were they? I didn’t know. Certainly nothing I couldn’t take care of. Having centuries of fighting experience, I knew there were none who’d dare defy me while I held the sword and few who could oppose me otherwise.

Once again I felt that familiar sensation of calmness as my adversaries crested the hill and laid eyes on me. Ivy led the way, with narrow eyes and a petulant pout glued to her pale, chubby face. Jem followed, looking more confident than I’d ever seen him, but still with apprehension behind his unmoving brown eyes. The calm feeling sedated me and I stood up, eager to see the others whom I would undoubtedly have to kill.

The angel came next and, although normally, I would have felt fear being in the presence of such a formidable opponent, I felt none. The calmness reminded me that, without pledging allegiance to a human or working within a group, angels were without any physical power. The bear came next, so saturated in magick I could taste the electric tang of it on the back of my throat. Being in the presence of such power would have normally, once again, overwhelmed me, but I knew that by being in the snow he was surrounded by water. His power would be greatly weakened. I was safe. I felt in control.

It was the same way I felt back in Geghis. When I arrived there, I knew what I was supposed to do. I knew that if I just went along with everything, if I simply stayed true to myself things would work out fine. I knew that in Geghis and as I watched them move into attack I knew again that things would work out perfectly.

Ivy attacked and I parried her blows, shredding whip after whip and eventually padding her away with the flat of my sword. I watched the bear begin to cast. His tiny arms wavered back and forth in a hypnotic waltz as he tried to sap me of power. His magick was strong and I felt it drain me… it made me feel almost human for a moment, but I was still calm. As physically weak as the bear was making me, he couldn’t drain my calm. I rolled towards him evading the swooping angel and ignoring the whispered pleads from Jem.

As I rolled past the bear, I straightened up to see them all looking appalled. The bear’s arm lay severed at his side, yet it was he who reacted first. While the others looked on in stunned horror, the bear continued to cast, but with only one arm and gallons of, albeit powdered, water surrounding him his spells felt only like a niggling lethargy behind the waves of focused adrenaline. I brought my foot down on the toy, packing his tiny soft body into the snow.

Jem’s whispers flowed through me like cold air. “This isn’t you, Oris. This isn’t you.” I ignored him and turned now on the angel.

His sweeping wings were impressive. My calm told me to attack the angel, because he was their leader and without him they would be much weaker. I slashed at him and felt alarm for a moment. He was advancing upon me, unscathed. His wings took no damage and I realised that although he couldn’t hurt me, he could still use the wings to protect others. I raced towards Ivy, my adrenaline taking over as the angel shouted warnings to Ivy and Jem.

It felt so natural. There was no disappointment as I slashed at Ivy’s hand and she was shielded by the angel. As I faked an attack towards Jem I was merely opening up my attack at Ivy again, my attack at her hand. But as I hurled a dagger behind me and heard the satisfactory whistle as it glided home to her outstretched digits I heard a noise I didn’t want to hear and that was the deep vibrations as the dagger soared into one of the angels wings and rebounded from the other. It struck me in the shoulder with the same force I had thrown it.

Once again my adversaries seemed to stop and stare in shock. I pulled the dagger from my chest and watched as my blood splattered helplessly to the snow. This time it was Jem who moved first. He attacked recklessly; trying to gore me on the hunting knife I’d bought him the year before. I sliced the blade in half and, again, used the flat of my sword to ward off his feeble advances. I didn’t want to hurt Jem. I knew that.

My problem was with the angel. I needed to kill the angel, because it was him who wounded me. These other opponents were pathetic, but the angel… well – he’d hurt me. I turned on him.

My calm hadn’t deserted me, but something more primal had taken precedence in my mind. It was some hybrid of survival instinct and a thirst for vengeance. I knew I couldn’t be killed in this situation. Even without the prophecy guaranteeing my safety, I knew these ‘challengers’ couldn’t defeat me. The angel had only caught me off guard and I wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice.

As I moved in on him he seemed to realise this. I saw something in his eye that told me he and I saw eye to eye at that moment. He knew he was too much of a danger to me. Not only had he injured me, but he had also stopped me piercing Ivy’s hand, which I needed to do.

As I pressed upon him, Jem leapt back into action and tried to protect the angel. Jem surprised me again. It was over in a moment. The sword suddenly became lighter and I felt a little of it’s strength leave me. Jem had used the angel’s wings to bring the sword down on itself, severing the blade and fulfilling the only piece of the prophecy I was unsure how to accomplish.

I swung the blade at Jem, giving him enough time to duck it, but catching the angel by surprise. He tried to duck, but he wasn’t quick enough to avoid the blade. As it swerved over him, I felt a blast of warm air strike me and his wings were sheared from his back. He shouted and that merged into a scream and finally into a hollow wail before he fell to the ground the stumps of his wings dissolving into his back and when he finally stopped, I knew he was human. I knew he was helpless.

I wanted to feed on him. I silently wished that I could have turned him. To have a being with his knowledge on my side would have been invaluable. But that obviously wasn’t an option anymore.

It was then that I realised I’d won and all that was left was to finish up, I could draw Ivy’s blood later - she was coming with me after all. I advanced on Jem and whispered congratulations to him on a well-fought battle, before raising the sword one more time. It was useless now, yes I could still feel heightened abilities but it was barely a dagger, now and I had no use for a broken sword. Jem did.

“Go, Jem”, I said, “Survive.”, and I pushed the handle of the sword into his hand as he backed ever closer to the edge.

“Oris. Why- This isn’t you.”, he stammered.

I paused for a moment and looked at this through his eyes. Yes this was certainly a low point. The faeries had painted me as some kind of super-villain in his eyes. He didn’t know what it was to be a vampyre, to understand the futility of human existence. He was happy with his life, with the life he’d had before. He thought me a monster. That hurt and it’s probably why I jumped into the villain role so easily. It was easier to be the monster he thought I was than to explain to him that he was nothing but cattle to me, it was easier on his feelings and much easier on mine.

So I played the part. I laughed and I said to him: “This is me, Jem. I’ve changed. I’ve transcended.” I spoke each syllable of the word with the air of a gloating teacher. “This is a better me.”

“But surely there’s another way,” He pleaded.

“There’s no way, but the faeries’ way, Jem,” I replied, “I follow their orders, now. I beat you all, I take the girl and I cast you from the mountain.”

Rather than reply his eyes just widened in shock.

I realised then that it was a defining moment. One of those situations where you’re given a choice and that choice reflects on who you are as a person. Usually when those situations come up, it’s easy to see the right path and the true difficulty lies in taking the path when you know it won’t be easy. I still don’t know if I made the right choice. That was my problem. I didn’t know what to do. To push Jem then was to reject him, to cause him injury intentionally, yet not to push him was to defy the prophecy and risk failing in my attempts to raise the vampyre.

“Sorry, Jem. This is the way it has to be.”

I pushed him.

As he fell, I willed him to hold onto that sword. I needed him to. If he let go, the fall would kill him. I watched him tumble down the mountain and eventually wandered over to where Ivy stood poised for battle. I walked up to her and punched her hard around the head. And scooped her up onto my shoulder.

Sword severed - check. Boy cast from mountain - check. Girl kidnapped - check and… remainder in ruin? I glanced at the struggling form of the bear buried under snow and the whimpering figure of the former angel crying to himself – double check. With that I scooped up the remaining part of the sword and began my descent the way my assailants had come, noticing a unique and familiar scrap of paper half-submerged in the snow. Another prophecy.

The angel despised the girl, but feared for her safety nonetheless. By protecting her he brought his own mortality and his wings were rend from his body, marking him as human.

I realised at that point what the look in the angels’ eye had been before I marked him as human. He had known it was going to happen. He’d read this prophecy and entered the battle. I thought it was slightly poignant that the angel could allow that to happen to him.

It made me fear for myself, though. This was a glimpse into the faeries power. They had predicted my actions before I had even thought to commit them. Could they really predict all of my thoughts? Did they know I intended to defy them eventually? Or had they considered and accommodated the possibility that I’d do such a thing? It’s not a nice feeling to feel watched like that: to feel completely transparent.

But I continued onwards with my plans of defiance nonetheless. It’s not that I had faith in my plans; vampyre don’t generally dabble in the enchanting notion of faith that most humans seem to thrive on. My reasoning was that I was already doomed if they could control me as precisely as that experience had indicated, and that if there was a way to break free of their plans it would be the defiant path I’d already set myself on.

So here I am. Still walking. I’ve long since departed from the mountain. It’s now just a faded silhouette on the horizon. It reminds me of my home - the place where Jem and I lived together. Those days when I’d go hunting in the forest, I’d always look up and see a similar silhouette. I’d use the mountains that surrounded my home as a bearing. And even if the weather took a turn, I’d be able to look up at those mountains and I’d know that there was a home not too far away. Will I ever return home?

I don’t think I will. The memories of my imprisonment are still too vivid. Though the memory of my time with Jem dulls the pain a little, I don’t think I could return there, even if I had to. The indignity I served there is too real, it’s as though my instincts won’t allow me to go. The very thought of going there is making me retch. No I won’t be going back.

This is my mission. I betrayed my kind and if they could see me they would probably be filled with disgust. I threw aside my heritage, and became one with the enemy, with only the thought of survival on my mind. But what separates me from them is my survival instinct. I wanted it more. They were too proud to live. They preferred to cast themselves into oblivion than help me. If they had worked with me they would have lived. If they had worked with me, I wouldn’t be the last of my race; we wouldn’t be teetering on the end of extinction. So as much as I betrayed them, it was a justified betrayal. In a way they betrayed themselves. The proud race of vampyre were their own undoing.

I feel probably the same way Jem feels right now. My whole world has been turned upside down. My home is no longer a home and I’m chasing something I didn’t even know was real. I suppose the real difference between Jem and myself is that he is saddened by his recent upheaval, I myself feel liberated: a little used, but mostly liberated.

As I walk into the forest, I’m reminded of my journey last week, when I followed Jem into the forest and through to the village where he bartered for information on me. I remember that sense of pride in him. When I saw how strong he could be without me. I also felt a pang of sadness then. To see that he didn’t really need me anymore, that he’d forgotten whatever horrors he’d been running from and become by and large, a well adjusted individual who could take care of himself. Back then I thought that perhaps my purpose in meeting him had been complete and that soon he’d leave and like a mother must eventually let go of her children, I would have to let him leave when he inevitably decided to.

That was then… in my old self. Now I can see all those events for what they really are. Jem was brought to me, prodded along by the actions of my guides. They brought him to the old me to manipulate me. They did it just in time, as well. That very night I had sealed my resolve and decided that the lonely life I’d lived was not worth the danger I put humanity in by simply existing. That night I had decided to take my own life and wipe the last vampyre from the planet.

So wasn’t it spectacular coincidence that I meet Jem that very night, that I rush ever so dramatically to his rescue. To see him take a life, to see the state he was in. The only thing that might stop me from taking my life arrives quite blatantly and the old me sees it as a reprieve, realising that there is still some good that he can do in the world. And that’s the beauty of it all. We waltz into each other’s lives, do what we need to do and then spin away into another life and another destiny.

This forest is where the dramatic conclusion will transpire. As each tree passes me by I wonder what Jem will be thinking as he takes this same path. Will he still hate me? Or will that pain have ebbed away into empty resignation. He’ll be sad, I think; sad that he’s on his way, at least in his mind, to kill me. He’ll be thinking about his life and how he can possibly hope to defeat me with only the broken sword. He won’t be scared, though. He’ll consider it karma or something like that. For the guy he killed the night he met me or more likely for whatever crime he was running from.

It’s weird to know so much about Jem; to know almost his every thought, but not to know the details of his past. All I can surmise from his actions is that he has had a hand in the death of someone else. Not the mercenary, because that would provoke a different kid of guilt - no, I think Jem was the killer of an innocent. I don’t know what kind of situation would provoke him into such actions, but his behaviour indicates that he regrets it and that it was probably an accident.

It means nothing to me. The death of a human is of little consequence to me and that’s why I think it important that Jem be turned. Jem must be haunted by his past every day, but as a vampyre, he would see that the death of an obscure human from an far away region has no significance in the grand scheme of things. I think he would come to be happier if he were a vampyre.

I even think Ivy will make a good vampyre. She’s strong and skilled; it’s just the fact that she’s human that has held her back. I’m not saying that in a fair fight she could defeat me, because I have more experience on her, but I think she will make a very strong vampyre. I tried to tell her this, but she was… dissatisfied with this argument. I tried to sell the vampyre life to her, but she’s been near-enough brainwashed by the monk who taught her to fight. It doesn’t matter: She’ll change regardless.

She’s spent most of her waking hours either trying to escape me, or abusing vampyre and anything vampyre related - all of this is in blatant disregard to her obvious destiny. I also managed to finally fulfil the last prophecy in its entirety while teaching Ivy her first lesson on vampyre. Her first two attempts to escape were met with sharp painful warnings. As I carry her now her head still drips blood from the reprimand of her second attempt.

When she tried to escape a third time, I took my opportunity to fulfil the part of the prophecy I’d neglected: “The vampyre knew he must draw blood from the girls hand or his mission would fail.” I threw my dagger at her again and without the angel here to take the proverbial bullet for her, it entered her hand with a wonderful thud, pinning the screaming girl’s hand to the tree behind her.

I waited at least five minutes before helping her, not because I enjoyed watching her suffer but because I wanted her to remember this pain and to remember just how skilled I was. Because I know that when she finally becomes a vampyre she may get ideas above her station; she may think she can take me and when that time comes she will remember that moment.

Now I’m carrying her. She passed out from the pain of her injury. As her head drips blood onto my shirt, I can smell the dull tang of her blood, the deep warmth that emanates from her makes my neck pulse with hunger. It’s true I haven’t tasted blood properly since I turned. The only taste I’ve had is of Blaze. Barely a drop was licked from my fingers while Mary sobbed over his corpse.

The blood flows even more freely from her hand, which is all but useless with an inch long gash directly through it. I’ve mastered stronger urges than these though. This girl will achieve her transcendence soon enough. And anyway, there are fifty angels on their way here. Fifty angels who are each one slash away from humanity and immediate death. I’ll feast soon enough. I have to stay true to myself right now. I’m needed now. I’m the main character in this story - this fairytale.

This whole turn of events has been focused around me, the last vampyre. Focused around my selfishness or my fear, I suppose. I was first turned because I sought to lengthen my life. It was my fear of death that spurred me to investigate the vampyre legends, to see if there was any truth in them: to see if I could synthesise some kind of elixir from my studies that would spare me the void. It was once again my fear of nothingness that spurred me to become human again. I wanted to live. I didn’t want to stop. And once again it is my fear of death that urges me to undertake this mission. I couldn’t care less about whether the vampyre prosper or whether humans live forever. All I know is that I need to live. But the humans will hunt me. They will see me as a threat and that is why I must follow the faeries orders.

I have no great link to the vampyre, no true need for redemption. I do feel sorrow for what I did, that I didn’t try to convince them further, but I don’t care for them. The only reason I’m bringing them back is to protect myself. I would have possibly considered becoming human again. But there was one event that has made that impossible now, possibly the real reason I care for Jem as much as I do.

I tried to kill myself.

Being human brought me to a mental state where I was willing to destroy myself. That is the real reason I can’t go back. If I became human again, there could be another chain of events that brought me to that same place. In truth, I was willing to live as a human, I could even go as far to say I found some parts of it pleasant, but for the past three years the real me lived in fear of death, constantly. While the, for lack of a better word, ‘human’ Oris enjoyed his new lifestyle, I was living in fear that the moment Jem decided to leave I would immediately return to my thoughts of suicide.

So that’s why I can’t go back to being human. That’s why I have to bring about the Rise of the Vampyre. To do anything else would risk my own death. Now the only way to survive is to follow through with these actions. Jem can become a vampyre too. It will be like it was before except we’ll both be vampyre instead of human, which will be better for both of us. I don’t expect him to understand yet. So my path is set, I already have Ivy with me and if all is as it should be, the sword I need to defeat the angels is on it’s way as well.

Once tonight’s events are over, I’ll be free of these stupid prophecies. Even if I’m not, I’ll disregard them. Jem will arrive with the sword, after sundown Ivy will be turned and we can defeat the angels. And then what? I don’t need the faeries after that. That’s when the real defiance will begin. Because once I’ve raised the vampyre, it’s only a matter of time before the fates turn on us, decide they want the humans back and the vampyre dead.

I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.

I refuse to die.