Note: WolfBane2 doesn't own Vampire Game. This story takes place during Volume Three, picking up in Duzzell's point of view after he leaves the first round of the tournament while still in Ishtar's form.
Humans are always slightly lost. It's a basic characteristic. It explains a lot about them.
- Terry Pratchett, "Lords and Ladieees"
I stand in a hallway on one of the upper floors of the building where the La Naan fighting tournament competitors are housed. Now having put distance between myself and the tournament arena, I allow myself the luxury of using my heightened senses to spy on the progress of the brawl between Laphiji and Vord that had broken out as I slipped away from the battlefield. Good. The squabble has been resolved. I am pleased with myself for being able to fool Darres for such a relatively lengthy period of time, while we sat in the audience. I am not cocky enough to believe I duped him completely, no. But I believe I performed well enough that he has no real reason to investigate the sudden switch in outfits that must have become apparent when the truth Lady Ishtar retook her seat.
The patter of footsteps echo faintly in the corridor that I had passed through just a minute before, alerting me to the presence of another's approach. The footsteps are quick, but heavy enough so that I distinguish them as male. I am not particularly surprised when Prince Seiliez's voice rings through the air, calling my name. Dutifully, I turn to face him, intending to quickly remedy whatever he wishes of Lady Ishtar, and send him on his way as soon as possible. It would not do to have Darres or someone of equal importance stumble upon me in this form after Ishtar retakes her place in the tournament stands.
As I wait, Seiliez skids up to me, breath accelerated. Poor hopeful fool, he must have pursued what appears to be Lady Ishtar from the fighting arena all the way to the inner chambers where we now stand. "Were you watching me? I won the first round!" he pants, gazing up at Lady Ishtar's eyes with a look of eager anticipation, like a dog waiting to be praised for performing one of the tricks that humans are so fond of teaching them.
His brothers have bewildered me. Despite keen observations during my encounters with them (including that encounter with Prince Vord, which was a bit TOO up-close-and-personal), I have sensed absolutely no trace of Phelios within them. Vord irritates me for no particular reason except the fact that I dislike him (and the kissing incident did not help him win my favor). Prince Laphiji seems to be tolerable enough, but spectacular though his battle-magic skills may be (albeit his weakness for his brother), there is nothing about him that gives me reason to think he is even descended from Phelios. However, though my doubt in his siblings lingers, Seiliez most definitely is of the royal family's bloodlines. I can smell the traces of Phelios's blood running through his veins. His blood is not as pure as Lady Ishtar's, but it is still there enough to mark him a descendant of Phelios. What confuses me is the lack of it in his brothers. But there will be adequate time for explanations in the future. After all, I am an immortal. I have all of time's existence laid out before me.
Seiliez's fearsome strength in his fight against his dark-haired brother is worrying. It is not enough to threaten my potential power, of course. What is unnerving about it is that it was completely uncharacteristic. From what I have gathered from his other family members, he is (to say the least) usually an extremely inadequate fighter. Logically, he shouldn't have had a snowball's chance in hell of defeating either of his brothers, let alone the one who championed last year's competition. But the defining factor that proclaims he has enlisted unnatural aid in the tournament is the scent that hangs in the air around him even now. A normal human being would have to be extraordinarily sensitive to feel it, but I am not human. I see more. His aura is stained with the crimson color that separates a vampire's aura from a mortal's. He has not yet completely given himself to the drinkers of blood, but he has surrendered a small portion of his life force in order to gain the strength he requires for this tournament. He reeks of the undead. If he continues to borrow power in this way, soon he will be lost forever to the legion of immortals that I once commandeered, long ago.
This is not good. It should not be this way. Now, as the former King of Vampires, I usually have no passionate response against someone sacrificing themselves to the legion of the undead. But this particular someone is descended from Saint Phelios, the sworn slayer of my kind. Surely enough of that pride should be in his genes so that even his diluted blood should be enough to keep this mortal from willingly surrendering himself to the vampires. Phelios gave his life to destroy me, as well as to keep his descendants from ever even considering what this prince is doing now. Why would you do such a thing, Seiliez?
Ah, yes. To win Ishtar. Both he and Vord seem determined to put themselves through great trials just to win her favor. Poor dunces; they should have realized at the beginning that despite her promise to wed the competition winner, she only wishes to take one person for her husband, and that neither of them is he. For some reason, the thought fills me with bitterness. But should it occur that she marries Darres, I will most likely do nothing to alter it. He is a decent man, he will treat her well and be a more-than-satisfactory mate for her. But what will be, will be. For now, I can only wait and watch what occurs. It may not happen at all; Nature enjoys throwing her children off guard. But even this I cannot be sure of. Vampires were a genetic accident, not of this world; they are not the children of natural causes.
Seiliez looks at the face that resembles Lady Ishtar's expectantly, waiting for my-no, her response. Suddenly I am possessed by a sadness that is foreign to me; a sadness that a descendant of Saint Phelios would ever give up a part of himself to the vampires that Phelios so resisted in exchange for power, even if it was done in love for another. Compelled by this uncharacteristic sorrow, I raise a hand and brush the side of his face with Lady Ishtar's fingers. Sweet puppy, you should have more pride than to throw your soul away from a girl who will never desire you. His thick blonde hair slides over the back of my hand; the silky locks obviously are meticulously groomed by their owner. Something within me pangs at how similar the sensation is to the feeling of Phelios's hair, so many years ago yet still so sharp in my mind.
"I didn't see all of it," I tell him, Ishtar's features set to reveal little. I cannot have him guess that this form is an impostor, a mockery of the true Lady Ishtar. "But I heard you fought like a man possessed." He twitches involuntarily beneath my fingers, taking a sharp breath in surprise. He is mildly startled that the person who appears to be Ishtar has phrased her answer in that particular way. Perhaps he is a bit nervous that she has possibly discovered the strength he displayed for her was not his own.
Before he has ample time to counter my subtle accusation, I stretch forward and capture his lips with Lady Ishtar's own. Instinct, desire for the face that holds a fraction of the spirit of the one I hunt, sorrow, it all mixes together into a jumbled reason for my action. In the instant before he automatically shuts his eyes, I see the hazel orbs that are so similar to the ones in my past, although different enough to further my sadness, are alike enough to his that I am overcome by regret. I am not alike to the being that I was when I first began my quest to transform the kingdom of Pheliosta into a vampire colony, for there was never a vampire created that could long regret. But now I do. I regret.
Then again, the undead were never meant to love. We possess. We pursue. We do not love. At least, we're not supposed to.
Damn you, Phelios.
As his lips move beneath the lips that are controlled by me yet are not mine, I can sense his inner virility. It is true, Seiliez does not possess the physical strength of those that are called his brothers but do not share the qualities of his blood. I will investigate their peculiarities further when the opportunity presents itself. However, there is still heart within him. He is still good, and brave. This is why I do not wish to see him become a vampire. Those who are slaves to the undead have no hearts; their heartbeat ceases as they gain the power they so desire. To witness a descendant of Phelios fall into darkness would be the utmost sadness, for both their ancestor and for I. Even the Devil does God's bidding.
My grief permeates the kiss, a mixture of regrets for both the past and the present. This time, the sorrow tolls in another tone; sadness not for what I could not have, but for what Lady Ishtar could not give to this boy who believed himself willing to give away the pride of his bloodline in order to win her love. Wordlessly, I turn away from Seiliez, ignoring the lost aspect in his eyes as he gazes after the one he thought he loved. I return to Lady Ishtar's chambers, my sanctuary, and shed her body as if it were a trap. In the form of the Kyawl whose mother sold her son's body to avenge his siblings, I gazed upon the courtyard, and mourned for all things lost.
Author's Note: Not much to say. I bought the 3rd and 4th volumes of Vampire Game, read them, and it kind of just went from there. I'm not even certain why that particular moment in the book made me want to write a one-shot; it just came. The plot bunnies need no reasons. And yes, I'm aware that Vont and Laphiji are actually not blood-related to Phelios. But at this point in the volume, Duzell wasn't sure of that, and this is written from his point of view. Please note that the author of this fic, at the time of writing, has only read Volumes 1, 3, and 4, so basically any and every bit of information in this fic has a high likelihood of being, at best, wildly inaccurate. Please review.