Forbidden Love

[WP] You, an ancient vampire have been fighting a family of vampire hunters for centuries who vow to avenge their ancestor whom you killed. After a little research things suddenly get awkward as you realize that the ancestor in question is actually you when you were just a human.

*****

“If I get my hands on you, vampire!” The young man below craned his neck upwards, aiming a shaking crossbow. “I’ll see your plague against my family end."

“If,” The Shadow called down from the high unseen, dropping a handful of spiders, one landing on the boy’s forehead.

The boy spasmed and swatted at his face. In his fear, the Shadow could see he couldn’t be more than fourteen winters, the youngest yet. He prepared to fall as fluttering feral death atop the lad but paused.

“Why do they always send you so young?” The Shadow queried. “I kill you, each and every one of your hunters, each and every time you come for me unprepared.”

“My family knows the way of vampires. We have killed them for scores of generations. You are Prima Hostis, the first foe of our clan. It is an honor to be sent to take you down.” The boy scurried left, clearly untrained in the way a vampire may throw his voice.

Again, the Shadow saw a chance to strike. Every predator bone in his body ached to lunge, to flay the neck from front to nape, but he remained still, held white-knuckled to the stones. “Would it not be better, oh, honored lamb of thy noble house to fight me defensively, learn of me and my tricks? You could return to teach others, come for me in pairs.”

“The youth blood holds power over the Prima Hostis,” the boy shouted, now stabbing to stake a dusty clay pot along the northern wall. “Fighting in pairs is useless as the Prima Hostis is known to call brother against brother, twisting their minds to bickering before striking.”

“Who told you this?” The Shadow asked, releasing to let himself fall weightless to his feet behind the boy. “I have no weakness to children, nor do I have mind magic that is stronger against many.”

The boy stumbled back. He patted himself, disgracefully unmemorized of his own gear. The Shadow kicked the moment the boy lifted the vial. It dashed onto the mossy floor.

“The founder of our house left it to us, the sacred scroll detailing all the sins of you.” The boy tried for the crossbow next. The Shadow tapped a nail against the string, snapping it free to whip the boy along the face. The muted sting of empathy hit him.

The Shadow took out his handkerchief and carefully grabbed at the silver medallion around the boy’s neck, feeling like too hot tea rather than scalding iron. “The Sins of the Father Shall be Visited upon the Son. Strange guild words.” He opened the locket, unbelieving what he was seeing.

“This is him, your founder?” The Shadow hissed.

“Yes, the great Anton Levanture,” the boy said. “I will tell you none of his secrets! Torture me, kill me, it matters not.”

“He was far from a great man, a fool in fact,” The Shadow said. “Let me tell you the story of Anton Levanture, then I will decide your fate.”

The boy rose and charged, roaring as he gripped the stake. The Shadow waited until the last moment to grab the wrist that would see his undead flesh unravel. Inches apart he looked the boy over, the eyes, the nose. It was so. The old man had won. For all these centuries, he had won, laughing from the grave of another man.

“Anton was a heartstruck fool after his own wife died, wandering the streets at night rather than seeing to his own infant sons he foolishly blamed, leaving them to the servants. He came upon a single mote of light in the dark city park, a maiden playing chess by candlelight. A curious hobby for a girl, at least for the time being. She was not of the standard beauty but one all her own, shrewd planning eyes that never softened.”

“I care not for your pretty lies, animal!” The boy thrashed and the Shadow tightened, feeling along the nerves of the arm. The boy fell limp, helpless as a kitten held by the scruff.

“Anton came night and night again, watching her. He did not hide, nor did she seem bothered by his watching. She defeated each opponent, all of whom underestimated her, even those she’d beaten before, even beaten by the score. By watching her, Anton learned the game. Steeling his courage one night, he approached and asked her to play.”

The boy stared slack-jawed, listening but the eyes showed his fight was very much alive in him. This would be a fearsome foe someday if he was truly trained.

“Anton said to her, 'If I beat you, then I would ask your hand in marriage.' She rolled her eyes and laughed at the man but gestured for him to sit and play.”

“-id ‘e ‘eat er?” the boy asked, forcing through the paralysis.

“No, she beat him, but each night after the other challengers had their chance, they would play the final game and she would beat him each time until the full moon of their twentieth game. He was good at this point, but nowhere near her skill. He saw her queen dance along the board in hesitation, something she never did. With a smile, she left it within reach of my king, undefended. ’Check,’ she said then, with all the roses in the world beneath that voice.” Wells long dry worked in the Shadow's eyes.

“Your ‘ing?” the boy asked.

“My apologies. The pair consummated in the bushes, a flagrant display to the sleeping birds as they reenacted the poses of the many statues. He left her smiling, laying on the grass. When he returned the next day it was not her waiting for him but two city guards. Her father was the judge of the city. 'Go to the judge and get some fudge,' they would jape, for he sold sweets along the streets before his appointment. He made his way from nothing but wore it on his sleeve, prideful of his rise.”

“He had planned to wed his daughter to the Duke, rise higher still but Anton had ruined his plan. So sullied, the Duke would not have the girl. The Judge strangled her in her bed before coming for me. In black ritual, he gave to me life everlasting, knowing it to be the curse so few do. I thought that all he did to me.”

“You claim to be Anton?” the boy said. “That’s impossible. He trained our ancestors and formed the guild to kill you. You slayed him and we fight in his name.”

“This man,” The Shadow hissed, holding up the medallion and tapping the pudgy face, “is the Judge. In my absence and with his own house destroyed, he took my place, raised my sons, and sent them to their death, by my hand.” He traced along the words. “The Sins of the Father Shall be Visited upon the Son.”

“Even if I believe you, you are still evil. You have killed my brothers, their fathers, back for centuries. Their blood runs through me, not yours! This changes nothing.” The boy managed to sweep a leg up over the grip and break it. He swung out with a silver hook.

The Shadow did not dodge, baring his neck to the blade. “Check.” The dry meat sizzled there as the terrible weight sent him to his knees. “You are right. I would have seen it sooner, but for all I was, I was never clever.”

The boy wasted no words gloating. The stake found its place in Anton’s heart and the thin threads holding him together began to snap, one by one. The darkness came, marred by a single mote of light.

*****

THE END