We Dance In Dark Suspension 2/2
Title: We Dance In Dark Suspension 2/2
Author: yaoi_anti_drug
Fandom: Blade (the movies)
Pairings: Deacon Frost/Hannibal King
Overall Characters: Hannibal, Danica, Asher, Frost, Mercury, Quinn, Blade, and Abby, with mentions of various Nightstalkers
Genre: Dark. Very dark.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: As Danica's human pet, Hannibal catches the eye of Deacon Frost.
Overall Word Count: Approximately 12,700
Spoilers: For Blade I and Trinity, but this fic definitely carves its own canon.
Overall Warnings: Violence, Non-Con, and Character Death (Not of any truly main characters)
Notes: Dedicated to scrapbullet. Sorry this took me so long, darling! Also, a big thank you to Matt for holding my hand through this! Constructive criticism is always loved and comments, even if it’s to say you hate it, are always appreciated too. Title from "The Horror of Our Love" by Ludo
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, just here to play.
Author Note 2: **While Reading This Fic, Operate Under The Assumption That More Highly Sophisticated Vampires Can Choose When They Infect A Human. Just Go With It.**
Chapter 1
We Dance In Dark Suspension 2/2:
When he woke, he was screaming.
“Shh, it's alright. We all scream.” A hand swept his hair back from his appallingly clammy forehead.
“We all scream,” he repeated in that insincerely considerate voice of his.
“That's supposed to fucking help?! You worthless piece of shit, I'm going to kill you.”
But he was out before he could even try to snap his neck.
~~~~~~~
He woke at least four times after that, sometimes crying, other times shouting, and one time, so he was told, absolutely calm.
He couldn't remember any of it, all except the unmitigated anguish. Frost had kept him sedated for the full 72 hours, so that when the anesthesia wore off, he was no longer solely a man.
The reality that he was a vampire settled in when he murdered his first human, a tiny, lithe brunette. Frost had starved him, goading him by bringing his own meals into shared their room and feasting on them there. Frost would coax him to partake, but Hannibal's conviction stayed strong. Withal, he could only deny it so long. There was a consistent rumbling adjuration of his stomach in response to the invigorating scent of blood in the air, until it was impossible to brush off his hunger.
She had tears in her emerald eyes, cheeks stained by the track of fear. He stole her life, using it to sustain him; he was nothing but a monster.
From then on, the hatred only flourished. He detested being a vampire. Every day, he felt his sanity drip away, the humanity he'd always prized being stripped from his blood-slicked fingertips.
“You promised not to turn me, Frost.”
“Promise? Hannibal, darling,” accentuated for ridicule, “you know promises mean nothing to a vampire. They made the mistake of giving you up. Now you're mine. Deal with it.”
He had thought for sure that his new state would be enough to initiate a bit of a war between the Talos siblings and Frost. But who was he kidding? He wasn't consequential enough for that. At the worst, Danica and Asher's reputations were a little scorched and there would be an eternal grudge. Nothing paramount.
“Oh, and call me Deacon. You're part of the family now, after all.”
~~~~~~~
Mercury hated him. Not that he blamed her. It was apparent to everyone that he was Frost's favorite, as young and inexperienced as he was; an role she had once joyfully filled.
Hannibal thought that his creator would lose interest in him shortly, and that he'd be able to run. But no, of course not. Frost never took his suspicious gaze off of him, and he made sure to take time out of his busy schedule every damned day to spend time with him, whether it was to train him, or to fuck him senseless.
Hannibal despised him. Despised the way he yearned for his touch, the way he was actually proud of himself every time he earned his master's praise and how his place in Frost's world gave him such ranking over other, drastically older vampires. None should have been aspects that he took sick solace in.
The tattoo proclaiming ownership over his body was gone now. Frost, in an astoundingly possessive fit, had cut it off. What healed over, scabbing first, pock-marked with blotches of scar tissue and pink veins, was smooth, unblemished alabaster flesh.
He was grateful that he no longer had to be burdened by the residual image of Danica and Asher, but concurrently, he wondered if he was forgetting how it felt to be strictly prey. Not to mention he was beginning to cherish the last moments of a kill; that quivering exhale before he extinguished their mundane souls. He felt addicted to the power. And Frost knew... Fuck, did he know alright.
So submerged he was in their society that one night, during a rooftop party, a familiar had clearly displeased Frost and they gorged upon his blood together. In front of all the guests, whether they knew them or not.
Flooded by the adrenalin of the kill and high from Frost's fervor, he licked the crimson stains like a dog when they were offered.
Yes, once he stepped away and attained coherence, he knew one thing for certain. He needed to get out of here before he lost sight of himself entirely.
~~~~~~~
Blade was a name he'd heard once or twice, but after Quinn's arm became a stump, it was on the tongue of every vampire, from low-ranking to Frost himself.
And it was in Blade that he discovered his opportunity for flight. Frost was distracted by this new threat, and in that, he found a hole.
The Daywalker had been found, only a few minutes after the human had been killed, and a group had been sent out to capture him. His creator trusted him enough to send him as well, likely taking his recent cooperation as a sign of devotion. He assigned both Quinn and Mercury with the task of arranging that he came back in one piece.
The second they turned their backs, he ran. And they were well educated of his escape. But they let it happen, speculating that Frost would do no more than chastise them. It was a risk they could live with.
But to have their status be degraded below that of a fledgling for the rest of eternity, including Frost's reign as La Magra? That they could not handle.
~~~~~~~
Running into the Nightstalkers and not being shot immediately was pure luck. To have met a woman willing to listen to his story? Cosmic intervention.
They had offered him a way out, and the decision had been an uncomplicated one. He'd never wanted to be a vampire; they were parasites on this earth, remorseless and malicious.
He was given the cure by their scientist, Sommerfield . It was not easy. It felt much like withdrawal, as he was confined in a cell all alone for days. He was given food that he seldom ate, spending his time shrieking and clawing at the cement wall as the gene fled his system and his DNA was once more forcibly altered.
He was a human once more, retaining all of their imperfections and none of his immaculate gifts. Even with his flaws, he remained a force to be reckoned with.
In return, he gave the Nightstalkers his knowledge and his aptitude as a fighter. He became one of them, advancing in the ranks as he demonstrated his loyalty. They had been wisely hesitant of him before they all realized exactly how much he wanted to take down the vampires.
It would have been an understatement if he said he merely enjoyed killing them. He fucking loved it. It was his calling in life. They had taken his innocence from him, and so he took their degenerate existence.
He and Abby found common ground rapidly and became fast friends. He admired her fortitude, and she his. Together, they were a fast-moving and efficient team. The rest of the group took to him gradually as well. Notably Sommerfield's daughter, Zoe. He'd always had a way with children; he amused them almost as much as he amused bloodsuckers.
He felt as though he'd found a home in this fucked-up world. People with similar intellects and a mutual goal.
He would always be a little unconventional, but they did not treat him as such; for which he was glad. They knew he was trying to forget his past. Abby often told him he didn't have to fight his demons alone. Not anymore.
He would laugh and end the conversation before it began with a witty comment. She never took it further than that, doing no more than smiling, albeit her eyes stayed insistently perceptive and anxious. She could sympathize with what he was dealing with, even if she had thankfully never gone through it herself.
She understood that the memories he was battling were constant. Looking back on how swiftly he had fallen was disgusting. He'd fought, maintaining his silver tongue, but once faced with perpetual decadence, combined with his natural vampiric inclinations, he'd surrendered to Frost and his wiles in no time at all.
Yet, even considering his disdain, he found himself pining for such delirium, to be able to once more let go of all constraints. It was murder he craved, to exercise supremacy over the deplorable lives of lesser beings.
He'd thought his reprehensible appetite would lessen bit by bit with every eradicated vampire, but, if anything, it was amplified. Vampires were not enough, because he knew what he truly craved. Human souls were so much more satisfying to shatter.
It was a festering remnant of his former self, and he did not want to involve anyone else. It was not his right to drag someone into such a complex jumble of emotion. He would have to surmount these disturbing compulsions, and he'd do it on his own.
The worst of it came during his slumber. Frost would plague him as a tactile ghost, all roving hands and bitter yet legitimate censures. The vampire would always exhibit the ability to interpret what lay hidden within his wicked subconscious; no matter in what shape he appeared in.
The day he met Blade, introduced by Abby's father Whistler, he felt as though he'd encountered a kindred spirit. The Daywalker, half-vampire himself, adored wiping leeches off the earth even more than Hannibal did. Though Blade didn't like him as much as he'd hoped, they worked well together. He had been wary of Hannibal at first, primarily because of his insider information. He, like the others, steadily accepted his brazen allegiance and came to respect his enthusiasm.
The two teams were one, yet remained divided in location. Whistler ventured it'd be less hazardous that way.
After Abby's dad was murdered - guess he was wrong about that whole separate thing - and Blade's not-quite girlfriend, Karen, was kidnapped, the Daywalker just had to go all suicidal and decide that ambushing Frost was the best conceivable solution. The Daystar was not ready to be used, and so they rushed in without a concrete plan. Not the most shrewd idea ever concocted, but nevertheless, he and Abby refused to let Blade to go without backup.
Unfortunately, while the Daywalker was thoroughly distracted by his mother, they were tasered; incapacitated as Blade was. They were both stripped of their weapons and left defenseless. He supposed their lone victory was that they were not tasered into a stupor like the Daywalker.
Or so he thought. After being hustled to his knees by none other than Quinn, his body twitching with the after effects of man-made electricity, he caught sight of Frost.
The vampire was already watching him, Mercury uncharacteristically missing from his side. Instead, Vanessa - he should have known she was Blade's mother, the dirty cunt rag - was hanging all over his shoulder.
The vampire shot her a glare, one that transparently said 'stop fucking touching me'. She hastily withdrew her hands, knowing well enough to do as she was told when he was angry.
Frost made his way over to him, those cobalt blues once more engrossing him. He felt an odd tug overcome him, one that caused his vision to swirl and his heart to beat so fast he suspected it might break out of his chest.
He could feel the collective pang of desire pulsating from the group of vampires - they could hear the rush of his blood. It was no different with Frost, whose eyes were half-lidded, breath a near moan. It was the siren call between a creator and a fledgling, designed exclusively for them but nonetheless effecting all those capable of sensing it.
“What pervs. Yeah, especially you, Quinn. Sick, man, just sick.”
Quinn cracked up, as if it was all a big joke. Frost took him seriously, knocking the vampire away in a hot second.
His ex-maker gazed down at him, quirking an eyebrow. Hannibal's dirty-blonde hair had grown since he'd been with Frost, a fact he callously took advantage of as he hoisted him up by it, fingers curling snugly around his throat.
He winced from the pressure, beginning to gasp, light-headed as hell. Frost said something or other, but the buzz of oxygen loss was a roar in his ears. Abby might have said his name too, but that could have feasibly been an hallucination.
He was released, crashing to the ground where he fought to regain complete awareness. He leaned his back adjacent to the wall, needing the support to stay off the floor.
“Human. Weak.” Frost was unquestionably perplexed by the evidence before him.
“Good to see I can still surprise you, asshole,” he said with a defiant tick in his cheek.
“Everyone leave. Take Blade with you.” Frost glanced at Mercury, who was holding Abby, letting her know she was authorized to stay. She and her prisoner.
Soon everyone was gone, including the comatose form of Blade, except for Quinn who thought he too had been excluded. “You too Quinn.”
“But, Deac, man...”
“You have to guard Blade for me. You're the only one I trust enough to do that.”
Convinced, Quinn grinned like the idiotic oaf he was before exiting.
Frost knelt down by Hannibal, his presence utterly stifling.
“My disobedient pet...” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, “You should have at least had the intelligence not to come back. Now I have to punish you.”
Hannibal didn't waver, he spat in the vampire's face, following up with a very clear “Fuck you.”
He received a hardy smack for his efforts. His lip broke, blood tainting the air.
“I see you brought your girlfriend too... And you know how I loathe to share.”
He recognized the threat. A resounding torrent of dread immersed his spine. Regardless, he deftly preserved the obnoxious tone of his voice, “Keep her out of this. This is between us, you prick.”
Frost chuckled, caressing his hair mockingly, “You've no idea, King, how much I've missed that mouth of yours.”
His fingers looped around his chin, drawing him in close. Frost's mouth was twitching in ardor, displaying his fangs with an obvious purpose. “I'm not going to make the mistake of letting you go again.”
“I'm not yours to keep, Frosty.”
Frost's uncommitted hand traced the outline of the bite on his neck - now a blatant scar - briefly scanning it before reexamining Hannibal's brown, furious orbs; “Oh, really? I can prove it to you, right in front of your friend over there.”
He forsook the permanent imprint of relinquished immortality, instead stealing his way to his groin, grip rousing him to reluctant attention. Hannibal jerked back heavily into the partition, knee flexing out to kick the vampire away. As anticipated, all attempts were either negated or ignored. Frost's lips went to Hannibal's ear, reminiscent of the old days and causing him to panic.
What if he turned him again? Right here? Now?
“She can see everything from there. Everything. Does that turn you on? We never did get to the kinky shit...”
“Let me go, f-”
To shut him up, Frost kissed him none too gently. All feral and desperate. He made the error of once more adhering to his instincts, his teeth snapping down when he tried to deepen the kiss. Frost retaliated, thriving on the blood which culminated strong and heady, Hannibal's mouth ignited with sores and lacerations.
It was impractical to not imbibe smidgens of the vampire's blood, and it stirred impatiently inside of him, greedy for more. Images from his months as the vampire's beloved slave was evoked, their connection just as distinct as when he had been one of them.
He had, comparatively, lived luxuriously. Indeed, there had been suffering, but it blended evenly with gluttonous carnality. Frost had treasured him, all the while Hannibal had been treacherously plotting how to accidentally push him out into the path of the sun. The vampire was certainly taking measures of revenge now.
His mouth ached for freedom. He grunted in pain, wishing that agony was all there was to focus on. Alas, Frost always did relish toying with him. His hand remained at his groin, encircling and compelling, duplicating the apparitions pervading his mind to the tee.
His touch was like ice, as always, but promptly heating up. He was talented, as he remembered, and it was challenging not to slip back into meek compliance solely from prior conditioning.
There was no debating it, his nightmares were finally becoming tangible.
The vampire's diligence brought every clandestine urge he had to the surface. It was difficult to contend with Frost's persuasion. He knew each arcane secret he kept padlocked behind clusters of mental barricades, and how to manipulate them.
Hannibal persistently attempted to push him away, only to find himself bending to the curve of his embrace as recollections jerked him from past to present and back again. The humiliation was suffocating. Tears formed in his eyes from the excruciating shame, but he locked them there, prohibiting their fall.
Frost employed all of his tricks, inciting Hannibal to finish quickly. Frost retreated from the kiss in time for a scarcely suppressed moan to escape his prey's throat.
“See, you do still want me. Don't even try to say you don't. I know you." He drew a cum-slicked finger into his mouth, savoring the salty tang that was Hannibal, "You're not fit to be anywhere but with me.”
Hannibal let fly with his fist, and Frost allowed him this, laughing at his pathetic attempt. He stood, yanking Hannibal up and flinging him onto the all too familiar bed, placing a finger to his mouth when he tried to speak.
“Shh. Stay here like a good little bitch and I'll be back soon. I'm not finished with you yet.”
He turned with a smile, walking out the door. Mercury and Quinn trailed after him - Abby obligated to join them. He could feel her assuredly disappointed gaze on him, but he didn't even have the courage to look at her.
He'd never told any of them specifically how he'd become vampire, meaning, who had been his maker. The topic had never really come up. He'd only told them he'd been in Frost's fold, enough to know details.
That had been a dire oversight on his part. He'd never wanted Abby to find out the truth in such a demeaning manner.
Once left alone, he buttoned his pants back up, cleaned himself off as best as he could, and pointlessly tried to open the door. He lingered in trepidation, pacing the room, fingers agitated fists at his side. It took all he had not to punch the wall.
When the door finally hissed open, Hannibal didn't delay his attack. Faithful to his patented luck, Frost was prepared for him, ensnaring his hand in his own and driving his knees casually into the tile.
Frost applauded, “Bravo, Hannibal. You've managed to embarrass yourself twice in one night. Are you done now?”
“Actually, as a matter of fact, no.”
He rose to his feet, but despite his haughty declaration, he did not try to assault him again. Instead, he waited with bated breath. Frost walked to his bed, sitting on it with his legs out and crossed at the ankles. His hands held him up as he canted his head to the side.
“How did you become human?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Well, I assume it was your Nightstalker buddies who did it. Just thought maybe you'd give me the easy answer rather than me having to torture every single one of your friends.”
“Yeah, right. If you knew where they were, you would not have been so shocked to see me. So you can take your threats and shove them up your ass.”
Frost grinned, “Feeling nostalgic, are you? That's the first thing you ever said to me. Warms my heart to hear you still feel the same.”
Hannibal rolled his eyes, “I see your ego has gotten even more bloated since I've been gone.”
The vampire permitted the jab; there was more significant matters to discuss than his justifiably large ego.
“I have decided something, King. After I become La Magra, I am going to bite you again.”
He let the realization settle, savoring the palpable horror illustrated on every facet of Hannibal's body. He meticulously walked towards him, pushing Hannibal more and more into a corner.
“Predictably, you will refuse to kill. But don't you worry, my pet, that's an easy fix. I will simply wait until the hunger is too much, then I'll give you the pleasure of ripping your dearest Abby apart.”
It hit him like a sledgehammer. How he'd learned her name held minor importance. He'd keep her alive, expressly to utilize as his first meal. He swallowed hard, tasting copper even if his lips had ceased to bleed.
“You will be so shamed by your actions that you'll willingly crawl into my arms once more, if only for a place to ease your guilt. You will be the Blood God's Childe, his second in command. You will have more power than you can imagine; and no where to run because I will rule this world.”
“Bull-fucking-shit, Frost.”
He was pressed against the wall now. Frost placed his hands on either side of his head, smirking as though he'd already won. “No jokes, no insults? Nothing more to threaten? That's not like you at all, Hannibal.”
Frost's thumb pushed down on the plush of his lip, cracking open the cuts from before, receiving no response. “Or is it because you want that to happen? Do you yearn to be my lover again, Hannibal? My favorite? Are you regretting ever leaving me?”
“Screw you.”
He smiled, “You are. I can tell you are. There's a part of you that wishes for immortality again. I'll give it to you. I'll forgive your transgressions and allow you the Gift. You once claimed I was merciless... well, I'll show you just how merciful I can be.”
He leaned in, nipping at his neck. “You test my resolve, King. No one has ever made me lose control like you.”
“Why don't you tell someone who gives a rat's ass?”
“Always playing the brash hero. That's fine. I've seen you at your lowest, and I'll take you there again. I'll build you back up, make you perfect; like you were before you were soiled by those fucking hunters.”
Frost backed away, sniffing as if he was bored, chin up. “Anyways... no time to waste. See you later, pet.”
The last thing he saw was a pale fist, and then darkness.
~~~~~~~
The tumult of the van woke him once on route, jarring enough that he smashed the back of his head on the unyielding metal. His hands were tied. It was dazzlingly black, and he could not help but begin to hyperventilate.
“You're okay, Hannibal.”
It was Abby's soothing voice. He used the sound of the syllables to guide his eyes to her. She was diagonal from him, tied as he was. Dismay washed through him; what she'd seen...
“Abby, I...”
“No need. Especially not right now.” She was not angry with him. That was a good sign. Or perhaps it was her professionalism talking. “Do you know where they are taking us?”
Now that he had somewhat adjusted to his somber surroundings, he spotted Blade in the corner, Karen opposite of him.
“The Temple of the Night,” he replied.
Blade said something about needing his serum, and Hannibal knew right then that they were as fucked as a ten-dollar whore.
~~~~~~~
The trip to the center of the Temple was needless to say very cumbersome. The lackeys delighted in flinging them around now that they were crippled and in no position to fight back.
Blade was barely functioning, propelled into lethargy by his hunger. Hannibal could relate to that, but even so, he'd figured a Daywalker would be stronger than that.
At least they were not alone in their captivity. The elders around them must have hailed from the House of Erebus. They were the sacrifices. Once they arrived, Frost coasted into a spiel about the history of the Temple and the House's negligence. He, of course, ended with poking fun at the disabled Daywalker.
Hannibal rolled his eyes; Frost was getting tedious. The only part he chanced appreciating was when he fucked with Quinn. God damn, he hated that egotistic asshat.
His awfully inadequate optimism soared when Frost handled Karen's miracle cure. He knew what that could do; it was their endgame. But their fortune proceeded to worsen as Frost halted, staring down at the containers before glancing at Abby and Hannibal. They gave away nothing, but yet recognition blazed brightly in his eyes.
He turned to Mercury, “Did they have these as well?”
She nodded, sharing in his epiphany. She grabbed the liquid from her lover, taking a few vials out to dispense into the body of a condemned Pureblood. His flesh swelled and ruptured, alarming all of Frost's less apt crew and further intimidating the Council members.
Frost scoffed, “Wow. Well, that would have been quite the buzz-kill.”
Mercury handed the EDTA to an superfluous minion, who would take it as far from the Temple as viable.
Unless they were able to hinder La Magra's summoning by some fortuitous twist of fate, they were defeated before they'd even began. What the hell were they going to do now? He looked to Abby, who appeared just as mortified as he was.
Frost returned to harassing Blade, “It's still a shame, y'know. When I think of what you've become... What you should have become. I guess I don't blame you. I mean, with everything that's happened, it's the human side of you that's made you weak. You should have listened to your blood.”
“Say what you want. I promise you, you'll be dead by dawn.”
Hannibal had to hand it to Blade. Even when reduced to to a diminished shadow of himself, he still managed to deliver a badass parting line. Quinn laughed, deceptively unruffled. On Frost's face, however, he swore he detected an iota of concern. Hannibal was probably just inventing that for his own benefit.
“Get him out of here. And get these fucks downstairs! Mercury, take Abigail here with you.”
He rounded on Karen next, whom he seemed to harbor plenty of contempt for. Hannibal chuckled, distracting the vampire from her.
Frost was in his face, eyes sharp, “And what is so funny, Hannibal?”
“Oh, just how you haven't changed. Karen rejected you, didn't she? That's why you're so determined to scare her.”
He cocked his head to the side, “You would know, wouldn't you? Take her to the pit, Quinn.”
Hannibal smirked as Frost prodded him down the stairs. He was careful about his step, not wanting to make a fool of himself by tripping.
“Nice place you've set up here. Very Egyptian. There any mummies lying around? I've always wanted to see one.”
Frost didn't rise to the bait, mind likely preoccupied with how well his magnificent scheme was progressing. Dick.
Hannibal knew that without the EDTA, they were in trouble. There had to be another way, wasn't there? He scanned through their not extremely encouraging prospects as Frost stood watch. When Quinn showed his revolting mug, he was jostled into the relentless arms of Mercury as Abby was given to Quinn.
Everything was in place. Blade and Vanessa were up top, the House was in their stations, Karen had been presumably dispatched of - which was yet to be verified - and he and Abby were secured and vulnerable.
He had to think fast, the tick-tock of the clock was bearing down on them. He could think of nothing as the timbre of the air descended thick and smothering around them. One of the House made the error of belittling Mercury's place in Frost's decaying heart.
She, using Blade's sword which she'd been holding quite close to Hannibal's throat, nailed his ashes to the wall as a testament of her will.
Independent of her grasp, this was his opportunity. He took a step forward, only to go nowhere as she seized him once more.
“God dammit, woman!”
No escape, no plan B.
The tension was asphyxiating as blood rained from the ceiling, branding the foreheads of the damned.
“Is everybody thirsty?! I hope you're all very fucking thirsty.”
Frost strolled around the stone platform, positively on top of the world as he unbuttoned his shirt.
“Now why is that necessary? Gratuitous nudity, that's what.”
Mercury's fingers dug deeper into Hannibal's arms, warning him not to say another word. He couldn't stop himself... when things got climatic, he alleviated it with sarcasm. It helped him concentrate. Yet, in this situation, he didn't think that would aid him in the least.
When a bead of ruby plummeted into Frost's supplicating form, it would have been appropriate to say that all hell broke loose.
Lightning erupted from symbols lining the cylindrical center, striking the vampires fringing the circle. The volts expelled what could only be labeled as the 'Pureblood spirit', but they looked more similar to winged demons, fashioned by skeleton and proclaiming death.
Hannibal's eyes widened, “Holy fucking shit! What the fucking fuck are those things?!”
Mercury must have shared his sentiment, because her touch had vanished. She was cowering behind a column; Quinn as well. He and Abby were free, and in this chaos, he could not have devised a better moment.
Disposing of a couple nearby vampires was as easy as stealing music off of the internet. They gathered their guns and went at it, the deafening clamor of wings at their backs. An eerie silence abruptly plunged over the Temple, but they dismissed it. They had a job to do.
They tried not to split up; not being in sync when there was an army to combat would surely prove to be a complete catastrophe.
But he had not factored in those out for his head. He hit a pillar, then was tossed onto the platform. Frost was no where to be seen, but Blade was. Hannibal had to muster his wits within a second so not to become a pancake as the Hunter landed gracefully from the top level. Still on all fours, having had hardly enough time to scurry back, he stared up at the Daywalker.
“Show-off.”
The half-vampire guided him up, a rare display of respect, and then turned to his task. “Frost!”
Blade was fucking pissed, and he had plenty of parasites to let it out on. Quinn was his first victim, from whom he retrieved his favorite pair of sunglasses.
Enemies were piling up, even with Abby eliminating them from the outside. Hannibal didn't have time to contemplate even a semblance of a strategy. It was all about staying alive, hands moving as fast as possible to keep up with the onslaught.
But then there was Mercury, gunning straight for him. So she had been the one to separate him from Abby...
Hannibal was alone; Blade had drifted to the borders now. She was a virile vampire too, more ancient than her youthful face insinuated. She reached for his throat and he blocked her, twisting her arm into a grip she easily escaped. He punched her in the face, and she smacked him ten times harder.
“I'm really gonna enjoy this now!” She licked her lips as she bared her fangs, charging with only his expiration on the agenda.
She didn't get very far before she was pulled back, a furrow of burgundy emerging on her elongated neck. The fatality had been inflicted by a sword. He could not see who wielded the weapon, but he had an idea.
“I guess I can forgive you for being a little late there, Blade. But try not to cut it so close next time, okay?”
Clutching her throat, Mercury was skewered before she crumbled not at the feet of the Daywalker, but at Frost's. Only, it wasn't him; was it?
His eyes were entirely composed of red, and there was an aura about him not wholly Frost.
“Son of a whore! You've got to be fucking kidding me!”
The vampire smirked, cocking a brow, smug as hell.
He fired his shotgun, the projectile passing through the creature only for the skin to restitch itself as if it'd never occurred. Oh, and it used blood to mend itself too. Neat trick.
Hannibal took a step back, swearing profusely. Couldn't he ever have any luck? “Blade! It's definitely La Magra!”
Frost, La Magra, who the fuck ever, latched onto his neck, lifting him up as though he were a feather. “Don't want you to get hurt, now do I, Hannibal?”
It was his voice for certain, but the sinister lilt to it terrified the shit out of him. He was launched back into the wall, so severely that it almost felt like his spine had been broken.
He was sure it was a symptom of shock, but that didn't alter the fact that he couldn't move. He viewed the fight from where he lay, groaning and striving to get up in spite of admonishing spasms.
Consolation arrived when Abby materialized at his side, Karen on his left. There was no more vampires to neutralize; they'd handled the mass of them. They propped him up so that he could at least support himself on the dank concrete partition. He worked on unraveling his back, the tendons crunching as he forced them to be useful once more.
In front of them, Blade and La Magra compared their skills. But it was an unambiguous contest. Even with the Blood God's sword having been taken from him, short of some miracle, the Daywalker was going to lose.
Blood sprayed everywhere only to be soaked up by La Magra's instantly regenerating limbs. Even Abby's barrage of bullets were disregarded as mere annoyances. Eventually, the recently turned God became tired of flaunting his abilities.
“My turn.”
Blade slammed into one of the columns, a stone's throw away from the three of them. The two continued to spar, but there was frankly no leverage for the Daywalker to exploit.
It was in his failure to match La Magra's tenacity that he truly suffered. One well aimed fist to his temple was all it took to immobilize him. La Magra pried Blade's own sword from his weary fingertips and without hesitation, decapitated him with it.
Karen, gun in hand, gained the God's attention as she cried out in grief. Abby held her back, but the doctor didn't seem to comprehend what was good for her. She elbowed Abby and pursued the target of her rage only to be executed as naturally as slicing through margarine.
La Magra observed her hemorrhaging carcass with a listless sniff, “It's too bad. I kinda liked her. What a waste.”
Even before Karen's corpse hit the ground, Abby and Hannibal knew they had to get the fuck out of there asap. He was still partially wounded, but his tolerance towards pain allowed him to overlook his injuries.
But it was to no avail. Their flight was obstructed
“Leaving so soon?”
Flinching, Hannibal stepped in front of Abby, shielding her from Frost. There was no doubt it was the Blood God, but he and Frost were joined. If Frost wasn't in there at all, well, he'd be lying on the floor in gory portions.
“I admire your resilience, Hannibal, but you're not fooling anyone. Can you tell me why you left me? Give me one good reason, and it can't be 'because you're a vampire.' I want a real reason, and if you can give it to me, I'll let you and your girlfriend live.”
Hannibal didn't falter, “You want to destroy everything I hold dear.”
Frost smiled, “How boy scout of you, King. Is that so? Well, what about this little conundrum? I've won. You've lost. This world is mine now. I'll do with it what I want. Would you rather be immortal, by my side, or fighting against a revolution you can't possibly hope to survive?”
Hannibal threw him arms up, losing his patience with this ploy, “Why are you doing this? Asking me these god damn questions... You could turn me if you wanted, I wouldn't have a fucking choice in the matter. What do you really want from me?!”
“Your submission, what else?”
Hannibal scoffed, “And that would be important to an almighty Blood God why?”
“I never lied to you. I desire an equal. I want someone worthy to share my bed as well as my power. I believe that is you, once you get over your well-intentioned ignorance, not that it isn't frightfully endearing...”
Hannibal paused, gears grinding. He only had one plausible option to guarantee Abby's safety. He owed her that. He glanced at her as she shook her head, despair painting her features; “Don't you dare...”
“Give her your protection... All of them.” The Nightstalkers; his family. “I don't care what the fuck they do, if they are hurt, I swear to God, I'll kill myself.”
“Fair enough.”
“Hannibal, please don't do this. Not for us.” Abby was virtually begging him now.
He closed his eyes, nodding, worming out from her imploring grip. He was ready to do what was required of him. “Get out of here, Abby.”
“But...”
“You should listen to him, sweetheart. Hannibal knows best,” Frost chided. Abby turned the full force of her glare towards the vampire but nonetheless began to retreat.
“We'll get you out,” Abby vowed. Hannibal just smiled sadly. They would try. They would not succeed.
When she was gone, Hannibal breathed a sigh of relief. She would stay alive amidst this scourge; she and Zoe and Sommerfield - every one of them. He'd supervise their health personally.
“You were never suited for a human life anyways,” Frost commented triumphantly, “Still had the urges, didn't you? The desire to kill, to slaughter... Otherwise, you would have fought me more on this.”
He didn't argue with him. He had a point, and perhaps he would have ultimately buckled under the gravity of his intensifying impulses. He would never know for certain either.
Frost tilted his head up by his chin, descending on his throat. Blood poured from the fissured scar; and so it was, the beginning of his fourth life. Meanwhile, a macabre cloak of crimson reigned over the sun, heralding a new era.
Author: yaoi_anti_drug
Fandom: Blade (the movies)
Pairings: Deacon Frost/Hannibal King
Overall Characters: Hannibal, Danica, Asher, Frost, Mercury, Quinn, Blade, and Abby, with mentions of various Nightstalkers
Genre: Dark. Very dark.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: As Danica's human pet, Hannibal catches the eye of Deacon Frost.
Overall Word Count: Approximately 12,700
Spoilers: For Blade I and Trinity, but this fic definitely carves its own canon.
Overall Warnings: Violence, Non-Con, and Character Death (Not of any truly main characters)
Notes: Dedicated to scrapbullet. Sorry this took me so long, darling! Also, a big thank you to Matt for holding my hand through this! Constructive criticism is always loved and comments, even if it’s to say you hate it, are always appreciated too. Title from "The Horror of Our Love" by Ludo
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, just here to play.
Author Note 2: **While Reading This Fic, Operate Under The Assumption That More Highly Sophisticated Vampires Can Choose When They Infect A Human. Just Go With It.**
Chapter 1
We Dance In Dark Suspension 2/2:
When he woke, he was screaming.
“Shh, it's alright. We all scream.” A hand swept his hair back from his appallingly clammy forehead.
“We all scream,” he repeated in that insincerely considerate voice of his.
“That's supposed to fucking help?! You worthless piece of shit, I'm going to kill you.”
But he was out before he could even try to snap his neck.
~~~~~~~
He woke at least four times after that, sometimes crying, other times shouting, and one time, so he was told, absolutely calm.
He couldn't remember any of it, all except the unmitigated anguish. Frost had kept him sedated for the full 72 hours, so that when the anesthesia wore off, he was no longer solely a man.
The reality that he was a vampire settled in when he murdered his first human, a tiny, lithe brunette. Frost had starved him, goading him by bringing his own meals into shared their room and feasting on them there. Frost would coax him to partake, but Hannibal's conviction stayed strong. Withal, he could only deny it so long. There was a consistent rumbling adjuration of his stomach in response to the invigorating scent of blood in the air, until it was impossible to brush off his hunger.
She had tears in her emerald eyes, cheeks stained by the track of fear. He stole her life, using it to sustain him; he was nothing but a monster.
From then on, the hatred only flourished. He detested being a vampire. Every day, he felt his sanity drip away, the humanity he'd always prized being stripped from his blood-slicked fingertips.
“You promised not to turn me, Frost.”
“Promise? Hannibal, darling,” accentuated for ridicule, “you know promises mean nothing to a vampire. They made the mistake of giving you up. Now you're mine. Deal with it.”
He had thought for sure that his new state would be enough to initiate a bit of a war between the Talos siblings and Frost. But who was he kidding? He wasn't consequential enough for that. At the worst, Danica and Asher's reputations were a little scorched and there would be an eternal grudge. Nothing paramount.
“Oh, and call me Deacon. You're part of the family now, after all.”
~~~~~~~
Mercury hated him. Not that he blamed her. It was apparent to everyone that he was Frost's favorite, as young and inexperienced as he was; an role she had once joyfully filled.
Hannibal thought that his creator would lose interest in him shortly, and that he'd be able to run. But no, of course not. Frost never took his suspicious gaze off of him, and he made sure to take time out of his busy schedule every damned day to spend time with him, whether it was to train him, or to fuck him senseless.
Hannibal despised him. Despised the way he yearned for his touch, the way he was actually proud of himself every time he earned his master's praise and how his place in Frost's world gave him such ranking over other, drastically older vampires. None should have been aspects that he took sick solace in.
The tattoo proclaiming ownership over his body was gone now. Frost, in an astoundingly possessive fit, had cut it off. What healed over, scabbing first, pock-marked with blotches of scar tissue and pink veins, was smooth, unblemished alabaster flesh.
He was grateful that he no longer had to be burdened by the residual image of Danica and Asher, but concurrently, he wondered if he was forgetting how it felt to be strictly prey. Not to mention he was beginning to cherish the last moments of a kill; that quivering exhale before he extinguished their mundane souls. He felt addicted to the power. And Frost knew... Fuck, did he know alright.
So submerged he was in their society that one night, during a rooftop party, a familiar had clearly displeased Frost and they gorged upon his blood together. In front of all the guests, whether they knew them or not.
Flooded by the adrenalin of the kill and high from Frost's fervor, he licked the crimson stains like a dog when they were offered.
Yes, once he stepped away and attained coherence, he knew one thing for certain. He needed to get out of here before he lost sight of himself entirely.
~~~~~~~
Blade was a name he'd heard once or twice, but after Quinn's arm became a stump, it was on the tongue of every vampire, from low-ranking to Frost himself.
And it was in Blade that he discovered his opportunity for flight. Frost was distracted by this new threat, and in that, he found a hole.
The Daywalker had been found, only a few minutes after the human had been killed, and a group had been sent out to capture him. His creator trusted him enough to send him as well, likely taking his recent cooperation as a sign of devotion. He assigned both Quinn and Mercury with the task of arranging that he came back in one piece.
The second they turned their backs, he ran. And they were well educated of his escape. But they let it happen, speculating that Frost would do no more than chastise them. It was a risk they could live with.
But to have their status be degraded below that of a fledgling for the rest of eternity, including Frost's reign as La Magra? That they could not handle.
~~~~~~~
Running into the Nightstalkers and not being shot immediately was pure luck. To have met a woman willing to listen to his story? Cosmic intervention.
They had offered him a way out, and the decision had been an uncomplicated one. He'd never wanted to be a vampire; they were parasites on this earth, remorseless and malicious.
He was given the cure by their scientist, Sommerfield . It was not easy. It felt much like withdrawal, as he was confined in a cell all alone for days. He was given food that he seldom ate, spending his time shrieking and clawing at the cement wall as the gene fled his system and his DNA was once more forcibly altered.
He was a human once more, retaining all of their imperfections and none of his immaculate gifts. Even with his flaws, he remained a force to be reckoned with.
In return, he gave the Nightstalkers his knowledge and his aptitude as a fighter. He became one of them, advancing in the ranks as he demonstrated his loyalty. They had been wisely hesitant of him before they all realized exactly how much he wanted to take down the vampires.
It would have been an understatement if he said he merely enjoyed killing them. He fucking loved it. It was his calling in life. They had taken his innocence from him, and so he took their degenerate existence.
He and Abby found common ground rapidly and became fast friends. He admired her fortitude, and she his. Together, they were a fast-moving and efficient team. The rest of the group took to him gradually as well. Notably Sommerfield's daughter, Zoe. He'd always had a way with children; he amused them almost as much as he amused bloodsuckers.
He felt as though he'd found a home in this fucked-up world. People with similar intellects and a mutual goal.
He would always be a little unconventional, but they did not treat him as such; for which he was glad. They knew he was trying to forget his past. Abby often told him he didn't have to fight his demons alone. Not anymore.
He would laugh and end the conversation before it began with a witty comment. She never took it further than that, doing no more than smiling, albeit her eyes stayed insistently perceptive and anxious. She could sympathize with what he was dealing with, even if she had thankfully never gone through it herself.
She understood that the memories he was battling were constant. Looking back on how swiftly he had fallen was disgusting. He'd fought, maintaining his silver tongue, but once faced with perpetual decadence, combined with his natural vampiric inclinations, he'd surrendered to Frost and his wiles in no time at all.
Yet, even considering his disdain, he found himself pining for such delirium, to be able to once more let go of all constraints. It was murder he craved, to exercise supremacy over the deplorable lives of lesser beings.
He'd thought his reprehensible appetite would lessen bit by bit with every eradicated vampire, but, if anything, it was amplified. Vampires were not enough, because he knew what he truly craved. Human souls were so much more satisfying to shatter.
It was a festering remnant of his former self, and he did not want to involve anyone else. It was not his right to drag someone into such a complex jumble of emotion. He would have to surmount these disturbing compulsions, and he'd do it on his own.
The worst of it came during his slumber. Frost would plague him as a tactile ghost, all roving hands and bitter yet legitimate censures. The vampire would always exhibit the ability to interpret what lay hidden within his wicked subconscious; no matter in what shape he appeared in.
The day he met Blade, introduced by Abby's father Whistler, he felt as though he'd encountered a kindred spirit. The Daywalker, half-vampire himself, adored wiping leeches off the earth even more than Hannibal did. Though Blade didn't like him as much as he'd hoped, they worked well together. He had been wary of Hannibal at first, primarily because of his insider information. He, like the others, steadily accepted his brazen allegiance and came to respect his enthusiasm.
The two teams were one, yet remained divided in location. Whistler ventured it'd be less hazardous that way.
After Abby's dad was murdered - guess he was wrong about that whole separate thing - and Blade's not-quite girlfriend, Karen, was kidnapped, the Daywalker just had to go all suicidal and decide that ambushing Frost was the best conceivable solution. The Daystar was not ready to be used, and so they rushed in without a concrete plan. Not the most shrewd idea ever concocted, but nevertheless, he and Abby refused to let Blade to go without backup.
Unfortunately, while the Daywalker was thoroughly distracted by his mother, they were tasered; incapacitated as Blade was. They were both stripped of their weapons and left defenseless. He supposed their lone victory was that they were not tasered into a stupor like the Daywalker.
Or so he thought. After being hustled to his knees by none other than Quinn, his body twitching with the after effects of man-made electricity, he caught sight of Frost.
The vampire was already watching him, Mercury uncharacteristically missing from his side. Instead, Vanessa - he should have known she was Blade's mother, the dirty cunt rag - was hanging all over his shoulder.
The vampire shot her a glare, one that transparently said 'stop fucking touching me'. She hastily withdrew her hands, knowing well enough to do as she was told when he was angry.
Frost made his way over to him, those cobalt blues once more engrossing him. He felt an odd tug overcome him, one that caused his vision to swirl and his heart to beat so fast he suspected it might break out of his chest.
He could feel the collective pang of desire pulsating from the group of vampires - they could hear the rush of his blood. It was no different with Frost, whose eyes were half-lidded, breath a near moan. It was the siren call between a creator and a fledgling, designed exclusively for them but nonetheless effecting all those capable of sensing it.
“What pervs. Yeah, especially you, Quinn. Sick, man, just sick.”
Quinn cracked up, as if it was all a big joke. Frost took him seriously, knocking the vampire away in a hot second.
His ex-maker gazed down at him, quirking an eyebrow. Hannibal's dirty-blonde hair had grown since he'd been with Frost, a fact he callously took advantage of as he hoisted him up by it, fingers curling snugly around his throat.
He winced from the pressure, beginning to gasp, light-headed as hell. Frost said something or other, but the buzz of oxygen loss was a roar in his ears. Abby might have said his name too, but that could have feasibly been an hallucination.
He was released, crashing to the ground where he fought to regain complete awareness. He leaned his back adjacent to the wall, needing the support to stay off the floor.
“Human. Weak.” Frost was unquestionably perplexed by the evidence before him.
“Good to see I can still surprise you, asshole,” he said with a defiant tick in his cheek.
“Everyone leave. Take Blade with you.” Frost glanced at Mercury, who was holding Abby, letting her know she was authorized to stay. She and her prisoner.
Soon everyone was gone, including the comatose form of Blade, except for Quinn who thought he too had been excluded. “You too Quinn.”
“But, Deac, man...”
“You have to guard Blade for me. You're the only one I trust enough to do that.”
Convinced, Quinn grinned like the idiotic oaf he was before exiting.
Frost knelt down by Hannibal, his presence utterly stifling.
“My disobedient pet...” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, “You should have at least had the intelligence not to come back. Now I have to punish you.”
Hannibal didn't waver, he spat in the vampire's face, following up with a very clear “Fuck you.”
He received a hardy smack for his efforts. His lip broke, blood tainting the air.
“I see you brought your girlfriend too... And you know how I loathe to share.”
He recognized the threat. A resounding torrent of dread immersed his spine. Regardless, he deftly preserved the obnoxious tone of his voice, “Keep her out of this. This is between us, you prick.”
Frost chuckled, caressing his hair mockingly, “You've no idea, King, how much I've missed that mouth of yours.”
His fingers looped around his chin, drawing him in close. Frost's mouth was twitching in ardor, displaying his fangs with an obvious purpose. “I'm not going to make the mistake of letting you go again.”
“I'm not yours to keep, Frosty.”
Frost's uncommitted hand traced the outline of the bite on his neck - now a blatant scar - briefly scanning it before reexamining Hannibal's brown, furious orbs; “Oh, really? I can prove it to you, right in front of your friend over there.”
He forsook the permanent imprint of relinquished immortality, instead stealing his way to his groin, grip rousing him to reluctant attention. Hannibal jerked back heavily into the partition, knee flexing out to kick the vampire away. As anticipated, all attempts were either negated or ignored. Frost's lips went to Hannibal's ear, reminiscent of the old days and causing him to panic.
What if he turned him again? Right here? Now?
“She can see everything from there. Everything. Does that turn you on? We never did get to the kinky shit...”
“Let me go, f-”
To shut him up, Frost kissed him none too gently. All feral and desperate. He made the error of once more adhering to his instincts, his teeth snapping down when he tried to deepen the kiss. Frost retaliated, thriving on the blood which culminated strong and heady, Hannibal's mouth ignited with sores and lacerations.
It was impractical to not imbibe smidgens of the vampire's blood, and it stirred impatiently inside of him, greedy for more. Images from his months as the vampire's beloved slave was evoked, their connection just as distinct as when he had been one of them.
He had, comparatively, lived luxuriously. Indeed, there had been suffering, but it blended evenly with gluttonous carnality. Frost had treasured him, all the while Hannibal had been treacherously plotting how to accidentally push him out into the path of the sun. The vampire was certainly taking measures of revenge now.
His mouth ached for freedom. He grunted in pain, wishing that agony was all there was to focus on. Alas, Frost always did relish toying with him. His hand remained at his groin, encircling and compelling, duplicating the apparitions pervading his mind to the tee.
His touch was like ice, as always, but promptly heating up. He was talented, as he remembered, and it was challenging not to slip back into meek compliance solely from prior conditioning.
There was no debating it, his nightmares were finally becoming tangible.
The vampire's diligence brought every clandestine urge he had to the surface. It was difficult to contend with Frost's persuasion. He knew each arcane secret he kept padlocked behind clusters of mental barricades, and how to manipulate them.
Hannibal persistently attempted to push him away, only to find himself bending to the curve of his embrace as recollections jerked him from past to present and back again. The humiliation was suffocating. Tears formed in his eyes from the excruciating shame, but he locked them there, prohibiting their fall.
Frost employed all of his tricks, inciting Hannibal to finish quickly. Frost retreated from the kiss in time for a scarcely suppressed moan to escape his prey's throat.
“See, you do still want me. Don't even try to say you don't. I know you." He drew a cum-slicked finger into his mouth, savoring the salty tang that was Hannibal, "You're not fit to be anywhere but with me.”
Hannibal let fly with his fist, and Frost allowed him this, laughing at his pathetic attempt. He stood, yanking Hannibal up and flinging him onto the all too familiar bed, placing a finger to his mouth when he tried to speak.
“Shh. Stay here like a good little bitch and I'll be back soon. I'm not finished with you yet.”
He turned with a smile, walking out the door. Mercury and Quinn trailed after him - Abby obligated to join them. He could feel her assuredly disappointed gaze on him, but he didn't even have the courage to look at her.
He'd never told any of them specifically how he'd become vampire, meaning, who had been his maker. The topic had never really come up. He'd only told them he'd been in Frost's fold, enough to know details.
That had been a dire oversight on his part. He'd never wanted Abby to find out the truth in such a demeaning manner.
Once left alone, he buttoned his pants back up, cleaned himself off as best as he could, and pointlessly tried to open the door. He lingered in trepidation, pacing the room, fingers agitated fists at his side. It took all he had not to punch the wall.
When the door finally hissed open, Hannibal didn't delay his attack. Faithful to his patented luck, Frost was prepared for him, ensnaring his hand in his own and driving his knees casually into the tile.
Frost applauded, “Bravo, Hannibal. You've managed to embarrass yourself twice in one night. Are you done now?”
“Actually, as a matter of fact, no.”
He rose to his feet, but despite his haughty declaration, he did not try to assault him again. Instead, he waited with bated breath. Frost walked to his bed, sitting on it with his legs out and crossed at the ankles. His hands held him up as he canted his head to the side.
“How did you become human?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Well, I assume it was your Nightstalker buddies who did it. Just thought maybe you'd give me the easy answer rather than me having to torture every single one of your friends.”
“Yeah, right. If you knew where they were, you would not have been so shocked to see me. So you can take your threats and shove them up your ass.”
Frost grinned, “Feeling nostalgic, are you? That's the first thing you ever said to me. Warms my heart to hear you still feel the same.”
Hannibal rolled his eyes, “I see your ego has gotten even more bloated since I've been gone.”
The vampire permitted the jab; there was more significant matters to discuss than his justifiably large ego.
“I have decided something, King. After I become La Magra, I am going to bite you again.”
He let the realization settle, savoring the palpable horror illustrated on every facet of Hannibal's body. He meticulously walked towards him, pushing Hannibal more and more into a corner.
“Predictably, you will refuse to kill. But don't you worry, my pet, that's an easy fix. I will simply wait until the hunger is too much, then I'll give you the pleasure of ripping your dearest Abby apart.”
It hit him like a sledgehammer. How he'd learned her name held minor importance. He'd keep her alive, expressly to utilize as his first meal. He swallowed hard, tasting copper even if his lips had ceased to bleed.
“You will be so shamed by your actions that you'll willingly crawl into my arms once more, if only for a place to ease your guilt. You will be the Blood God's Childe, his second in command. You will have more power than you can imagine; and no where to run because I will rule this world.”
“Bull-fucking-shit, Frost.”
He was pressed against the wall now. Frost placed his hands on either side of his head, smirking as though he'd already won. “No jokes, no insults? Nothing more to threaten? That's not like you at all, Hannibal.”
Frost's thumb pushed down on the plush of his lip, cracking open the cuts from before, receiving no response. “Or is it because you want that to happen? Do you yearn to be my lover again, Hannibal? My favorite? Are you regretting ever leaving me?”
“Screw you.”
He smiled, “You are. I can tell you are. There's a part of you that wishes for immortality again. I'll give it to you. I'll forgive your transgressions and allow you the Gift. You once claimed I was merciless... well, I'll show you just how merciful I can be.”
He leaned in, nipping at his neck. “You test my resolve, King. No one has ever made me lose control like you.”
“Why don't you tell someone who gives a rat's ass?”
“Always playing the brash hero. That's fine. I've seen you at your lowest, and I'll take you there again. I'll build you back up, make you perfect; like you were before you were soiled by those fucking hunters.”
Frost backed away, sniffing as if he was bored, chin up. “Anyways... no time to waste. See you later, pet.”
The last thing he saw was a pale fist, and then darkness.
~~~~~~~
The tumult of the van woke him once on route, jarring enough that he smashed the back of his head on the unyielding metal. His hands were tied. It was dazzlingly black, and he could not help but begin to hyperventilate.
“You're okay, Hannibal.”
It was Abby's soothing voice. He used the sound of the syllables to guide his eyes to her. She was diagonal from him, tied as he was. Dismay washed through him; what she'd seen...
“Abby, I...”
“No need. Especially not right now.” She was not angry with him. That was a good sign. Or perhaps it was her professionalism talking. “Do you know where they are taking us?”
Now that he had somewhat adjusted to his somber surroundings, he spotted Blade in the corner, Karen opposite of him.
“The Temple of the Night,” he replied.
Blade said something about needing his serum, and Hannibal knew right then that they were as fucked as a ten-dollar whore.
~~~~~~~
The trip to the center of the Temple was needless to say very cumbersome. The lackeys delighted in flinging them around now that they were crippled and in no position to fight back.
Blade was barely functioning, propelled into lethargy by his hunger. Hannibal could relate to that, but even so, he'd figured a Daywalker would be stronger than that.
At least they were not alone in their captivity. The elders around them must have hailed from the House of Erebus. They were the sacrifices. Once they arrived, Frost coasted into a spiel about the history of the Temple and the House's negligence. He, of course, ended with poking fun at the disabled Daywalker.
Hannibal rolled his eyes; Frost was getting tedious. The only part he chanced appreciating was when he fucked with Quinn. God damn, he hated that egotistic asshat.
His awfully inadequate optimism soared when Frost handled Karen's miracle cure. He knew what that could do; it was their endgame. But their fortune proceeded to worsen as Frost halted, staring down at the containers before glancing at Abby and Hannibal. They gave away nothing, but yet recognition blazed brightly in his eyes.
He turned to Mercury, “Did they have these as well?”
She nodded, sharing in his epiphany. She grabbed the liquid from her lover, taking a few vials out to dispense into the body of a condemned Pureblood. His flesh swelled and ruptured, alarming all of Frost's less apt crew and further intimidating the Council members.
Frost scoffed, “Wow. Well, that would have been quite the buzz-kill.”
Mercury handed the EDTA to an superfluous minion, who would take it as far from the Temple as viable.
Unless they were able to hinder La Magra's summoning by some fortuitous twist of fate, they were defeated before they'd even began. What the hell were they going to do now? He looked to Abby, who appeared just as mortified as he was.
Frost returned to harassing Blade, “It's still a shame, y'know. When I think of what you've become... What you should have become. I guess I don't blame you. I mean, with everything that's happened, it's the human side of you that's made you weak. You should have listened to your blood.”
“Say what you want. I promise you, you'll be dead by dawn.”
Hannibal had to hand it to Blade. Even when reduced to to a diminished shadow of himself, he still managed to deliver a badass parting line. Quinn laughed, deceptively unruffled. On Frost's face, however, he swore he detected an iota of concern. Hannibal was probably just inventing that for his own benefit.
“Get him out of here. And get these fucks downstairs! Mercury, take Abigail here with you.”
He rounded on Karen next, whom he seemed to harbor plenty of contempt for. Hannibal chuckled, distracting the vampire from her.
Frost was in his face, eyes sharp, “And what is so funny, Hannibal?”
“Oh, just how you haven't changed. Karen rejected you, didn't she? That's why you're so determined to scare her.”
He cocked his head to the side, “You would know, wouldn't you? Take her to the pit, Quinn.”
Hannibal smirked as Frost prodded him down the stairs. He was careful about his step, not wanting to make a fool of himself by tripping.
“Nice place you've set up here. Very Egyptian. There any mummies lying around? I've always wanted to see one.”
Frost didn't rise to the bait, mind likely preoccupied with how well his magnificent scheme was progressing. Dick.
Hannibal knew that without the EDTA, they were in trouble. There had to be another way, wasn't there? He scanned through their not extremely encouraging prospects as Frost stood watch. When Quinn showed his revolting mug, he was jostled into the relentless arms of Mercury as Abby was given to Quinn.
Everything was in place. Blade and Vanessa were up top, the House was in their stations, Karen had been presumably dispatched of - which was yet to be verified - and he and Abby were secured and vulnerable.
He had to think fast, the tick-tock of the clock was bearing down on them. He could think of nothing as the timbre of the air descended thick and smothering around them. One of the House made the error of belittling Mercury's place in Frost's decaying heart.
She, using Blade's sword which she'd been holding quite close to Hannibal's throat, nailed his ashes to the wall as a testament of her will.
Independent of her grasp, this was his opportunity. He took a step forward, only to go nowhere as she seized him once more.
“God dammit, woman!”
No escape, no plan B.
The tension was asphyxiating as blood rained from the ceiling, branding the foreheads of the damned.
“Is everybody thirsty?! I hope you're all very fucking thirsty.”
Frost strolled around the stone platform, positively on top of the world as he unbuttoned his shirt.
“Now why is that necessary? Gratuitous nudity, that's what.”
Mercury's fingers dug deeper into Hannibal's arms, warning him not to say another word. He couldn't stop himself... when things got climatic, he alleviated it with sarcasm. It helped him concentrate. Yet, in this situation, he didn't think that would aid him in the least.
When a bead of ruby plummeted into Frost's supplicating form, it would have been appropriate to say that all hell broke loose.
Lightning erupted from symbols lining the cylindrical center, striking the vampires fringing the circle. The volts expelled what could only be labeled as the 'Pureblood spirit', but they looked more similar to winged demons, fashioned by skeleton and proclaiming death.
Hannibal's eyes widened, “Holy fucking shit! What the fucking fuck are those things?!”
Mercury must have shared his sentiment, because her touch had vanished. She was cowering behind a column; Quinn as well. He and Abby were free, and in this chaos, he could not have devised a better moment.
Disposing of a couple nearby vampires was as easy as stealing music off of the internet. They gathered their guns and went at it, the deafening clamor of wings at their backs. An eerie silence abruptly plunged over the Temple, but they dismissed it. They had a job to do.
They tried not to split up; not being in sync when there was an army to combat would surely prove to be a complete catastrophe.
But he had not factored in those out for his head. He hit a pillar, then was tossed onto the platform. Frost was no where to be seen, but Blade was. Hannibal had to muster his wits within a second so not to become a pancake as the Hunter landed gracefully from the top level. Still on all fours, having had hardly enough time to scurry back, he stared up at the Daywalker.
“Show-off.”
The half-vampire guided him up, a rare display of respect, and then turned to his task. “Frost!”
Blade was fucking pissed, and he had plenty of parasites to let it out on. Quinn was his first victim, from whom he retrieved his favorite pair of sunglasses.
Enemies were piling up, even with Abby eliminating them from the outside. Hannibal didn't have time to contemplate even a semblance of a strategy. It was all about staying alive, hands moving as fast as possible to keep up with the onslaught.
But then there was Mercury, gunning straight for him. So she had been the one to separate him from Abby...
Hannibal was alone; Blade had drifted to the borders now. She was a virile vampire too, more ancient than her youthful face insinuated. She reached for his throat and he blocked her, twisting her arm into a grip she easily escaped. He punched her in the face, and she smacked him ten times harder.
“I'm really gonna enjoy this now!” She licked her lips as she bared her fangs, charging with only his expiration on the agenda.
She didn't get very far before she was pulled back, a furrow of burgundy emerging on her elongated neck. The fatality had been inflicted by a sword. He could not see who wielded the weapon, but he had an idea.
“I guess I can forgive you for being a little late there, Blade. But try not to cut it so close next time, okay?”
Clutching her throat, Mercury was skewered before she crumbled not at the feet of the Daywalker, but at Frost's. Only, it wasn't him; was it?
His eyes were entirely composed of red, and there was an aura about him not wholly Frost.
“Son of a whore! You've got to be fucking kidding me!”
The vampire smirked, cocking a brow, smug as hell.
He fired his shotgun, the projectile passing through the creature only for the skin to restitch itself as if it'd never occurred. Oh, and it used blood to mend itself too. Neat trick.
Hannibal took a step back, swearing profusely. Couldn't he ever have any luck? “Blade! It's definitely La Magra!”
Frost, La Magra, who the fuck ever, latched onto his neck, lifting him up as though he were a feather. “Don't want you to get hurt, now do I, Hannibal?”
It was his voice for certain, but the sinister lilt to it terrified the shit out of him. He was launched back into the wall, so severely that it almost felt like his spine had been broken.
He was sure it was a symptom of shock, but that didn't alter the fact that he couldn't move. He viewed the fight from where he lay, groaning and striving to get up in spite of admonishing spasms.
Consolation arrived when Abby materialized at his side, Karen on his left. There was no more vampires to neutralize; they'd handled the mass of them. They propped him up so that he could at least support himself on the dank concrete partition. He worked on unraveling his back, the tendons crunching as he forced them to be useful once more.
In front of them, Blade and La Magra compared their skills. But it was an unambiguous contest. Even with the Blood God's sword having been taken from him, short of some miracle, the Daywalker was going to lose.
Blood sprayed everywhere only to be soaked up by La Magra's instantly regenerating limbs. Even Abby's barrage of bullets were disregarded as mere annoyances. Eventually, the recently turned God became tired of flaunting his abilities.
“My turn.”
Blade slammed into one of the columns, a stone's throw away from the three of them. The two continued to spar, but there was frankly no leverage for the Daywalker to exploit.
It was in his failure to match La Magra's tenacity that he truly suffered. One well aimed fist to his temple was all it took to immobilize him. La Magra pried Blade's own sword from his weary fingertips and without hesitation, decapitated him with it.
Karen, gun in hand, gained the God's attention as she cried out in grief. Abby held her back, but the doctor didn't seem to comprehend what was good for her. She elbowed Abby and pursued the target of her rage only to be executed as naturally as slicing through margarine.
La Magra observed her hemorrhaging carcass with a listless sniff, “It's too bad. I kinda liked her. What a waste.”
Even before Karen's corpse hit the ground, Abby and Hannibal knew they had to get the fuck out of there asap. He was still partially wounded, but his tolerance towards pain allowed him to overlook his injuries.
But it was to no avail. Their flight was obstructed
“Leaving so soon?”
Flinching, Hannibal stepped in front of Abby, shielding her from Frost. There was no doubt it was the Blood God, but he and Frost were joined. If Frost wasn't in there at all, well, he'd be lying on the floor in gory portions.
“I admire your resilience, Hannibal, but you're not fooling anyone. Can you tell me why you left me? Give me one good reason, and it can't be 'because you're a vampire.' I want a real reason, and if you can give it to me, I'll let you and your girlfriend live.”
Hannibal didn't falter, “You want to destroy everything I hold dear.”
Frost smiled, “How boy scout of you, King. Is that so? Well, what about this little conundrum? I've won. You've lost. This world is mine now. I'll do with it what I want. Would you rather be immortal, by my side, or fighting against a revolution you can't possibly hope to survive?”
Hannibal threw him arms up, losing his patience with this ploy, “Why are you doing this? Asking me these god damn questions... You could turn me if you wanted, I wouldn't have a fucking choice in the matter. What do you really want from me?!”
“Your submission, what else?”
Hannibal scoffed, “And that would be important to an almighty Blood God why?”
“I never lied to you. I desire an equal. I want someone worthy to share my bed as well as my power. I believe that is you, once you get over your well-intentioned ignorance, not that it isn't frightfully endearing...”
Hannibal paused, gears grinding. He only had one plausible option to guarantee Abby's safety. He owed her that. He glanced at her as she shook her head, despair painting her features; “Don't you dare...”
“Give her your protection... All of them.” The Nightstalkers; his family. “I don't care what the fuck they do, if they are hurt, I swear to God, I'll kill myself.”
“Fair enough.”
“Hannibal, please don't do this. Not for us.” Abby was virtually begging him now.
He closed his eyes, nodding, worming out from her imploring grip. He was ready to do what was required of him. “Get out of here, Abby.”
“But...”
“You should listen to him, sweetheart. Hannibal knows best,” Frost chided. Abby turned the full force of her glare towards the vampire but nonetheless began to retreat.
“We'll get you out,” Abby vowed. Hannibal just smiled sadly. They would try. They would not succeed.
When she was gone, Hannibal breathed a sigh of relief. She would stay alive amidst this scourge; she and Zoe and Sommerfield - every one of them. He'd supervise their health personally.
“You were never suited for a human life anyways,” Frost commented triumphantly, “Still had the urges, didn't you? The desire to kill, to slaughter... Otherwise, you would have fought me more on this.”
He didn't argue with him. He had a point, and perhaps he would have ultimately buckled under the gravity of his intensifying impulses. He would never know for certain either.
Frost tilted his head up by his chin, descending on his throat. Blood poured from the fissured scar; and so it was, the beginning of his fourth life. Meanwhile, a macabre cloak of crimson reigned over the sun, heralding a new era.