For Ina

[22:14] "Well, we can certainly chat afterwards.."

The amethyst-haired vampire drifted forward upon thin air. Gliding, just a few inches above the ground. It made the difference in their heights quite notable, to say the least. And the difference was nigh comical in truth. But they didn't make mention of that. Their focus was on something else entirely.

It was different, something she'd seen so many long years ago, yet had never had the pleasure to experience first-hand. Then, of course, she wouldn't have thought it so nice way back when. It would've been wretched then. But now wasn't the time to reminisce.

One translucent hand reached out, gently brushing against the edge of his crimson aura. For a moment her hand lingered, then she reached a tad further, to grasp his wrist and pull it forth. She knew well enough not to go for the neck. Too many times she'd torn out people's throats to even risk it.

Quicksilver flared in her veins. That self-same light flashed in her sole crimson eye, taking over the color there, though the pale white of her other eye remained as it was. He could feel the draw already, as her sin started to pull upon the ether of his star. Upon his life-force. The sensation in his arm, too, through simple skin-contact.

That was, perhaps, a tad merciful, unintentional as it was.

"Right now.. I'm starving."

The pain would've been intense.

Her razor-sharp teeth were embedded deep in his forearm within the next heartbeat. Once more her sin flared, and much like his own aura it spilled into the air around her. Lashing out at anything and everything. So too could he see silver seeping into his own veins like its own sort of poison.

Already she was reaching toward his mind again, drinking down every sensation shecould get. Each little emotion, each sensation, everything he could offer. The taste of iron, the blood which filled her stomach, was only part of it- Though that part took away her pains.

Her rent flesh was already starting to regenerate.
(Donovan Invidia)
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[22:37] Giant of a man that he was, Fen's gaze was ever locked downward. Only when he called up the blessings of the Heavens did his eyes shift from the ground.

Yet, his height had left him a lesson that many others never got to enjoy. It didn't matter. Physical strength, natural gifts, they where all but stepping stones to a magi. To be used or ignored.

He'd watch as the spectral limb of the vampire brushed against his aura. He didn't need to ask what it felt like, he didn't question the hesitation. It was what he'd have done was the gift not burned into every fiber of his being.

He'd easily give them his wrist, the same one that'd been torn into years ago. Why? Namely out of a sense of vanity. After all he had a runic-tattoo to keep maintained.

He'd frown ever so slighty as they went for the wrist. He didn't understand it at first, then it hit him. He'd wanted the rush of his throat.

He'd laugh a warm natured thing, his voice echoing in the nigh-abandoned house. Even as the teeth tore into his flesh. Ripping into the veins beneath.

He couldn't help it, the feeling of his life-force. The draining upon his mana, yet there was so much. Endless wealths of mana, all tainted by the great watcher in the sky.

The pain? Well that was the first pulse of emotion through his soul that the vampire tasted. It was exquisite, terrible, horrendous, beautiful. All things at once, yet the most powerful sensation that'd be broadcast?

Appreciation for the act. It wasn't the twisted emotions of his star nor of Belial. No, that feeling came from the Neries mind.

This time, there was no need to struggle for entrance. He was long since past such petty things as worrying about his mind's well-being.

It was a floodgate, one that'd burst forth in a wash of emotions. Raw, twisting, howling things. They where unbound by the logic of normal people.

There was lust, rage, hatred, love, hope, joy. One after the other, ever twisting together and separating apart. Yet, there it was.

The memories came next, drifint back into time. Towards the key point in his life that'd set him down this path.

A simple scene of Dawn, as always. The words of a peasant declaring that knighthood await, the derision of a red-headed man. The wrath, the bitterness of rejection.

Next came a glimpse of oriental towers, fiery Kitsune and beast of spirit and demon. A single-handed charge, pride and arrogance and madness pushing him to prove himself.

Then came the next fliker, suffering. Mindcrushing. The separation of all things that mattered to the man. Freedom.

A world of grey returned as it had in his youth. All the same, countless faces, all the same. Then it happened the feeling of hope. The promise of freedom, the gift of Belial.

It hit like a brick and hurtled them through the next memory. The purging of his Occultic powers. A pink haired kitsune purging them of their taint. The ritual clearing the world of it's cloudy nature.

Everything was sharper, everything was better. Then came another scene. The blessings of a fae, the pulse of the lifestream and Belial's gifts in tangent.

Several faces flashed by, none staying for long. Breif gimpses of pleasures and wisdoms exchanged. Fine foods eaten, a chained existence.

Then finally there was a light. A figure in blue, bright as the northern star. They'd offered the one thing that the chained man had wished.

Hope, a chance to be free. It was a quick affair, short scenes flashing as they became closer and closer. Love, not the pale thing of previous pairings. No, the full blunt force of a hearts desire.

Yet, as quickly as that emotion struck came the rest. Crippling despair as the figure made the wrong choice. A flash of stone as they choose him over their god, lighting aflame upon the inside.

The suffering of an emotional death as pain from divine wounds flashed through the link. It was powerful enough to push down the Euphoria of his gifts. White feathers flashed, as he saw the blue boy die. The words Angels Mercy blaring in his mind.

Then there was the war, the rush of violence. The rush of fiery zealotry. The ending of it. The defeat, the desire to hurt them. The mad wish to do anything to make them suffer.

While the link was established, Syracuse would do better standing in this go. Though, whether that was because he'd grown stronger or the rush of red comsic kept him standing. It was unsure.


(Syracuse Fengari)
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[23:26] As blood flowed, so too did emotion. He could all but feel her excitement as she found such little resistance, the reach of sin filtering through to take all the more he could offer. Seeping past the gates, to fill his mind- Or in this case, empty it. For that was her magic, a void into which all could spill.

Not that he wouldn't feel the very same things she did. It was an odd bond, one she rarely got to practice, yet despite the one-way nature she desired she couldn't help what few things were given in return. Her own emotions spilled, like a static over what he felt personally. And the most prevalent of all he might yet know.

Hunger, unlike any other. Desire, insatiable.

For as much as she pulled upon each emotion, for all the blood she drew from him and all the memories she took, it seemed an unfair trade. Not that she cared. Whether he did, she also cared not. She was caught up in the moment, lost in the flood of emotion.

Her eyes rolled back when memories started to flash before her mind's eye. Both translucent hands tensed upon his arm, holding him tightly as though he were going to pull away. But he didn't, and she delved into what she used to call eternity once more.

Already she'd lived the lifetimes of so many others.

From the eyes of another. She knew who, this time. Much to their own disappointment that mystery would scarce be hers again. Yet still she took in stride the bitter taste on her tongue, as she knew the sensation of rejection.

He could feel, foggy and static, the sharp stab of hatred as the sight of oriental towers filled her vision. A knee-jerk reaction was to be felt, and where she lived through that crushing defeat he faced, he lived through one of her own.

It was a veritable army they faced. The sin spotted a virtue amongst the crowd, and though one Jianghese soldier lay poisoned and dying, there were many and more beyond that. At her back the presence of another vampire had vanished, the ghoul that had come along with them following suit.

Yet she stayed. A blade of mithril with one serrated edge and one razor sharp pointed out toward the army. Clad in Ithaca Blackwater's plate armor, she stood, alone, to face them. One goal in mind. Retrieve food at any cost. Achieve satisfaction.

At the hands of a holy water magi the vampire near suffered a capture of her own. Walls of glowing liquid were closing in on her, chains of the same started to form upon her body. She realized, just before it was too late, and vanished in a puff of shadow.

Tail between her legs she turned and fled.

Donovan let out a soft huff as that thought passed through her mind. It took a split second before it was gone again from her own minds eye, though for him it might take a while longer. As he truly lived the experience, what it was like to be in her shoes.

Yet the memories which followed put her back into his. A dull few years spent in captivity. This too she knew well. She lived out as much of his time as she could, though it passed by so fast she could hardly make sense of it. Like as not, as with most she fed from, she would not remember it all..

Small details. The strange dual nature of the lifestream's pulse so close, and the blessing of an imprisoned God at the same time. The light and true passion of love- something she knew as well- And the wretched pain of having it stripped away. Pink hair. A flash of stone, and white feathers.

Those words, Angel's Mercy.

That in particular brought another memory forth.

One he could see and live as if through static.

It was dark. Envy- The name was evident in their mind as they glanced toward a white-haired vampire with blackened tendrils shooting from his form. He sat upon a wall, looking down upon a fight. Two children, it seemed, duking it out below. The focus turned from there quite soon.

She smelled divine blood.

Her gaze caught wisps of white through the trees, and she descended from the wall of ice to hover before him. For a few moments only she taunted him, her gaze, and thus the memory, focused upon those white wings of his. There was an insatiable desire to be felt, that she might retrieve and devour such things.

And so she played a game. The memory drew through the forest and away, as she brought the shadows to dance. Her song drew blood from her very veins, as she faced off against the youngster angel. It was a breeze to beat him down, yet they had not the time to finish him off.

More of Huangzhou's troops could be heard through the woods. Envy told her it was time to go. And so it was, that she left the boy with a parting few words. Oh how she had desired to eat him there and then..

Yet again the memory passed for her in a flash. Yet again she waved it off with irritation, delving again into his thoughts instead. Each memory she could reach, the absolute rush of violence she so desired, even if it ended in defeat.

And with each passing moment she drew more blood from him. Healing away those injuries which had been imparted during the tournament. A fight she should've won- And would have, if she'd paid just a bit more attention. If she weren't so cocky..

.. A beep sounded from one of her pockets.

It distracted her enough to pull back-

She drew a little box from one of her pockets.
(Donovan Invidia)
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[23:28] Donovan seemed to be pressing quite a few buttons upon that little box, now, though one hand lifted to make certain no blood was wasted.
(Donovan Invidia)
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[23:43] The connection between them was something that he'd never been able to fully wrap his head around. Perhaps it was due to his mortal nature or perhaps he simply wished to drift in the uncertainty of it all. His pulse beat strong all the while as the vampire fed, draining the thing that kept him alive in order to fuel her own strength. His mind was focused not on the physical, but the memories being exchanged.

The hunger, that was a cord that struck strongly. Desire, a wish for something more. It was what had pushed him to ever great acts of daring and recklessness. A hope for a higher rush, more sensations.

Yet, even as he pulled through them they never seemed to be quite enough. It was why he kept going forward. Though he'd not much time to focus on the overarching.

The memories hit like a wall, a staggering happened to him. His knees shifting a under him as he watched the army's of Jianghu. Saw the collapse of allies. Yet, worse of all he saw the armor of Ithaca Blackwater, recognizing the engraving upon it.

Connecting the image with his own, of the angel'd attacked him. The spear that'd sliced through his form. He'd blink as he felt the rush of battle between them.

Though it was the difference between holy wind and magic, it still felt so similar. Such a parallel. Up until the end. The very end had hit hard, running away.

He'd be delayed in the memory as he bounced back into it once, reliving it. It was so close to what he'd suffered. Though, perhaps they'd lose even more than him?

It was a thought he couldn't mull over nor focus upon. As the flash of white wings brushed into his mind. It was not a gentle shift, one memory to the next.

He saw the angel, felt the hunger. Yet, he felt the joy at victory as well. That'd be what struck him the most. It was so enjoyable, the feeling of victory. Snatched away by the marching of the Sheng.

Always with the Sheng, stealing what was right. Destroying what was good. He'd feel the memory fade as soon as it'd arrived.

There was no repeating of it in his head this time. No, it ended as quickly as he'd glimpsed it. In the stream of minds the man drifted. Going along with it for a time.

It was a beep that first signified something had changed. Then there was the stopping itself. He'd blink as the world spun around back to him.

He'd look around the room, dazed and confused for a moment. Then his gaze looked upon the little box, and the vampire. Shaking his head he'd look away. Then back.

"Wha. . ."

His gaze glanced down at his arm. Well, he wasn't dead at-least.
(Syracuse Fengari)
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[00:03] Not dead, perhaps, but injured surely.

How badly was yet to be seen, though it certainly didn't look very good. Blood spilled over his forearm, dripping to the floor and staining what clothing might be nearest to the injury. Her teeth had dug in deep, near to the bone, though the more worrisome was what she could've done to his mind.

Sin was an insatiable thing, known to take without remorse. She might yet have stolen a few memories which may remain foggy for some time, or never come back at all.. Though she didn't quite have control over that. Each time she fed she took all that she could, and went back later to see if she could make sense of any of it.

Only bits and pieces stuck immediately.

For now, they'd have to wait and see. Not that she was sticking around for too long. The little vampire seemed rather interested in the little box she held, having almost forgotten about the neries across from her. Something else rather enticing kept her attention.

And so she drifted away without even saying a word to the man, heading toward the door and beyond, to fly off into the night. SHe had somewhere to go, something to see, and she sure as hell wasn't about to miss that.
(Donovan Invidia)