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Immortality had embraced him for a millennium. Aeons were spent hunting and killing those lesser beings — humans, they were. Apex predators, they thought. Every human thought so until they met him.
But it had not always been like that. He did not experience a life filled with sunshine and daisies. They had been dirt poor, his family, working in the fields day in and day out. He could not remember a day where his hands were not littered with dirt, and he had despised every second. He had dreaded going to sleep, knowing he would wake up and repeat the same cycle over and over until his body finally gave out.
Being born into a world where he was dirt poor was not his choice, and Riki knew he was destined for greater things than reaping hay from the fields all day long.
When a vampire had cornered him in his house, holding him down as he sucked the blood from his veins — and the very essence of his soul — it had been a day of change, a transcendence.
He had ascended into a form beyond mortal capacity. From that moment, he knew great things waited for him. The night no longer scared him, as it was just as bright as day. His muscles felt stronger, powerful. He felt like a true predator. And the sweet smell of the forest had been intense, hitting him like a log of wood. His eyes could see so far beyond the horizon, he did not know where the sky began and the world ended.
And his family? His sweet parents and sweet sisters. They were already miserable. His sisters would be sold off for some cheap money so they could buy one plate of food. So, out of mercy, Riki had killed them all. His sisters were better off dead, in a world where they did not have to suffer.
But for his parents, he had dragged their deaths out, relishing in their screams of horror. He despised them for everything they had done to him. Perhaps they had done everything they could for him. They had given up the bed to him and slept on the floor when he complained that his back hurt; they had given him and his sisters the food that they got for the day, preferring to keep their children full and themselves starving than the other way around. And yet, he hated them.
The fear in their eyes had been delightful. Pupils blown and mouths were open in silent screams.
He had wondered what they saw in their last moments.
No, not really.
He knew what they saw.
That figure, lingering, always there, watching him, a pair of white eyes.
Death.
Riki knew that, for he had seen it before.
He had seen it himself when he died.
But they had not collected his soul, nor had they come to collect him.
Instead, they simply watched. Those pair of white eyes.
Along the course of his voyages, he met two other vampires roughly seven-hundred-years-ago. Jungwon, whose mind was a lot like his own. And Sunoo, who was too soft and depressed to be there. He seemed to wait for death to claim him, even doing reckless things, hoping he would somehow die. But death never came for him, only for his victims.
Silly boy did not know they were above death.
They could not die.
If only Sunoo would realise how lucky he was to be a vampire
But they stuck together; that was what every vampire did. Formed covens, families, so to say. They supported one another and stuck by each other's side through everything. Strength in numbers, as one said.
Despite his disdain for Sunoo's depressed nature, he was their brother.
Though Riki felt like he did not need his coven. He was powerful on his own, slaughtering villages and killing hunters. He had been fine the first three-hundred years, alone. Sure, he had some company along the way of other rogue vampires, but in time, they split up, each deciding to create their path.
But he saw the strength in a coven.
Usually, they would hunt together; find a village or a stray human.
They did not kill everyone.
Population control was needed. If they were to kill an entire village, then their food source would slowly become scarce. They needed the humans to survive.
So there he was, dropping the bodies. Two children at the ages of seven and five. Pity they had to die. Stupid children should not wander alone into the dark forest. The trees stood tall and brooding, watching with judging eyes. Children were usually off limits. But sometimes, Riki did not give a shit. Their parents could just birth new children. Surely, they would not be missed since they were so stupid to be in the forest at night.
The older boy had tried to calm his younger brother, telling him to accept fate and let Astralis take him.
Astralis.
He had heard that name before, many times.
Most begged for Astralis.
Some places in the world begged for Harrow.
Astralis and Harrow.
The two faces of death.
Astralis, the tender face of death, cradled gentle nothingness in her arms. Clad in a cloak that danced with the hues of twilight, her complexion, whiter than the purest snow, approached translucence. Her eyes, an ethereal luminescence, shimmered with an iridescence beneath the sun, a serene and merciful personification of the eternal embrace.
Harrow emerged as the countenance of relentless demise. Cloaked in armour as dark as the abyssal night, he was fabled to pursue those who attempt to elude their destined demise atop a steed whose fur mirrored the profound darkness of his armour, eyes ablaze like crimson embers. Poised in his grasp was a scythe, eager to harvest souls.
In tandem, they wove a cosmic equilibrium, ensuring the culmination of every soul's journey, whether in tranquil acceptance or confronting the inescapable tribulations. Together, they became Death.
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