Acacia Chronicle

In the slums of the Lower City, the Holy See of Arcadia...

It was, at long last, soon to be the time to strike.

Up in the night sky, the moon and stars were seemingly hidden from sight, as though afraid of the all-encompassing darkness and what lurked under its deathly and starless pall. Were it not for the presence of a few gas-lit lamps giving off the light of faint, orange flames across the alley of rough wood and frost-stained stone, the icy path ahead would have been black as pitch.

Standing far from such lamps, along those cold walls shrouded by black shadows, an elven Vampire skulked in the dark. The blood curse that had claimed his mind and soul all those years ago tore at him as he followed his chosen prey with silent gusto while thoughts of feeding filled his mind.

The blood. It was all that he had ever lived for. At least, for as long as he could remember. He craved it as much as any man or elf would their food and drink, desired it as much as any of the eldritch Hellbourne loved their extremes of obsession. That, and the prey, of which brought forth the thrill of the hunt, and the joy of domination.

The prey who would be his chosen meal appeared to him as an elven girl in her teenage years, dressed in a hooded red longcoat embroidered with golden stitching. With her hood pulled over her yellow hair and a lantern held in the gloved grip of her left hand, she trudged along the narrow path in knee-high brown boots, her gaze focused upon the path ahead, seemingly unaware of what awaited her in the dark.

And as he waited from the safety of the shadows, the Vampire felt his brow furrow as he watched a pair of golden star-shaped earrings dangle from elven girl's knife-like ears. Sparkling in the dim light, they were shaped in the eight-sided star that was the symbol of the accursed being known as the living god Elicia. She, a human deity, who was both god and ruler of this Empire of Arcadia, where the sprawling city that was the Holy See of Arcadia was merely one of the many talons of its iron grip over all of frozen Melodia.

Truth be told, he knew little about the accursed god, aside from the stories told over the fire by the elders at the great tree that stood at the center of the Elvish Quarter within the slums of the Lower City. In a time before the blood curse had yet to claim his soul and body, he had learned from them that his people, the elves, were once masters of the world.

That once, centuries ago, they had a monopoly on the Hellbourne, practicing the eldritch rites and claiming the damned altars that brought forth the servants that would build and strengthen the reach of their great empire. The humans were but cattle back then, flesh and souls to be offered in the bloody rituals in a world where the elves held dominion.

And it had been so, most preferably so, until the accursed Elicia had arisen. The so-called god of humanity that had united the kingdoms and tribes of mankind under her single banner that was the Empire of Arcadia. Since then, the Hellbourne had chosen their master, and with them, the star of humanity was brought to eclipse over all. She, this human god, and all of her servants, be they the lowest ranked devata or the most powerful of her Archons and their lapdog Viziers, were the only things he hated more than the accursed sun that left him weaker than even the sickliest beggar.

But to think that this girl, a sister elf, could possibly bear such an evil symbol upon her ears! She was, without a shadow of a doubt, a traitor! Possibly a Vizier, one of the many lapdogs serving the various Archons of Elicia that ruled her domain in her accursed name as their own dominions united under her Law.

And if that was true, the thought of tearing her apart and draining all of her blood suddenly became all the more enticing. Such that he found himself scratching at the icy stone, imagining it to be her skin and flesh as his nails, gnarly and overgrown, cracked and split themselves upon ice and granite alike.

As he did so, as pangs of pain edged into his mind, his thoughts wandered to his last kill. Human, blonde and blue-eyed, she was the poster child of everything he hated. A devata, one of the Ecclesiarch's many accursed servants within her damned priesthood of the Central Church that spread the word of Elicia across the land.

Like the hooded, longcoat-wearing elf, she too, had golden baubles just like those earrings. They were easily worth far more than their weight in gold in the black market, their enchanted properties being prized highly by the many shamans and clerics operating outside of the Central Church's jurisdiction. And as worthless as the gold was, it was good enough to be bait for him to feast upon more of the damned sorcerers whose blood was so sickeningly sweet.

But the main joy of it all, of which he could still remember even now as he stalked a fresh kill, was the pleasure of feasting upon one of the living god's clergy. She had come here, far away from the safety of the Ancient Cathedral at the very apex of the Ecclesiarch's city, to start a soup kitchen for the wretches of this filthy slum. And even now, he could still recall with a fond lucidity, of how when cut off from her holy magics, she had begged so desperately for her Ecclesiarch and 'living god' to somehow intervene in her dying moments.

He had, after all, perfected a technique with the blood magic that came so naturally to him over the months of his hunting, much unlike the arcane sigils of the mortal races that were now beyond him. Carried within his saliva and infectious to the extreme, it ravaged the mind with a temporary bloodlust when his life essence intermingled with theirs, dispelling any sigils willed forth. It had allowed him more of his favourite prey, of whom were less than helpless when he gave unto them his accursed essence just as he consumed theirs.

And as he looked towards the elven girl once more, he couldn't help but wonder if she, from whose knife-like ears hung Elicia's accursed symbol, could be just like her.

The perfect prey.

Silently, the Vampire allowed himself a grin. She was, after all, radiating a lot of magical power, as was to be expected of a Vizier in service of an Archon of Elicia. Magical power that could easily be silenced by force of the blood magic.

And should his technique succeed, that he be able to slay and feast upon a Vizier's flesh and blood, who else could possibly stop him after that? There would be no hope for the other wretches, not even her Archon, to whom she was but a servant to a master. No escape for them all, be they men or elves.

Not even the Hellbourne.

With a furious cry like that of a discordant chorus of insectoid buzzing, the Vampire leapt out from the shadows and grabbed the red shoulders of his prey. With all of his unholy strength welling up within him, he pushed her against a nearby wall, pinning her thin frame against its cold and icy stone before she could even lift a finger in reaction.

Much to his surprise, however, the Vizier offered little in the way of resistance. From her crimson eyes radiated perverse delight, like a pair of bloody orbs glistening in the night.

"Took you long enough, you ugly bastard. Had me worried for a moment there, that you didn't have it in ya."

Amidst the cold air, the Vizier carried with her the scent of wilted roses, speaking her words with a tone that was sharp like the gleam of a dagger's edge. She smiled perversely at him, as sickly shades of green flashed dimly upon the veins of her pale skin.

However, he regained his composure soon enough. And with a mighty screech, he tore her throat open with his clawed hands in a single burst of unholy strength. He reached in to devour her life essence, his jaws salivating heavily with the blood magic that would silence her forever.

"Yeah, that's right. You know you want this."

And it was then, as the elven Vampire drank deeply of the essence of his latest prey, that his eyes widened at an unfamiliar sensation flowing down his throat.

"No…"

Cold, dry and rough, it tasted like powdered ice. And as he felt it form a lump within his throat, he began to choke and sputter, backing away step by step as his claws reached for his neck.

"The 'blood' of a Lich, if you can call it that, has magical properties," the elven Vizier taunted as she leaned against her end of the walled alley, smiling despite the massive tear in her throat. "Stuff that's far beyond your little trick, bloodsucker."

She took each step towards him slowly and surely, as though a spectre of death.

"But anyway, am I tasty? As tasty as that devata? Can only hope so!"

Still clutching his throat, the Vampire choked as he backed himself against the cold stone behind him. To think that Elicia's Archon, curse them, would have such a fiend in their employ! The Vizier was indeed, for all that he knew, death itself. For she was, to all that he knew to be true, a Lich. An entity at the very apex of the hierarchy of the undead. A monster, both bloodless and eternal.

"Everybody's gotta die sometime, so why don't you do so right now?"

With nowhere else to flee as the elven Lich approached, the Vampire stood in frozen horror, gasping bloodily as he watched her point a gloved finger in his direction while tears of dust, much like that leaking from her wounds, trickled down from her crimson eyes.

"I insist."

As dust leaked from his gaping mouth, the Vampire saw the crimson light of the Lich's sigil. Stemming forth from around the tip of her finger, its bloody lines formed the symbol of a crown of thorns. Bloody and unerring, perverse like the ire of the gods.

And as he gazed upon its malignant light, he felt something absolutely awful churning from within his stomach.

"Ah…"

It was a searing pain, one that acted inside of him as if to tear his very soul asunder. As though his very body was but a conduit for the implacable energies now surging through his unholy veins. Such that he found from within the silencing pain, a burst of strength to scream his lungs out despite the dust choking him, if only to convey his horror and agony to all of the Holy See of Arcadia and starless heavens above.

"Your flesh is willing, after all…" the elven Lich remarked, her words little more than a cold whisper. "I envy you, in a way…"

As the Vampire slumped against the icy wall behind him, right into the bloodstains wrought from his own flesh, he let out a bloodied gurgle as death itself, cloaked in red and gazing cruelly in crimson, glowered over him as he crumpled to the floor.

"No…"

Truly, was this how they all felt? Indeed, was this what it truly meant to be, dare he say it, prey?

"Wh-what… who are you… Vizier… Lich…"

The elven Lich looked him in the eye, giving him her best smile as her visage faded out before his very eyes.

"Elena de L'Enfer. Your end, bloodsucker."

Just as everything and everyone around him too, faded to black. Slowly yet surely, and forevermore.