Part 20

Moonlight cascaded through the open portico, flooding the studio with an eerie glow; a lance through the darkness where dustmotes twirled like fairies in the swath of brilliance. They seemed drawn towards the pedestal which lay bathed in light at the center of the room, as did the unnatural emerald eyes which shone like fireflies from the shadows beyond the pool of moonlight.

The object of all this attention shone with its own unearthly glow, a sculpture of unsurpassed beauty whose pure marbled surface captured in exquisite detail the perfection of her form, frozen forever in time by the hands of a master.

Illestra, his mother. His Goddess.

It was his masterpiece.

Slowly, quietly a rumble grew in the shadows, a low, animalistic growl, like the sound of thunder across a frozen sea. Rising to a crescendo of rage and pain, it shattered the moonlit silence as he exploded into the light.

The statue disintegrated at his backhanded blow, erupting in a cloud of dust and fragments even as the bones in his hand splintered under the impact. His chest heaving with rage, he stood in the dust as it swirled about him, barely feeling the bones resetting themselves within his mangled hand. He took no notice as the chunks of marble skittered across the floor, the sound of his undead heart pounding within his chest driving out all else, propelling what little blood remained throughout his veins. With each beat, the rage grew and twisted within him, as if his very blood was poisoned by it, infusing his body with an agony he could no longer bear. Something within him cried out, lamenting his loss... but it drowned and was lost in a frenzied sea of crimson.

She had abandoned him. Betrayed him! She had promised him FOREVER...

...and then left him to suffer. Alone.

He hated her.

Seething with anger and bloodlust, he fled into the night, disappearing into the darkness in the blink of an eye, his past forgotten like so many chunks of marble scattered across a moonlit floor.

Part 19

A mournful sigh whispered through the wood, rustling the leaves across the ground as if the dead themselves trod through the forest of their memories, invisible to the eyes of the living. For just a moment, he wondered which world was his... that of the living, or of the dead... But the thought passed as quickly as the wind between the gnarled branches above, pouring like hope through the outstretched fingers of the doomed.

He looked back to the cairn behind him, the natural outcrop of rock where an unseen crevice lead to a past he could never reclaim: his hopes, his life, his love... his Goddess. Illestra. She who bore him into the world of moonlight and shadow, who had saved his life by claiming it as her own. But she was taken from him in the moments of his birth, and he would never know the comforting touch of a mother's hand. For all the years he'd spent learning of her, he'd only moments to truly know her. And he knew, by the look in her eyes as those devastating lashes closed one last time, that they would never open again. She had found peace in those final moments, a peace he'd never known she sought, a peace from which she'd never return.

He looked up, and saw through the branches the moon above, tinged through with the crimson mist that welled beneath his eyes... a moon that despite his gift would never shine as brightly or as brilliantly as it did when he first saw it reflected in her eyes. A cold, beautiful moon that cared nothing for his pain. Shoulders slumped, he fell to his knees, head bowed forward as silken hair cascaded down over his face, hiding it in the shadow.

She had abandoned him.

He reached out pathetically towards the rocks, as if the motion could somehow draw a whisper from the breeze... some sort of assurance that she was still there. But all he heard in return was the sigh of wind as it whistled through the dead wood. And in that moment, he realized the answer to the question that had crossed his mind ever so fleetingly before. His was neither the world of the living, nor that of the dead. His world lay in the mournful howl of the winds which blew through both.

And he was alone.

Part 18

Holding Illestra's hand, Xarth listened as Iblis explained all he could about the nights events. His face grim, he looked down at Illestra laying upon the table. "Don't worry, my dear, we'll get you someone" he assured her before turning to Iblis. But his order to go find a victim to feed her was cut short.

"No." Illestra's voice was strong with conviction, halting Iblis as he started out the cave entrance. Then again, softer, "No. There will be no more death for my sake."

Knowing that nothing would change her mind, Xarth nodded his acceptance of her decision. "Very well" he said as he started to roll up his sleeve, bidding Iblis to give him a dagger. But again Illestra stopped him.

"No, Xarth. No more death. No more blood." She smiled softly, her eyes taking on a faraway look as she stared up at the ceiling of the cavern. "I see it, Xarth... Dark and light. Good and evil. Man and beast. I see the perfect balance. There is peace here... tranquility." She turned her head to look at him, her eyes shining. "It's Golconda, Xarth. The path Khross started me on... the path Seifer helped guide me... I've reached it's end. And what I find here is more beautiful than I ever thought it could be." Her voice weakened and Xarth felt her hand trembling. "I but need to rest some... to regain my strength..." she tried to keep her voice light, but a sad look crept into her eyes. "I fear my sleep will be a long one... very long."

"What is a little sleep when we have eternity?" Xarth tried to smile reassuringly and was rewarded with her own grateful nod.

"Talon," she called softly. The large eagle fluttered onto the table to stand beside her, gently nudging her shoulder. She smiled as she stroked his golden feathers. "You brought me to this place. For that I am eternally grateful." Focusing her thoughts, she silently bid him to watch over Iblis in her stead. Looking in his eyes, she saw his agreement and smiled.

Lifting her head, she looked at Iblis still standing near the entrance. "Remember, my son, what I have told you" she whispered as he came close. "Tis my blood in your veins now. I will always be with you, childe."

Worn from her efforts, she lay her head back down and closed her eyes. A soft smile curved her lips. "So beautiful... so peaceful..." she murmured as she drifted off to an eternal sleep.

Part 17

Iblis watched as the giant eagle left the cavern. He knew it would be back - the bond between it and Illestra was obviously a strong one. He turned back to the table where his goddess lay. She had chosen him - passed her gift on to him - but at what cost? She lay there motionless, her perfection shattered by the gaping hole in her chest. Drawing a dagger from his belt, he drew the blade across his hand and watched as the blood seeped up through the cut. Gently laying his hand upon the wound, he concentrated, willing Illestra to somehow heal herself. He could feel the flesh under his hand move, sealing itself, and with a soft gasp she opened her eyes.

"Tis enough, childe" she spoke softly as she gently pushed his hand away. "I thank you, but you need it now more than I." He started to protest but was hushed as she placed a finger to his lips. "Trust me, Iblis. You believed in me enough to search for 2 years. Believe in me now."

"You now have the gift you sought, my dear." Her words came out in short gasps, the pain evident in her voice. "Power... eternity... freedom... all are yours. You have become more than human - so much more. But be careful, childe, that you do not fully shed your humanity. Tis not just your body that has grown stronger, but your emotions as well. You must maintain tight control of them, my son. To become the beast is to exchange your mortal chains for chains of blood."

Her voice grew softer, weaker, and tears of pain welled in her eyes. It was much later that Iblis realized with a shock that they were not tears of blood. Her voice was barely a whisper when next she spoke, so that even with his improved hearing he had to lean in close. "Learn from Talon. Follow his ways that you may rise up and soar in all glory and majesty."

There was so much Iblis wanted to tell her - so much he wanted to ask. But his words were cut short by the return of Talon and the arrival of strange man. "What have you done to her!?" he demanded as he rushed forward, a stricken look on his face. Without thought he pushed Iblis aside that he may stand close to Illestra, taking her hand in his. Her eyes fluttered open and a soft smile curved her lips as she whispered his name.

"Xarth..."

Part 16

The eagle shuffled uncomfortably as he watched his mistress and her new childe. He wanted to hate the childe - his foolishness and arrogance had brought on this mess in the first place - but Illestra had chosen him and so Talon would respect her wishes. He listened to Illestra's whispered words asking to be taken home and saw the confusion and hopelessness wash over Iblis' face. If the childe knew where her home was this wouldn't have happened in the first place. Talon realized he would have to do something if he didn't want to see his mistress parish in this wretched alley.

With a quick hop-step he went to Iblis and nudged his hand, then nodded towards Illestra. The childe at first looked at him blankly, not understanding what the eagle could possibly want. It wasn't until he noticed the eagle tattoo upon Illestra's shoulder that he came to realize the special bond between the two. Understanding dawned in the childe's eyes as he gently lifted Illestra and prepared to follow wherever Talon may lead him.

It took all Talon's self-control to keep from soaring far ahead - it would do no good if he lost Iblis in the woods. But he had to get Illestra to the one place she would be safe and that dolt was taking far too long. With a piercing cry he urged Iblis on through the trees until he reached the rock face. Perched atop the rocks, Talon wondered how long it would take the childe to discover the cave opening behind the vines.

To his credit, it didn't take Iblis long at all to realize they had reached their destination and to begin searching through the vines. Talon hopped down from his ledge and followed Iblis as he carried Illestra down the hidden tunnel to the cavern below. He turned to leave as Iblis lay Illestra down upon the large obsidian table that he found there. There was one more Talon must bring here this eve - he only hoped he would return in time.

Part 15

Blood... Gods, the blood! It rushed through him like an electric current, streaks of fire through his ice cold flesh. The warmth soaked through his body as it pulsed to the beat of an undead heart, throbbing in his temples like the crash of waves upon a cliff. The rush drowned out all other noise; he was aware of the struggle behind him, though he heard nothing of it; nor did he hear the sound of Illestra's body as it lurched to a stop, crumpling awkwardly against the cobblestones below. He cried out in agony as something tore inside him, a sudden loneliness that reached up from within and choked him with tears of blood. He watched with outstretched hand as two droplets of blood followed her down, arcing end over end before splattering on the stones alongside her body, twin crowns of life exploding from crimson pools. The sound was that of a titanic drum, a double-tap shattering his newborn senses to life. The struggle behind him, screeching and growling, flesh tearing from bone; the sound of skin crinkling into a smile somewhere in the shadows nearby; raucous cries and moans as bodies slapped and mingled in the inn across the way, the scratching of claws on pavement as rats began to feed on the dead bum below... he heard it all, hammering at him with unnatural clarity, threatening to drown him in a sea of sounds. But above all else, an underlying rhythm... the music of the night. The symphony of a thousand hearts, each beating its own tune, weaving a tapestry of life that he could feel pulsing through the very streets of the city. The beat pulsed through him, the power overwhelming... each beat a whispering tendril that snaked inside... tugging and pulling and tearing the deepest desire from where it lie still unborn within... the hunger... demanding release... the orgiastic pounding of a shaman's drum... driving him to frenzy... the beast rising...

********************

He cradled her head in his lap, his hands leaving streaks of crimson in her pale hair as he smoothed it from her face. He was covered in blood, his hair matted with gore, a bead of crimson welling from the tip of his aquiline nose. He knew it wasn't his, but he didn't know how it had gotten there... only that something had happened to him... something within him had risen to satiate an unstoppable hunger, a beast unleashed upon the world. He remembered nothing, only the vague recollection of the world through crimson mist, visions of claws and fangs and death. All he knew was that they were alone, and he was stronger than before. And in control.

The eagle landed at her feet, flapping its wings uneasily as if unsure what to do, not quite standing still. They both stared at the gaping wound in her chest, the flesh seeming to crumble and sink around it rather than heal as it should have. She lie there on her back, body crushed from the fall like a child's clay doll dropped from a tower. Iblis bent forward to gently kiss her forehead, the blood on his lips mingling with that in his tears upon her pale brow. The beaded blood dropped from the end of his nose to her cold porcelain cheek, where it rolled down her face, over her lips. She stirred then, eyes fluttering open dazedly, hand trembling with weakness as she reached up to caress his face. He covered her hand with his own, holding the long, cold fingers against his cheek, trying to warm them, but she smiled sadly, the
effort driving her back to the darkness as she whispered... "Take me... home..."

Part 14

Iblis soared through vast reaches of space, floating in an unending sky devoid of light. He had no bearings; up was down and down was up; he'd no idea whether he was moving forward, backward, or even if he was moving at all. He had no way of knowing, no landmarks to judge by in the unending sea of darkness. He felt only the motion, as if he were floating in deep waters with eyes closed. The silence was as vast as the sky itself... no rush of wind, no pounding of blood in temples, no sigh of breath. He felt something... a pull, a tug... as if he were part of something greater than himself, as if he were part of another... yet he was alone. Bonded in solitude, but to what he knew not, only that he was drawn to it now... whatever it was.

It was then that he saw the moon.

He'd never seen such a moon before... so crisp, so clear... he remembered, a moment of clarity in his dreamlike state, a man (his father?) pointing out the "face in the moon" to him as a child, the play of shadows across its surface forming the illusion of a human face. He could not find that illusion now. Only the cracked and cratered plains of a dead orb suspended alone in the endless night. He saw details in it he'd never seen before, ridges and valleys he could not recall; a spiderweb of history laid out upon it that could be read by a trained eye. But despite all the minutiae, there was one thing it lacked... Wonder. He saw it now as never before. The light by which he'd lived most his life was now naught but a worthless rock hung limply in the sky. He reached out as if he could somehow grasp it, study it, contemplate the changes in it... but he couldn't see his hand... it wasn't there. Weakly, as if his body were new to him and he were testing its limits, he pawed at the moon, but still he could not see his hand before him. It was then, somewhat bewildered, morbidly curious and more than a little frightened, that he realized the moon reflected no light at all. It was nothing but a reflection itself. With the realization, the moon he'd been soaring towards seemed to retract through space as if spewed away by the breath of a vengeful God, and Iblis cried out in anger and pain as he was reborn into this world. First the moon, a spark of light within pupils of the purest black. Then the feathery halo of palest blue, irises which seemed to shine with an inner light. A khol-darkened eyelid closed over it all, contrasting exotically with alabaster skin, all framed by cascading waves of golden hair blowing softly like gossamer threads in a light breeze. Each image, each world, each realization, came like the beat of a heart, pounding into his senses then fading even as the next came on... each still visible within the last, a whole truly more than the sum of its exquisite parts. Yet this journey took only the slightest fraction of a moment in time.

Moon... Pupil... Iris... Eyelid... Face... Hair... until he was fully born to the darkness. Born of the night. Born of Illestra.

And even as he adjusted to his new sight, as he smiled up at the dark, pale beauty of his Goddess as she cradled him, infinite sadness and eternal companionship in her eyes... eyes which widened in shock as the point of a sword protruded grotesquely between her breasts, inches from his face...

Part 13

Silently Illestra dropped down from the roof. The vampires, so engrossed in their feast upon Iblis, took no notice of her as she passed by to retrieve Iblis' dropped scimitar. Turning back to them, she roughly kicked off the one who had jumped Iblis from behind. The vampiress barely had time to look surprised before Illestra swung the blade, sending her to final death. The other vampire, crossbow bolts still protruding form his body, looked up at Illestra with a sneer of recognition.

"Iblis is mine," Illestra's voice was as cold as the grave. "You know I don't like to share."

The vampire, ruled by his bloodlust, launched himself at her before he noticed the hand she had slipped into her reagent pouch. With a swift, sharp blow she knocked him down into the filth of the alley and tossed a reagent mixture on him. Her voice was low but strong as she uttered the words to call forth the fire that quickly consumed him. Three down. There were still two more out there somewhere, but she had more immediate concerns.

She turned to the shattered form of Iblis and gently scooped him up in her arms before returning to the roof. The exertion from the fight was already taking its toll on her and she nearly dropped him as she set him down. A frown creased her brow as she looked at him. She hadn't much time before death would claim him. Dipping her head to the gaping wound on his neck, she began to drink. DAMN! They had nearly sucked him dry - there was not enough for her to drink to replace what she would give him. But she had little choice - she had to take him now or lose him.

Cradling him in her arms, she opened her wrist and held it to his lips. "Drink, childe!" she urged, hoping her voice would get through to him. Relief washed over her as she felt him latch on to her wrist, drinking in her life and making it his own. She felt herself weakening as what little blood she had left slowly passed through his lips. Still, she didn't want too pull away too early. He would need some amount of strength if they hoped to escape this forsaken city. Finally she pulled her wrist away. She held him as he cried out in agony as his body transformed, stroking his cheek and saying soothing words. But her words of comfort couldn't mask the concern she felt.

He looked up at her, blinking as his eyes began to focus once more. He saw her face - the face that had haunted his dreams for so long - and smiled weakly. He saw her lips moving but could only make out a few words. She was saying something about danger and taking him home. Suddenly her eyes widened in shock. Her mouth opened in a howl of rage and pain, but all that issued forth was a soft gasp. She slowly looked down at the tip of the sword that had erupted through her chest before returning her eyes to meet his. There was no mistaking the pain reflected in her eyes, and for the briefest of moments he thought he saw fear. But the look in her eyes hardened to one of defiance as they heard the sinister laughter from behind her.

"I could kill you now, Illestra" the vampire's voice intoned as he twisted the sword, drawing forth another gasp of pain. "Alyssa would reward me quite well for finally doing away with you. Or..." he twisted again "I could deliver you to her. She would like that so much more. And I'm sure Ubu would be willing to turn over his rank to me for a chance with you. He's always wanted you, you know."

The scream of an eagle split the night air and any further taunting was cut off as a golden brown rocket hurled itself into the vampire's face, talons clawing at his eyes. Defending himself from Illestra's familiar, the vampire dropped his sword, freeing Illestra from it's steely grip. Iblis watched in horror as his goddess slowly fell to the roof and lay motionless.

Part 12

He was afraid... deathly afraid. But he was in control. They could smell the fear on him; scents of blood and sweat mingled in the night air behind him, a beacon to their senses. But his fear would work for him, it would make them sloppy; and as with anything, he would twist it to his advantage. They would smell his fear in the air, but they could not smell his control.

He yanked the reigns to the side abruptly as he saw the shadow of an alley to his left, leaping from his mount the moment they'd rounded the corner. Pausing only long enough to swat its flank, sending it galloping wide-eyed with fear down the cobblestoned path, he launched himself up with all his might, catching hold of a low windowsill there. Within moments, he'd made it to the low shingled rooftop, a short sprint to the other side. He hoped that the sweat and blood that had dripped from him onto his mount would throw them off the trail for even a moment, allowing him to reach his first goal, a dead-end alleyway just north of the central square. He dropped softly to the alley below, cursing inwardly as a rat scurried from underneath him, squealing in anger at being so rudely interrupted at its meal. He spared a moment to look down, seeing the half-chewed hand, one finger sliced clean off by whatever cutpurse had desired the ring which would have been worn there. He barely had time to stretch out with his mind, seeking his pursuers out with magickal senses, when he saw a shadow appear at the mouth of the alley, silhouetted against the street lamp which lay beyond.

"Pity. We thought you'd be much more fun..." the shadow said to Iblis, huddled wretchedly in the filth at the end of the alley. It walked softly down the alley towards him, looking like a wraith in its black cloak, a faint glow escaping the deep folds of its hood. A mocking lilt gave an almost hypnotizing timber to the soft spoken voice. "As it is, you haven't even lead us on a proper chase... Alyssa will be quite upset, and we'll need to start anew. A shame, really."

The vampire reached up to push its hood back, but as it did so its cruel smile changed immediately to a look of shock; fright and anger playing across its face. It barely had time to see the twin bolts protruding from its chest before Iblis rose like a dervish, cloak spinning about him as his scimitar flashed in the moonlight. The vampire's body fell like an ancient tree, seeming to stand defiantly even though life had fled before crashing to the earth at his feet. A second later, Iblis heard the crushing wet "thunk" as the head landed further down the alley, rolling to a stop in the debris. Jubilant, he sheathed his sword and scrambled up the opposite wall.

He'd been right, the vampire had been so arrogant in his carelessness that he'd never thought his prey would put up a fight. Iblis had held his miniature crossbows beneath his robes, and had fired almost point blank when the creature paused before him. Iblis knew not if there was any truth to the lore of vampires being paralyzed by wooden stakes, but the shock of the bolts in it's chest had been all he needed to act. 'One down,' he thought, wondering if he could catch them off guard again, and if he'd live to see the inside of the sewers. He dropped down into the bushes on the far side, torchlight coming from the gates of the castle to his left. As he made his way east along the base of the wall, he stretched out with his mind once again. The picture was fuzzier now... they knew he'd killed one of their number, and in turn they tried to mask their presence to him, caught off guard and momentarily confused. He couldn't pinpoint them, but sensed at least one had reached the body, or whatever ashes remained. He made it to the great archway, peering around the corner to see if the way was clear. Immediately his eyes fell on the bundle of rags huddled in the corner, softly rising and falling to the breath of the vagabond beneath. The plan formed full-born into his mind even as he loosened the clasps on his cloak.

With a start, he pressed his body hard against the wall, biting down harshly on his lower lip to stop the gasp which almost escaped. He could have sworn a shadow crossed overhead, but when he looked up all he saw was a swarm of bats flying across the face of the moon. 'Afraid of shadows now, are we Iblis?' he thought, chastising himself. With a determined look in his eyes, he crossed to the other side of the archway and gently draped his blood spattered cloak across the sleeping bum. 'Bait,' he thought as he merged back into the deepest shadows, only a moment's thought to the probable fate of his luck-born lure. In the darkness, a deathlike smile crept across his features as he cocked the crossbows once again.

His eyes did not even register the shadow until it was there, ripping into the bundle of cloth before he could even blink. It's claws ravaged the old bum's throat before he even awoke, and a gurgle escaped from the crimson fount where his adams apple once was. Iblis shook himself from his shock and squeezed both triggers, the bolts piercing deep into the creatures back. He dropped the crossbows and charged it, scimitar raised high, ready to strike. Stars exploded in his head as he was slammed to the ground from behind, face slammed against the pavement. His mind went blank for a moment, only to be woken from its stupor as the fingers knotted in his hear, yanking his head back. He cried out weakly as the fangs sank into his neck, the grotesque sound as the sharp teeth pierced the skin, blood pouring from his broken nose down over his lips, dripping into a slowly spreading pool beneath him. His eyes began to roll backwards, and he barely felt it when the one he'd shot sank his fangs into his other shoulder. All he felt was a momentary freedom, then weightlessness, as if an angel were carrying him away...

He vomited blood as the shock of being dropped to the stones jolted him, his knees splintering under the impact. He tried to focus through the muted pain, even as his life slipped away into blackness. He would have fallen flat, but he felt the cold hand knotted in his hair, keeping him on his knees... a hand colder even than the chill creeping through his limbs. A golden mass writhed before his eyes, it's center white like a sun blazing down from the heavens. He managed a weak smile as that sun coalesced into the image of the goddess, before he slipped into darkness once more...

Part 11

It had been two years since she first confronted him in the alley in Britain. Two years since he begged her to let him go with her. It was tempting at the time - he was a delight to the eyes and she didn't doubt he would be a delight to the body as well. But he knew not what he asked of her - to take him then would be to make him a monster.

And so she left him and watched from a distance. For two years she kept an eye on him - Iblis al Djinn, the master sculptor. For two years she remained hidden to him - subtly encouraging his obsession with her. For two years she followed his progress - at the right time letting him learn the truth of what she was and smiling as he threw himself into learning more about vampires. And now, after two years, he was almost ready. She would make herself known to him soon.

But not yet.

He had learned much. He wielded great power - greater than most mortals she had known. But for him to become her childe he would have to prove he could control that power. She would not bestow the gift upon one who was undisciplined. Hidden atop a guard tower, she watched with mild curiosity as he left the city and head into the woods. Wondering what quest drew him out of the city, she uttered the words to change to the form of an eagle and followed from on high.

She had little concern when he ran into the bandits along the road. She knew he could easily dispatch them. But something about the road he traveled made her uneasy. A scent on the wind - the scent of danger - the scent of death. Her concern deepened when she saw the tower in the distance. Alyssa? What could he possibly want with her?

Illestra knew this one and loathed her. Everything about the bitch irked Illestra, right down to her name - the same name as her mortal niece whom Illestra would do anything to protect. In Illestra's eyes Alyssa was a mockery of everything Illestra had built for herself. Whereas Illestra had learned control and dignity, Alyssa delighted in cruelty and debauchery. And this fool was striding right in her door as if he belonged there.

She dare not follow him in. The animosity between herself and the ones inside was too great and alone in their lair she would be at a disadvantage. So she sat perched in a nearby tree, reaching out with her senses to try and discern what was happening inside. The first thing she noticed was fear - Iblis realizing the terrible mistake he made in coming here. This was followed by the growing excitement of the kindred inside, accented with Alyssa's laughter.

The door burst open and she saw Iblis take off through the woods, spurred on by fear and a realization of his own mortality. She watched as the vampires casually followed behind - toying with him. They need not rush - they could track him farther than he could run. But they didn't want him to think he had lost them - that would ease his fears and there would be no fun in that at all! And so they pursued him back towards the lights of Britain in a deadly game of cat and mouse.

She could not take on so many alone - she would need help. Leaping into the air to follow after them, she summoned Talon. She hoped the large eagle would make it in time as she flew back towards the wretched city where it all began two years ago.

Part 10

*THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP*

He ran instinctively through the wood, some basic primitiveness deep inside him taking over as his mind retreated within, oblivious to the danger about him, behind him. He did not feel the sting of the branches as they lashed at him, seemingly alive in their malevolence. He fled through the dying wood, his face crisscrossed with rivulets of blood where wooden fingers had torn the flesh, giving him the appearance of a shattered porcelain doll held together by threads of crimson glue. He felt not the sting of blood and sweat in his eyes, nor the long strands of silken hair as they caught on the skeletal trees, ripping free as he flailed his way free of their grasp. His whole world shrank to the furious beating of a shaman's drum, and the vision of the mad old man as he laughed maniacally, mocking him in his panic.

*Thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump*

The beat of the drum within him slowed to a recognizable, if still frenzied, song. It was the song of his Life, the beat of his heart as it pumped furiously within. His mind narrowed even further, focusing on the beat, willing it to his own tempo. As it slowed, he regained control, sheer willpower giving birth to each beat, the song created anew. Each beat driving the fear from his mind.

*thump thump, thump thump, thump thump*

He was in control again. His arrogance had almost lead him to his death, and the shock of staring into such an abyss before his quest was complete had almost driven him mad with fear. He could not die now. Not after all his searching, after all he'd learnt. Not before he saw her again. Not before she saw his creation.

He saw the road before he'd even realized he was heading towards it. On some basic level, beyond the fear, he'd known where to go, what to do. Even in his terror, some unknown part of him was in control. He could lose them there, in the alleys and hidden passages he knew almost by heart; the cobbled and twisting paths he'd spent much of his life carousing in, vile dens in which he'd whored and gambled. He erupted from the forest, startling a lone horse and rider trotting towards the glow of the city to the North. The horse reared up in fright with a terrified scream, and before the rider could even react to the tattered and bloodied fiend which charged him, Iblis had launched himself through the air, knocking him senseless to the roadside. He whipped the reigns as he righted himself in the saddle, heading straight up the road towards Britain.

He knew they were still on his trail, toying with him in the darkness beyond his sight. It would take more than just a maze of streets and back alleys to lose them. He bled freely from the innumerable cuts and gashes across his face and arms, and the scent of his blood would be as a beacon to them. He needed a plan... he could not face them, and he could not outrun them. His mind raced faster than the hooves beating beneath him as he passed the small houses on the outskirts of the city. As he passed them by, one by one, lonely candles in the windows casting pools of light in the dark of eve, he realized his salvation. They would come at him one by one. He'd studied them, read of them... even read the memoirs of one of their kind in a decaying hut choked by weeds near the cliffside fortress of Gehenna. Through all he'd learnt, two things blazed like beacons across the waves of midnight... theirs was an existence of lonely solitude, and the arrogance bred by such. They would hunt him as a pack of individuals, their was no sport in it for them otherwise. They let him flee, for sport. They hunted him for sport. Just as his arrogance had lead him almost to death, he vowed that theirs would be final. He knew they would let him reach the city, let him relax in the false safety of its walls, and then they would come at him, one by one. If he could take out one or two, it would throw them off long enough for him to make good his escape, and he would lose them in the confusion. He would remain hidden til morning, submerged in the filth of the sewers which honeycombed the city. He would be invisible to them.

He would live to see the dawn of a new day. And he would find her again.

He WOULD find Illestra.

Part 9

The oaken doors were protected by a crude magical lock, and his mind snapped the ward even as he strode up the steps. He would not knock, would not call out a hallo... he would merely stride in as if walking into his own bedchambers, hoping his boldness and ability would impress her. It was a dire gambit indeed, this display of arrogance: if she was angered by his intrusion he would be dead before the night's mist had fully settled on the grass outside. He had no fear of a lone vampire; they were an arrogant lot, but with all he'd learnt in his travels he'd no doubt he could put one down easily enough. He'd even watched and studied individuals, when and where he could, learning their strengths and weaknesses. But if the Goddess struck him down, he would not so much as raise a hand in defense. Her will was his, whether by sorcery or by choice. Perhaps both.

He paused a moment on the threshold, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room beyond before entering. Using magic would be a sign of weakness here, so he relied on his senses alone, reaching out with a sixth. There was power here, power indeed... at long last, he'd found her. He smiled as the shadowed outline of a lithe female form stepped from the inky blackness of the stairwell to his left, each soft footstep on the stones sending shivers of long-denied ecstasy through his veins.

"Goddess," he said through suddenly dry lips as he dropped to one knee, bowing his head in submission before her.

The soft, musical laughter which issued from the shadows where she stood carried an air of amusement, but an edge of warning underlie it which raised the hackles on his neck. Something within him cried out in alarm, and he stretched his senses outward in every direction, suddenly realizing the ward which resisted his probing. Just as he did so, he saw shadows detach themselves from each corner of the room, the murky depths of the main hall coming alive with motion. His head snapped up as the soft murmur of whispers echoed in his head, attempting to take control. Even in his panic, he felt the probes of the mental attack, and sealed his mind off against them, lashing out with his own wave of mental energy. He felt rather than saw them pause in momentary confusion, before her melodic laughter broke his concentration.

"I know not who you are, mortal," she whispered in a sultry voice that could have sold apples to the first man, "but I do SO love waking to a treat so feisty. You... taste... so much better that way..."

She stepped forth from the shadows, moonlight from an open window cascading across her form as she slid forth, stretching like a waking cat, arms held high. Her perfectly formed breasts jutted forth over her wide ribcage, bared to the cool night air, and she paused at the top of her stretch to watch him, her face still hidden in shadow.

"Mmmm," she moaned softly as her hands came down, caressing the curves of her body down to her hips, "a pretty one to boot. Do run along now, handsome... I'll feel so much more... satisfied... that way."

He saw the gleam of fangs, and as she stepped fully into the light he realized what his arrogance had cost him. This was not Illestra. He was going to die.

"Go on now, run along," she purred as her hands slid back up, gliding over the tips of her breasts, "it's more... exciting that way, don't you think?"

She traced a finger across her blood red lips, and even in his horror Iblis couldn't help but watch as she gently sucked it into her mouth, smiling at him. He stumbled backwards as the other 4 emerged fully into the moonlit room, and he fumbled in panic for the doorway behind him, unable to take his eyes off her, his mind fuzzy. His body jarred to a stop as he tried to back his way down the steps, and he turned see what stopped him. Directly before his eyes was a massively muscled chest, arms like thighs crossing it. He looked up to the man's eyes, a full head taller than he, and saw the cruel smile that slowly crossed his features.

"Do let him pass, Ubu," she called from within, "I like it when they sweat..."

Her maddening laughter chased him out into the night, each note stabbing like a frozen dagger in his fevered brain, and he fled in a blind panic through the woods...

Part 8

Iblis rode on through the mist; his run in with the past reminding him of how far he'd come in his quest. Idly, he flicked a spot of the brigand's blood from his leather gauntlet as he thought on the past.

Two years it had taken him to pull himself out of the gutter of decadence; two years to find the answer to a lifetime of questions. In that time he'd learnt more than most ever could in life-long study, and there were things he knew now that had never been known to mortal before... secrets for which he alone carried the keys. Though he did not walk the night as one of "them," still he knew them better than they knew themselves.

The Goddess had sobered him and lent to him direction; his money had paved the path to knowledge in every library and crypt across the realm where secrets lay forgotten yet not dead in the dust of ages; and a body formed by years carving stone sustained him through the perils of his journey. He mastered the art of the blade out of necessity: relics of the past did not always look kindly upon the intrusion of the present.

He'd learnt the secrets of sorcery in a cavern beneath the Bay of Ocllo, where once a long dead mage had unleashed a power so great the resulting cataclysm sank the hill upon which his tower sat deep into the bowels of the fiery earth; the deep crater now long forgotten beneath the harbor of an inland sea. A savage deep within the swamps of a lost land had taught him how to read of distant happenings in the entrails of a crow, and to unlock the secrets of past and future in the viscera of a human being. Iblis thanked him by describing to the dying shaman visions of the future he read as his fingers wound their way through the old man's intestines. When Iblis finally let the old one die, he reached into the man's chest and ripped out his fast-cooling heart. He feasted on it in a ceremony old when the virtues were young, ingesting generations of shamanic knowledge even as the blood dribbled forth over his lips. He howled in ecstasy through the moonless night as the knowledge of generations overloaded his senses, giving birth to a sixth; and it was not until the moon had fully been born into the night sky that he recovered from the madness.

Setting forth immediately, he traveled to that ancient fortress perched on the crags of a cliff that defied the eternal onslaught of the northern seas... Gehenna. He did not remember at which point he'd come to realize what Illestra truly was... Vampire. It mattered little when, it was enough now that he knew. And he would learn their secrets even if he had to walk their very halls to do it. After all, the servant of a Goddess must know all he can to serve her best. He devoured the knowledge which bowed shelves beneath it with the weight of ages; and in a nearby cottage found a treasure trove of texts kept by some nameless and long dead chronicler. He consumed them all in an orgy of parchment and flesh, surrounded on all sides by texts and scrolls, tablets and bones. The leaves of unread tomes fluttered insanely as a howling wind tore off the seas through decayed shutters; yet it mattered not to him what pages lay open as the concepts of time and chronology were but mewling babes to much of the eldritch lore contained within. For days on end he read of their secrets, past, present and future; neither food nor sleep did he require. The powers of meditation were enough to drive him ever onwards, though the light of madness had once again begun to dance in the depths of his eyes. When he finally staggered forth into the light of a sun he'd not seen in days, he did so with the knowledge of a God, and his eyes cast defiant arrogance at all the world around him.

Only one thing remained still beyond his grasp... the Goddess, and the life she would bestow upon him. And now he could go to her with full knowledge of what it was he asked.

It was thus that he reigned in his steed in the shadow of a tower his informants had located, where they believed she lay. He didn't bother to tie the horse to the overgrown post outside as he stepped forward towards the double oaken doors. Truly, there was more than one threshold he would pass this night. And with the kiss which awaited him, he would truly be, unto a God.

Part 7

The brigand shifted beneath the leaves where he lay, shivering at the deep chill that had begun to numb his frozen legs. Across the way, he felt Malachi's hard stare as a small avalanche of leaves tumbled down the slope towards the trail. Scowling, Derc scratched himself, careful however not to disturb any more leaves. He was angry at being here, fuming despite the cold and soggy ground on which they lay. Malachi had marked some rich fop handing out pouches of coin in a local tavern, apparently looking for information. He'd followed one of the paid-off informants out of the tavern and waylaid him in the alley, demanding to know what knowledge was worth a bag of gold. Although Malachi didn't elaborate, Derc was certain he'd thanked the man with a dagger in the back; but not until after he'd slit the man's purse strings and hefted it before his eyes. Malachi was hard that way. That was why he lead their band.

The soft echo of hoof beats through the mist brought him back to the present, a place he really didn't want to be; legs stiff, and probably blue by now, he thought. Nonetheless, at the soft whistle from across the way, he began to close and unclose his fingers upon the hilt of the short sword beneath him, trying to bring the feeling back into his icy hands. He realized what a mistake that was as the pins and needles stabbed at him furiously, a fire within that did nothing to warm the fingers without. He concentrated on the gold their mark had been passing about so casually, and the thought of spending some of it back in the city warmed him quickly enough.

The road was nearly hidden in mist, and the echo of hoof beats seemed to come from all directions at once, raising the hairs on their forearms. If they hadn't known what path he was traveling down, they'd not have known where to look... not that they could see anything much through the mist anyway. Again, Derc shifted, feeling the sudden need to urinate. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his mind, and just as he opened them he saw the mists swirl on hidden currents, opening to let horse and rider pass through. The cloaked rider came on, mist swirling in smoky tendrils about his beast's hooves as if trying to devour that which passed through it. Steam flared from its nostrils to dance with the mist, and Derc couldn't shake the feeling that it was the beast's very breath that brought the mist which rose all around them.

Of the rider, he couldn't say much. A heavy black cloak hung about his shoulders, draped halfway down the horse's flank; and his eyes were lost in shadow beneath the lip of a large brimmed hat pulled low. Immediately, Derc had to pee again. There was something about this one... something dangerous... and something familiar. But it was too late. No sooner had Malachi's whistle signaled the start of the ambush than it died in a frothy gurgle as a quarrel punctured his lung. With blinding speed, the rider had swiveled in his saddle, mist scattering as his cloak flapped open around the twin crossbows he fired into the wood. Malachi and Gorm tumbled down the slope to sprawl lifelessly at the edge of the road, in a death as sudden as they'd hoped to inflict upon the traveler. Slowly, casually, the rider turned in the saddle and drew a scimitar which flashed white in the mist as the refracted moonlight shone off its blade. With a nudge, he turned his horse and marched up the small rise atop which Derc lay, his crotch suddenly warm and wet. As the mists cleared around the rider, Derc realized why he seemed so familiar... it was Iblis!

"Iblis! Iblis my old friend, it's me, Derc! We... we didn't know it was you! By Bel, I thought I was dead!" Derc jumped up, brushing off the dirt and leaves which had plastered themselves to his clothes. He was thankful now that the mud had soaked him through, as the stain spreading around his crotch was nearly invisible. Happy to be alive, he almost laughed at the irony that their mark was one of his old gambling buddies. "Sorry about the mix-up my friend, no hard feelings I hope?" Derc looked back up just in time to see the scimitar fall.

"You ARE dead, Derc..."

Part 6 - Two Years Later

Rancid breath washed hot across his cheek as the man whispered conspiratorially in his ear. Smoldering brown eyes flashed with interest, lost within the shadowed pools cast from his brow; yet Iblis showed no outward sign of excitement. Slowly, distastefully, he reached up to flick the man's greasy hair from where it brushed his silken sleeve, idly wondering if it would leave a stain. The dwarfish little man rubbed his hands compulsively as he waited for the gold he knew this information would bring; but Iblis merely sat there taking in the tavern around him, the practiced look of resolute boredom on his dark features belying the fire in his eyes, his soul. A drunk snored intermittently in the far corner, rats gnawing hungrily at the leather of his boot heels; while at the table to his left slumped a warm body growing cold around the dagger lodged between its ribs. Soft murmuring and giggles from across the way, where a serving wench sat between two men nuzzling at her neck, both her hands under the table. A drunken brawl near the bar had devolved back into the dice game it began as, minus the man lying with cracked skull beneath their stools, groaning softly. The heady scents of wine and urine kept the patrons from being lulled by the hypnotic creak of worn rope bed frames on the floor above, where any manner of perversity could be had for a price. There was no virtue in the underworld.

Iblis rose from his seat like a panther uncoiling from slumber, dangling a pouch in front of the man before the wretch even saw him reach into his cloak. He snatched at it with a squeak and scampered away, scurrying up the tavern steps and into the night like some inbred cockroach.

He smiled to himself as he smoothed his hands meticulously down the front of his black satin vest. Yes, he thought to himself, anything could be had in such a hive as this, even such a modest vice as information. He should know, he'd spent enough of his life amongst such filth, frittering away his talent and his wealth in a desperate attempt to obliterate the feverish visions of beauty which tormented him. But none of it helped... none of it... not the wine, the women, the drugs... no manner of vice freed him... not until he saw the Goddess, his vision made flesh. And now he'd found her again, Illestra, in the city where he'd first crossed her path... where it all began.

"Ah, Britain..."

Part 5

The hand slammed into his throat, easily lifting him from his feet and driving him against the wall. Iblis blinked back the sudden involuntary tears and he was slammed to his knees, gasping for air that would not come. He felt the hand knot in his hair and yank backwards, exposing his neck to the night. He hadn't the chance to focus on his assailant as he'd rounded the corner into the darkened alley, following his vision as she walked the nighted streets of Britain. The only image that flashed through his dazed mind was that of a knife flashing in the darkness to slit his throat, and leave him to drown in a pool of his own blood as some inconsequential cutpurse fled through the shadows. He would die here, in this stinking and steaming alley, and never know by whose hand it was. He would not be able to complete his work. He would never see her again.

All of this flashed through his mind in the instant he was driven to his knees. But then his eyes focused on his assailant, only a shadowed form in the darkness. The shadow unfurled itself like a serpent rising from slumber and she stepped forward, her pale face emerging into the wan shaft of moonlight shining timidly into the mouth of the alleyway. His jaw went slack as he gazed fully upon her, so close he might burn away before her glory. She leaned into him, and her smooth, cold cheek brushed against his, driving a sudden wave of ecstasy through his body; her perfectly formed lips brushing his ear as her question purred forth.

"Goddess... I... I meant no harm... I only wished... your beauty... I didn't believe, until I saw you..." He couldn't focus his mind, couldn't wrap his tongue around the words... in an instant of clarity, he thought, 'How does one speak to a God?' He saw the bemused smile on her lips as she pulled away, tugging him to his feet by his fine white hair, the hint of laughter... and something else?... in her eyes. Her beauty burned away all coherent thought within his mind, and her face filled his gaze until the world around them seemed to fall away. In some distant corner of his mind, he realized that she was speaking, but only saw her ruby lips forming the words. He tried to focus on them, and soon the words came to him through the silent buzz which had filled his ears.

"...lattery will get you everywhere, my dear, was wrong. Now, tell me again... why are you here?"

He felt the fingers flex in his hair, and he knew she would break his neck without a thought if his answer did not satisfy her. The words came slowly, at first, and picked up speed until they rushed from his mouth in a torrent that brought a new look to her eyes, eyes which could devastate a room with just one sweep. He told her everything, told her things even he didn't know, and the tears of truth, tears of discovery fled down his face as he unrolled his tale before her. She was a Goddess; he, a mortal. And he sang his devotion to her in prayer.

On his knees, in a darkened alley, Iblis finally touched the divine.

Part 4

As the sun faded below the horizon Illestra prepared to set out and conclude her business in this wretched town. Pulling back the heavy curtains, she examined the darkening sky with a frown. The clear sky meant it would be lighter on the streets and more people would be about than the night before. It could make her business a little bit more tricky. But she longed for the comfort of her own soft bed, the quiet of the woods around her home, and the company of her familiar. Nothing here would keep her from her home tonight.

She settled her bill with the innkeeper and walked out into the night air, pulling the hood of her cloak up. As she turned to walk down the street, a movement at the far corner caught her eye. She smiled to herself as she recognized the drunkard from the night before. He seemed to clean up rather well and she allowed herself to momentarily appreciate his muscled form and silken hair. Aye... he could do nicely if he could stay away from the cups long enough. But she hadn't time to ponder that - she had more important matters at hand.

She was acutely aware of his presence as he followed her down the streets. She deliberately took a long, winding route and before long she knew it was no mere coincidence that he took the same path she did. But her attention shifted from her stalker to a doorway at the end of the street. She would deal with this fool once her business was concluded.

Stepping in the door of the small, cramped tavern she immediately found the man she was there to meet. He stood to greet her and then ushered her to a secluded table in the corner. Without a word she turned over a small vial of deep red liquid which he set about examining. Finally, after several tests, he nodded his head sadly. Illestra thanked the man and paid him for his services before standing to leave. Stepping back outside, she instantly located the one who was following her. A sly, evil smile on her lips, she decided she could allow herself to have some fun before returning home.

She walked down the street, leading him further and further away from the crowded heart of the city. Finally finding a dark narrow alley, she quickly rounded the corner and hid in the shadows, waiting for him to turn and follow. Her hand shot out of the dark and closed around his throat. Though he towered over her petite frame, she had no trouble driving him back into a wall and then to his knees. Standing before him, she grabbed his fine white hair and yanked his head back.

She brought her face close to his, caressing his cheek with her own as she breathed softly in his ear. "Now, my dear, you will tell me who sent you and why you are following me."

Part 3

He paused only long enough to whip the disheveled mop of fine white hair from his eyes, droplets of sweat glistening as they flung through the air. His body was coated with dust and sweat, and an insane look blazed in his bloodshot eyes. He'd carved straight through the night, knowing now that his vision was real; that such beauty was not only possible, but existent. His fingers bled from innumerable hasty cuts and hammerings and the sharp edges of stone; yet it was this same sense of urgency which was giving form to what was to be the pinnacle of his achievements.

He'd only the form so far, having worked the night whittling down the stone to the proper pose. Regal and proud, yet sleek and sensuous stood its outline, silhouetted against the coming dawn; seeming as if to glow amongst the shadows of the studio. Just like his muse, it was the contradiction inherent in her which brought out her beauty. He stood back, panting, his sleek abdominals contracting with each breath, contemplating his work. 'Is this what it is then?' he thought, 'True beauty lies... in being both, yet neither...' His early work had crackled with energy and motion, life... yet it lacked the cold, hard clarity of death. And as his skill grew, and he became jaded with his 'failures,' his statues took on the crisp detail that had been lacking, but paid for it in their stiff, angular bearing.

But now he knew, knew what he'd never understood before... true beauty, both as concept and form, lay in the blending of opposites. Life, death. Young, old. Light, dark. Good, evil. Male, female. His muse, that perfect creature which had passed him by in the alleyway seemingly a lifetime ago, was all of these things, and none of them. Her beauty was terrible to behold, in the perfect features of body and face, and in her carriage as she'd stalked down the street. He could think of no better word to describe her beauty, nothing else which summed up the awe he'd felt in her presence. Terrible. Terrible in that the rest of the world fell away before the memory of it. Terrible in that nothing could ever hope to compare with it. Terrible as having the veils of 'reality' stripped away to gaze directly upon the face of God. It was devastating. And it obliterated the world he had known before. He needed to see her again.

He stood in the shadows across from the inn, and watched as the sun died, drowning in a pool of its own blood to the West. Here, on the outskirts of the city, it was quite a spectacular sight. He realized immediately the clash which brought about such beauty: the 'death' of a symbol of life. Losing interest, he shifted and bit off another small chunk of the ginseng root, welcoming the burst of energy it afforded. He'd been there shortly after dawn, having left his work sit with the coming of the light, as he'd always done. A few well placed coins had lead him here, across from where she slept. The innkeeper had been reluctant to talk, yet the heft of the pouch Iblis had tossed on his counter loosed his tongue somewhat. From where Iblis stood, he could see her window, the heavy drapes pulled tightly shut inside. He would wait here until she emerged; few would bother, or even notice him here, on the outskirts of Britain. He didn't know what he would do when he saw her again; he could not think that far ahead. All he could think was that he needed to see her again.

Part 2

She never cared much for cities. Even as a mortal she would only enter them when absolutely necessary, prefering to spend her time is the peace and serenity of the woods. And now she found herself in the worst of them - Britain. She loathed Britain. But she had business here, so here she would stay - but only as long as necessary. She pulled her cloak tight around her as she made her way down the street. The people here were rude enough as it was - she didn't feel like dealing with their impertinance should they discover her nature. At least the recent rain had driven most of the humans indoors and washed away some of their stench. But not much.

As she turned the corner she saw them. At first she thought the man ill or injured, but those thoughts left as she heard his slurred swearing and the giggles of his companions. She rolled her eyes in disgust as one of the whores slipped her hand down his trousers. Even when she was serving Vega - seducing men to lower their defenses so that she may slay them - she never acted with such lack of class. "Amatures," she mumbled to herself. "The poor fool... he probably paid good money for them, too. Such a waste..."

She heard the giggles from the prostitutes fade as they noticed her. Predictably, they scrambled to get out of her way. She was used to such reactions and paid it no heed. The drunk, on the other hand, acted quite differently than she expected. Pulling away from their grasping hands, he stood in the middle of the street, staring at her as she approached him. Expecting trouble, she slipped a dagger from a hidden pocket inside her cloak. But the look on his face was not that of a drunkard looking to increase his harem. There was no challenge in his gaze, nor was there fear. With delight and amusement she realized that the light in his eyes was one of awe. She continued towards him, not slowing her pace or veering from her course. She turned her head briefly to face him as she brushed past him, smiling slightly. Their eyes only met for a moment, but it was enough to tell her that the whores would get no satisfaction this eve.

She chuckled to herself as she continued down the street, listening to the girls begging the man to come with them. Quickly dismissing the encounter from her thoughts, Illestra made her way through the streets and found an inn. Like most human establishments, she found it lacking in most ways. But she nodded in satisfaction at the heavy drapes upon the windows and paid the innkeeper a few extra coins to ensure she would not be disturbed throughout the next day. With luck she would be gone by next eve.

Touched by the Divine - Part 1

"Sluts! They're all sluts," he thought as they staggered down the cobbled alley, stones still slick with the evenings rain. Iblis cursed as his feet shuffled uselessly beneath him, the girls under either arm supporting his weight as they made their way back to his apartments. His head bobbed low between his shoulders; and he peered at one of the girls through the tangled waves of his long white hair. He'd left the brothel with these two cows, the best money could buy. Yet neither was good enough for him... nothing ever was. For Iblis al Djinn, sculptor to Kings and nobles, creator of some of the most beautiful works of art ever crafted by the hands of man, had never gazed on true beauty himself.

Oh, he'd seen it alright... seen it whenever he closed his eyes, haunted by the tantalizing vision as it danced fleetingly, maddeningly across his eyelids; only to disappear when he opened his eyes once again to the world. He'd tried all his life to give form to the vision which had driven him for as long as he could remember; yet while his work was renowned throughout the lands, decorating halls of heroes and Kings, he could never achieve in stone that which he only touched in dreams... pure, divine beauty. He longed for it, oh Gods! how he longed for it. Every creation poured from his heart, through his hands and into the chisel; carving into rock lubricated by blood and sweat. But it ever eluded him. The hint of an angle here. A hair out of place there. The arch of the neck not flowing with the curvature of a delicate cheekbone. As a student, he'd shown such potential, such desire, such passion. And while his works soon outstripped his teachers abilities, and collectors clamored for his works, he was tormented by that which he could not give form. He'd spend fevered nights, chiseling madly with fierce determination that THIS would be the one, that he would finally exorcise this demon from his mind's eye... yet the sun would rise on his work, shining dimly through the dusted windows on his work, and he would collapse, screaming and clutching his head in agony until sleep overtook him, curled in a ball among the dust and debris of another failure.

As time went on, he'd become jaded, trying to obliterate the vision with endless nights of flowing wine and willing bodies, exotic drugs and local vices. And then the sun would set, the cycle would begin anew. His sculpts reflected the change inside him; his older work being vibrant and abstract, yet his more recent: stiff and cold; the detail intoxicatingly intricate, yet devoid of life. It was these which were most in demand by royalty; still, regal poses that would mark the times of their rule to future generations.

And now, Iblis al Djinn, most famous artist of his time, staggered down a nighted alley supported by these two cows. "Hah!" The situation brought an angry laugh from his lips, and his sudden outburst elicited giggles from the girl on his right, he didn't know her name. He cursed her, which only drew giggles from the two of them, maddening him, the fire rising in his blood. One of the girls slipped her hand down his leather breeches, and more than that rose as she stroked him. Cows they might be, not deserving in his eyes the title of beauties all others would bestow on them; still, in the flesh he found release, in flesh was where he could wipe away the visions behind his eyes, focusing on the exquisite sensations of skin.

The girls had no such problems with him, however. They thought him darkly handsome, as did all the others. Standing 6'1", Iblis' lean frame cut an exotic figure. There wasn't a woman who'd seen him who hadn't been envious of the long, silken white hair which flowed down over his wide framed shoulders. His leather shirt hung open to the waist, and the other girl ran her hands over a stomach as finely chiseled as any of his sculptures. His long, angular muscles rippled smoothly over his lean frame, giving his walk the look of a panther stalking prey.

At least when he was sober.

Now he was being half carried down the street by these two cows, one running her crimson nails over the ridges of his abdominals, the other stroking him slowly, her thumb circling over and around his head. He grinned drunkenly as he felt her grip tighten on him, but then felt the hand on his stomach stop its caresses as well. He looked up blearily to see what had startled them, and saw the cloaked form as it emerged from the mists at the alley's end.

A deep hood hid her features, but there was no doubt a woman inhabited the night black folds of the cloak. She walked with the ease of an oiled serpent, her curves flowing visibly under the cloak which hid her form. All was silent but for the soft click of her heels upon the cobblestones, mesmerizing him with their beat. Her step did not falter as they stood there, the three of them hypnotized in her path. As she drew near, he caught the briefest flashes of alabaster white flesh beneath the cloak as it swirled around her, her bare midriff contrasting with the black leather bustier which held her perfectly formed breasts. All this he could see as she drew near, but still her face was hidden deep within the shadows of her hood.

The girls at his side seemed to emerge from their doe-like shock, and tugged tremblingly at his hands, urging him to the side of the path. Yet he had already dismissed the cows from his mind, and stood still as one of his creations in her path. She closed the distance and looked up to gaze full on him as she walked by, a slight smile on her ruby red lips as her body brushed his, flowing across his skin like a silken scarf in a breeze; then she passed by, into the night. Iblis stood there, heart pounding in his ears vying with her rhythmic footsteps to drown out all other noise. The beauty he had sought all his life, the beauty he feared belonged to the divine alone, had just flowed past him in the flesh like a rushing stream on the cobbled streets of Britain.