OC + NPC Backstory Lore
Campaign Lore
Word Count: 10,500
It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
Like a heartbeat he no longer had, the thought pulsed through Kazim repeatedly, accompanying each surge of pain with every move he made. He couldn’t tell if the pain was from the physical injuries or the barbed wires in his veins pulling him back to her. Each step further away from her was agony.
Just turn around. Go back. She’ll forgive me. She’s waiting for me. She’ll heal me. Comfort me. Feed me.
Taste her again and take more than her arm. Take everything. Rip her apart.
A lance of molten hatred cut through the Bond, the force of the thought making him stumble on already unsteady legs. A different pain coursed through him. A deep, empty, aching hunger for something other than blood. The same fury that had finally shattered the last of the walls he’d built over the past decade to withstand her commands and control. The indifference, dissociation, and helpless loyalty had kept him bound tight to her side. He’d traded alcohol for her blood. One addiction for another. Even now it burned in him just like the fire had burned him. The fire she’d set. The fire she’d watched him stumble out of, still burning, choking on the acrid smoke, waiting for him.
Yes. She caught me. Saved me. Gave me a second chance. Took away my pain. Healed me. Showed me how to be strong –
Strong enough to make her regret it.
“Shut up!” He didn’t know who he was talking to. There wasn’t anyone in the alley with him. Just the warring voices in his head. A bond and a beast. One of them was going to win soon and he didn’t know which. But either option meant he’d turn around and go right back into her clutches. Well… clutch. After all, he’d taken her arm as a parting gift. He could still taste her blood in his mouth. A final indulgence before the shadows had taken the rest. And yet despite all his efforts, it was all he’d been able to take. She’d taken so much more. She’d taken everything. His life. His love. His humanity. Stripped him of free will and kindness until all that was left was a hungry, angry weapon she could point in whatever direction she wanted. And he’d listened. Because he’d had no choice. For so long he’d drowned in her blood he’d almost forgotten that freedom was even an option. And yet in the moments before sleeping, the moments upon waking, the briefest of times before he remembered where he was and still felt the flames on his skin and smoke in his lungs he remembered he hated her. It had taken years, but that hate had finally boiled over. And he’d won. Barely. But he’d won.
“You’ll come crawling back,” she’d spat as he’d turned his back and forced himself to walk away and leave her bleeding and broken. One beautifully manicured hand clutching the stump where her other arm had been, blackened blood and shadows clinging to it and sealing the wound before it could be restored. “Our bond is stronger than your will. You will always belong to me.”
Something had to be stronger. If blood could bind him, maybe blood could unbind him. Kew Gardens. He was so close. He’d fought the bond for three nights to get there. He could fight it for three more hours. So he forced his body up off the ground, ignored the broken ribs he still hadn’t found the strength to heal, ignored the shattered femur that he could only walk on thanks to the shadows wrapped around it like a splint, ignored the hollow ache in the pit of his stomach because he hadn’t stopped to feed since leaving her haven.
The Assamite was waiting for him. Standing in the doorway to the library he called home, a curious lift to his brow and a warning frown on his lips. Like he’d somehow sensed the intrusion on his territory. The man leaned on a cane, gripping it tight.
“What brings a wayward Lasombra into my turf?” He took a step forward. Kazim stopped walking, swaying on his feet. “Even if you are young, surely you should know better.”
“I –” Kazim swallowed hard, trying to straighten out his thoughts. Turn around. He’ll kill you. He’ll consume you. Just go back to her. She would never do that. She would protect you from him. Yes, go back and consume her instead. “I need help.”
“And what could I possibly offer you?” The man halted at the bottom of the steps, watching him carefully.
“You’re an Assamite. You know blood magic.” Kazim’s leg almost gave out, the shadows struggling to hold on after so long without fuel. He caught himself, barely, on the iron gate surrounding the haven. The metal groaned and warped under his grip, making the man’s frown deepen and his hand tighten around the cane. “Please. The bond – I can’t fight it much longer.”
That made the man pause. Recognition replaced the wariness. “... are you wed?”
“No. No it’s – it’s just me. She didn’t – she wouldn’t –” Don’t tell him. Leave. Now. She wouldn’t want you to do this. “It hurts.”
Something that wasn’t quite softness but was maybe understanding crossed his face. “I know of a ritual that might be able to help. But it will not be easy. And it will not be painless.”
“I can take it,” Kazim spat. Yes. Show him how strong you are. Just like you showed her. “Name your price.”
“Hmm. I will have to consider what I charge you. But,” the man looked him up and down, “you look dead on your feet and that is truly saying something for a Kindred. I believe I have the means to begin preparations at the very least.”
“I – thank you.” Kazim tried to step forward, but got too close to the light illuminating the stoop. The shadow around his leg vanished and pain shot up his body as his leg finally gave out. The light flickered but held steady, the Abyss too weak in this moment to affect it much. He laid on the ground, helpless, wondering if the Assamite had only engaged him in conversation long enough to wait until he was too weak to fight back. If any of the stories she’d told him were accurate, that cane surely hid a weapon that could end him just as certainly as the sun and his struggle had all been for nothing.
But then the man surprised him. He set the cane against the railing and stepped forward, slinging Kazim’s arm over his shoulder and helping him upright once more. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up. Even if the bond calls you, it is too close to sunrise for you to turn back now. We will rest, and tomorrow night we will begin.”
There wasn’t much left to say to that. He limped alongside the man, struggling up the steps and into the haven that could hold either his salvation or his end. Either way, it would be the release he’d been longing for. She couldn’t reach him here. And maybe, after the Assamite decided what to do with him, she’d never be able to reach him again.
Almost ten years of darkness. But as they stepped into the man’s haven, the lights didn’t go out.
Alastair was halfway through the text discussing an esoteric hypothesis on the reason the Nosferatu’s bloodline twisted their bodies when the lights flickered and dimmed for a few seconds before returning to normal. He paused his reading, laying the book mark on the page to not lose his spot, and glanced up at the ceiling. It had been silent almost the entire night. Too silent. He waited. There – a metallic scrape, clinking of chains shifting. He sighed, turned back to his text, intending to tune out the noises and mutterings.
The lamp on his desk flickered again. He frowned, reached a hand to tap the bulb –
It shattered.
Shards of glass scattered across the desk. A wisp of shadow curled around the exposed wires, choking out the red glow. The electricity buzzed, sparked, and died.
Alastair was moving now. Up the stairs, feeling the shift in the air as he ascended to the attic. The chill that washed over him had little to do with actual temperature. It was something deeper. Crueler.
The attic was dark. All the lights were out. Two more bulbs had broken, but the intact ones were also dead. The only lights came from the enchanted candles burning at the edges of the sigil, casting their own shadows that writhed and fought with the grasping arms of the Abyss. Inside the sigil, Kazim lay on his side, twitching, nails scraping against the wood, a deep, inhuman rumble rattling his chest. Alastair took slow, careful steps into the room, eyes flicking over the sigil to ensure it was still intact. One of the candles had burned low, barely a couple inches left. The ritual was weakening. He had to renew it soon.
He circled around, still keeping his distance, intending to prep the replacement, but despite the almost soundless steps across the floorboards, Kazim’s head turned towards him.
Alastair froze. Kazim’s face was twisted in a snarl, exposing jagged fangs that snapped at the air. His eyes were pools of empty black, devouring the light of the candles as he stared at Alastair, tracking him across the room. The hairs on Alastair’s arms and the back of his neck rose.
“Let me out.” Kazim’s voice was more hiss than words. What kept Alastair rooted to the spot was the second voice layered under it, one that whispered and echoed and spoke from somewhere much darker than the room they were in.
“You know I can’t do that,” Alastair replied, doing his best to keep his voice even and flat. Even with his muted emotions, staring down a Beast was terrifying. But Kazim was still talking. He was not lost yet. “You tasked me with this and I will see it through.”
“I. Want. Out.” Despite the ritual still in effect, Kazim’s hands pushed against the floor with enough strength to crack the wood as he forced himself up and into an animalistic crouch. “Want to hunt. Hungryyyy. Let me hunt. Hunt her. Eat her. Rip her apart.”
“Going back to her will not end how you think. It will only –”
“I WILL TASTE HER SOUL’S FEAR AS I RIP IT APART.” Kazim lunged, nearly reaching the edge of the sigil before the candles flared into columns of blue flame and the blood bindings pulled him back to the floor. He thrashed, straining against the bonds. As he snarled, wisps of shadow escaped his mouth like smoke. Alastair watched as the candles burned lower, consuming even more energy and power to keep the Lasombra restrained, ears ringing and a lance of pain in his temples making him blink as his sorcery drew upon his blood to stay in effect. This… this wasn’t just hunger. Alastair had seen frenzies before. Fought against more than one Beast until it retreated or was put to torpor and the vampire could regain control. But there was more than hunger radiating from Kazim’s. This was fury, and this was hatred. And it was strong.
Alastair eased himself onto his knees, still keeping his distance, as the flames shrank until they were flickering candles once more. “Your anger is understandable. And justified. But it will do you no service here. Rage and claw all you wish, Beast. I will not let you free. Whether your appetite for revenge or blood wins, it will only destroy weeks of effort and undo our progress. Return to your slumber. Give him back.”
“Pretty words are empty words,” Kazim hissed, though he was panting from the exertion now. Sweat plastered his hair to his face. “You reek of fear. I will taste it again. I will feast on your blood first.”
“Not until you give him back,” Alastair said again. “He is not hungry enough to fall to you yet. Whatever whispers you have fed him in his struggle, it will lead both of you nowhere. I will not ask again.”
Kazim’s lip twitched. This time he moved slowly, dragging himself inch by inch towards the edge of the sigil again, the markings of the Abyss writhing across his skin like shadowed flames. As he reached the edge, the candles burned bright once more. Something in Alastair’s sinus popped, and he smelled the blood before it even dripped from his nose. The ritual needed to be renewed soon. Very soon. They stared at each other, barely a yard apart, waiting for the other to break first. Then something in Kazim’s face changed. A tiny, subtle shift that Alastair would’ve missed if he hadn’t been watching so intently.
“Make it stop,” Kazim said. The words were almost mangled by the fangs and the underlying snarl, but the fury had been joined by a hint of… not desperation, but something close to pleading. The closest a creature of bloodlust and destruction could get. “It hurts.”
“I will. That is what I promised. Now,” Alastair leaned forward, steeling himself as he gazed into the Abyss within the Lasombra’s eyes, “give him back.”
Kazim stared back at him for a few moments longer, the Beast unwilling to back down from the challenge. But then his expression went slack. The shadows slowed and retreated, the markings returning to almost mundane tattoos. He collapsed on his side, eyelids fluttering and half-shut, a final exhale of smoky shadows escaping from him before he went still. The candles returned to normal, all but two burned down to stubs and puddles of enchanted wax. Alastair sat back on his heels, letting out his own shuddering breath as the room grew incrementally brighter as the Abyss finally closed its maw. An ache in his thigh made him look down to see he’d been gripping his legs so tight his nails had nearly torn holes in his pants. He’d definitely left bruises, though. The goosebumps had been hidden under his coat, thankfully, but it took several minutes for the fear and anxiety to fade. It took many more minutes to carefully and methodically replace the candles, strengthen the wards, and lay a new set of bindings across the sigil. The entire time he worked, Kazim did not move. Only when Alastair felt completely confident the ritual was complete did he move back over and kneel down to check on him.
Kazim’s eyes were still half-open. The darkness had all but vanished, shrinking back into his pupils once more, leaving the steely grey-blue clear but unfocused. He wasn’t even breathing.
“... Kazim?” Alastair said, quiet at first. No response. Instinctively, he raised a hand to shake the man’s shoulder before pulling back, not willing to risk losing it if he calculated wrong. He cleared his throat and spoke louder. “Kazim? I know you are too stubborn and strong to lose this fight. Prove it. Wake up.”
Another few tense moments of silence and stillness. Just as Alastair contemplated using his cane to poke Kazim, his eyelids fluttered and he took a shuddering breath. Kazim blinked several times, looking around blearily like he was trying to remember where he was. Alastair let him orient himself. Then, finally, Kazim spoke.
“What… what did I say?” He sounded completely exhausted, but the Beast’s voice was gone. It was just him now. “What did I do?”
“Nothing consequential,” Alastair said, hoping it sounded reassuring. “Promises of blood and violence, threats of mauling and obliteration.”
“... I’m sorry.” It was so quiet Alastair thought he’d imagined it for a second. But Kazim stayed huddled on his side, staring at the wall, and said it again. “I’m sorry. I brought my troubles to your doorstep.”
“You did. But you asked for my help. You did not demand it. You did not threaten me for it. And you were willing to listen and endure it.”
“It still costs you. And I have nothing to repay you with.”
“A topic to be settled at a later time, once we have concluded our business and the bond has run its course.” Alastair let his tone soften slightly. He remembered how it felt when his own bond was fading. Like dozens of hooks in his nerves and mind pulling him towards Lara, tearing him apart when he’d fought against it. And Kazim’s bond was so much stronger than his had ever been. “How are you feeling now?”
“What do you think?” There. The bite of sarcasm and exasperation was back. “Everything fucking hurts. I’m hungry. I’m tired.”
“And you still want to go back to her?”
“... yes.”
“Can you fight it?”
“... yes.”
“Will you listen to your Beast again?”
“...” Kazim’s pause was longer. “No.”
“Do your best to hold yourself to that. There is still a long road ahead. I do not know how much longer your bond will take to fade. You may yet lapse again if we are not careful.” Alastair climbed to his feet, feeling the blood loss from renewing the ritual and the ache of having fought Kazim’s resistance to the bindings. He turned to retrieve the knife from the table, intending to give Kazim some more blood to ease his hunger for the rest of the night. He could spare a little more. “But in the meantime, you owe me at least five lightbulbs. Surely you have enough pocket change to pay me back for those.”
“... you really put the ass in Assamite, you know that?”
Thankfully Alastair had his back to Kazim to hide the smirk on his face. But then the smirk became a smile. Just a tiny one. A sad one. He was helping someone again. Nearly a century later, he was helping someone again.
I wonder… would she be proud of me?
Alastair sat with his back to the wall and knees pulled to his chest, not even breathing, not daring to move an inch. Within the sigil, the Beast snarled and raged against his bindings again and again. Kazim’s face was twisted in fury and pain, lips pulled back from jagged fangs, scratches gouged deep into the hardwood from his nails digging in, eyes black voids. The hunger seemed to hit him in waves, allowing Kazim fleeting moments of lucidity before his Beast took the reins again. Despite the quips, sarcastic bites, and general attitude the two of them had been giving each other for months, Alastair couldn’t help the pang of guilt and sorrow as he watched his new companion suffer.
As he watched, the current fit finally began to subside. There were still several hours until sunrise. It was going to be yet another long and painful night for them both. The snarl slowly left Kazim’s face as the spasms stopped, his body finally relaxing for a bit of time. He lay on his side, breathing hard, eyes fluttering as his mind struggled to regain some sense of awareness. Only when he blinked hard and the shadows crawling along the floor and walls withdrew slightly did Alastair allow himself to breathe.
“Are you back with me, little shadow?” He spoke softly. The nickname he’s given Kazim somewhat in jest and condescension for his attitude in the first weeks of getting to know each other now carried none of the original intent. That Kazim was still willing to undergo so much pain to free himself from the bond despite neither of them knowing how much longer it would take… he was still so young. By Kindred standards, and even by human standards, all things considered, though he’d been physically older than Alastair had been when they’d died. “Can you speak?”
“Please…” Kazim’s voice was hoarse and weak. “Please, it hurts. Just a little.”
“You know I can’t do that.” Alastair shifted slightly, stretching limbs that had started feeling stiff from holding still for so long. “It’s too soon. I’ve fed you twice this month already. Even with your bond fading, I do not want to risk the possibility of –”
“It hurts!” Kazim snapped, and the Beast’s voice lurked in his words. Alastair flinched, instinctively curling back despite the sigil holding strong so far. He could try giving Kazim blood indirectly, cut his wrist and bleed into the goblet sitting on the table just a few feet away, push it across the sigil with the cane, but even then what if his blood spilled onto the runes and interfered with the magic? What if even the indirect drink gave Kazim enough strength to fight the bindings and crack the floor even more? “Just a taste. Just a sip. Please, Alastair. Please, I’m so hungry.”
“I know. And I am sorry. Just a few more days, Kazim. We must space out when you feed.”
“You want to keep me weak,” he hissed. Again, the Beast crept back into his words. He wouldn’t be lucid for much longer.
“Only so you do not break the sigil and hurt someone – me, yourself, any innocent humans between you and her. Here, your frenzies can be contained. I give you what you need to not fall to torpor. I cannot risk bringing a human for you to feed on, nor will I risk another vampire finding out what we are doing here until we know it works. What I am doing with you, despite the intent to help you, could be viewed as something much more insidious if the wrong clan or individual knew what I, or my clan’s abilities, are capable of.”
“Excuses.” The snarl was returning, the Beast’s voice growing stronger. Kazim was becoming beyond reason again. The lucid period had barely lasted a few minutes this time.
“Not excuses. Reasons.”
“More pretty words.”
“Kazim…” Alastair wanted to say something, anything, to offer comfort, support, understanding, but they would be empty words falling on deaf ears. This was one particular battle he would not win. All he could do was wait it out and watch over his charge.
The Beast clawed its way back to the surface. Kazim’s body spasmed, face etched with pain and rage, hands curling into claws. The shadows crept in once more, swallowing the moonlight streaming through the curtains, sending an unnatural chill through Alastair’s bones. When he spoke again, it was more growl than words. “Pretty man spits pretty words and watches us suffer with a smile in his soul.”
“I do not smile, Beast.” Alastair kept his tone level, for once grateful of his muted emotions. It wanted a fight. It wanted him angry so he would make a mistake and get too close to the sigil. “I take no pleasure in this.”
“Power is pleasure.”
“Not for everyone. Do not forget, it was you who came to me. You said you could handle the pain. Do you not wish to show me just how strong you can be? The same strength that weathered your Sire’s attacks long enough to win your freedom?” Alastair leaned forward, staring Kazim in the eye despite the shaking in his hands and the goosebumps down his arms. “There is might, which I know you have. But there is also endurance. The same man who walked on broken bones for three nights to find me can survive three more nights of hunger.”
Kazim’s head tilted, not unlike an animal considering a strange noise. The snarl never left his face, but an unsettling intelligence glinted in his gaze despite the absence of light. He was not in a full frenzy quite yet. Maybe, if he kept talking, Alastair could help him through it. “You… challenge me?”
“Yes. I know you are far from weak, even now. And I know the pain you feel; I, too, have weathered the hunger. I have felt my Beast rage. I have not spoken with it as I do with you now, but tell me. Why does he surrender to you? Why do you speak for him?”
“He is –” Kazim stopped speaking. A flash of confusion across his face. A twitch in his hand. Like there was some brief moment of struggle between the man and the beast. He is weak. That was the answer Alastair expected. It made sense. A weak mind, a weak soul, unable to keep the hunger at bay, surrendering to the rage and the darkness. “He is… scared.”
That… was not the answer Alastair had been waiting for. Why would a beast admit such a thing?
“Yes. He is scared. I am angry. We are hungry. He feeds me pain. I consume his.” Kazim stopped talking as a violent, painful spasm wracked his body. Words turned to furious, strained snarls as the seconds ticked by. The longer it lasted, the more anxious Alastair grew. If the full frenzy hadn’t arrived yet, surely it loomed on the horizon. But then the fit passed. Kazim was panting, sweat plastering his hair to his brow, the tattoos swirling across his skin like ink in water. “I eat his pain so we may fight. He fights to feed me.”
“You… protect him?”
“If I must.”
Alastair sat back, leaning heavily on the wall again. “The beast is nothing but hunger. Would you not consume his soul, given the chance?”
“Pain comes from many places. If he is lost, his pain is lost. I hunger for more than blood. His humanity keeps me fed. His rage keeps me fed.”
“And then you turn his rage and pain on others.”
“If I must.”
Strange, to have such a conversation with a creature of such darkness. Even now, he should be mad with bloodlust. Yet he holds on. Alastair chewed his lip, watching Kazim. The beast had gone silent aside from the heavy breathing, staring at the wall rather than him. Perhaps even it knew insults and hisses would get it nowhere. Perhaps it was biding its time, waiting for an opening. Perhaps…
Alastair slowly climbed to his feet. Kazim still didn’t move. He circled around the sigil, then stepped to the table and stared down at the ritual components. The knife and the bowl sat ready for when he had to next renew the magic. Then he decided to take a leap of faith. The blade made a clean cut as always, the blood dribbling slowly from his wrist into the bowl. He let it drip until it was nearly half-full before raising the wound to his lips and licking it clean, making sure it was fully healed before picking up the bowl and turning back to Kazim. With slow, cautious steps he approached. Kazim’s head lifted, nose in the air as he smelled the blood. His lips twitched, body curling into a crouch, but he didn’t strike. He just watched.
“This will not ease your hunger as much as it would if I gave you my wrist,” Alastair said, setting the bowl at the edge of the sigil. “But perhaps it may ease your pain for tonight. Let him rest. You have done more than enough, Beast. The true test will come tomorrow and the day after, but I assure you when it is safe, I will feed your hunger. Both of you. Save your strength and your rage for another day.”
At that, he nudged the bowl forward until it sat halfway across the outermost edge of the sigil. Kazim looked at him, then down at the blood. With lightning-fast speed he snatched the bowl and drank deeply. A few drops ran from the corners of his mouth, but his tongue lapped them up before they fell to the floor. Even when the bowl was empty, Kazim held onto it, licking it clean, lost to the hunger until every last bit was gone. Only then did he seem to relax ever so slightly. When he looked up at Alastair again, there was a new clarity and gleam to his gaze. His eyes were still voids, but the Beast had retreated once more.
“... thank you,” Kazim said. He pushed the bowl back to the edge of the sigil and purposefully withdrew his hands so Alastair could collect it. “I… don’t know what you said but… how long was I gone?”
“Not much longer than normal. Your beast is surprisingly willing to engage in conversation.”
“Huh.” Kazim blinked, frowning. He was still pale and shaky, but the little bit of blood seemed to be helping even if it lacked its full potency. “I’m sorry. I try but – sometimes it’s too strong. I can’t stop it.”
“No one can fully control their beast. It’s not your fault. The important thing is that you do come back. Losing control is not the weakness you may think. Strength comes from being able to fight your way out of the darkness, even if the light hurts.”
“... were you ever a poet?”
“I – what?” The question caught him off-guard.
“I don’t know if it’s because you’re old or if you were a poet, but sometimes you have a way with words.”
“Is that an insult or a compliment?”
“Which would you prefer?”
“How is it your beast is somehow more polite than you?” Alastair shook his head, but allowed the smallest of smiles. The blood was working. Perhaps the frenzy had actually been staved off for the night. The aches and spasms and fits would no doubt continue, but Kazim seemed stable enough. And once enough time passed and the month began anew, he could give Kazim a proper meal to ease his struggle for a few more days.
“You’ll have to ask next time it wants to talk. What about yours?”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you ever met yours? Spoken with it?”
“... no. Not all of us are keen on such an encounter. I prefer to keep mine as caged as I can. My clan has its reputation for a reason.”
“That’s… unfortunate.”
“And dangerous. Remember that, little shadow. Yours might be vicious, but it is driven by more than just hunger. Perhaps that is what curbs its appetite if only a little.”
“I will keep that in mind.” Kazim managed to roll onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “How much longer will this take?”
“Normally, I would say the bond should be close to ending, if it has not ended already. But it seems your sire’s blood is more potent than expected. But you will know when it ends. It is a tangible thing. Unmistakable. Until then, we continue.”
“Okay.”
Hungry. It hurts. Feed. Consume. Make it stop.
H U N G R Y
Kazim could barely think, barely move, barely focus on anything other than the way dry muscles and tendons rubbed against each other as the last of the life and blood in his system dragged him into consciousness. While the hooks in his nerves and mind that kept trying to drag him out of the sigil and back to her finally stopped pulling quite so hard, allowing his mind to focus on something other than the taste of her blood and the longing for her voice in his ear, it meant all he had left was the hunger itself. Alastair still wouldn’t free him. Even with the bond fading, it was still there. One slip, one wrong thought, one small indulgence in the what if of her possible forgiveness or whether he could finish what he’d started with her arm and he’d go right back to her. It had to be completely gone.
But he was still hungry.
Alastair wouldn’t give him enough blood. The sips from cups and bowls barely helped longer than a day or two. It had to be from him. But he refused. Twice a month. Never three. Never risking replacing one bond with another if hers suddenly ended before either of them realized.
N E E D M O R E
F E A S T
The Assamite was there. In the room. Just beyond the sigil. Pacing as he read another book. Doing his best to ignore Kazim’s suffering. He looked tired, too. Hungry. The smell of Alastair’s blood hung thick in the air from having reinforced the ritual barely an hour ago. Blood that could’ve been fed to him.
Kazim wanted to beg. Plead. Threaten. But no words crossed his mind or escaped his throat. All he could do was snarl and rage at the bonds holding him down. The only voice in his mind was the one that had simmered in him since the moment his life had ended, the one that whispered in the darkness and promised strength in return for blood, and it was his thoughts now.
Again, he thrashed, pulling against the invisible chains. He saw Alastair wince as the flames burned brighter. That got his attention. Alastair stopped pacing, snapped the book closed, and turned his back on Kazim to lean heavily over the table. It seemed like he was trying to make up his mind about something.
“Can you understand me, Kazim?” Alastair’s voice was low and measured, but it couldn’t hide the edge. “Or has even your beast lost its voice?”
A hiss was the only response Kazim could manage. The words made sense and yet didn’t. It was just noise. Everything hurt. He couldn’t stop shaking. He didn’t even feel cold anymore. Every time he closed his eyes, either seconds or hours could pass.
“Enough time has passed. I can give you my blood. But if there is any part of you still in control, you must fight. I know the desire to feed until the pain stops. I know how the soul tastes when you are truly desperate. But if you go too far, it will destroy everything we’ve worked towards. Last time was too close. Do you understand?” Alastair turned to face him. Kazim saw the sickly pallor beneath his hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the red rimming his eyes. “Show me you understand. Show me you can fight. Please, Kazim. Show me if I help you, you can stop yourself.”
Stop. Fight. Help. Hungry. Hurts.
Fight.
A shred of something that could have been humanity surfaced in the churning darkness within him. Eight months he’d known this man. Eight months of infuriating lectures and kind reassurances. Everything she’d told him about the vampires who leapt at the opportunity to consume the souls of others had been wrong. Alastair had every opportunity to do it. The sigil kept him bound and helpless. The starvation kept him weak. And yet the man stood there and begged him to keep fighting. The one with all the power was asking him to show mercy.
There is strength in might. And there is strength in endurance. Words from months ago drifted through Kazim’s mind. A conversation he didn’t remember having, yet the whispers of his beast carried them through the haze. A challenge. A fight. Prove it. Prove it to him. Prove it to her.
He still couldn’t form words. His fangs were in the way and his beast was thrashing in his mind. But it was just as angry as it was hungry. He craved blood. And he craved the challenge. So he pushed against the bindings again, dragging himself to the edge of the sigil and ignoring the way the candles flared in his face so he could stare at Alastair. He held himself there, shaking, sweating, tasting the man’s fear in the air, the shadows whispering to do it, end him, fuel the fury and sate the hunger.
“Is it you?” Alastair asked. Kazim couldn’t speak. So instead he bared his teeth and nodded. Just once. But he understood that much.
That seemed to convince Alastair, who took a steadying breath and rolled up his sleeve. He stepped up to the sigil and knelt down, other hand coming to rest on the hilt of the sword at his hip; he’d started wearing it two months back when Kazim had almost taken his arm off in another frenzy and the blade had left a cursed gash across his chest that took almost two weeks to heal . Then Alastair finally extended his arm across the bindings.
Kazim’s fangs clamped down on Alastair’s wrist, hands wrapping around his arm in a death grip that only the assassin’s blade could free him from. Sweet, cold relief spread through him as he drank. Distantly, he heard Alastair suck in a sharp breath, but nothing else mattered except how good the blood tasted. He bit down harder, leaning into it, eyes fluttering closed as the bliss hit.
Yes. Feast. Consume.
Not all of it. Not all of him.
Why stop? We hunger. Feed. Fight. WIN.
Or lose. The challenge is to stop. So we will stop.
And yet, he couldn’t. Not yet. It was too good. He drank again, drawing deeply on the blood, tasting the acrid sweetness of the Assamite’s sorcery under the delicious borrowed life it carried. It still wasn’t enough. The ache was fading, the trembling easing up, but the emptiness was still there. Alastair was saying something, trying to pull away, free hand pushing against Kazim’s shoulder, but none of it mattered. His world had shrunk to the wrist in his hands, the blood in his mouth, and the darkness behind his closed eyes.
And in the darkness, there was a light. It was miniscule at first, like a distant star, easy to ignore, but as he drank more, it grew brighter. Closer. A single, solitary mote of flickering red light the same shade as Alastair’s hair. It was terribly small even as he drew it closer with each sip. It was not weak, but it was muted. Lonely. Nearly snuffed out by years of solitude and sorrow. In the darkness, Kazim looked at Alastair’s soul and finally, for the first time in almost a decade, felt something that might have been grief stir in his own. There, in the limbo between worlds, he stretched out a hand towards the light. It actually felt warm. And he knew if he wanted to, he could take it. Hold it close. Snuff it out… or take it for himself.
But he didn’t. His hand paused just before it touched the light. This man, this foe-become-friend, had shown a kindness Kazim hadn’t experienced since even before he had been turned. It would be cruel to be so selfish. The light flickered, some parts of it looking chipped or uneven around the edges, yet it held strong. Unlike the golden radiance of her soul that shone so bright it had blinded him to all else, this one held the darkness at bay simply because it existed. So instead of taking it in or letting the darkness consume it, Kazim let it go.
When he opened his eyes, he was still in the sigil. His fangs were still in Alastair’s arm. And Alastair had gone limp. Kazim used the strength now filling his body from the blood to force his mouth away from Alastair’s wrist, pushing him away, across the threshold, suddenly horribly aware of how dangerously close he’d come to doing the one thing he’d swore not to. Alastair slumped over, skin deathly pale, shivering like he’d been plunged in ice water. His hair obscured his face but Kazim saw the way his hand scrabbled blindly for the blade but couldn’t quite grip it.
Then, a thin, airy hiss filled the air and sent a chill down Kazim’s spine. It was different from the sounds he’d been making mere minutes ago, and yet it carried the same malice and hunger.
Alastair slowly sat up. The hair fell from his face.
Where once his eyes had been a pale gray, they now shone the same red as his hair and as his soul. Yet while the same shift had manifested when he used his sorcery, this was different. Kazim could tell by the way his lips twitched, the fangs visible behind them, the way he raised his wrist and licked the blood clean without breaking eye contact.
This time, he was the one facing down a Beast. And he was the one in the cage.
“Foolish little shadow. Scared, helpless little shadow. Let yourself be trapped like a fly in a spiderweb.” Alastair’s lip curled, something between amusement and disdain marring his usually impassive face. That was possibly more unsettling than the mocking voice lurking beneath his normal tone. “What will you do now? Will you beg? Will you cry?”
“I will speak with you,” Kazim said. It was hard to keep his voice steady, but he wasted no effort trying to hide the fear. The beast knew he could do nothing. Eight months of struggle and the most he’d managed to do was wear out the magic faster than normal, but not once had he actually broken the spell. Even now, fed and strong, it took all his effort to force himself into a sitting position instead of being laid out on the floor. “As you spoke with me.”
“Delaying the inevitable.”
“Then strike now. You know I can’t stop you. Or are you petty enough to play with your food?”
Alastair’s expression darkened. His hand gripped the sword, the sneer growing wider. “Or I wait for you to blink. To flinch. Terror makes the blood sweeter. The game whets my appetite.”
“There is no game in captive prey,” Kazim said quickly, hating every word even if it was true. But he could try something. “And you are too noble to cut down prey who can’t fight back.”
A different kind of shadow crossed Alastair’s face. The hand not wrapped around the sword hilt suddenly shot out and grabbed the other like he was trying to make himself let it go. For a second, confusion warred with the sneer. Then it faded almost as quickly as it emerged. “Your soul is drenched in blood. Innocent and guilty, deserving and helpless. He would not end you for he believes you can be redeemed. I carry out the judgement his emotions cannot.”
Kazim swallowed hard. Yes, she’d told him of this. The curse in the blood. For them, the Lasombra, it was their cruel and violent drive to succeed where they failed. For Alastair’s clan, it was the inescapable desire to punish those with blood on their hands. And Kazim had so much blood on his hands. “You’re right.”
Alastair frowned. The red in his eyes seemed to grow brighter, fighting the darkness Kazim’s own powers had called forth in his frenzy. Alastair’s beast seemed surprised he wasn’t denying it or pleading for mercy.
“I know what I have done. I remember all the faces even if I don’t remember all the names. Many lives I took because I wanted to. Even more I took because I was told to. And I will not make any promises that it will not happen again. I have lied and manipulated and destroyed many lives even if I did not end them.” Kazim stopped talking, feeling the lump in his throat and the stinging of tears in his eyes. “I am everything your bloodline loathes. I knew this when I sought you out. I do not ask for forgiveness and I do not pretend my suffering is penance. Perhaps I once enjoyed my cruelty, and I will not lie and say that part of me died the day I burned.”
“You wish for this to be your confession? Am I to be your confessor? I do not grant absolution. I grant your end.”
“Or you grant me a second chance. Did your sire, of the same blood you carry, not offer you the chance to make up for your mistakes?” Kazim blinked, watching Alastair’s face closely. The beast was listening, still looking amused at his weak attempt to entreat it, and yet it did not strike. But he also knew the tale of the red-haired assassin’s disappearance for many decades, resurfacing at the same time the first World War wracked the mortals’ world. And judging by the way Alastair flinched again, his guess had been correct. “Did she absolve you of your sins and mistakes, or did she charge you with making up for them with actions? Would you end me, Beast, or would you judge me for what I do with my second chance?”
Again, Alastair’s face twisted. This time, his head swung to the side like he’d been struck. His eyes squeezed shut, the sword sliding out of its scabbard despite the free hand still trying to hold it in place. Another hiss filled the room. Then Alastair’s hands released the sword and grabbed the sides of his head, pulling at his hair as he let out a guttural snarl. “Stop it. Stop talking. I don’t – I won’t!”
“Alastair?” Kazim tried to move closer, but the moment he leaned forward the candles flared and an invisible weight crashed against him, forcing him flat on the floor. “Hey, stubborn old man! Are you going to let your beast mock your honor? Will you let it speak for you?”
“Will you ever just shut up?” Alastair’s head snapped up, and Kazim watched the red flicker and fade, the gray fighting to return. His skin had taken on an ashy, almost waxen appearance from the strain. “Do you wish for my sword to pierce your heart? Do you crave death so dearly?”
“Not by your hand,” Kazim said, gritting his teeth against the oppressive weight of the spell. He didn’t bother wasting energy trying to push himself up again. “I know I deserve to pay for what I’ve done, be it my own choice or not. But I will bring you no sport or satisfaction dying here like this. Would you waste these months of effort now?” One last gamble. Listen to me, Alastair. I am sorry I woke your beast. But you held mine at bay. I am no poet, but I am trying my best. “I know why you fight. I do not know why you carry such sorrow. But if I am of darkness, you carry light. You guided me back more than once. Can you guide yourself as well?”
Alastair’s beast snarled, the red overtaking the gray as he lunged forward. Kazim couldn’t help it – he flinched. But Alastair pulled up short. His hands braced him, fingers digging into the floor mere inches from the sigil, lips pulled back from fangs in a silent grimace. “You so freely admit your sins. Why?”
“Because I am not a good person. But you saw something worth salvaging. Is that not enough?” Kazim slid one hand across the floor until the invisible barrier at the edge of the sigil stopped him. “I am sorry. For what I have done. Words are never enough, but I am sorry nonetheless.”
Another deep, dangerous snarl rumbled from Alastair – and then all the air left his lungs in one massive huff. His arms buckled but he didn’t collapse entirely. Instead he simply stayed there, breathing hard, hair hanging limp and obscuring his face once more, shaking just as violently as Kazim had been mere minutes ago. Then, finally, Alastair raised his head once more.
His eyes were gray. Not the pale gray they should be; there was a faint pink tinge to them, like the red wanted to return at any moment. But they were clear and focused. “You… are an idiot, little shadow. An idiot with a death wish.”
“And your beast is an even bigger asshole than you,” Kazim chuckled. It was a humorless laugh, but he couldn’t stop the sound. “Do you know what it said to me?”
“No. Not… not entirely.”
“Well, let’s just say I prefer it when you call me ‘little shadow’. At least you don’t make it sound like a disappointed parent.”
“I’m too tired and hungry for this,” Alastair groaned. “I am going to hunt. And you are going to stay here and stay quiet until I return.”
“You make it sound like I have a choice.”
“You don’t. Not about the first part. But you do about the second.” Alastair slowly climbed to his feet, swaying slightly. He looked wrecked.
“I meant it,” Kazim said quietly. “I am sorry. I tried to stop.”
“Yes. I know.” Alastair brushed the hair from his face, rolled down his sleeve, and fixed his collar like fixing his appearance could hide the monster still simmering just below the surface. “And what matters is that you did, in the end. Thank you for listening to the correct voice this time.”
“You gave me a challenge. I had to.”
That earned the smallest of twitches at the corners of Alastair’s mouth. “Stubborn Lasombra.”
“Self-righteous Assamite.”
And yet, as Alastair turned on his heel and marched towards the stairs, Kazim caught a glimpse of the smile growing just a little wider. As he disappeared downstairs, his footsteps fading until Kazim couldn’t hear them anymore, he finally relaxed against the floor and took a deep, shuddering breath. Only then did he realize that the entire time he’d spoken of his regrets, not once had he thought about her. She had become a whisper. An afterthought. Still there, dug in like a tick, but it no longer pained him to think of the distance between them. Maybe, just maybe, his trial was finally coming to an end. Soon, he and Alastair could be rid of each other.
Until then, he could put up with the stuffy old man’s presence just a bit longer. That light had been so lonely in the darkness. But the darkness didn’t have to be empty.
Kazim laid on his back, hands resting on his chest, eyes closed as he focused on breathing slowly. Alastair’s blood buzzed in his veins, keeping the hunger at bay even after two days. Alastair himself was out for the night; he’d been spending the past month out more often than not, saying he had duties to his Sire that had been neglected for too long to keep an eye on him. The attic floor hadn’t gotten any more comfortable over the ten months he’d spent trapped within the sigil, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. He wasn't about to ask Alastair for a pillow after all this time.
Behind his closed eyes, his world had shrunk to the attic. He could still picture the room perfectly, but there was no moonlight streaming through the window. Beyond the glass, there was only darkness. The candles on the sigil burned low and weak, unable to fight the shadows back like they could in the real world. In his mind, it was always dark. For ten years, the only light had been hers. Golden, radiant, oppressive, beautiful, hypnotic in how it was the only thing he could see. Now, ten months away from her and her blood, the light fading bit by bit with each passing day, he could barely even see it anymore. Just a tiny mote so distant he often forgot it was even there, only remembering it if his thoughts had nothing else to focus on. The impulse, urge, desire, whatever the bond was telling him to do, it no longer ruled every waking moment. Every time he thought maybe he missed her, the hate overrode it almost immediately.
His beast stalked the shadows, somehow even darker than the darkness itself. An amorphous, swirling mass of impatience and anger that couldn’t stay still longer than a few seconds at a time circled him like the predator it was. Like him, it was trapped in the room, in his mind, but unlike him, in his mindscape it wasn’t trapped in the sigil. Every time it completed a circuit, it would pause at the window and look out as if it could see something in the pitch black expanse. Maybe it could still see the faint glint of her light, shining like the northern star to guide him back.
Why do you not fight? Why lie there like prey?
“Fighting gets us nowhere. It just makes us tired. And hungry. And angry.”
Why do you listen to the flame-hair?
“Because he sometimes has good advice. And meditation passes the time better than stewing in plans that will never work.” Kazim sighed and looked over at his beast. Since the moment he’d opened his eyes to the neverending night of his new existence, he’d felt the monster in the darkest corners of his mind and soul. She’d explained to him what it was - the embodiment of the vampire’s hunger and strength, something to be leashed and contained until it could be directed at an enemy. A weapon. Over the years, it had crept closer and closer. It had been the part of him not lost in the bliss and intoxication of her blood, the one aspect of him free to fester and hate and hunger. She hadn’t let him actually meet many vampires unless she wanted them dead, but of the few he’d encountered, none of them spoke of knowing their beast. Even Alastair avoided talking about the topic. Kazim knew why. It was terrifying. Even now, knowing it was sated for the moment and wouldn’t wrest control from him, its whispered promises of vengeance and bloodshed set his teeth on edge and made it hard to focus on staying calm. “You know we got lucky. Next time she might take my arm instead. Or my head.”
I will fight to the end. I will take her with me.
“Maybe. But we still lose.”
His beast hissed, the shadows writhing, displeased with the notion of losing a fight. If not her, who else to fight?
“I don’t know.”
Without her to fight. Without her to hate. What is left?
“I don’t know,” he said again. He watched it begin another circuit of the room. “It’s just us now, I guess.”
Empty.
“... yes.”
… no more fear. The beast looked at him. He didn’t know how he knew, given it had no eyes to glint in the false candlelight, but he felt its gaze on him like winter’s chill. No more fury. Not even sadness.
“That’s what happens. We had nothing left to lose… except her. And now she’s almost gone, too. So now we have nothing.”
… you give up?
“No. Not yet. I guess… I’m just waiting for whatever comes next. Maybe it won’t be her, but the next fight could always be our last. And I’m with you. I’ll go down swinging.” Kazim laughed without humor. “After all, I promised our host’s beast I’d at least try to do something good with my second chance. Maybe I’ll kill some big scary monster and save a life. Maybe it’ll kill me first but at least I’d have tried.”
You let me help?
“If I need it, yes.” Kazim shifted, trying to get comfortable as his back started to get stiff from lying in one position for so long. “It’s funny. You’re actually not that scary to talk to when we’re not hungry.”
A strange snuffling noise drifted from the far side of the room, something between a growl and a scoff. You are still scared.
“I know what you are. I’ll always be scared.” He closed his eyes again, trying to sink back into the peaceful silence he’d almost managed to reach before his beast had crept from the shadows. How much longer? It’s been ten months. Bonds should fade by three or four. Why is hers so strong? Is it because she’s old? Did she have some kind of sorcery she never told me about?
His beast fell silent as well, though it didn’t leave him alone. The two of them remained there, in the dark, in his mind, waiting for the hours to pass. At some point, he heard a door open and close, then footsteps drawing closer and closer as they ascended the stairs. He caught a faint whiff of night air, fresh blood, and acrid metal. Alastair had returned to check on him, though he said nothing – probably not wanting to interrupt Kazim’s meditation.
It is dark.
Kazim opened his eyes, looking over at his beast. It had stopped at the window again. “It’s always dark.”
No. It is dark.
“What…?” He sat up, feeling the bindings of the ritual slip from his body in the mindscape. Just as he climbed to his feet to check whatever it was his beast was looking at, he felt it.
Like a gentle breeze or a quiet sigh, she was gone. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees, clutching a hand to his chest. It felt tight, like his heart had suddenly tried to beat. Tears welled in his eyes and slid down his cheeks. An indescribable emptiness hit him all at once, like a part of him he’d always felt but never consciously known had been stripped away. The love, devotion, obsession, and craving for her blood and touch and voice and praise evaporated.
A thin tendril of shadow snaked around his torso, like arms sliding under his shoulders to hold him upright. Using the support, he managed to stand on shaky legs as the tears kept falling. His beast helped him to the window, shifting aside to let him peer out.
Where once the expanse beyond his mind had been empty save for the distant shine of her light, now it was truly empty. His beast was right. It was dark. They were alone.
She was gone.
The sob that escaped his chest was deep and full of equal parts relief and devastation. He cried because now he really, truly, had nothing left.
“Kazim? Kazim! What is… little shadow, what is it?” Alastair’s voice cut through the darkness. He felt the cold touch of his beast vanish, and when he opened his eyes, he was back in the attic, still trapped in the sigil, with Alastair crouched at the edge and looking at him with alarm and concern. “What happened?”
“She – she’s gone. It’s gone. I felt it.” Kazim was still crying. That part had been real. He was still lying on his back, the tears running down the sides of his face in cold trickles, but he managed to roll onto his side to look at his companion. “It’s gone, Alastair.”
Alastair sat back on his heels, face going through a dozen emotions in two seconds before settling on a tired but satisfied smile. “I believe you. It is a tangible thing, feeling a bond end. How do you feel?”
“Like shit,” he admitted. “I hate her and I don’t miss it but I feel…”
“Empty.”
“Yes.”
“That will fade, too, with time. I would still like to keep you in the sigil for the rest of tonight just to make absolutely sure, but this is good. You did it, little shadow. You’re free.” Alastair actually shifted closer and reached out his hand to rest it on Kazim’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “You are free.”
Kazim put a hand over Alastair’s and held it there. Though he wasn’t Blushing, Alastair still felt slightly warm. Perhaps it was because he’d fed that night, or perhaps it was simply how gentle and comforting his touch felt in that moment. “I don’t know how to begin to thank you. I have nothing to repay you with.”
“I’ve been thinking about that for ten months now,” Alastair said, the smallest of sly smiles on his face. Kazim braced himself for whatever the price would be, but knew he’d accept the terms even if it was to be the assassin’s weapon for however long it would take. “And I think I’ve decided. My sire gave me a second chance to atone. You asked for the same. And as you said, actions speak louder than words. Rest, recover, and we will speak about how you can prove yourself worthy of your second chance. I will not ask for your servitude or blind loyalty and you will be bound by neither blood nor sorcery, that I promise. But as of now, my price is this: find yourself a purpose that is more than being a weapon to be wielded by others. However long it takes.”
“That’s… infuriatingly philosophical.” Kazim slowly sat up, still feeling the weight of the ritual holding him down but with no reason to fight against it, the bindings did not resist as much. He wiped at his face, slightly embarrassed at having cried in front of Alastair. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“I’m positive something will come along to give you inspiration.” Alastair shifted as well, getting into a more comfortable sitting position on the floor. “Do you accept my price?”
“I do,” Kazim said. Over Alastair’s shoulder, one of the shadows grew darker at its core, the edges shifting slightly as his beast surfaced momentarily, curious. We will grow strong. We will hunt. We will fight. We will be ready when she returns. Alastair seemed to notice his attention drifting and raised an eyebrow. Kazim blinked and the shadows retreated. “Both of us.”
“Good.” That seemed to reassure Alastair, like he’d almost expected Kazim to say no. “You’ve impressed me, little shadow. Not much impresses me these days.”
“Can I request something of you in return?”
“... what is it?” Alastair squinted at him, probably expecting to be asked for blood or to be freed instead of waiting one more night.
“Please stop calling me ‘little shadow’.”
“Oh.” That earned a wry smile. “I thought you liked it.”
“I said I preferred it when you said it and not your beast. I never said I actually liked it.” Kazim crossed his arms.
“I will stop if you stop calling me an asshole.”
“Oof. Now that’s a steep price.”
“Are you saying you can’t pay?”
“That’s extortion, Alastair. That’s my domain. I thought we were friends now.”
“Are we?” Alastair’s smile didn’t leave his face, but it shifted from wry to something warmer.
“I have nothing. It would be nice to start my second chance with something. A friend could be a good start.” Kazim shrugged, keeping his face indifferent. But it would be nice.
“Hmm. I’ll consider it.”
“... asshole.”
But Alastair didn’t say no. And for each day, week, month, and year that would pass, every time Kazim asked if he’d finally made his decision, Alastair still refused to say no.