Of Beasts and Bloodsuckers
Title: Of Beasts and Bloodsuckers
Series: Mai Hime, Noir, Kannazuki no Miko
Ratings: MA
Genre: Supernatural, horror, violence, AU, lesbians galore
Summary: A Mai Hime/Noir/Kannazuki no Miko crossover inspired a lot by the movie Underworld. Half a century after the end of the hundred year long lycaonvampire war, tensions rise up again. Only it seems that the sides are not as clear this time.
Chapter 1
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She awoke to a severe pain jutting through her upper back and down her left arm; blood oozed down her body, dripping with small plops to the dirty dungeon floor below. Before she could even open her eyes, the excessive pungent odor of death, blood and feces invaded her nose and her senses-were she still human, she would no doubt be vomiting by now. Cracking open one blue eye, she noted that the small enclosed area was dark, probably pitch black, not that it made a difference because she could see in the dark. Grogginess flooded her vision and it took her several moments to focus; hunger had taken over long ago.
She wanted to eat, to feed, to drink from the heavenly chaste of a pure and untainted one. But her hands were chained above her head, leaving her hanging several feet off the ground and taking note of the small dungeon, there were only skeletons, dried sticky blood, feces smeared along the walls and barred door and… if she was not mistaken… Her eyes went wide as she saw a bloodied black feathered wing lying against the brick floor. It was at that point she noticed the dull throbbing pain coming from her upper left back. They had torn her wing off.
Bloody blond hair cascaded over her eyes as she let her head droop, her teeth gritting together in frustration, anger and rage, feelings so incomparable to the insignificant pain jutting through her shoulder. She had never asked for this and had nothing to do with their silly little fight. Her maker had the decency to spawn her several years after the end of the war. But this didn’t seem to mean anything to the lycanthropes; they held their grudge past many generations and let it bleed into the victims of their curses. It was silly, she thought, since no one won the war. But everyone lost.
She gritted her teeth and strained against the chains, pushing all her weight and what little strength she had left into breaking free. Above her, she felt the peg, which held the chain that was connected to the shackles around her wrists begin to give way from the large brick stones. A few speckles of rock and dust fell onto her head causing her to struggle and pull even harder. She braced her bare feet on the stony wall and leaned away pulling the chain with all her might, until finally the peg burst out of its wedge. Mireille fell crashing to the sticky floor where she lay for several moments, trying to direct the throbbing and aching pain in her body into enough vigor to rise and get the hell out of here.
-
She turned her head, her blue eyes staring forlornly at the disheveled wing. Up close, she could see where they literally ripped the winged appendage right out of its socket, traces of organs and veins still apparent at the base. Many feathers had been torn off of it; she thought that they must have scratched and chewed on it for several hours, no doubt giving up when they found how nearly indestructible the wing was. She grimaced and looked away; at least by losing two wings someone could cover up, but only losing one-it was as though they were trying to degrade her to the lowest form possible. It was working.
After several seconds the blonde pushed herself to her feet, scowling at the shackles that still clung to her wrists, the chains also still hooked and clanging loudly as they dragged along the floor behind her. The Ansuzian narrowed her eyes at the predicament she was in; getting down was the easy part, but she was still chained and she had nothing to brace the chains against to break them off. With a heave and a sigh, Mireille gathered the rusted irons up, throwing them over her left shoulder. She winced slightly at the pain when one collided with the bloodied and no doubt, gaping hole where her wing had once been.
After a few adjustments, she had the chains slung over her body, easily carried without causing her too much hassle. She approached the door, noting that the lycanthropes hadn’t locked it and pushed the bars open quietly. They squeaked and sent a high pitched noise echoing down the barren stone hall. If no one had come when she fell to the floor with chains clanging loudly, then a squeak would not matter. As she walked down the hall, she noticed a dungeon every few feet giving the place an appearance of a prison left over from the medieval times.
At the end of the hall, she felt lucky to find this door not locked as well, and heaved the leaden door open with a strong push. Her senses were immediately filled with the cool, crisp winter evening air, something Mireille felt she was never thankful for until this moment. It was like heaven to get out of the death reeking prison. She again made silent thanks as she also noted it was night time; the darkness would at least conceal her from the eyes of the innocents. A pang of hunger vibrated through her body at the thought of the humans and she felt herself nearly doubling over as she descended the cement steps.
She hadn’t fed for two days and the blood the lycanthropes had drained from her made it seem more like months. The desire to feed began to overwhelm her senses now that she was free and her blue eyes darkened in fear. Mireille mostly kept to pig’s blood, only indulging in human blood from a bottle when she was perusing the vampire bars up and down the strip every month. It was the bitterness she held for her creator that kept her from hunting like the other Ansuzians. She thought if she didn’t feed from humans then it would shame the one who made her. But actually, feeding involved a sort of closeness to someone she never felt comfortable with.
That was why at this moment she began to panic. If she could find an animal, any animal, to tide her over until she could get back to Murakumo-who would no doubt feed her-it would squelch her desires for human blood. Of all the blood, the innocent’s blood empowered vampires the most and drinking blood straight from a human was like being reborn, getting drunk, and getting the strength of the gods, all in one sip. Her body shuddered with lust and the chains suddenly felt lighter than a feather. Her last thought was that it was too late because her desires had been in control since she awoke in the dungeon.
She hadn’t time to think why or how she got out so easily, or where the lycanthropes were. Perhaps they were watching and laughing at the stumbling, one-winged Ansuzian as she blundered along in the darkness, her feral wanton driving her to a pulsing neck. None of it mattered. Blood was the only thing on Mireille’s mind and she began to jog through the forest, her senses on full alert for the first warm body she came across. The chains hung over her shoulder clanged loudly as she increased her pace, her anger that she couldn’t fly showed clearly in her eyes and whichever innocent she came across would feel the wrath of from the humiliation she felt earlier.
Pushing her way out of the forest and onto a dirt walkway, she smelled the warmth, the blood, the unmistakable musk that made her fangs throb and her throat swell. It took less than ten seconds before she came upon the girl-Mireille was only vaguely aware that it was a female-all that mattered to her was the pulse and the blood was untainted. The prey only had enough time to turn around at the sound of the chains before the Ansuzian was on her, sinking long fangs into the healthy neck. She held the girl tightly, who oddly seemed to put up little struggle, and drank deeply from her, the sweet nectar passing through her lips.
Her body immediately felt energized at the first swallow, only encouraging her to take another swallow, and another, and before she knew it, she had the girl mostly drained. The young woman’s breath was coming out in slow wisps and her warm body began to get cold as it lay limply in Mireille’s arms. Finally the Ansuzian regained her conscious and she pulled her fangs out, wondering if the girl would survive. Something in her resonated as she looked into a pair of burgundy eyes, something familiar and overwhelming. This innocent had the desire, the desire Murakumo had explained was what made the vampires; at the time the blonde Ansuzian merely nodded, not understanding what her mentor was saying.
But now she saw it so clearly that if she wanted to, she could reach out and take it between her fingers. The girl in her arms swallowed and her eyelids began to droop, a small smile crossing over her face as she drifted into the slumber from which she would not awaken. Mireille panicked and licked her lips, tasting the warm, liquid ambrosia and in it she could taste the human’s want. This desire was so clear to the blonde; she could read it like a book and knew it inside and out. From the red liquid of her blood, she could taste the girl’s entire life up to this moment. Hell, it was almost more real than her own memories.
Could anyone refuse such a plea? In the back of her mind, Mireille’s conscience was screaming that she didn’t need this right now; her objective was her own maker, not becoming one. But the will between hers and this girl’s soul had already begun to bond and interweave. She bit into her wrist, pushing it into the girl’s mouth and whispering for her to feed, with which she complied by taking a couple of small, unsure swallows that quickly turned into large gulps and greedy sucking. Her long fingers wrapped around Mireille’s arm and hand, holding it in place. Once her eyes reopened, showing a darkened burgundy, Mireille pulled the limb away, silently admonishing the girl when she tried to get it back.
A few seconds later, the stranger passed out in the blonde’s arms, her pulse and breath no longer. Mireille sighed and set the girl on the ground. She walked over to a bench and threw the chains off her shoulder, wrapping them around the leg and pulling on it until she managed to snap them off the shackles around her wrist. Her back still throbbed, but mostly at the loss of the wing; she felt completely reenergized otherwise and felt much stronger than she’d felt in weeks. As she turned back to the slumped form on the ground, a pit of uneasiness rose in her stomach; the passions of her hunger had taken its toll on a young woman, who looked to be in her last year of high school by the uniform she was wearing. Gathering the girl up in her arms, the Ansuzian rechecked the air around her for anyone else. Certain she was alone, she took off at a brisk run as she needed to get them both home in order to tend to her wound and to prepare for the girl’s awakening.
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Once back in her apartment, Mireille laid the girl on her bed and went immediately into the bathroom. She counted her lucky stars that no one saw her-a half naked woman with one wing running along the alleys in the dead of night carrying a dead teenager, something like that would no doubt make the headlines. After stripping off the small stained cloth that was once her shirt, peeling her stockings off and tossing the soiled garments into the trash can, she entered the shower. She stayed in there for more than an hour, scrubbing uselessly at her skin, as though trying to wash away all memories of the past two days. For instance: the fact that she wasn’t wearing her skirt or panties probably meant that the male lycans had had their way with her during the times she passed out.
A thought strayed to the one who made her, who had put her into this spot; she gritted her teeth again and pounded once on the shower wall in anger. Murakumo would never let her live this one down. The damned woman would also make sure to pour salt into the wound of having lost her wing as well. Wings were the Ansuzian’s trademark, their pride and symbol of the power bestowed upon them. Mireille had not cared for them at first, but they grew on her eventually. But initially she had not cared for them, because they others would point and say she was a cursed one.
No Ansuzian was ever born with jet black wings, she was the first and so far the only.
Murakumo was the first to befriend her; she told the young Corsican that whatever meaning her wings held did not matter, but that all of their kind should simply stick together and stand behind one another. It was easier to get through this sort of life that way. It was at that point that Mireille got her confidence back. She was abandoned by her maker during her awakening; he or she had gone through the whole process of changing the blonde woman, but they had not stuck around. Coming to conscious in a cemetery with a hunger and desire for blood, though not quite knowing what to do or the appropriate way of handling it-to say Mireille was bitter was to be kind.
She hated her maker for so long. But after spending time with Murakumo and listening to the Ansuzian’s eerie wisdom, she had decided to seek out the one who took the time to create the tainted one. Mireille often wondered if her maker had sensed the tainted color of her growing wings and left so as to not be marked either. All Ansuzians are born as an Iduni, a vampire, at first; it takes several excruciating days before their wings break through the skin and come into their full splendor glory. Each wing is as large as the owner is, their color and design depending on the owner; they have more splendor than an eagle’s wing and are truly a sight to behold… when they aren’t covered in blood, lying on the cold brick floor.
If the one who had made Mireille had stuck around, she would’ve forgiven him or her for leaving after seeing the abominations that grew from her back. Instead, she was left with the question of why? Why desert one with whom they had taken the time to bond with? Creating Ansuzians, Idunis, and Dagazads are very intimate processes, involving a link of the mind, body, and soul between the creation and the creator. To become a form of vampire one had to desire, to want, to have an unquenched need or thirst for the impossible. Mireille didn’t know where her desire lay or what exactly was the nature of it; only her creator knew.
And that was how she ended up in the dungeon, chained up like a slab of beef ready to be gnawed at by the lycanthropes. She had been researching and using her intuition to find her maker; Murakumo had told her that the bond made between vampires during this process was so strong, that one would know if the other was dead, no matter how many years had passed. Mireille felt it in her heart that her maker was still alive. She wanted answers from this Ansuzian and she would go to any lengths.
A misleading hint lead her into a werewolf haunt; the Dagazad had warned her that she better not listen to the lycanthropes for hints about her maker. She ignored him, after all, the war had been long done with and the relations between werewolves and vampires should have been getting better. Obviously the Dagazad was right and the illusion that the creatures of the underworld had put up was only to satisfy an unattainable ideal. She entered the alley, finding a cloaked figure, and immediately her senses were lit on fire; she smelled fur.
But she went against her better judgment and continued on towards the figure; her desire for her creator far outweighed the calm logic she normally had. When she got within steps of him, she felt the presence of an entire pack surrounding her. It hadn’t been much of a fight, ten on one; she was mostly surprised that they had kept her alive and brought her back to the dungeon. Their tortures were rooted with howls of delight and barks of madness, all the pack members were loyal to their leader who kept going on about watching his brethren get killed in the war.
What had that mattered to Mireille? She was not alive then. From Murakumo she had learned that it was mostly a war between the Ansuzians and lycanthropes. Idunis, while strong, were no match for the ferocity of a fully changed wolf, and Dagazads were even weaker, their main power being their simple ability to walk in the day light. The Ansuzian had evolved out of a need for the Idunis to protect themselves after Lycans turned against them back in the 1300’s. They had the basic make up of a vampire, only three things different: one, they had large wings which were fully functional enabling them to fly, two, their strength matched a lycanthrope, and three, probably because of the upgraded abilities, they lost the ability to put humans under their control.
A vampire could give one bite to a human and that human would become the vampire’s slave until his or her death. Ansuzians no longer had this ability, forcing them to either find loyal and willing innocents or to simply hunt their food every night. With this evolution, the Lycans became fearful that the vampires would overthrow them and kill off all werewolf kind. They began to spread their lycanthrope curse to as many humans a possible believing that for a war to be won, one side’s numbers had to be larger than the other. The vampires caught whiff of this and the war began and ensued for many centuries.
It finally ended less than 50 years ago; 50 years wasn’t a long enough time, though, as it seemed that many were still out for revenge-much like the clan Mireille stumbled across. The clan beat her, burned her, drained most of her blood, spit on her, defecated on her, years and years of pent up rage seemed to be released onto her. It had finally become so unbearable that she passed out. Her will to live was a strong one though; the proof was that she was now safe and warm in her underground loft.
She exited the shower, wrapping a towel around her body. Not a moment later, the blonde Ansuzian fell to the floor, wrapping her arms around herself and weeping.
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Several months later.
Natsuki ran, her paws thudding on the soft earth floor, sloshing through patches of snow every so often, the pounding of her heartbeat resonating through her entire body. She could smell them still close behind, even if she couldn’t hear their growls and pants and the sounds of their own paws in sync with hers. She had put some distance between her and the rest of the pack by taking them through a thorn patch-something she had regretted part way through as the thorns dug past her thick blue fur and embed themselves into the pads of her feet. But when she emerged, she realized her route had slowed the others considerably, so a bit of pain was worth not being killed.
Sniffing the air, the lycan realized she was nearing the base of the mountains and the forbidden territory of the vampires. Though the air of peace between lycanthropes and vampires was said to still hold sway, none of the wolves dare enter the area which was said to be crawling with several powerful winged demons-otherwise known as Ansuzians. There had been rumors crawling around of several vampires being caught and killed by lycans, creating a major tension between the two species. She had no choice though and hoped they would lay mercy on her. If she could get past the line of boulders that served as a natural border, the others would not follow and she would be safe at least from the snarling fangs intent on tearing her throat out.
They had attacked her mother and then two of her subordinates, killing them swift and cleanly considering it was five to one. The fourth pack elder, Chloe, had orchestrated the entire thing, calling for reorder and for her rise. Her claim was that she wanted the lycanthropes to regain power against the blood sucking fiends for they still held more power which was unfair to the lycans and if they ever wanted to even the score, they would need to regain in numbers again. Natsuki had no care for such ideals. Her birth occurred well after the war and her mother had told her that her only desire for the blue haired girl was to live for herself and her own beliefs.
When Chloe had sunk her fangs into her mother’s neck and tore out the large chunk of grey fur and meat, tossing it to the side like it was just a barrier to the goodies inside, Natsuki had lost it. She had no time to stop any of the attacks and quickly found herself cornered by the rest of the pack after she had tried in vain to kill Chloe. They were all older and more powerful than she was; she knew she hadn’t a chance. Her mother’s words reverberated through her and so she listened to her instinct, her heart, which told her to survive now, take revenge later.
Somehow and with great luck, she managed to break through the pack, resisting the urge to vomit at the sight of seeing her dear mother lying on the ground, half eaten and covered in blood, and broke into the forest at a dead run. Chloe led the pack and from what Natsuki could hear of her commands, she knew they would not rest until she was dead too. Her emerald eyes scanned the fallen trees up ahead; loggers had made their way deep into the heart of the woods and had cleared a patch, leaving large oaks in their wake. Even in the dead of winter, she could smell their life draining out of them as they lie in the frigid cold.
She shivered, hoping she would not end up like one of those logs, and proceeded to bound across, trying to take the heaps in less than three jumps. Despite growing larger when changing into her wolf form, she still wasn’t as near as big as the others in her pack, and was often called the runt. The only thing keeping her from being killed or driven away was the love of the woman who had taken her in and shown her the ways of the wolves, a whole different world than what Natsuki had ever seen. But now that she was dead, she was sure to be on the death list of any lycan for miles, especially those in her mothers… no, it was now Chloe’s pack.
A howl broke through the quiet of the forest causing her to shiver and run even faster; the pack had gained on her and from what she could judge from the howl they were no more than a hundred feet behind her. Her legs began to sting from the pain of running so long and so far and she knew now that this last leg would be the hardest. She didn’t know if she would make it; the thorns were now deeply embedded in her paws and the branches which she pushed through had dug deeply past the fur, gouging into her skin and leaving long jagged cuts.
Knowing that she was bleeding, there was nowhere to hide, for they would just sniff her out.
Relief washed through her body when she saw the line of boulders only just 50 yards ahead and she mustered up the last of her strength, bounding now in eight foot leaps. Natsuki reminded herself to keep running even past the boulders in case Chloe was feeling particularly lucky and would choose to ignore the warning sign. As she neared the looming rocks, her heart sank upon seeing how tall they actually were. Unless she could suddenly bound 30 feet into the air, there was no way she could get past them without running around.
Not one to lose heart so quickly, the lycaon tore to the left, leaning her body and her weight to push off her paws so that she could make the turn sharp and clean. There was a small rock, a sort of ledge, that stuck out part way and the blue wolf thought if she could just get up on there the rest of the way over the rock would require just a small effort of digging her claws in and pulling herself up. A blur of purple flashed in front of her eyes and she stuck her paws out in front of her, digging into the ground and leaning back to stop. In a moments flash, she had swiveled on her back paws, intent on going the opposite direction, but was cut off by a dark teal wolf.
Natsuki’s eyes flashed with fear as she felt them close in around her, the boulders now to her back and in front of her a copper furred wolf. Her muscles ached and quivered as she watched the pack regain the rest of their numbers and now it was just a matter of waiting for her death. Even if she did break through again, she hadn’t anymore strength to make another long run. The purple wolf with piercing black eyes approached her and instinctively she took a step back, wincing when the wolf howled and barked in laughter. It was joined with more howling glee and fun from the rest of the pack; most had their head turned toward the half moon, a smile ridden over their long narrow faces.
Fear vibrated into the deepest crevices of her bones and she cowered down, her ears flat against her head and her tail between her legs. Somehow, Natsuki knew that they were going to keep her alive as long as possible while they ate and tortured her. She chanced a look around the pack noting that most had a concentrated look of hunger glimmering in their eyes, their tongues hanging out as they panted and drooled, and their bodies in pouncing position. There was no noise now, other than the sound of pants and low growls, all the animals that might have been around had no doubt fled at the sense of hungry wolves bounding through the once serene forest.
Their leader, Chloe, the purple wolf, suddenly jumped onto her, pushing her onto her back and holding her down with exceeding strength despite the other girl’s own small size. A whimper escaped the blue wolf’s lips and she knew better than to attempt to fight back and just went limp, closing her eyes, awaiting the impending pain. She felt the lycaon’s hot breath on her ear and in her mind, she could hear Chloe speaking, telling her what a mistake she made and that the next hours of her life would be the most painful she’s ever experienced. Natsuki could only swallow and hold her breath, praying for a quick death; maybe if she tried bolting again, they would have no choice but to kill her quickly.
She felt Chloe jump off and before she had a chance to roll onto her paws, four lycans leapt at her, each sinking their teeth into her flesh. She wailed and howled in agony, waiting for them to begin tearing away at her; but they did no such thing. In fact all four had backed away. Emerald eyes looked up and Natsuki carefully rolled off her back, watching curiously as the lycaons backed away from her. They were staring above her, growling angrily though their eyes shone of fear. Following their gaze, she looked up to find a figure standing on top of the wall of boulders; nothing else seemed to focus in about her except a pair of blazing burgundy eyes.
“Ara, is this how you treat one of your own?” The figures voice, so obviously female, was soothing to Natsuki’s ears. Her ache and fatigue had begun to overtake her as she lay on the ground and the wounds felt numb. All she wanted to do was to pass out. “I cannot have this, unfortunately.” There was something about this woman’s voice, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it; it was like that nursery lullaby with the rocking baby on the tree top. Something that was seemingly safe on the surface, but with a lurking danger underneath.
Chloe snarled and growled loudly at the looming female above; Natsuki felt her lids growing heavy and she said another few prayers that she survived this. She could sense the entire pack back away as the one above her jumped down. The purple wolf leapt at the woman, who swung an arm out and batted the bitch away like she was just a fly. A pair of strong arms encircled Natsuki and picked her up, cradling the frail blue wolf gently. Lacking almost all her strength, Natsuki felt her lycan persona slip away and her body shrank back into its thin human form. Before she slipped away into unconsciousness, she felt the slippery touch of feathers caressing her limbs as the woman holding her leapt into the air and flew them both away.
Series: Mai Hime, Noir, Kannazuki no Miko
Ratings: MA
Genre: Supernatural, horror, violence, AU, lesbians galore
Summary: A Mai Hime/Noir/Kannazuki no Miko crossover inspired a lot by the movie Underworld. Half a century after the end of the hundred year long lycaonvampire war, tensions rise up again. Only it seems that the sides are not as clear this time.
Chapter 1
----------------------------
She awoke to a severe pain jutting through her upper back and down her left arm; blood oozed down her body, dripping with small plops to the dirty dungeon floor below. Before she could even open her eyes, the excessive pungent odor of death, blood and feces invaded her nose and her senses-were she still human, she would no doubt be vomiting by now. Cracking open one blue eye, she noted that the small enclosed area was dark, probably pitch black, not that it made a difference because she could see in the dark. Grogginess flooded her vision and it took her several moments to focus; hunger had taken over long ago.
She wanted to eat, to feed, to drink from the heavenly chaste of a pure and untainted one. But her hands were chained above her head, leaving her hanging several feet off the ground and taking note of the small dungeon, there were only skeletons, dried sticky blood, feces smeared along the walls and barred door and… if she was not mistaken… Her eyes went wide as she saw a bloodied black feathered wing lying against the brick floor. It was at that point she noticed the dull throbbing pain coming from her upper left back. They had torn her wing off.
Bloody blond hair cascaded over her eyes as she let her head droop, her teeth gritting together in frustration, anger and rage, feelings so incomparable to the insignificant pain jutting through her shoulder. She had never asked for this and had nothing to do with their silly little fight. Her maker had the decency to spawn her several years after the end of the war. But this didn’t seem to mean anything to the lycanthropes; they held their grudge past many generations and let it bleed into the victims of their curses. It was silly, she thought, since no one won the war. But everyone lost.
She gritted her teeth and strained against the chains, pushing all her weight and what little strength she had left into breaking free. Above her, she felt the peg, which held the chain that was connected to the shackles around her wrists begin to give way from the large brick stones. A few speckles of rock and dust fell onto her head causing her to struggle and pull even harder. She braced her bare feet on the stony wall and leaned away pulling the chain with all her might, until finally the peg burst out of its wedge. Mireille fell crashing to the sticky floor where she lay for several moments, trying to direct the throbbing and aching pain in her body into enough vigor to rise and get the hell out of here.
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She turned her head, her blue eyes staring forlornly at the disheveled wing. Up close, she could see where they literally ripped the winged appendage right out of its socket, traces of organs and veins still apparent at the base. Many feathers had been torn off of it; she thought that they must have scratched and chewed on it for several hours, no doubt giving up when they found how nearly indestructible the wing was. She grimaced and looked away; at least by losing two wings someone could cover up, but only losing one-it was as though they were trying to degrade her to the lowest form possible. It was working.
After several seconds the blonde pushed herself to her feet, scowling at the shackles that still clung to her wrists, the chains also still hooked and clanging loudly as they dragged along the floor behind her. The Ansuzian narrowed her eyes at the predicament she was in; getting down was the easy part, but she was still chained and she had nothing to brace the chains against to break them off. With a heave and a sigh, Mireille gathered the rusted irons up, throwing them over her left shoulder. She winced slightly at the pain when one collided with the bloodied and no doubt, gaping hole where her wing had once been.
After a few adjustments, she had the chains slung over her body, easily carried without causing her too much hassle. She approached the door, noting that the lycanthropes hadn’t locked it and pushed the bars open quietly. They squeaked and sent a high pitched noise echoing down the barren stone hall. If no one had come when she fell to the floor with chains clanging loudly, then a squeak would not matter. As she walked down the hall, she noticed a dungeon every few feet giving the place an appearance of a prison left over from the medieval times.
At the end of the hall, she felt lucky to find this door not locked as well, and heaved the leaden door open with a strong push. Her senses were immediately filled with the cool, crisp winter evening air, something Mireille felt she was never thankful for until this moment. It was like heaven to get out of the death reeking prison. She again made silent thanks as she also noted it was night time; the darkness would at least conceal her from the eyes of the innocents. A pang of hunger vibrated through her body at the thought of the humans and she felt herself nearly doubling over as she descended the cement steps.
She hadn’t fed for two days and the blood the lycanthropes had drained from her made it seem more like months. The desire to feed began to overwhelm her senses now that she was free and her blue eyes darkened in fear. Mireille mostly kept to pig’s blood, only indulging in human blood from a bottle when she was perusing the vampire bars up and down the strip every month. It was the bitterness she held for her creator that kept her from hunting like the other Ansuzians. She thought if she didn’t feed from humans then it would shame the one who made her. But actually, feeding involved a sort of closeness to someone she never felt comfortable with.
That was why at this moment she began to panic. If she could find an animal, any animal, to tide her over until she could get back to Murakumo-who would no doubt feed her-it would squelch her desires for human blood. Of all the blood, the innocent’s blood empowered vampires the most and drinking blood straight from a human was like being reborn, getting drunk, and getting the strength of the gods, all in one sip. Her body shuddered with lust and the chains suddenly felt lighter than a feather. Her last thought was that it was too late because her desires had been in control since she awoke in the dungeon.
She hadn’t time to think why or how she got out so easily, or where the lycanthropes were. Perhaps they were watching and laughing at the stumbling, one-winged Ansuzian as she blundered along in the darkness, her feral wanton driving her to a pulsing neck. None of it mattered. Blood was the only thing on Mireille’s mind and she began to jog through the forest, her senses on full alert for the first warm body she came across. The chains hung over her shoulder clanged loudly as she increased her pace, her anger that she couldn’t fly showed clearly in her eyes and whichever innocent she came across would feel the wrath of from the humiliation she felt earlier.
Pushing her way out of the forest and onto a dirt walkway, she smelled the warmth, the blood, the unmistakable musk that made her fangs throb and her throat swell. It took less than ten seconds before she came upon the girl-Mireille was only vaguely aware that it was a female-all that mattered to her was the pulse and the blood was untainted. The prey only had enough time to turn around at the sound of the chains before the Ansuzian was on her, sinking long fangs into the healthy neck. She held the girl tightly, who oddly seemed to put up little struggle, and drank deeply from her, the sweet nectar passing through her lips.
Her body immediately felt energized at the first swallow, only encouraging her to take another swallow, and another, and before she knew it, she had the girl mostly drained. The young woman’s breath was coming out in slow wisps and her warm body began to get cold as it lay limply in Mireille’s arms. Finally the Ansuzian regained her conscious and she pulled her fangs out, wondering if the girl would survive. Something in her resonated as she looked into a pair of burgundy eyes, something familiar and overwhelming. This innocent had the desire, the desire Murakumo had explained was what made the vampires; at the time the blonde Ansuzian merely nodded, not understanding what her mentor was saying.
But now she saw it so clearly that if she wanted to, she could reach out and take it between her fingers. The girl in her arms swallowed and her eyelids began to droop, a small smile crossing over her face as she drifted into the slumber from which she would not awaken. Mireille panicked and licked her lips, tasting the warm, liquid ambrosia and in it she could taste the human’s want. This desire was so clear to the blonde; she could read it like a book and knew it inside and out. From the red liquid of her blood, she could taste the girl’s entire life up to this moment. Hell, it was almost more real than her own memories.
Could anyone refuse such a plea? In the back of her mind, Mireille’s conscience was screaming that she didn’t need this right now; her objective was her own maker, not becoming one. But the will between hers and this girl’s soul had already begun to bond and interweave. She bit into her wrist, pushing it into the girl’s mouth and whispering for her to feed, with which she complied by taking a couple of small, unsure swallows that quickly turned into large gulps and greedy sucking. Her long fingers wrapped around Mireille’s arm and hand, holding it in place. Once her eyes reopened, showing a darkened burgundy, Mireille pulled the limb away, silently admonishing the girl when she tried to get it back.
A few seconds later, the stranger passed out in the blonde’s arms, her pulse and breath no longer. Mireille sighed and set the girl on the ground. She walked over to a bench and threw the chains off her shoulder, wrapping them around the leg and pulling on it until she managed to snap them off the shackles around her wrist. Her back still throbbed, but mostly at the loss of the wing; she felt completely reenergized otherwise and felt much stronger than she’d felt in weeks. As she turned back to the slumped form on the ground, a pit of uneasiness rose in her stomach; the passions of her hunger had taken its toll on a young woman, who looked to be in her last year of high school by the uniform she was wearing. Gathering the girl up in her arms, the Ansuzian rechecked the air around her for anyone else. Certain she was alone, she took off at a brisk run as she needed to get them both home in order to tend to her wound and to prepare for the girl’s awakening.
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Once back in her apartment, Mireille laid the girl on her bed and went immediately into the bathroom. She counted her lucky stars that no one saw her-a half naked woman with one wing running along the alleys in the dead of night carrying a dead teenager, something like that would no doubt make the headlines. After stripping off the small stained cloth that was once her shirt, peeling her stockings off and tossing the soiled garments into the trash can, she entered the shower. She stayed in there for more than an hour, scrubbing uselessly at her skin, as though trying to wash away all memories of the past two days. For instance: the fact that she wasn’t wearing her skirt or panties probably meant that the male lycans had had their way with her during the times she passed out.
A thought strayed to the one who made her, who had put her into this spot; she gritted her teeth again and pounded once on the shower wall in anger. Murakumo would never let her live this one down. The damned woman would also make sure to pour salt into the wound of having lost her wing as well. Wings were the Ansuzian’s trademark, their pride and symbol of the power bestowed upon them. Mireille had not cared for them at first, but they grew on her eventually. But initially she had not cared for them, because they others would point and say she was a cursed one.
No Ansuzian was ever born with jet black wings, she was the first and so far the only.
Murakumo was the first to befriend her; she told the young Corsican that whatever meaning her wings held did not matter, but that all of their kind should simply stick together and stand behind one another. It was easier to get through this sort of life that way. It was at that point that Mireille got her confidence back. She was abandoned by her maker during her awakening; he or she had gone through the whole process of changing the blonde woman, but they had not stuck around. Coming to conscious in a cemetery with a hunger and desire for blood, though not quite knowing what to do or the appropriate way of handling it-to say Mireille was bitter was to be kind.
She hated her maker for so long. But after spending time with Murakumo and listening to the Ansuzian’s eerie wisdom, she had decided to seek out the one who took the time to create the tainted one. Mireille often wondered if her maker had sensed the tainted color of her growing wings and left so as to not be marked either. All Ansuzians are born as an Iduni, a vampire, at first; it takes several excruciating days before their wings break through the skin and come into their full splendor glory. Each wing is as large as the owner is, their color and design depending on the owner; they have more splendor than an eagle’s wing and are truly a sight to behold… when they aren’t covered in blood, lying on the cold brick floor.
If the one who had made Mireille had stuck around, she would’ve forgiven him or her for leaving after seeing the abominations that grew from her back. Instead, she was left with the question of why? Why desert one with whom they had taken the time to bond with? Creating Ansuzians, Idunis, and Dagazads are very intimate processes, involving a link of the mind, body, and soul between the creation and the creator. To become a form of vampire one had to desire, to want, to have an unquenched need or thirst for the impossible. Mireille didn’t know where her desire lay or what exactly was the nature of it; only her creator knew.
And that was how she ended up in the dungeon, chained up like a slab of beef ready to be gnawed at by the lycanthropes. She had been researching and using her intuition to find her maker; Murakumo had told her that the bond made between vampires during this process was so strong, that one would know if the other was dead, no matter how many years had passed. Mireille felt it in her heart that her maker was still alive. She wanted answers from this Ansuzian and she would go to any lengths.
A misleading hint lead her into a werewolf haunt; the Dagazad had warned her that she better not listen to the lycanthropes for hints about her maker. She ignored him, after all, the war had been long done with and the relations between werewolves and vampires should have been getting better. Obviously the Dagazad was right and the illusion that the creatures of the underworld had put up was only to satisfy an unattainable ideal. She entered the alley, finding a cloaked figure, and immediately her senses were lit on fire; she smelled fur.
But she went against her better judgment and continued on towards the figure; her desire for her creator far outweighed the calm logic she normally had. When she got within steps of him, she felt the presence of an entire pack surrounding her. It hadn’t been much of a fight, ten on one; she was mostly surprised that they had kept her alive and brought her back to the dungeon. Their tortures were rooted with howls of delight and barks of madness, all the pack members were loyal to their leader who kept going on about watching his brethren get killed in the war.
What had that mattered to Mireille? She was not alive then. From Murakumo she had learned that it was mostly a war between the Ansuzians and lycanthropes. Idunis, while strong, were no match for the ferocity of a fully changed wolf, and Dagazads were even weaker, their main power being their simple ability to walk in the day light. The Ansuzian had evolved out of a need for the Idunis to protect themselves after Lycans turned against them back in the 1300’s. They had the basic make up of a vampire, only three things different: one, they had large wings which were fully functional enabling them to fly, two, their strength matched a lycanthrope, and three, probably because of the upgraded abilities, they lost the ability to put humans under their control.
A vampire could give one bite to a human and that human would become the vampire’s slave until his or her death. Ansuzians no longer had this ability, forcing them to either find loyal and willing innocents or to simply hunt their food every night. With this evolution, the Lycans became fearful that the vampires would overthrow them and kill off all werewolf kind. They began to spread their lycanthrope curse to as many humans a possible believing that for a war to be won, one side’s numbers had to be larger than the other. The vampires caught whiff of this and the war began and ensued for many centuries.
It finally ended less than 50 years ago; 50 years wasn’t a long enough time, though, as it seemed that many were still out for revenge-much like the clan Mireille stumbled across. The clan beat her, burned her, drained most of her blood, spit on her, defecated on her, years and years of pent up rage seemed to be released onto her. It had finally become so unbearable that she passed out. Her will to live was a strong one though; the proof was that she was now safe and warm in her underground loft.
She exited the shower, wrapping a towel around her body. Not a moment later, the blonde Ansuzian fell to the floor, wrapping her arms around herself and weeping.
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Several months later.
Natsuki ran, her paws thudding on the soft earth floor, sloshing through patches of snow every so often, the pounding of her heartbeat resonating through her entire body. She could smell them still close behind, even if she couldn’t hear their growls and pants and the sounds of their own paws in sync with hers. She had put some distance between her and the rest of the pack by taking them through a thorn patch-something she had regretted part way through as the thorns dug past her thick blue fur and embed themselves into the pads of her feet. But when she emerged, she realized her route had slowed the others considerably, so a bit of pain was worth not being killed.
Sniffing the air, the lycan realized she was nearing the base of the mountains and the forbidden territory of the vampires. Though the air of peace between lycanthropes and vampires was said to still hold sway, none of the wolves dare enter the area which was said to be crawling with several powerful winged demons-otherwise known as Ansuzians. There had been rumors crawling around of several vampires being caught and killed by lycans, creating a major tension between the two species. She had no choice though and hoped they would lay mercy on her. If she could get past the line of boulders that served as a natural border, the others would not follow and she would be safe at least from the snarling fangs intent on tearing her throat out.
They had attacked her mother and then two of her subordinates, killing them swift and cleanly considering it was five to one. The fourth pack elder, Chloe, had orchestrated the entire thing, calling for reorder and for her rise. Her claim was that she wanted the lycanthropes to regain power against the blood sucking fiends for they still held more power which was unfair to the lycans and if they ever wanted to even the score, they would need to regain in numbers again. Natsuki had no care for such ideals. Her birth occurred well after the war and her mother had told her that her only desire for the blue haired girl was to live for herself and her own beliefs.
When Chloe had sunk her fangs into her mother’s neck and tore out the large chunk of grey fur and meat, tossing it to the side like it was just a barrier to the goodies inside, Natsuki had lost it. She had no time to stop any of the attacks and quickly found herself cornered by the rest of the pack after she had tried in vain to kill Chloe. They were all older and more powerful than she was; she knew she hadn’t a chance. Her mother’s words reverberated through her and so she listened to her instinct, her heart, which told her to survive now, take revenge later.
Somehow and with great luck, she managed to break through the pack, resisting the urge to vomit at the sight of seeing her dear mother lying on the ground, half eaten and covered in blood, and broke into the forest at a dead run. Chloe led the pack and from what Natsuki could hear of her commands, she knew they would not rest until she was dead too. Her emerald eyes scanned the fallen trees up ahead; loggers had made their way deep into the heart of the woods and had cleared a patch, leaving large oaks in their wake. Even in the dead of winter, she could smell their life draining out of them as they lie in the frigid cold.
She shivered, hoping she would not end up like one of those logs, and proceeded to bound across, trying to take the heaps in less than three jumps. Despite growing larger when changing into her wolf form, she still wasn’t as near as big as the others in her pack, and was often called the runt. The only thing keeping her from being killed or driven away was the love of the woman who had taken her in and shown her the ways of the wolves, a whole different world than what Natsuki had ever seen. But now that she was dead, she was sure to be on the death list of any lycan for miles, especially those in her mothers… no, it was now Chloe’s pack.
A howl broke through the quiet of the forest causing her to shiver and run even faster; the pack had gained on her and from what she could judge from the howl they were no more than a hundred feet behind her. Her legs began to sting from the pain of running so long and so far and she knew now that this last leg would be the hardest. She didn’t know if she would make it; the thorns were now deeply embedded in her paws and the branches which she pushed through had dug deeply past the fur, gouging into her skin and leaving long jagged cuts.
Knowing that she was bleeding, there was nowhere to hide, for they would just sniff her out.
Relief washed through her body when she saw the line of boulders only just 50 yards ahead and she mustered up the last of her strength, bounding now in eight foot leaps. Natsuki reminded herself to keep running even past the boulders in case Chloe was feeling particularly lucky and would choose to ignore the warning sign. As she neared the looming rocks, her heart sank upon seeing how tall they actually were. Unless she could suddenly bound 30 feet into the air, there was no way she could get past them without running around.
Not one to lose heart so quickly, the lycaon tore to the left, leaning her body and her weight to push off her paws so that she could make the turn sharp and clean. There was a small rock, a sort of ledge, that stuck out part way and the blue wolf thought if she could just get up on there the rest of the way over the rock would require just a small effort of digging her claws in and pulling herself up. A blur of purple flashed in front of her eyes and she stuck her paws out in front of her, digging into the ground and leaning back to stop. In a moments flash, she had swiveled on her back paws, intent on going the opposite direction, but was cut off by a dark teal wolf.
Natsuki’s eyes flashed with fear as she felt them close in around her, the boulders now to her back and in front of her a copper furred wolf. Her muscles ached and quivered as she watched the pack regain the rest of their numbers and now it was just a matter of waiting for her death. Even if she did break through again, she hadn’t anymore strength to make another long run. The purple wolf with piercing black eyes approached her and instinctively she took a step back, wincing when the wolf howled and barked in laughter. It was joined with more howling glee and fun from the rest of the pack; most had their head turned toward the half moon, a smile ridden over their long narrow faces.
Fear vibrated into the deepest crevices of her bones and she cowered down, her ears flat against her head and her tail between her legs. Somehow, Natsuki knew that they were going to keep her alive as long as possible while they ate and tortured her. She chanced a look around the pack noting that most had a concentrated look of hunger glimmering in their eyes, their tongues hanging out as they panted and drooled, and their bodies in pouncing position. There was no noise now, other than the sound of pants and low growls, all the animals that might have been around had no doubt fled at the sense of hungry wolves bounding through the once serene forest.
Their leader, Chloe, the purple wolf, suddenly jumped onto her, pushing her onto her back and holding her down with exceeding strength despite the other girl’s own small size. A whimper escaped the blue wolf’s lips and she knew better than to attempt to fight back and just went limp, closing her eyes, awaiting the impending pain. She felt the lycaon’s hot breath on her ear and in her mind, she could hear Chloe speaking, telling her what a mistake she made and that the next hours of her life would be the most painful she’s ever experienced. Natsuki could only swallow and hold her breath, praying for a quick death; maybe if she tried bolting again, they would have no choice but to kill her quickly.
She felt Chloe jump off and before she had a chance to roll onto her paws, four lycans leapt at her, each sinking their teeth into her flesh. She wailed and howled in agony, waiting for them to begin tearing away at her; but they did no such thing. In fact all four had backed away. Emerald eyes looked up and Natsuki carefully rolled off her back, watching curiously as the lycaons backed away from her. They were staring above her, growling angrily though their eyes shone of fear. Following their gaze, she looked up to find a figure standing on top of the wall of boulders; nothing else seemed to focus in about her except a pair of blazing burgundy eyes.
“Ara, is this how you treat one of your own?” The figures voice, so obviously female, was soothing to Natsuki’s ears. Her ache and fatigue had begun to overtake her as she lay on the ground and the wounds felt numb. All she wanted to do was to pass out. “I cannot have this, unfortunately.” There was something about this woman’s voice, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it; it was like that nursery lullaby with the rocking baby on the tree top. Something that was seemingly safe on the surface, but with a lurking danger underneath.
Chloe snarled and growled loudly at the looming female above; Natsuki felt her lids growing heavy and she said another few prayers that she survived this. She could sense the entire pack back away as the one above her jumped down. The purple wolf leapt at the woman, who swung an arm out and batted the bitch away like she was just a fly. A pair of strong arms encircled Natsuki and picked her up, cradling the frail blue wolf gently. Lacking almost all her strength, Natsuki felt her lycan persona slip away and her body shrank back into its thin human form. Before she slipped away into unconsciousness, she felt the slippery touch of feathers caressing her limbs as the woman holding her leapt into the air and flew them both away.