The Vampire's Reflection

The Silver City



Francis adjusted his ruffled cuff, and smoothed the indigo silk lapel of his overcoat. Catching a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a large, ominous glass sculpture in the hallway, he grinned. He absolutely adored himself in coattails. He dusted off his shoulder and blinked again at the large, glassy thing. The Parliament has such garish tastes, he thought as he frowned at the giant edifice of the lion-their official symbol. Its horrid roar reflected their lack of mercy.



Francis grinned again as he straightened his satin ascot that was neatly puffed under his throat. Intricately stitched into the fabric with shimmering thread was the symbol again. They'd done well to fix him up. Light magic was so feeble when matched up against dark magic. Not even Vladislov's seemingly infinite spell would condemn him, like he'd originally promised. A simple ritual performed by the elders washed away the deep, raven-colored flesh that the Wizard painted him with when he'd cursed him on the night of the battle. Vladislov was so dramatic. Francis was happy to be his old, pale, fabulous self once more.



Oh, poor Vlad. Francis scoffed and sarcastically made the motion of blessing himself at the thought of his late companion turned sworn enemy. They'd shared many good years together before Vladislov fell off his rocker.



Closing his eyes, Francis inhaled once before winding his talons around the massive, onyx door handles. He tore the double doors wide, revealing the splendid, grand hall before him.



Prior to these last several months, Francis had barely heard of the Dark City through a few midnight tales from his blood-drunken creator, let alone actually seen the place. Legends existed even in a world comprised of legends, and this place had once only seemed to be a fairytale. The Elves had their Regime-or rather, the Elves once had their Regime. Francis chuckled quietly to himself. The creatures of the night had the Parliament, though it was much less of a government and more of a secret society, he'd deduced during the time spent with them. Most of his kind would have trouble even finding this place. Though, leave it to a worldly Wizard such as Vladislov to exile him here. Smart, Vladislov, very smart. Vladislov had his issues, but he knew what he'd created in Aiden-knew what a danger he could be. He knew. Francis narrowed his eyes at that thought. The Parliament must have done something to intimidate the Regime, for if Vladislov knew of Abelim's secret whereabouts, why had he done nothing to destroy it during his reign? Why had he sent Francis to a society he knew would help?



As he walked into the grand hall, he found himself surrounded by even more stacked pillars of luxurious marble, silver-leaf detail in the scrollwork along the walls, and magnificently intricate tapestries. Was that all really necessary? Abelim was just a tad too dramatic and gloomy for his tastes, though he did appreciate the richness of the materials they used. But even so, the place could have done with some modernizing. It was just so...gothic. He shuddered. His mind flashed to Valek then, and he smirked. That vampy little purist would do well here, he thought. A swell of sadness surged through him, though he shoved it back into the depths of his mind. He didn't miss him. He wouldn't miss him. Valek was where he truly belonged.



The heels of Francis' polished boots clicked on the onyx floors as he moved deeper into the hall. Still, with all of the ominous decor, Francis could not help but to feel quite at home in that place. It was so far underground, it almost reminded him of the days he'd holed up in his basement. No sun. No Regime hunting him down there. He was definitely in safekeeping. The only thing missing, though he missed it very slightly, was the outside. The trees. The wind off the Vltava. The crisp smell of fresh air in his nose.



This place was more like a giant crypt that lacked even the smallest crack of life.



Several dozen elegantly clad Vampires lined the walkway that led up to the Elders who lounged at the end of the hall. These Vampires served as pages, fetching-people, lovers. Basically anything the elders desired at any given moment. Francis could get used to that idea-of being waited upon every moment, to one's heart's content. Distantly, he thought of Sarah, and his black heart tightened. Once the coast was clear and the dust settled, he'd be making some changes back home.



One of the Vampires in particular eyed him as he passed her, a deviant smirk spread across her shiny, black lips. She was tall with legs that went on for miles underneath a gunmetal dress that came to the middle of her pearly thigh. Her eyes flashed a brilliant azure, her angular face framed by pin-straight black hair that could easily have been braided and used for a whip.



Francis merely smirked back at her. "Thanks, but I'm not your type."



Proceeding forward, the elder members of the Parliament were strewn across various, armchairs and table surfaces. The term "elders" definitely didn't match their appearance, however. They weren't like the Regime. They weren't hairy and old. They didn't sit stoically for hours on thrones atop a grand pedestal, barking orders at lowly surfs. The Parliament had a much different style, one Francis could definitely adapt to. They were all young looking and absolutely, devastatingly beautiful in a deadly sort of way. He swore one look from them to any human being would melt the mortal flesh off a person's face. They were even a tad intimidating to him, though he would never admit it out loud. They were all too monstrously beautiful. Yes, Valek would do nicely here.



"Francis."



One named Cicero greeted him without turning his attention away from his chess tournament with another named Aleksandr. Aleksandr glanced up only slightly, though quickly averted his gaze back to the board. Francis frowned, frustrated with the silence that emanated from that particular area of the room. The elders had apparently mastered the ability to keep their thoughts and emotions to themselves. At long last the tables were turned, and Francis empathized with his human victims. He hated the fact they were privy to his every thought without him being aware of theirs in return.



"Cicero," Francis returned the greeting bitterly and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. He meandered up to the chess board and eyed their game. His gaze flickered again to Aleksandr, whose eyes hardened just a pinch, his lips pressing together. Francis noticed his stare move slightly left of the game board to the floor near his boots, a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth. Francis moved one of Aleksandr's knights forward one square, causing him to gain the upper hand.



Aleksander's eyes flashed fiercely to Francis' face, his eyes sinking into a darker sort of cobalt shade. Was he blushing? Angrily, and without even one word, the tall, stealthy Vampire whisked away down the hall, leaving the grand room. Francis frowned after him.



"Don't mind, Alek. He's just a little shy. He'll warm up to you eventually." Cicero swiftly moved his king, sending one of Aleksandr's knights crashing to the floor. The thing broke into powdery pieces. "Check mate."



"I don't understand. Have I done something to offend him?" Francis tried to remain as lackadaisical about the situation as he could possibly seem, but that proved harder than he imagined, for whatever emotion that presented itself within his face was enough to cause Cicero to throw his head back in a cackle.



Cicero whipped a blood tear away from his eye. "No, no. Any offense that vexes him now is of his own creation. Come, though." He beckoned. "This is trivial. Come and sit with us."



Cicero was tall and drawn, as the others were, with a sculpted form like that of a runner or a danseur. His muscles were tight and lean, rather than overtly puffed. One would underestimate his strength, which probably worked to his benefit more often than not. He was the most Mediterranean-looking of the group. Even in death, he somehow managed to maintain a little of his earthly color, as his paleness possessed a more olive glow. His shimmering black curls were thick and lustrous around his perfectly square face. He was perhaps the eldest, and by far the cleverest and most lethal.



Francis followed as they moved to a pair of the largest chairs he had ever seen. They sat diagonally before a fireplace that was carved about five meters up the massive wall, though the hearth was cold and unlit.



"Francis, as you are well aware, it took the best medical treatment we could offer in order to fix you and return you to back to your original state. I would say we've done a rather fantastic job in caring for you during your exile here. Would you agree?"



"I would. Thank you." Payback was obviously coming. Francis couldn't hear Cicero's thoughts, but it was safe to guess at least that much.



"Well, if you are content, we are content. But there is something we wish in return."



And there it was. Francis threw his legs over the arm of the chair and proceeded to file his claws. "Of course, Cicero," he sighed. "For I am but a lowly servant to the elders of the Parliament. What is it that you wish of me?"



Cicero let out a barking laugh that seemed to reverberate down the entire grand hall. "My comrade, I do appreciate your witty candor. But are you privy to what is about to occur?" Cicero shot his gaze to the massive hearth, which instantly bowed to his whim and ignited.



The fire was immense-perhaps the largest he'd ever seen contained by a hearth and not wreaking havoc on some unfortunate building. The flames were enormous enough to almost singe the edges of Francis' face. He sat erect in his chair, and stared dubiously at Cicero. Could Vampires do that? It reminded him instantly of the Elf boy.



"You have not the slightest notion of what the dark arts are capable of, dear Francis. We can swallow every ounce of light whole and digest it well enough that it would never resurface. We've already begun. As we age, we become the opposite of what our adversaries, and even our mortal livestock become. As they grow older, they become ugly and die. They lose strength. They lose ability. It is funny that they remain oblivious as to where all of that vitality ends up." He looked to Francis and flashed a grin that was enamoring enough to blind him.



"Do you mean, here?" Francis fumbled, for this was information not even he knew. Was that really how it worked?



"Yes, my friend. The underworld! Of course! All of that life must end up somewhere, for energy cannot be created or destroyed, right? That is really how it works." Cicero answered the thought. "We are the undead-the opposite of life. We literally eat life force, do we not? We suck it up, and the more of it we consume, the more we thrive and grow. The more we grow, the more life falters in our wake."



The flames before them began to twist and spiral, as if they were forming some sort of image. Instantly, it reminded Francis of Sarah and the loneliness swelled again. The picture within the blaze depicted dozens of figures. Two sides. And they were battling each other.



"The fates are beginning to set up something that the mortal world has predicted for a long while. Devastation. The end of their race." Cicero continued to narrate as the images literally flickered before Francis' vision. "Armageddon, as it were. But there's just one thing the human population did not predict correctly." Cicero waved his claw to change the images. A single Vampire rose up between the flames, and clinging to his massive arms were tiny figures of what looked to be human beings. "That is the conundrum. They have feared the darkness for thousands and thousands of years. Believing we are the representation of evil." The fire twisted again, and this time it looked to be the profile of Aiden, but somehow it seemed altered. More malevolent than before. "They fear the very thing that will be their salvation. Do you not understand what we really are, Francis? Vampire was just the name given to us by generations of uneducated mortals playing some screwy little guessing game. We are much more than that. We are the fallen, created for a larger purpose. We have the power of angels-of gods; for that was the divine material we were designed from, given the dark gift by those others who had possessed the dark gift before us. Mortals slaughtered each other for centuries. Mortals have a thirst for blood, don't they? They kill indiscriminately. And if they do, then so do we."



Francis gaped wide-eyed at Cicero. "I do not understand what you desire of me. If something as grand as preserving the human race is at stake, what could I possibly do to assist you?"



Cicero only grinned and looked at him expectantly. "We want your ward."



"Valek?" Francis blanched. "But why?"



"He single-handedly led your coven to take down something as powerful as the Regime."



"If you knew this was on the horizon, why didn't you just take care of them? The Parliament seems capable enough to handle a couple of Wizards...."



"The fates didn't want us meddling. They were not ready for us to come into the picture. There's a plan. That's it," he said as seriously as the daylight was deadly. "Sometimes, there's just a proper order of things, and if the divine does not want you meddling, than you are to abide." His gaze grew darker.



"Several hundred of our kind died, do you understand that?" Francis fought, slamming his fist on the arm of the chair.



"You are very bold to address an elder in such a fashion." Ophelia, a female elder, and the only equivalent to Cicero as far as the chain of command went, approached the two of them. Her voice was penetrating and musical, like the tone of silver stroking a fine, crystal glass. It lifted the hair on the back of Francis' neck. She was also lengthy, her movements as fluid and graceful as a serpent. Her eyes seemed an even more glorious shade of their normal blue, her silvery blonde hair slicked back off her face in a ponytail that cascaded down to the backs of her calves.



"Well, I just think it's ridiculous." Francis crossed his arms. "I'm sorry, but it angers me. Beloved members of my own coven died when you could have easily done something to destroy Aiden and his cronies." He blinked furiously. "Just because some unseen force demanded you to stay here and sit on your hands-"



"Enough!" Cicero boomed and stood to his feet. The fire blistered higher and more fervently behind him, casting his long, black shadow across the entire length of the hall. "You will not disrespect me further, nor will you disrespect the divine order. Abide by me, and you will not face destruction."



Francis, with his hands plastered fearfully over his lips, could only nod.



Ophelia joined Cicero's side and folded his hand in hers. The fire behind him instantly calmed to a rumble. "We need the one called Valek. The natural leader. He will shepherd us in this war against the light. You will be our messenger who sends for him."



"Might I ask what qualifies my Valek for such a task?" Francis crossed his arms over his chest again.



Cicero noticeably seethed, but did not anger completely this time. "If Valek could take your tiny coven and overthrow the leader of the entire magic realm, then we feel he is the best fit to lead our army to the very ends of this Earth. The rest of us lack the kind of control he possesses. He is shaped by the Devil, as we all are, but he is the one with the heart of God inside of him. He is the ultimate dark angel. The fates have decreed it, and so it shall be. We've been watching him for a very long time. We are aware of his unique situation, and while the girl has no place in our kingdom, we do have our own plan for her. She has already been beckoned here." He shot a quick look toward Ophelia and broadened his stance. "He is not only to become one of us, but become our leader. If you do not comply, it will result in your immediate disintegration above ground at dawn."