Disclaimer: I do not own VK or King James' Bible

Warnings: Dark themes, politics, implied sex, and disturbing situations

"And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs."

-Revelation 17:6

One hundred and twenty days.

The affair between Mother and Haruka lasted for a hundred and twenty days until Haruka's departure.

After the ignition of their lust, Haruka often discovered himself in his Mother's bed in the evening and silently picking up his clothes from the floor and returning to his chamber in thief's manner.

Mother taught him of many things during their dirty affiliation.

Her fingers guided his and told him to listen carefully where it would pleasure a woman, of infinite knowledge of flicker of tongue and arousing touches, something the books he had read never taught of: the sexual pleasure that was as old and mysterious as the beginning of life.

She would mew in her soft voice and whisper in breathless words while his hands traveled the secret streams, soft mountains, and deep valleys of her body.

"Yes… Haruka, like this… more… yes, you are doing it… Haruka…"

She would lie on her large, pale bed. Her gown pushed aside to reveal her full breasts, inviting him to join her when he entered the room after receiving her message. He was always reluctant to meet Mother, often pace to and fro in his chamber until he was almost late, but then he remembered that she needed him and he promised her… Despite his dying morals, he couldn't help but end up upon her bed again that evening.

Her pale slender fingers would often tangle themselves amongst Haruka's silken hairs and she would grasp them tightly when he did something right and slacken when they finish and she reached climax.

Haruka panted and sweat formed beads that dripped from his pained brows.

They were always careful with their affair. They chose days where Father was gone which was often, maybe on a business trip to deal with the Senate, or some thickly-veiled escape with his mistresses. It didn't matter. His Father was a busy man and seldom stayed at the mansion for elongated period of time.

Juuri might have suspected, but she had quickly dismissed it from her mind, deeming it impossible. Maybe Haruka was too busy, maybe he had something more important to do than to help her with her course work, maybe he…She overestimated the decency of Haruka, forgetting that the Kuran will always have strands of twisted cruelty and shades of hunger to them. For in her not-yet-mature mind, Haruka presented the saintly epitome of righteousness and kindness unrelated to the nature of the Kuran. However, Haruka always seemed to have spare time for their Mother, which bought the first twinge of jealousy into Juuri's mind, and she began to see her Mother as an emotional rival for affections in this household. The more she acted respectful to her Mother, showering her with sweet adoration to her cold frigid Mother who mostly ignored her presence, the less Juuri loved her in her heart.

Of course, the servants knew very well from their everlasting but hidden presence in the Kuran mansion to their chores of changing tousled beds. They knew very well of the wicked activities going on underneath of the glossy surface of the Kuran family, in fact, it was not so surprising to the older ones. However, they were paid to serve and not to think, and a careless waggle of tongue could cost them their lives.

It was a well-kept secret.

It was four months.

It was one hundred seventy-two thousand and eight hundred hours.

It was a hundred and twenty one days of Sodom and sin.

Haruka's thoughts were faraway; wondering whether Mother was alright without him and whether her strings of lover ever stopped. He thought about Juuri fondly and wished of her good health. She was a lovely little girl and he wished for her to never be tainted with the Kuran sins.

"How are you finding the little gathering?" Aaliyah asked him as the hostess of a small affair, long before they began their little, scandalous trysts.

It was the first time Aaliyah had spoke to him during the time when Haruka had first arrived to the country and had the first taste of bitter failure.

Haruka recognized Aaliyah by sight from various events and snobbish parties. She was the daughter of a retired Senator, who in his youth was quite respected for his ideal and statue as a veteran as he slowly faded out of the court scene. Aaliyah, through arrangements, married a lowly businessman for a couple of years. They were seemingly happy until the businessman brutally murdered during an official trip to discuss eastern cotton production by the guerillas who believed the newly installed government was the root of all the troubles –the extended drought, the devastating famine, and tyrannical oppression. They tore off her husband's bloody limbs and packaged it to her house one part each month until they ran out of her husband. It mutated into the gossip of the year for the bored, high class ladies, who muttered sympathetic words with famished eyes glittered with excitements for nothing enlightened their lackluster lives more than spilled blood and interesting, grotesque matters.

"I had a pleasant time," Haruka smiled politely but distantly at her. "The cakes were delicious."

Her eyes stared at him so annoyingly that a primal desire in him bubbled to slit those emerald pearls out.

Haruka glanced back coldly when he sensed her scrutiny. He swallowed impatiently as the afternoon sun dawned upon them and the blades of grass reflected those painful rays like pale mirrors. His patience wore thin as the atmosphere grew more unbearable. His mouth parted as he breathed heavily with unease.

He longed to depart from this perfunctory afternoon tea after tasting the dessert and chatting heedlessly with various important members of the cabinets who grumpily made a presentable appearance while some were absent due to their urgent crafts. Haruka was getting ready to leave as he sent the loyal Windshire to fetch the carriage who ran off like an over-eager puppy, but taking an extraordinary, irritatingly long time to do so.

He closed his eyes, submerging his enflamed pupils in watery darkness as he leaned against the bark of tree, trying to remain composed and cool.

"What are you doing?" he caught her hand before she touched him, aiming at his forehead. He was surprised by the coolness of her flesh and her concerned eyes.

"You look pained," she said simply, still watching him with her green eyes, peering from her warm, brown skin. Her fingers drooped like wilted flowers as they failed their mission, "I thought maybe you are not used to the heat of his country, and fell to the heat stroke. Father told me to check on his guests."

"No, I am fine," he denied and released her hand quickly, not used to the touch. He paused hesitantly and said, "Thank you."

She looked at his face firmly as if she was testing the truthfulness of his words. Then she glanced away with a careless sigh, "Never mind then. Have a good day, Mister Kuran."

She strolled off in her fluttering traditional dress of thick, dipping damask in a manner as if she were stepping on clouds instead the leaves of grass.

Such incident left a little mark on his view of her, and she became vivid against the dull and grey collection of gibbering social cliques.

They never actively sought for each other, but few looks and, few words were flitted between them as lovely seasons of parties and afternoon teas passed and left in a sweeping, longing fashion like the lacy hems of sophisticated ladies.

Sometime in the flying days, he felt a desire, a want, and despite the warning he felt, glowering in disguise of words of his Father, echoing in his mind like cursed requiems, Haruka reached for her and she looked at him with her beautiful, colorful eyes, and smiled.

There began their courtship. The affair started with careful touches and softly said words at dimly lit restaurants, then it was secret oscular activities in the dark of the shadows, slow and deliberate, sensual and alluring. It was in the movement of the tongue and the light dusting of touches which made him shuddered with famished lust. When he led her to his chamber, Haruka did not hesitate, while he was a considerate lover, but he wasn't careful for he understood he would not be her first or her last.

They were both creatures of congenial nature.

Haruka was a twice cursed man, first by nature and by parentage, offered as a sacrificial lamb for all the sins of his kind.

Aaliyah accepted that. She took him into her warm embrace and listened when no one could: he had found enemies and disbelievers in his family while fervent admirers in Windshire and Aidoh.

Where he knew she didn't understand the words that dripped from his lips like a loose faucet, yet he wanted someone to hear him. It was a pathetic weak emotion that he wished to disown, to part it from himself, but it was also the only visible vulnerability he allowed himself to express within the limits of his bounds for he had been wondering thoughtlessly through these dark empty halls for too long.

Haruke remembered his first failure as the General stroke down his proposal mercilessly in mid-session and jested at his attempt while the whole court watched on with greedy eyes and vicious grins plastered on their faceless visages.

Haruka was cruelly humiliated and his pride torn into shreds all for the sake of the General to establish his authority over everyone and anyone, even someone sent from a respectable source.

He had only suggested instead of the proposed plan of executing the whole army of rebellious guerilla, with an estimate of a thousand men, to have a public stoning of the leader as an example for all the others. Fear of death may be a more effective weapon and tool of manipulation than the wasted lives of young, healthy men with combat experience. It would be easy to twist their thoughts and sculpt them into the soldiers and man power this country desperately needed.

However, the General decided that the young men have made their choice and the execution must be carried out for betrayal could only be atoned with death. The General had no tolerance for traitors and was furious that Haruka wished to disobey despite his fierce advocacy for their death.

The Parliament appeased to the Senate's decision, because after all, those members were just dancing puppets of the General who chose them according to their loyalty to him, filthy tyranny under the glossy pretext of a fair regime.

As Haruka gathered his power, corruption filtered through his fingers and fell upon his lap. His methods were as dirty as it was tangled where every pawn, rook, and bishop was affiliated and stringed together through their pearls and jewels of moneyed and dishonored ties.

Too bad he had never found a fondness for chess, or otherwise he would have adored this game.

"I beat you again!" Rido laughed with triumph.

Haruka blinked, unable to understand the reason of such happiness. He was awful at chess because he didn't understand why was the King so weak, and why was the knight's move so limited and odd yet it was the most powerful weapon on the board, while Rido had years of experience with playing with Father and various adults during their spare time. Rido was quite the celebrated chess player.

Haruka pursed his lips and felt the first inkling of anger at his loss and at Rido. But he felt ashamed for such disgusting emotions and quickly brushed it away.

Rido, at the realization of his petty action, blushed and replied humbly, "Of course, Haruka you tried very hard. It was a good game."

He held out his hand over the ivory checked board.

Haruka shook it grudgingly, and sat back down.

"C'mon Haruka," Rido could tell that his little brother was upset by the way the cute little pureblood pouted and lightly bent his brows. "I'm sorry I acted a bit arrogant."

"I am not mad," Haruka answered in a deflated voice as he fingered an ivory pawn in his hand.

"Rido…" Haruka hesitated as he swallowed with difficulty, "Am I weak for a pureblood?"

The delicate little pawn in Haruka fingers suddenly exploded into million of white marbles, and Rido commanded furiously, slamming his fist onto the elegant board and the poor, expensive things cracked, "What? Who said that? Is it that baron again? I thought I had given him a quite unforgettable warning about harping on purebloods!"

Haruka's mouth parted in astonish at Rido's heated response. "I just heard it around…" Haruka faltered sadly. His fingers twisted into a nervous bundle. "The maids sometime don't know I could hear them talking…" He looked up abruptly, "I didn't mean to listen to their conversation, but…"

Haruka continued before Rido could interrupt, "I know Father thinks I am soft because I don't like punishing servants or vampires under us when they are disrespectful. I know I dislike killing level Es… but does that make me weak?"

"No," Rido said firmly, "You are my brother. You are not weak. If you don't like inflicting pain on others, then I will do it for you. If you don't like killing level Es, I will kill them for you. Trust me, you are not weak. You are just kind-hearted, though I don't know who you inherited that trait from, but when I am the heir, no one will say anything wicked about you. I will make sure of it."

Rido reassured Haruka warmly with blood thirsty determination hardening in his eyes, "When I am the heir, I will have so much power that no one will doubt your kindness anymore. I will be able to do anything I want."

"I promise you Haruka," Rido said confidently, comforting his beloved little brother.

Haruka sighed wearily and ran a hand through his hair as he sat outside the General's office as he had waited for the last couple of hours.

He had dozed off momentarily, and thought about an old pass time between Rido and him.

He disliked those sudden relapses that bought memories of things that should not be bothering him so for the past few years. The smallest things will trigger some sensitive sensation and images would rush into his brain, causing him pain and sadness of the innocent beauty that will never return again.

Haruka exhaled and glanced at the secretary.

The secretary had promised that the General will receive him in ten minutes, but those minutes have past and gone yet no sign that he would be relieved of this infuriating punishment yet.

Windshire came back last night with dangerous signs. He spoke seriously of some surprise attack on all important military capitals planned, but couldn't say the vague time it would struck for he explained that he had only caught winds of it. Windshire had inferred that it might strike the end of summer or early autumn during where all people of this culture prepare their Festival to welcome the coming of cooler air, but his sources were discovered and he had heard no more from them. Windshire had always handled the external affairs while Haruka worked in the capitals to secure their wobbling position.

Windshire recounted that the guerillas were heavily and greatly armed, funded by some neighboring countries and great corporations who looked forward to developing their domination over the country's rich natural resource when then tyranny or rather when the General's power crumbles. They were the same companies who invested in the death of the old government when its sovereigns were protective of their land and wouldn't allow their exploitation, but when the new government and the General usurped the golden crown and the bejeweled scepter, he grew greedy and his eyes lit up like a wolf's yellow pupils at the prospects of the abundant resources and the wealth it would bring. He raised the price of those metallic goods, creating a monopoly of the precious metals, and when those investors discovered that their puppets sprouted conscious of its own, they interfered. They required a new doll that bowed down to their will, to train a new dog.

The guerilla offered their hands for they were desperate for any kind of aid, and the unholy union was formed.

One of the investors was an organization established by the Kuran family, directed and babied by the very heir of the Kuran clan.

Father never wanted the General's success. He wanted to control the government, to be the master of marionettes, not share it with some foolish human.

Haruka was just a smokescreen to mask his desire and his plans, presence to bend to the General's wishes but sinking a fatal silvery blade into the running veins of this country that sprawled like capillaries of a leave while he distracted all, the final play and the final director of the show, the mastermind.

Haruka couldn't lose for the pride of Kuran nor should he win for the success of the Kuran.

His Father had cornered Haruka like a trapped beast. Haruka had struggled against those rough and tight chains that bounded his ankles and wrists, locking himself for hours in his room thinking, just thinking for a path to a perfect solution until Windshire knocking, worrying for Haruka's silence. Haruka was bleeding and he gave up in that cage where its walls scrawled with his suffering.

In the end, he called Winshire to his room and expressionlessly gave him instructions.

Haruka stared at the elaborate crimson walls of the waiting room outside the General's office and asked himself why he was doing this, why he bothered trying to save this worthless piece of trash. The General was a despicable, unpleasant man whom he spent five years with trying to change his ways with no avail. It had done nothing because annoyance and pain for him.

Haruka stood up and with a polite smile, told the secretary that he must leave now and he would discuss with the General next time.

As Haruka left, a woman from a nearby brothel ushered her perfumed coquettes in, and one of them complained loudly of uncouth places and another eyed with flirtation.

He could hear the secretary informing in his deadpan voice that that the General had been waiting for them and asked them to come into his office.

Nausea rose up Haruka's throat, threatening to spill, and he felt sickened to the stomach.
He raised his hand and signaled for his carriage.

That night he sat outside of on his balcony, watching the magnificent night view of the city, with its dotted colorful lights that seems so magical in the way it formatted puzzles and constellations of the land. Its old, beautiful architecture that flowered by its earthy streets where merchants sat with their basket of goods in front lined its streets. The dry and hot air of the day cooled in the mystic night where he could trace every single star of the galaxy.

It was a lovely city, especially at night.

Then Haruka murmured Windshire's name.

"Haruka?" the young man materialized almost instantly.

"Cancel all operations," Haruka said, "We are pulling out."

"What?" sputtered Windshire, bewildered, "But all our hard work! What's Master Kuran going to say? Your reputation back home is going to be…"

"Butchered?" Haruka laughed, "I am ready with my punishment. What's the worst they could do to me, a pureblood?"

"…Fine," Windshire agreed bitterly, "When are we leaving?"

"I have a rather special plan for that. It will entertain you Windshire," Haruka said lightly. "I think you will appreciate it."

Windshire stared at Haruka's face for a moment and sighed, "What do you need me to do?"

"Rido," a young ten-years old Haruka approached Rido wearily. His fingers mingled into a guilty knot.

Rido looked up from the chair where he nursed his wounds and attempted to smile, but winced when it pulled on a bad laceration.

"I'm sorry," Haruka whimpered as he watched the bleeding cuts.

"No!" Rido shook his head quickly, "Don't worry Haruka it will heal soon. It doesn't even hurt that much!" But his pale visage and slightly trembling fingers betrayed him.

"I should have killed that level E," Haruka came by Rido like a frightened puppy, testing if Rido would reject him. A part of him wished he did so Haruka could be punished and feel a peace of mind, but another part was deathly afraid of losing the only person Haruka ever felt close to. "I shouldn't have let my emotions get better of me."

"It is okay. Dad didn't hit me that hard!" Rido tried to play it off, but swallowed with difficulty when the bruise sent another jolt of pain shooting up his cheek. "At least he didn't punish you. He only punished me and I am glad you didn't get hurt, Haruka."

"I wished he did…" Haruka murmured, eyeing the bloody bruise on Rido's cheek where he took the blow from Father who was furious to discover that instead of Haruka, Rido had took his place and murdered the notorious killer of several virgins of nearby region and drifted near due to the concentration of pureblood presence. Vampire were always attracted to powers.

Rido had defended Haruka when Haruka was questioned and openly defied his own Father for the first time, insisting that this "course" wasn't necessary and Haruka didn't need to do this. Rido was severely castigated from his much admired Father and Haruka didn't suffer a cut after being ordered out of the chamber so Father could "speak" to Rido alone.

Haruka had heard the blow echoing down the hall and felt that it blood had frozen in his veins.

Haruka promised himself. The next time he will not be weak. He must be strong for Rido. He couldn't let Rido take his punishment anymore since Father realized that it was the best way to hurt his younger son: to be tortured by immense guilt.

Haruka swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut as scent of delicious blood flooded the air.

He must expel this uncharacteristic personality from himself and become a real pureblood.

"You have been acting strange for the past few weeks," Aaliyah said with certainty.

Haruka looked up from the mutton he had been cutting to answer with a smile, pretending as if he had never left, and returned to slicing the mutton meat from the bone. It was a bit too overcooked, he noted.

"What is going on?" Aaliyah was not to be distracted with a single, charming smile. "What are you planning?" Her brows tangled themselves into a messy bow. She placed her fork down and watched Haruka with a frown.

Haruka met her eyes, lowered his knife and reached to caress her soft, exotic face. He leaned over, kissed her, and said, "Are you sure you don't want to leave with me?"

"I'm sure," she replied with impatience in her voice. "I am concerned about you, Haruka. You are barely answering my questions."

"Really?" Haruka raised an eyebrow, and asked, "How are you enjoying the food?"

"It's lovely," Aaliyah closed her eyes in annoyance, and snapped. "Haruka, stop avoiding my question. What the hell is going on?"

"I think it is better if you don't know," Haruka finally replied. He looked calmly at Aaliyah's face. "I would hate for you to get yourself involved in this political intricate. I just want to enjoy this dinner with you without having to think about my work. It is stressful right now, and I could only feel relieved of it with you."

"You are not going to get yourself killed, right?" Aaliyah allowed emotion to break through her voice. She realized it, caught herself, and laughed herself silly. "I'm sorry. I just don't deal with this very well. You know, my late husband…" her eyes of soften with old affection, "It's nothing." She shook her head with a hasty smile and a quick change of tone.

"I will not be killed," Haruka touched her fingers, and wrapped his hand around them, comforting her. "It is hard to destroy me. Don't worry." He was surprised she brought up her late husband. She didn't talk about him much in their time together. Strangely, because she would converse about anything else. He had only gathered sparse information about her marriage from Windshire, he knew nothing about it from her.

She nodded and picked up her fork.

"But," Haruka started with a gentle smile, "I am happy that you worried for me. Where I grew up, no one ever harbored this emotion for me. They've all expected perfection. You are the first one that worried for me. I am really happy."

Aaliyah stared at him and said, "Now I can't even be mad at you anymore."

Later that night, they walked around the lake resting outside the bounds of the city, strolling leisurely and talking with each other. He held her hand and led her on around the artificial lake, where its surface wimbled with the light wind under the silvery moonlight. The nights were chilly in the desert. He took off his jacket and draped it around Aaliyah's shoulder.

"You've always hid something from me, Haruka," she pointed out lightly.

"I can't tell you," he replied in an apologetic tone.

"Never? Even at this time?"

"Maybe in a hundred years," Haruka smiled, gazing up at the black, clothed sky. He was always more energetic during the night as she had noticed, "On the eve of your birthday, I will come to you and tell you my secret." So please live for a long, long time, Aaliyah.

"What if I die before that time, will I never know it then?"

"Then," Haruka picked up a flat stone from the ground and flicked it on the surface of the silvery lake. They both watched it skipped on the roiling water for many steps until it finally sunk under, pulling by magnetic forces.

"Then…" his pupils reflected the perfect moon, "In a hundred years, I will come to your grave, sing you a requiem, dig a small hole in the ground, and whisper my secret into it."

"I will try to live until we meet again," Aaliyah agreed softly.

"We will," Haruka promised. "You are a very strong woman, Aaliyah."

He had reserved a small cabin around the area for the night. It was a nice to spend a careless night with her without having to think about all the other frivolous frustrations, like the strange calm before the storm, or a fitter description, he rested in the eye of the storm, where the walls of blasting winds circled and threatened him.

After a heated and passionate lovemaking, he watched her figure rolled off him, touching his sides only lightly. She grasped the sheets tightly against her sweating face that glittered like diamonds against chocolate, facing the opposite direction so he couldn't see her expression. His eyes traced down the graceful lines of her back as her cover only concerned itself with her front. Her thick, messily coiling hair adored her bare scented shoulders and neck, trickling down in rich curls, glistened in the white moonlight on the white bed.

"Aaliyah, I am leaving," Haruka said. His words lingered in the air and died away, blown apart by the cool breeze.

She didn't answer him. If the air didn't tremble with the pattern of her breaths, he would have thought she had fallen asleep.

It was a long time, until he had given up for a reply.

She spoke evenly, her voice slightly hoarse from wear. She said calmly, almost too calmly, "I will miss you."

They didn't exchange any words after that, but he was quite sure that none of them slept that night.

In the morning, they ate breakfast together quietly, speaking in soft words only when necessary.

Afterward, he kissed her gently on the forehead and thanked her for all the kindness she had given him these years.

She shook her head and answered that it was nothing, sharing a last embrace, burying her face against his chest because she didn't want to see his expression.

Everything was caring and slow as if it were a precious ritual between them.

As she turned away to her carriage, he said, "Wait…"

She spun around, looking at him expectantly.

"Tell me…" his voice cracked a little in the end, "Tell me about your husband." The forbidden subject, something they avoided in great detail, but he wanted to know suddenly. He wanted to know about her youthful passion and love. He wanted to know how she was before they've meet. He wanted to know about her love that he never received. He wanted to know about the rotten wound that she never recovered from, and sometimes, he knew she felt like she was betraying that man he never seen by being his lover.

"Amir," she inhaled as if she were trying to steady herself, but it still came out broken, "Amir was twenty when we married. He liked my smile and my eyes. He used to cook scramble eggs on Sunday mornings for me. When he leaves for his work… he always kisses me and tells me he will come back by seven. When he made love to me," water in her eyes wobbled dangerously, "it was slow and sensual as if he had all the time in the world. He could give me anything I want, and he… he will never return to me again."

When it was time to leave this wonderful dream, they held each other's gaze for a moment, his dark crimson and her golden green, and without words, without sounds, as the wind blew quietly, they parted ways with silence farewells.

Without warning, spring came and left, carrying with her, thousands of delightful colors and warmth.

Slowly summer crept in with little orange cat's feet, bringing with him rains of fire and foreboding shadow of Mars, the god of warfare.

The golden green grasses curled up into yellowing dead blades. But flowers blossomed beautifully, as young buds burst open and invited flirtatious bugs to their lustful beds.

Haruka noted the seasons passing and began the countdown.

A/N: I am really, really sorry for the lack of updates. I took a break for school, and then my computer was infected with a virus. But that's no excuse, however I am back now and I've planned out the storyline.

I am hesitated about posting this chapter, because originally, it didnt have much to do the with Kuran family and more to do with Haruka's life beyond it. I wasn't sure if anyone would be interested in it, so I divided it with sections from Haruka and Rido's childhood.

If you are still reading this story, thank you very words from my readers are encouragements and help me in finishing this story.