For each breath of rebirth ushers in closer to the final flicker. The sun who loves the moon dies everyday to allow her to breathe. That sun is not a single light, but all lights within their children. It was to be a gift, flames that embrace the flesh unharmed and yet these were harbored in a light of shadows. Now comes the end of the Unbearable Stagnant Time and the awakening of Black Sun.
--Missing from the Book of the Moon
This was their last stronghold, the place of their final defense. There was no where to run, no where to hide; not where she could not find them. It was a genocide, the massacre of the Hunter’s Association. Every man, and woman no matter how young or old; little or big who could lift an Anti-Vampire Weapon was murdered in cold blood. The first to fall was the Association President: Marcus Jensin. Of all slain by her hand his was by far the cruelest and most dragged out. With his death she had sent a message to all who followed his lead: they were next.
The time of the Association was over, their part in humanity’s history had reached its end. It was not only members of the Association, but even their families down to the last child were killed--this was to ensure none would begin the cycle of hate again. One by one she laid siege and ruin to skyscrapers; offices; every headquarters, side branch, wherever the Association stood she destroyed. There was no hope, not for victory, not for their lives; their future was as grim as the smile on her mask. They were held up in New York City, center of the city, to their misfortune. They were protected by no one, the city was evacuated; the National Guard would not come; police enclosed the perimeter of the building, but it was well-known they would not dare involve themselves when she came.
There was no longer a chain of command and hardly leadership; a small band of misfits who were only put in charge because they were the last ones to possess AVWs and the last of the First and Second-Class Investigators. Through their scope the first officer saw a dark figure grow in clarity from the snow’s cloak. The figure became a woman wearing torn and burnt clothing, what could have been a trench-coat now lacked sleeves and a large portion in its back; seared all around its creases and edges. The officers froze when seeing her eyes; before the mask could be identified it was well known by her eyes. The ‘One-Eyed Reaper’ had arrived.
She continued unfazed by the human polices’ presence until the hunters themselves left the safety of their building to see the face of their death. With a single warning the police fled, running for their lives the moment she appeared behind their line. It has begun. The floor crumbled under their feet, the heat from her flame incinerated everything she touched. Hotter. These flames would destroy corruption; purifying the future, by erasing the past. Hotter. No one would come to their aid, she made it clear that her only target was the Association and had proven such when acting as if any other humans were non-existant. There was nothing to stop her. Hotter. Her flames could easily faultier the structural integrity of the building however she would leave nothing to chance--each individual hunter she would kill herself; looking into their eyes so both would know of the other’s presence.
There were four, perhaps five investigators remaining, but only three possessed AVWs while the others had normal guns that did nothing against her. It was not like their AVWs did much to her--the world itself had turned against them, sentencing them to this end. It was a peaceful end for many though...she granted that single mercy. Hotter. There was no one left to resist her, days...weeks of non-stop fighting, her flames burned brighter and brighter, consuming everything it touches.
The Investigator appeared from the ceiling, destroying the floor under them both; using the flames emitting from her body to carry them the rest of the way down. He was thrown off in a wave that leveled half the skyscraper--the flames sliced the support pillars; they slid falling with the remainder of the building on top of them both. Burn it all. Her body was protected by flame, incinerating all that came near her, casting into nothingness anything in her path of stumble. Its burning. Hotter. Hotter. Consuming everything, everyone--the last of the Hunter’s Association was no more. Their tyranny was over and now onto the next--she coughed blood, her own flesh now charred as she lost her strength and crumbled to her knees. Not yet...there was still more she must do; the past must be wiped clean; there were more who had to meet an end.
The fire burned brighter eating away body and mind; her sanity--all for her she only needed to hold onto the notion of her goal for a bit longer; memories; feelings; none of it mattered so long as she accomplished that goal. She gripped the scarf, that which was abandoned as she had been; yanked it from her neck and cast it aside. A sinister smile curled on her face as she hunched over her knees, having lost all breath. Heh... As the streaming of blood gathered at her chin a drop formed; dropping and becoming ash before hitting the ground.
The wound inflicted by her attacker was slow to heal. She had not consumed true blood, human or vampire, since the Main House and the tablets no longer had effect. The Reaper was already starving and forcing her flames out ,to this extent, was beginning to cause backlash. Her attacker had been relentless and to much surprise rather difficult to fight. Either due to her fatigue or simply this was a different kind of opponent she had much trouble.
It was obvious her attacker’s goal was not to protect the humans of the Association, but rather to kill her. (Like everyone else.) While this came at no surprise when they first crossed blades the Reaper found she simply could not kill that woman. She was fast, strong, skilled, and relentless. Everywhere the Reaper went there she followed. Like a thorn in her side, that woman continued to force the Reaper to draw out more and more of her flames, draining what she needed to annihilate the Association.
Finally the Reaper had enough. She waited, in the ash and smoke, allowing herself the chance to collect her energy to heal. This excess time was also inadvisable--without rational thought she became restless and agitated further with nothing else to do. Nonetheless that time had not been enabled until now, all there had been for weeks was non-stop fighting, killing; in a world that had gone colorless, red was the only thing that could allow her to remember life. She had forgotten that notion, had lost the ability to value life with each person she killed a little of her heart broke away. It was her own life she had forgotten to value.
In the beginning it did not matter what become of her soul or of her heart, only she would accomplish her goal. Revolution. No one would see her, would be able to comprehend her decisions, not even Eona would be able to fathom...not that it matters anymore. None of it matters anymore...those memories would disappear in the end anyway.
The Reaper stared at her hand, watching it flex and breathe flames with each opening. Those surrounding her body dimmed, nonetheless they remained glowing due to the fear that if they were extinguished she could not muster enough to re-kindle them. She breathed deeply, moving the heat within her to her palm and the next time it opened the flames straightened and extended out into a shaft. Despite her loss of rational thought and interaction, the knowledge and skill of ‘battle’ did not waver, but it was all she knew.
The Amazonian searched for her prey. It had evaded her for weeks, each time slipping thru her traps, rather they posed not effect; if it even noticed. The Amazonian had been surprised at the strength of this one, possessing a power of God’s Breath nonetheless the light itself was unheard of outside of the decedent. That gift has been tainted, corrupted into a false light, one that must be extinguished else the Prophecy be fulfilled. She would not allow this to happen, as the inheritor of the legacy, it is her duty and purpose to protect this world he gave his life to. It was not too late, there was still time to stop the awakening--there had to be.
She stopped in a clearing of debris. A small patch of untouched ground where all else had crumbled around. Her senses sharpened, touching the spear on her back, she uncased it and readied herself. The prey had lessened its presence, but as long as the light burned, the Amazonian would always find it.
The dust settled further; in the distance sirens and horns were echoing. Humans were coming back, not to help in any way, the prey had ensured such would never be possible, but to collect the bodies and begin cleanup. At last a shadow emerged, burning the dust creating more ash and clearing the area. The prey sat above the Amazonian, resting on a protruding steel beam. Though this person known as the One-Eyed Reaper wore a mask, the Amazonian could already see her face. A mask is worn to show who a person truly is after all.
Not once had either exchanged words with the other. They simply fought, acknowledging the one another as an enemy and someone who stands in the way of a goal. The Reaper had shut her human eye, not that the woman cared, but the moment it opened it became the most beautiful blue in the world. In that single eye, weary from battle, the human that once existed was imprinted there. The Amazonian did not come for who she was before, only the current one, the crimson eye who held the empty, yet ever-existent, malevolence that killed nearing a thousand human lives.
Now looking at her prey more carefully, the woman began to see more of her, of the evil that lies on the brink. The Reaper was expressionless under her mask and began tapping the burning extension on the beam, creating a metallic sound with each tap.
This woman was unnecessary. Someone who was getting in the way of her goal. The Reaper’s blood dripped from her finger tips onto the ground. This woman caused quite a bit of damage last time and this time the Reaper would be sure to destroy that bothersome spear. In a way she desired to know why, but then again the Reaper could no longer connect a reason to ask for a purpose or even what her purpose beyond the end was. This hunter, clearly she was human, but at the same time she possessed superhuman strength--she is nothing like the Reaper however. Nonetheless...she is still only human. Humans are ugly and beautiful; weak and fragile and easy to kill.
The Reaper’s flames burned brighter and hotter, changing their form and creating an cloak that seemed to be a living part of her. The Amazonian prepared herself and felt a chill crawl up her spin--skeleton fingers felt as though they were wrapping their fingers around her neck. Unlike those before her however, she shook off the feeling and continued to hold her composure. The spear rotated in one hand and then into two, bracing just as the Reaper brought down her sword. Reaper kicked her back and swung, again without emotion, throwing out a wave of flames that rolled toward the woman.
They were blown away, cast out by the crumbling rock that protruded at the force of the spear stabbed into the ground. The white-haired immortal jumped back and spun to meet the spear behind her. She was then pushed and thrown into a broken section of the building that still held some shape. The woman flashed in front of the Reaper, relentlessly thrusting her spear over and over, cutting her prey like ribbon. Annoyed at these attacks the Reaper grabbed the spear. The attacker’s expression confused the Reaper: she looked as though the Reaper should not be able to touch the spear and yet could. They separated again and the Reaper found herself searching for breath and holding the wound that cut deeper than others. She was weak already and if she continued to pull out power that did not exist surely she would burn out her own life. Nightmare. Recalling that word reminded her of a fragment of the reason for the beginning. Though memories of her original purpose had been obscured if not faded away she still retained an idea of her own why. After all sometimes the only way to stay alive is to kill your mind.
“This is not personal.” The woman finally spoke in a rich hspanic tone. “But in order to save this world, you must parish; you understand this do you not?”
The Reaper remained silent as she revealed herself from the opening in the section of building she created. This world is a nightmare. She would not allow herself to be killed not for this world’s sake, not for anyone. Life is a struggle and everyday is a battle to survive and people are often caught on the brink between extreme intelligence and insanity. This struggle she has known all her life when she was human and saw the choices people made for the sake of their own survival. She would be different.
The woman continued, “Its my duty and destiny to protect this world from the coming evil and you will no doubt aid in their return.”
One cannot live without the other. This is their teachings, their creed as warriors of the world. They protect the innocent and the innocent are not divided by species, nation, race, or culture. The Reaper moved in front and snatched the spear again only this time she did not move. Her eyes had changed, they were not of two people, they were a single entity and one overfilled with rage and hatred. The feeling of the fingers came again, but now a black skeleton encased the white-haired woman and lashed out its claws in a vengeful roar. At last she chose to exchange words that seemed to be the only thing clear idea that passed at the last breath. Finally.
“It doesn’t matter if you’re the happiest person or an unfortunate weeper; a powerful beast; or a terrifying creature...” The spear was snapped in half by the immortal’s grip, as it did the Amazonian took it and thrust-ed it thru her prey’s chest, “We’re all equal in the eyes of the reaper.”
The Queen had not been treated ill, rather she had been given food, a room, access to a television, and allowed to walked around the underground mansion with a chaperon. It was not like she had thought it to be, however she is still a prisoner; captured, taken from her home and her family the only words the Pureblood King gave was that he would explain after he returned. Eona Nightraven had not turned on the television since last week--the broadcasts were nothing, but the remains of her precious person’s work as she continued her genocide of the Association. There had to have been a deal with Alucard, for Eona’s safety, for her return; she would never kill humans otherwise!
The tiny ferret crawled from a tiny hole in the corner of the room, undoubtedly used for mice, and curled into Eona’s lap. She had been surprised to see the ferret in her imprisonment, he had jumped onto her jacket just before she was placed inside an armored car. Maybe in her place, Eon is trying to comfort the queen. She would be back, just as she had promised they would be together, not even God could keep them apart. Everyday Eona ran her image in her mind, memorizing her every feature and action; habits; everything that was Kira whether its the past or the current. Days passed since Alucard had been seen and suddenly the scent of Cherry Blossoms had rushed her to the door--it was only met with King who for the first time wore a solem expression. In his arms was a wrapped cloth.
Eona caught the scent coming from within the wrappings--she carefully peeled back each fold and collapsed. Within the cloth was a scarlet scarf, bits of it had scorches and dried blood, but above all within its weavings was an immortal’s ash.