Chapter Text
Anani approached Raziel's makeshift quarters just as his Lord's latest meal was being led away. Madai played the role of token guard this night; he stiffened to attention as Anani stepped through the door, his talons tightening on his halberd. Anani nodded briefly in greeting, then stood silently, awaiting Raziel's acknowledgment.
Outside the broad, arched windows, two younger vampires fought viciously at one end of the field -- a friendly duel to the incapacitating injury. Several others watched, prepared to intercede if necessary. Nearby, slaves graded and stacked hides atop a cart, working under close supervision of their handler, for none of the humans were yet fully broken. A pair of Razielim architects compared samples of quarried stone, testing the materials' response to chiseling and cracking forces. The clan hummed with activity.
This small township, at the base of the citadel even now being built, had been delivered unto the Razielim by their winged hosts. It was a suitable temporary abode, while the towers were raised.
Still, for all the benefits of having mages such as the Ancients among them, there were drawbacks by the fistful. Slaves could not be slain, taken, nor even disciplined within possible view of an Ancient -- which in practice meant any place open to the sky. The Razielim were even obliged to gag the more unruly members of their rapidly growing stock, lest the mortals produce undue noise. Anani approved of and enforced the restrictions, but at the same time, found them as burdensome as did every other Razielim. Or nearly every other.
Anani doubted, however, that it was the Ancients whom Raziel kept in mind as he took his repast. The departing bloodslave was clearly weak, but quite whole apart from the fang marks, and would bear no scars from his encounter with the Clanlord. Judging from the knots, he had not even been unbound. Since Anani had handpicked the man -- and Raziel's last five meals before that -- this was more than a little mystifying. The mortals all were young, strong, healthy, and possessed of exceptionally fine-tasting blood. Three had been spoils of the battlefield, with hard, sword-trained bodies and callused hands. Three had been slightly softer, sleeker, their training in arts other than martial rendering their forms more classically pleasing. They'd borne a range of features and coloration, but all had been quite beautiful. Some had been defiant, some compliant. One had even been female, in the interests of variety, though finding a suitable one amongst the stocks after Tarrant's depredations had taken some doing.
Raziel had taken particular interest in none of them. Admittedly, he did have other concerns -- the Ancients demanded a large portion of Raziel's time, and directing the construction of a citadel took more. The city, the Ancients, even Vorador's existence -- all were unrelentingly strange, which was stressful for creatures accustomed to passing entire centuries in which little changed. All the more reason then, in Anani's estimation, to take the full measure of enjoyment from one's prey.
Not to mention, of course, the matter of the Clan's revival. Under normal circumstances, Raziel chanced upon a few dozen humans worth turning every decade -- he might mark them first, might toy with or test them, but the end result was a new line every year or two, new blood and new possibility for the clan. And now the need was greater than ever. So many strong lines, and old friends, had been lost....
Anani lifted his head as a dark brush of acknowledgment touched upon his mind, a distracted caress, warm and Stygian as the very breath of the night. As always, the contact raised a shiver up the length of Anani's spine, an involuntary echo, as if his very bones knew their source and Master. Anani set his hand to the gilded wooden door, and entered quietly.
The chambers had probably once been the apartment of an entire family of Ancients. A series of columned arches framed the division between an expansive balcony and the high-ceilinged rooms. Several small chambers contained space for storage, sleeping, and a bathing pool that stayed perpetually warm, but the largest room was central, lit now by the warm glow of embers in a fluted fireplace. Shelves set against the white marble walls were laden with books; maps and plans lay scattered across tables and the undisturbed surface of one of the Ancients' bedlike sleeping platforms, moved from a side room. Backless chairs and divans clustered near the fire, and it was there he found Raziel, his folded wings shadowed, a book in one hand tilted towards the light. The Clanlord held a smooth length of wood -- a product of Razielim artisans -- in the other, its blunt-chiseled tip trailing idly over the spidery runes of the Ancients' writing. The butt end of the rod was capped in a tacky rubber. Used carefully, the shaft could be employed to turn the pages of a book without damage to the text, a task for which an elder's murderous talons were unsuited.
The only items not of human or Ancient construction were the bolts driven into the walls in two places... and the manacles, presently empty, which dangled from them.
"My Lord," said Anani, announcing himself as he bowed, fist clasped over heart. Raziel's skin was faintly flushed with stolen heat, the new blood and the firelight conspiring to cast his flesh in slightly warmer hue. The effect made him seem centuries younger -- unless, of course, one were able to sense the latent nimbus of energy that surrounded Raziel, that filled the room with a pressure like the tension before sunrise. That wasn't young in the least.
"Anani," Raziel greeted him, turning his attention away from the borrowed tome. Tilting his head, he scrutinized his firstborn's expression, finding there the faint remnants of the scowl that Anani had not quite been able to banish. "Your countenance appears sour--are the preparations proceeding so ill?" Oblivious to Anani's true concerns, Raziel's only thoughts were for the road ahead. The Razielim were claiming lands they could truly call their own. Such ambition required a great deal of planning, however, and as always, a disproportionate amount of that burden had fallen upon Anani's capable shoulders.
The Razielim had always been a warrior Clan--Raziel himself had ensured it. Even the Empire's finest warriors, however, required more mundane support as well; quartermasters, administrators, engineers, and artisans of all stripes, to name just a few. Few, however, had survived that long year following Raziel's execution. Between the depredations of the other Clans and their own despair, the Razielim had been halved--and of that surviving half, most had been warriors; those with not only the training, but the sheer bloody-minded ferocity to survive when all the world had turned against them. Those survivors had served Raziel well against the Hylden, it was true. But now ....
... now Anani had the unenviable task of mustering what few resources remained to the Clan. The Ancients, ever helpful, had offered the services of their own artisans--yet there was a great deal Raziel did not dare trust to them.
Anani had taken some care to compose his features -- but before his Sire, he might as well be transparent as Turelim glass. "Preparations proceed apace, and under the circumstances, I am not much displeased. I bring the metals production numbers from the south mines, that you might judge for yourself," Anani said, stacking the waxed tablets he carried on the low table in front of Raziel, careful to handle the wax-covered wooden squares by the edges only.
"I took the liberty of ordering the first wagons of smelted steel sent directly to the building site. There is little reason to doubt the quality of Artimis' craft." It had been but a few weeks since a small contingent of Razielim arrived to take control of the southern Tyrian mines from the Ancients, but already the raw steel was reportedly many times finer than before. It was amazing how hard humans could be induced to work, when the penalties for doing otherwise were properly... imaginative. "He reports that the mines had seen little expansion o'er the past few decades, however. Quantity of metals, therefore, may yet prove an obstacle." Anani paused, selecting his words delicately. "Particularly as space is to be prepared for our future numbers."
"Future numbers?" Raziel echoed, his eyebrows arching sharply upward. Long-used to the maneuverings of the Lieutenants as they vied for Kain's favor, Raziel was not so oblivious as to mistake the meaning--and the concern--behind Anani's words. He closed the tome carefully, mindful of the fragile vellum, and put it aside, settling all his attention upon his firstborn. "We can make do with stone and timber, if necessary, until the necessary ore is mined." For fortifications, at least. Their weapons and armor, with few exceptions, were more than equal to anything the humans produced in this time, and they still possessed the enchanted arms the Ancients had pressed upon them. It would all wear out and need to be replaced in time, but careful husbanding would lessen that need for a few decades, at least.
"And yet I do not think that is the lack that truly concerns you," Raziel observed. Ignoring the reports before him, he laced his talons together and studied the other vampire. "You believe our numbers--and our fledglings--are inadequate for survival?" Even vampires died, whether through combat or mischance ... or execution. Did Anani believe their losses had been too great to sustain their numbers?
Raziel did not wish to create another empire. That had always been Kain's ambition. He simply wanted his Clan safe--and ideally, prosperous. Not for the first time, however, he wondered what that truly meant. They could not continue as they always had, culling the human herds as they wished. To act as if they lived in an Empire that did not yet exist--and now might not ever--was madness. Nor could they drive humans from their midst, even with blood fountains to hand. Living vitae was their sustenance, fundamental to their existence. Without it, Raziel felt certain that his progeny's bloodthirst would drive them to rebellion, regardless of their loyalty.
What then remained? An alliance was impossible. Humans viewed themselves as masters of all they surveyed; their betrayal of the creatures that dared prey upon them would be inevitable. No, if the Razielim were not masters, then they would be slaves--and nothing more than tinder for the the Sarafan pyres in the ages to come. Nosgoth was the same as it ever had been, even in this lush and verdant age; kill or be killed. Was it folly to search for something more?
When it became apparent that he would not be immediately dismissed, Anani settled smoothly to one knee, that his Sire might not be forced to look up at him. It was an easy motion, the habit of long practice. "Survival?" Anani frowned. "My Lord, unless we somehow prevent it, the Sarafan will rise in due course, will they not?" The second Sarafan force - the one from whose ranks he had been redeemed - had taken centuries to fully collapse. The continent had been dotted with Sarafan chapels, Sarafan training grounds. As Sarafan armies swept the countryside clean of creatures undead, unnatural, or simply fearsome, they had changed the face of the world. And yet, the Sarafan which Anani had combated had been but shadows of the original. Tales and legends of those murderers had persisted even into the empire.
Anani shook his head. "There are none more able to stand alone than your Razielim, but... our ranks are thin, and we have not the numbers of your brethren to fall back upon." Nor their abilities. Younger vampires recalled the other clans only as adversaries - Anani remembered the glory and the strength when all six took to the battlefield as one. There could be no question that a Razielim's speed was all the more effective when coupled with Rahabim magery, Dumahim ferocity, Turelim skill, or even Zephonim subterfuge and intelligence. And without the Melchiahim... how many Razielim would be forced from the front lines for years--or decades--simply due to relatively minor injuries, such as the loss of a limb?
"Yes--in time, the humans will raise their kingdoms and churches, and the Sarafan will come," Raziel replied, his answer deceptively mild as he watched the other vampire. Anani's hesitation was nigh-unnoticeable; the merest tinge of anxiety touching the thin thread of communication that existed betwixt Sire and offspring. However, even such tiny reservations were a matter of concern. Anani's loyalty was absolute; if even he had begun to question the path on which Raziel had set his Clan ....
"What measures, then, would keep us safe? Tell me, Anani--how many vampires would you have us Sire? How many would it take to defend the Clan against a world of humans? Or do you dream of a new Empire, mine own? Should I now call myself Emperor?" The words were hard, unyielding. A mere two years previous, by Anani's reckoning, they would also have been the worst kind of traitorous blasphemy. The very idea that a vampire other than Kain might exalt himself to Emperor was anathema, and a slow, torturous death had been visited upon any vampire voicing such ambitions.
Kain--had been a God most jealous of his primacy.
That gave Anani pause, and he cast his gaze aside for a moment, Raziel's words -- the very idea! -- evoked a physical discomfort. He knew of those long and torturous deaths as well. Even those who impeded Kain inadvertently were so dealt with, as the Zephonim, with their labyrinthine and sometimes countercrossing schemes, had discovered on more than one occasion. And yet... "Shall you not, my Lord?" asked Anani quietly, steeling himself.
In the flat silence that followed those words, Anani tilted his head slightly, baring a little more the smooth column of his throat. "Build an Empire, strong against all threats, and you shall afford us safety aplenty - but also the space in which our arts and our talents might flourish once more. Latitude to thrive - not merely abide -- for us... and for the Ancients, should you will it so."
Anani drew a slow breath. "Our design is to conquer. We were made for it, built for it - shaped by your hand for that purpose. Lead us in it." Anani spread his talons in illustration or in plea; the chevron-grooved undersides that afforded near-perfect grip upon any instrument of war, the finely serrated cutting edges that could cleave through flesh or leather or chainmail with equal ease.
Raziel regarded those taloned hands soberly, thinking upon what to say.
"Your purpose remains, Anani. On that, you have my word. I would not ask the lions of the Empire to humble themselves as if they were sheep, nor keep my hawks mewed away from the sky." He shifted, reaching forward to trace a talon-tip along the line of Anani's armored palm. "But this place we will carve out for ourselves must be our own, not Kain's. Already we have come to a world with riches he could never have fathomed--" there was a certain irony in that, given that it had been Kain's fledgling self that had first accompanied him upon this mad journey. "--a world that has never known an Empire, before even the first human kingdom. We are at the beginning of all things, Anani; this requires a certain amount of ... consideration."
Suddenly restless, Raziel pushed himself to his feet, pacing over to one of the wide, vaulted windows. "The time of the Hylden is past, and the time of the Ancients is fading, little though I might wish it. There are none who stand before us; no human kings, no armies, no Sarafan. Not yet. This time can be ours to build upon, if we seize it. Not the Empire that was, but something new. Something ... I do not yet have a name for." Without turning, he reached out, touching Anani's mind. History is relentless, mine own. The actions we take in this time will shape the nature of our future enemies. We cannot eliminate the humans, the Sarafan; to do so would change the shape of our own past. We must build something that Nosgoth has never seen ... an Empire built on more than conquest. An Empire ... that can survive without an Emperor, when the time comes.
"Time? At what time, and under what circumstances, do you think to quit us? Have you foreseen... your demise? Or another evolution? Is this a consequence of the Taint you believe may someday warp us?" In his distress and anger, Anani rose, tense.
"Calm yourself," Raziel ordered, turning to face him once more. As Anani subsided, he considered his choices. He could give Anani some half-truth, some facile explanation of the future which would neither fully appease his firstborn's anxiety nor answer his questions--or Raziel could grant him the truth. To do so was a very palpable risk; Raziel knew better than most how the truth could be twisted, made to turn awry in the minds of those who possessed it. If Anani took it ill, or worse, attempted to rail against his Sire's fate and endanger the Clan....
Raziel did not want to lose his firstborn; especially not to his own folly.
Anani. Raziel's Whisper was perhaps more cold than he intended, made stern by his own uncertainty. Thus far, I have told you only a small part of my journeys. If you wish it, I will now tell you of its entirety, and you will know why I speak as I do. If you make this choice, however, what I tell you must never escape your lips or mind, save only with my express permission. Swear this to me, as your Sire and as your Lord--and you shall have your answers.
Anani hesitated a heartbeat, though not over his answer. For Raziel to afford him a choice at all was more than passing strange, for his Lord might simply speak, and then command Anani's silence afterwards, and never need Raziel fear a straying thought or syllable. Was this a game, then? A test? Why? My lips, my mind, and my word are yours, no less now than ever. But I do so swear. And I would know of your journey.
The tale was long in the telling; the slivered moon had begun its downward progress towards the dawn by the end of it, the fire guttering low in the hearth. Raziel poured more bloodwine from the bottle that he had opened earlier, when it had become evident they would both need it. The Razielim had managed to bring only a few bottles to this time, and the wine was beyond precious because of it. Still, this tale, if no other, required it.
Anani was silent as Raziel spoke, listening intently, though he could not keep his shock hidden as fully as he might have desired. Anani was an old creature, had seen and experienced much, from the most ravaged fields of war to the most esoteric realms of magic. But this unfolding tale, this was...
"You... then you are the Reaver." Anani's whisper was broken with awe, and startled by the sound of his own voice, he reflexively checked the auditory and telepathic wards woven around Raziel's demesne. Both held firm, keyed to his Lord's will. It was not often that Anani was left at utter loss for words, but -- ! He knew not even what to feel. Horror? For Kain had kept the Reaver beside him for over a thousand years, and to be trapped within an inanimate object for such a span of time would be nothing less than enmaddening. Pride? For among all mighty creatures, among all the spawn of Kain and even Kain himself, there was but one being fit to inhabit the blade. Relief? For Raziel was now free of his bonds. "What... was it like?"
"I ... do not remember it all," Raziel admitted. "Only the last of it is clear, once I had made my choice." Lifting the goblet, Raziel took a thoughtful sip. "It is cold. Colder than the farthest mountain reaches of the north. There is ... no awareness of time, no sense of place. As the Reaver, all that remained to me were my memories, an endless, devouring hunger--and Kain." Small wonder his divided and imprisoned soul had gone mad.
Anani started slightly as Raziel refilled his goblet -- so absorbed in the tale had he been, he'd not noticed that Raziel's cup was empty, had not served him as he should have. Anani's own goblet was still half-full, the aroma that rose from it was saturating, rich. It would be centuries before either the vinyards or the human stock were capable of producing wine of this quality. Anani frowned as he worked through the layers of implication behind Raziel's words, searching for avenues of of potential threat.
"What of the beings which may have freed you, and returned you to your natural form? Did they owe unto you a service? Or do they now expect the reverse?" It was possible that Raziel'd had dealings with these creatures before his fall, for there were doings of Kain and his Lieutenants of which Anani was unaware, though not, he thought, many. Did these 'Powers' now hope an additional boon of Raziel?
"The Powers ... are enigmatic creatures, with purposes of their own. For the moment, their purposes and mine coincide in the preservation of Nosgoth," Raziel said carefully. He had not elaborated much upon Haven or the creatures there; how did one describe a world so utterly alien to anything Anani had known? A world where none died, and humans possessed the powers of gods. Humans that offered themselves freely to resident vampires, no less!
"However--even they cannot promise that the Reaver will not await me once my tasks are done," he continued. The Powers had attempted, more than once, to explain how Raziel's fate might be averted. And while Raziel had listened, he had not yet believed that it could be so. Not when all of Kain's machinations and his own had led him inevitably to the same result.
Free will meant little when all roads led to the Reaver.
"This is something you must accept, Anani," Raziel said, leaning forward. His expression was unyielding. "Kain is essential to Nosgoth's survival. The Scion of Balance must be armed with an imbued Reaver, or all we have suffered will be for naught. Regardless of my eventual fate ... put away any thoughts of destroying the blade or otherwise interfering in the shape of things to come." It was indisputably a command, not a request.
The corner of Anani's mouth twisted, the tips of his talons grated as he rubbed them together, unconsciously sharpening their edges. "Kain has had his due of Razielim blood -- and of yours," he growled. "By your own recollection, Kain has already wielded this imbued Reaver. If he has failed to make use of it in good time, and requires your... assistance once more, then it should be for a span, and at a time, of your choosing." In particular, it was clear that any such 'assistance' must be rendered only after Razielim warlocks learned how to duplicate this feat of returning their Lord to his physical flash. If Kain came for them... well. If he came for Raziel, then he would meet the full fury of the Clan. Which made it all the more vital for the Razielim to fortify and reclaim their lost numbers quickly.
"If my future is at all like my past," Raziel replied dryly, "Then it is likely that surrounding events will force my hand, regardless of whether I will it or not. Do not forget, Anani--every action I took, every decision I made, served only to bind me tighter towards my eventual fate." He met Anani's eyes, that inhuman golden gaze so akin to his own. "In that fate, however, I was changed. I was purified, and imbued with all the power of the Ancient forges--and I bestowed that same purification, that power upon Kain once he took up the Reaver blade once more. It has fundamentally changed us both, and I do not think any creature now knows what we might become." This concern Anani would not have fully understood before--now Raziel could only hope that his firstborn understood its implications, especially for any new fledges that Raziel might Sire. "The Clan will change as well, if I succeed in my aims. But such grand designs take time; and I fear the Clan may become a house divided between the old and the new--between those changed and purified by the Reaver's power, and those yet to receive it."
Anani stilled like a snake. Raziel feared that his clan would be incapable of accepting any individuals he purified, any new fledglings he raised? And thus he thought to leave them here, in this soft world. Any fatalistic plan which led to the cleaving apart of clan and lord was unquestionable madness. And what if others learned to what extent Raziel now -- no matter his reasons -- questioned his own issue, and his own substance?
Anani had to know how deep this cancer ran. Even still, something in his chest tightened, like a fist, as he growled. "If you cannot navigate this uncertainty, the clan will find one who can." And Anani would do it himself... if he had to.
For a single endless moment, there was silence. A glowing ember popped within the banked hearth, releasing a tiny shower of sparks upward.
"Ah. Now the heart of the matter becomes clear." The air changed as Raziel spoke--a wind stirring through the vaulted windows, an electric charge prickling over the skin. Yet Raziel's face showed none of the fury one might have expected; instead it was remote, cold. Any illusions of intimacy--whether brought on by the hour or by the bloodwine--were stripped away. Between one moment and the next, Raziel sat in judgment, the sole arbiter of the Clan.
"You believe my forbearance to be weakness." The words were as distinct and hard as flint struck against steel. "My forethought to be indecision. You question my strength, and my resolve." He set his goblet aside, precisely settling it upon the heavy stone of the nearby table. Then he stood.
The electric-shot charge of Raziel's aura was now almost palpable, spilling outward, the first sparks of the wraithblade flickering over his sword-arm. I honored you; trusted you with my thoughts as I do no other. A burden it now appears you were not ready to bear, if you now believe I could be supplanted. It appeared Raziel had erred in giving Anani the answers he had sought. It was a potent warning against doing so with any other, if his firstborn could fall so easily to his fears. "You disappoint me, Anani."
Raziel's words were mild; their meaning was not. As a fledgling, to disappoint Raziel was to die. Elders had a modicum more protection from summary execution--but only just, for Raziel rarely suffered his progeny, regardless of rank, to disappoint him more than once.
Anani's back stiffened, his eyes flashed, his affront nearly stronger than his relief. He did not quail before his Sire's manifest fury -- Raziel had taught him better than that -- though he was most certainly affected by it. "Not your strength, no." That much was obvious, for no creature who had seen Raziel's puissance during the Hylden battles could possibly make that assumption. But other Razielim were far less likely to survive their Lord's displeasure than Anani was, should they challenge him as Anani did now... and, eventually, if Raziel meant to construct his emperor-less empire, they surely would. The result would be a declining and demoralized force, bound to a impermanent master mainly by virtue of fear. Anani would not, could not, have that. Not for the Razielim, and not for Raziel.
Anani reached out to pick up Raziel's goblet, the chitin of his talons clicking against the steel. The bottle was already on the mantlepiece, and he rose -- it almost physically hurt to turn his back, even a fraction, to an elder radiating such cold fury -- and placed the two chalices beside it, where they might survive the worst of the coming storm. It was very good wine, after all. He moved a step away, and faced his coldly furious Sire, his muscles coiling with tension. "Your trials may have taught you a great deal, but in the course of them you have forgotten much too, that you should imagine us content in this honeyed land without you, so diverted that you mayest arrange us to ease your own 'inevitable' absence. That you should think to enumerate your enemies before me, but intend to lead us against none of them."
Anani lifted his hand again, but this time the razored edges were not brandished in supplication. If Raziel truly intended to accept his fate as written; if he meant to keep his Razielim, his fine instruments of the battlefield, rusting in the backwaters of a beautiful world... how were they to withstand it? What was peace to the Razielim anyway? Anani growled lowly, his deliberate snarl exposing the tips of his fangs. "Little wonder that the question of fitness could be raised."
The strike, when it came, was sudden and swift.
The very air crackled with the unleashed telekinetic force, thunder reverberating as the stones of the wall cracked like clay under the force of the impact. Even expecting it, there had been no escape; Anani was flung off his feet before he could do more than flinch from his Sire's outstretched hand. Now, pinned against the wall by that same invisible force, he struggled vainly, cloven feet scrabbling for purchase as he was choked into silence.
"You presume to lecture me?" Raziel paced toward his errant progeny, his outstretched palm limned in blue. His Whisper was frigid steel, slicing into Anani's mind. Is this what you truly believe of your brethren? Of me? You expect me to cower upon a throne like some aged and venal human king, sending armies to fight battles in my stead? Have I truly raised a Clan fit for nothing more than thuggery? His rage was almost palpable--yet, oddly, none of it showed upon his face. There was no snarl, or baring of fangs; only an expression that, in that moment, seemed oddly akin to that of Kain.
The Razielim were the lions of the Empire. Kain's swift sword, to wield against any who opposed him. Yet I tell you now--THERE IS NO MORE EMPIRE. Raziel voice would have reverberated from the walls, had he spoken aloud. There are no Clans, no Kain! We are their only legacy, in this time or any other. We can no longer rely upon Melchiahim artisans, Turelim engineers, Zephonim spymasters. The Razielim must now encompass all that we lack--we MUST change, or we will fall! Raziel's face was barely a hand's-breadth from Anani's own, falcon-amber eyes intent and predatory. How many of your brethren would now know this land, this future, had they not thrown themselves into the Abyss? Leave the fate of the world to Kain. Leave the Reaver to me. I shall lead you in war and in peace; even perhaps against Kain, in time. But it shall be according to MY will, and not because the Razielim know naught else but dealing in death!
Anani twisted hard against the telekinetic weave, in mind and in body, the air disturbed by his silent struggles stirring the fine dust of crumbled stone and the hem of Raziel's cape. Within a century of his fledgling, Anani had exceeded his Sire in the command of magical energies. Not so now, for the kinetic shackle Raziel had summoned so easily was extraordinarily fine in weave, the strands gossamer, difficult to grasp. They could be picked apart, perhaps, but... not with any great speed.
You shall lead *what*, precisely? Anani countered. The impact against the wall and the constriction deprived him of breath, but that was of little consequence, and he did not grasp at his throat as might a younger vampire. He fisted his talons instead in the stone of the wall, mortar and marble alike crumbling in his hands. A diluted clan of warriors forbidden to fight? A horde of fifth and sixth generation fledglings? Gift us new scions, new lines, that we might have both numbers and the skills to dominate this world. Lead us against the Sarafan, that their genocide might remain stillborn, that our young might have the time and safety to develop talents other than martial. And as for Kain--
So you would kill the Sarafan, Raziel Whispered, silken smooth. Is that what you truly wish? And when you come upon an acolyte that bears the name Raziel--would you slay him as well, in order to save untold numbers your brethren? What of a babe named Anani? Shall we seek him out as well, and slaughter him in the cradle, before his stratagems can impede us?
He released his telekinetic hold, allowing his captive to drop ungracefully to the ground. Before Anani could rise, Raziel followed him down, forcing the other vampire prone with a leather-clad knee planted firmly in the center of that broad chest. Kain also once thought to remove an obstacle from his path in such a manner. And once it was done, he found his actions had resulted in the near-extinction of the vampire race. The Clan will have its new blood--but I will choose when and whom I Sire!
Anani launched into action the moment he was released -- Raziel had always been faster, but Anani was somewhat slenderer, and very dexterous, and his agility sometimes won him advantage even against his Sire -- but one knee gave more than Anani anticipated, an elbow less, a taloned fist not at all, and Anani found himself thrown flat on his back with a gasp as the last of his air was forced from his lungs. His ribcage creaked under the pressure of Raziel's pin -- a human's sternum would have splintered long since. Has your long view of the world blinded you to the moment? 'Tis more than three thousand years before you will be born, and twice that before I take a breath. There is time enough, here and now, for our flourishing and the growth of our magical abilities, if we have the numbers to grasp it. Your fears of the purification that may be imbued in your spawn are unfounded -- if your issue disappoint you.... His talons against Raziel's knee for leverage, the gripping edges scoring the leather, boots hiss-scraping against the marble tiles, Anani struggled, a sinuous and muscular writhing to work him out from under Raziel's strength. ...I will kill them myself.
Raziel's impassive mask broke, a rumbling growl escaping from deep in his throat. He leaned downward, until the creaking of Anani's ribs was audible to them both. You would presume to judge my progeny? Do you now aspire to usurp your Sire? For the first time since his return, Raziel believed it possible. Furious at the thought of such a betrayal, he laid a taloned hand over that heaving chest, directly over Anani's unbeating heart. His talons curved inward, gouging through armored skin down to the bone.
Elder vampires were difficult to kill--other than water or fire, beheading was the only sure way. Removing the heart, however, ensured a near-mortal wound, one that could take a great deal of pain and time to heal, and leave the victim helpless before his tormentor.
"Your aspirations may yet prove your undoing," Raziel snarled. "Mine alone is the right of acceptance or execution--and you would do well to remember that!" His eyes narrowed. Anani would require purification, and soon; that much was now evident.
Anani growled soundlessly -- did his Sire think him so arrogant, or so simple? Anani had held the reins of the clan before -- for months at a time during Raziel's evolutions, and then later for over a year, during his sojourn. Anani knew all too well that he had not the strength to hold the clan together under truly turbulant conditions, to keep splinter groups from pursuing their own revenge. He had been over-cautious -- much as Raziel now was over-cautious. Of course not! At your word would I assist. If you were concerned that the Razielim might become a house div…
And then Raziel's edged hand closed on him, drawing rents that seeped deep purple vitae. Anani's struggles ceased immediately, his palm fell away from Raziel's knee, though he shivered with the effort to contain his own agonized writhing as Raziel's talons cut inward with brutal strength, chitin grating upon bone. He knew what wound his Lord threatened, had suffered it before, when he had pushed too hard, too far. He'd known that he risked this when he'd entered the chamber intent on speaking of his concerns -- had known he risked still worse when he'd made to test Raziel's resolve. His every instinct was to flinch from the proof of his Sire's displeasure, to beg leniency. And yet, in the end, he could not -- not without being certain Raziel understood. Anani's Whisper was colored bloody by his pain. Your clan witnesses your hesitation. And they will begin to fear.
Rage and regret were coiled tight in Raziel’s chest. It was difficult not to succumb to the urge to sink his talons deeper, to splinter past bone and sinew until he had Anani's heart crushed in his grip. Are you certain, my firstborn, that you speak of the Clan's fear, and not your own? For all his trials, Raziel did not believe he had changed in any fundamental fashion--he was as he had always been. If that was not enough for Anani .... You speak of hesitation and doubt. I speak of strategy and battles carefully chosen. Which, then, is the Clan to believe? He paused. Which will *you* choose to believe?