What Makes a Monster

♱Eighty-Six♱

Third Person P.O.V.

Vashna burns. A once golden castle is cast in the orange-red of flames. Streets are stained with ash. Corpses litter the city. The pungent scent of smoke and copper permeate the air. Every breath tastes of fear and death. Crackling of fire and pained screams echo over the dying city. Knights and priests battle against the dark magic of the unborn. An apocalyptic sight, much to Quelen's pleasure.

He watches on from the solemn, dead space of cold gray and flashes of red lightning. The portal grows, hissing and crackling with a silent threat. The sky is stained black, like too much ink on thin paper. Through the chaos, he overhears Soran's pained growls, a mix of sorrow and anger and frustration. He struggles to even crawl.

"You should have been prepared for this." Quelen presses the heel of his foot against Soran's spine. There's a harsh crunch. He snarls, visceral hatred in the very sound. "Wallie's death was inevitable. The death of all you care about is inevitable. Haven't you learned that already?"

Soran tears into the charred earth. His tears darken the ash that soon stains his face. He doesn't move. Doesn't fight back. Doesn't say a word. All hope is gone. He lays there, clueless as to what to do but, most importantly, not wanting to try ever again.

"Strange to see you so quiet," says Quelen. "What's wrong? You really have nothing to say?"

"Weak." Quelen retreats, holding out his arms to show off the falling city. "Not much longer now. Soon Vashna will fall and a new age of vampires will rise. You should be honored to witness--"

The portal shrieks. Red lightning clashes with blinding white beams that cut through smoke and flames. Clouds open up. Wind picks up around the portal, exuding waves of warmth. Ash and soot blow up into a storm until the visibility is gone. There are only shadows moving within the cloud of ash that suddenly stills, as if time itself had stopped.

Then it expands, shielding the circle and the portal so that there aren't even sounds from the city. They cough the ash from their lungs. They blink away the dirt. Standing at the edge of the portal is a brilliant golden light that dims, revealing the silhouette of a man and then Wallie himself.

"How...?" Quelen whispers. Soran stares, wide-eyed and confused.

Once blue eyes are pure gold. The veins beneath Wallie's skin pulse with every heartbeat. There's lumen flowing through his veins. An infinite amount that literally seeps from his body. Every step he takes leaves life in his wake; grass sprouting from once dead ground and flowers blooming in an instant.

"You should be dead," Quelen snarls. He swiftly grabs Soran by the throat, but Wallie is there in an instant. He buries his foot into Quelen's gut. He's sent hurtling through the air. His back cracks against the shield that doesn't even rattle in response.

"Wallie," Soran whispers, slumped over in his arms. He throws a hand over his mouth. The hunger is building like never before. Lumen spilling from Wallie's form is calling to Soran, like a moth to the flame. He bites into his own hand. He can't even relish in Wallie's survival.

"Sorry, I don't really--" Wallie presses his palm against his temple. His voice is like a drum, reverberating on the air. Wallie shakes. He's stiff, as if every joint has been cemented over and he's struggling to break through to move. "It's there but not," he adds.

Confused, Soran asks, "What's...there?"

"Everything."

Soran doesn't understand. He doesn't have the time to ask either. Quelen is on the move. Thunderous dark clouds loom around his fierce figure. Much like Soran when attacking Allvar, Quelen morphs into an estranged beast. Long, skeletal limbs, red eyes, twisted horns over a hunched and spiked back. Through the dark, only his silhouette can be made out. Red lightning spark from the storm, catching fire and scarring the ground.