Human Frailties
"¡OTRA VEZ!"
The limousine's interior reeked of palpable anguish and vitae to my heightened senses. Even one not as gifted in such nuances as a Mekhet would feel the pain radiating from Maestro Gutierrez that night. The Maestro was a ruin, open wounds littered his body, his face swollen and bruised by my own hands. Still he screamed for more and his eyes...never before had I seen such heat in those bored, uncaring orbs. For the first time I was being given a glimpse of the true monster that lay under his ridiculous antics.
"Maestro, I cannot, we must return to Los Angeles. These wounds, you cannot return to Council i--" It was there I was cut off by his crushing hand upon my throat. Such strength! Such speed! I did not see the blow coming, but his vice grip prevented any air from escaping my throat. Were I mortal, I would have died in moments.
So stunned by the pain was I, I did not realize how close the beast had pulled me to him. His skin was flushed, and his breath ragged. Something about that was wrong, but before I could answer, his words interrupted and waves of paralyzing fear washed over me! "The night," he rasped, voice strained from the pain of his wounds, "I will be told what I CANNOT do by an SCRIBE...I SAID AGAIN, WHELP! AGAIN, AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN! I WILL NOT BE DENIED THIS! I CANNOT--"
"You're...breathing..." I did not know where the words came from, so terrified was I of my imminent destruction, my mind must have grasped the only thing it could to try and distract this my benefactor from his rampage. They were nothing but a squeak, so thin from the hand crushing my larynx, yet they seemed to bring the Maestro back to some semblance of himself. Like a rag doll he tossed me to crash into the other side of the vehicle, regarding me coldly. Still as death, eyes colder then the pits of hell. Finally he spoke, with a dismissive wave, as though he were not ready to tear my head from my shoulders but moments ago.
"Sit, Emilio. I will tell you why this pain must be. Tonight, I ingested the Flower of the Crones," my gasp of horror did not stop his words, but to me, the world dropped away. So much made sense now, the flush, the breathing. The Flower was a thing the Maestro had fought hard to be considered heresy, and the same verdict for all that partook of it. He had failed, but still...
"Close your mouth, child, you will catch my flies, and neither of you would enjoy the experience. Si, I ingested the Flower at behest of mi hermana (I note here this is in reference to the devil creature Yamagami Seiko, as his family is quite sizable) for a price to be determined later." His mouth curled into a sneer at my shock, "Emilio, at times, it is necessary to have sizable debts upon which you must call in. In order to obtain these favors, we must endure sacrifice. My sister is either mistakenly under the impression this was abject humiliation for me, or was testing to see how far my familial loyalty goes. If it is the latter case, one night, she may sorely be disappointed, they are a means to an end, nothing more.
"This Flower has caused regression within me. A false psychosomatic response to the energies locked within its petals, fooling this shell that hosts the necrotic energies that empower my unliving state to resume their prior functions. All of this is a lie. These pure emotions are nothing but the shell attempting to usurp my unliving state, to distract my will to seek a natural state. It wishes life again, or lacking that, death, where it will no longer be my tool. This enhanced pain is nothing but the shell trying to inform me it is in danger, in hopes I will cease my assaults and seek comfort. This shell fears death and wishes me to return to life, but I am beyond death and will not be so easily swayed. This shell seeks pleasure in indulgences of the flesh...I shall have no fine wine to satisfy it, fermented grapes are nothing next to the power of vitae. I will offer this shell no woman or man to sate its lust, no base companionship can compare to the hunt. I will only indulge my servant in its fear. I will feed it horror and pain beyond comprehension. There will be no comfort for it, no reprieve. In the end, it will yearn for the cold distance of undeath again.
"I am no Crone, I will not fall prey to base urges, I am beyond such weakness. I know in this state I will again remember the sweet tang of honey, experience flavors I cannot when the shell is inert. I could enjoy these flavors...but at dawn, I will purge them violently and they will be fouler then the most rancid sewage to my palate again. I would find myself remembering them, missing these things to the point of distraction; just as the Crone and their lack witted allies do. NO! I will not fall into the weakness of indulgence. I will remind the shell who is truly the master, I will not allow it to yearn for days of sunshine and comfort. It fears pain, pain is the warning that it is in danger, and in its rebellion of regression, it will learn to fear ever stepping above itself again. None look fondly in remembrance to pain; of this night, I will only look back and see how I took control of the addiction the Crone attempted to levy upon me. Of this night, you will remember in horror that I am not the fool you wish in your soul for me to be.
"I am Santos Esteban y Gutierrez, or that is what I am to you, and I have mastered this curse in ways that you can only wish for. I am undying, I am that which should not be, and I will destroy anything that attempts to prevent my mastery of this form and the Curse that empowers it. Everything I am is a lie, there is only what I will become. Everything else is there to see that I achieve this end. Do you understand, Emilio? Do you understand how very little you, or anyone else's existence means to me? Do you understand that if you do not pick up that bottle and break it across my face this very moment, I will open the door and hold you to the pavement as we drive on?"
My only answer was the sound of glass shattering and the Maestro's screams of torment mixed with triumphant laughter.
-Excerpt from the journal of Lucas Gomez, Scribe of the Bloody Curse
The limousine's interior reeked of palpable anguish and vitae to my heightened senses. Even one not as gifted in such nuances as a Mekhet would feel the pain radiating from Maestro Gutierrez that night. The Maestro was a ruin, open wounds littered his body, his face swollen and bruised by my own hands. Still he screamed for more and his eyes...never before had I seen such heat in those bored, uncaring orbs. For the first time I was being given a glimpse of the true monster that lay under his ridiculous antics.
"Maestro, I cannot, we must return to Los Angeles. These wounds, you cannot return to Council i--" It was there I was cut off by his crushing hand upon my throat. Such strength! Such speed! I did not see the blow coming, but his vice grip prevented any air from escaping my throat. Were I mortal, I would have died in moments.
So stunned by the pain was I, I did not realize how close the beast had pulled me to him. His skin was flushed, and his breath ragged. Something about that was wrong, but before I could answer, his words interrupted and waves of paralyzing fear washed over me! "The night," he rasped, voice strained from the pain of his wounds, "I will be told what I CANNOT do by an SCRIBE...I SAID AGAIN, WHELP! AGAIN, AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN! I WILL NOT BE DENIED THIS! I CANNOT--"
"You're...breathing..." I did not know where the words came from, so terrified was I of my imminent destruction, my mind must have grasped the only thing it could to try and distract this my benefactor from his rampage. They were nothing but a squeak, so thin from the hand crushing my larynx, yet they seemed to bring the Maestro back to some semblance of himself. Like a rag doll he tossed me to crash into the other side of the vehicle, regarding me coldly. Still as death, eyes colder then the pits of hell. Finally he spoke, with a dismissive wave, as though he were not ready to tear my head from my shoulders but moments ago.
"Sit, Emilio. I will tell you why this pain must be. Tonight, I ingested the Flower of the Crones," my gasp of horror did not stop his words, but to me, the world dropped away. So much made sense now, the flush, the breathing. The Flower was a thing the Maestro had fought hard to be considered heresy, and the same verdict for all that partook of it. He had failed, but still...
"Close your mouth, child, you will catch my flies, and neither of you would enjoy the experience. Si, I ingested the Flower at behest of mi hermana (I note here this is in reference to the devil creature Yamagami Seiko, as his family is quite sizable) for a price to be determined later." His mouth curled into a sneer at my shock, "Emilio, at times, it is necessary to have sizable debts upon which you must call in. In order to obtain these favors, we must endure sacrifice. My sister is either mistakenly under the impression this was abject humiliation for me, or was testing to see how far my familial loyalty goes. If it is the latter case, one night, she may sorely be disappointed, they are a means to an end, nothing more.
"This Flower has caused regression within me. A false psychosomatic response to the energies locked within its petals, fooling this shell that hosts the necrotic energies that empower my unliving state to resume their prior functions. All of this is a lie. These pure emotions are nothing but the shell attempting to usurp my unliving state, to distract my will to seek a natural state. It wishes life again, or lacking that, death, where it will no longer be my tool. This enhanced pain is nothing but the shell trying to inform me it is in danger, in hopes I will cease my assaults and seek comfort. This shell fears death and wishes me to return to life, but I am beyond death and will not be so easily swayed. This shell seeks pleasure in indulgences of the flesh...I shall have no fine wine to satisfy it, fermented grapes are nothing next to the power of vitae. I will offer this shell no woman or man to sate its lust, no base companionship can compare to the hunt. I will only indulge my servant in its fear. I will feed it horror and pain beyond comprehension. There will be no comfort for it, no reprieve. In the end, it will yearn for the cold distance of undeath again.
"I am no Crone, I will not fall prey to base urges, I am beyond such weakness. I know in this state I will again remember the sweet tang of honey, experience flavors I cannot when the shell is inert. I could enjoy these flavors...but at dawn, I will purge them violently and they will be fouler then the most rancid sewage to my palate again. I would find myself remembering them, missing these things to the point of distraction; just as the Crone and their lack witted allies do. NO! I will not fall into the weakness of indulgence. I will remind the shell who is truly the master, I will not allow it to yearn for days of sunshine and comfort. It fears pain, pain is the warning that it is in danger, and in its rebellion of regression, it will learn to fear ever stepping above itself again. None look fondly in remembrance to pain; of this night, I will only look back and see how I took control of the addiction the Crone attempted to levy upon me. Of this night, you will remember in horror that I am not the fool you wish in your soul for me to be.
"I am Santos Esteban y Gutierrez, or that is what I am to you, and I have mastered this curse in ways that you can only wish for. I am undying, I am that which should not be, and I will destroy anything that attempts to prevent my mastery of this form and the Curse that empowers it. Everything I am is a lie, there is only what I will become. Everything else is there to see that I achieve this end. Do you understand, Emilio? Do you understand how very little you, or anyone else's existence means to me? Do you understand that if you do not pick up that bottle and break it across my face this very moment, I will open the door and hold you to the pavement as we drive on?"
My only answer was the sound of glass shattering and the Maestro's screams of torment mixed with triumphant laughter.
-Excerpt from the journal of Lucas Gomez, Scribe of the Bloody Curse