AN: In Wasteland Kingdom I mentioned that Raziel and Melchiah were on good terms at one point. This was sort of a throw away idea based on the close proximity of their territories and the fact that Melchiah is the only brother Raziel feels remorse for killing, albeit briefly. Then I started asking myself... well, how did they become friends? What kind of relationship did they have? And just who is this Melchiah guy anyway? That is the story of this story.

Nosgoth, 500 years after the birth of Kain
Kain's Retreat

The young vampire studied a mural in the hallway of his master's home. A man of about thirty, a noble by the looks of his fine suit of armor, posed in front of a red curtain, wearing an oppressive smirk on his heavy features. Melchiah recoiled from it. Next to this painting was another, more recent portraiture of the same man, if he could still be called that. The vampire Kain loomed over him, the Soul Reaver clasped at the hilt. It was a vicious looking weapon, Melchiah thought. The blade snaked from hilt to tip in an S-like pattern and the cross guard was adorned with what appeared to be a vampire's skull; the eyes sometimes glowed an otherworldly blue. Melchiah sensed something terrible in that blade. He hated to look at it, even in this innocuous form.

Weapons in general displeased him. Although he had only awakened a few nights ago, he felt firmly in his soul that he was something called a pacifist. That brought up a curious question. What was he doing here?

He remembered gasping for breath in darkness surrounded by other people, the ones Kain called his brothers. Someone gave him something to drink though he nearly choked on it at first, as soon as he emptied his cup he felt greedy for more. The absence of that warm, copper-tasting liquid pained him immensely. The next thing he remembered was waking up here in his room. A vampire called Kain, whom he would learn was his maker, called them all together and informed them of their situation, giving them all names. The others were called first: Raziel, Turel, Dumah, Rahab, and Zephon. He was named last (an injustice to his mind, though he voiced no disagreement). His name was Melchiah.

From the moment he laid eyes on Kain, Melchiah knew his maker was a violent man from the coldness in his eyes. The others - Raziel, Turel, and Dumah - possessed a similar callousness. Rahab and Zephon were harder to read and he felt all the warier of his steely faced brothers.

Could he be as ruthless as they, if he had to? For the right cause he supposed he could do anything. Trouble was, he still had no idea what brought him here. Near as he could tell, he simply popped into existence ex nilhilo a few nights ago.

While they adjusted to their new situation their master gave them nearly free reign over his mansion. There were human slaves in the dungeons below, so Melchiah never found himself in want of blood. He tried not to kill the slaves he fed from. The others did not seem to care. Some of the dungeons now held corpses. He curled his lip at the waste of life.

A pair of large, double-doors presided over the end of the hall. One of the doors was cracked open. He sensed one of his brothers on the other side. Ordinarily this would have been enough to convince him to leave the area quietly, until he spotted the rows upon rows of books on the other side. They were the first books he had ever seen in his life. It reminded him of his first taste of blood. Swallowing, he crept towards the door and poked his bald head inside. One of his dark haired brothers stood in front of the shelf with a book in his hands, back turned to the door. "Raziel?" Melchiah ventured.

He turned, showing a slightly startled frown. "Melchiah..." The name did not come to him immediately. They were all still learning the names Kain gave them, including their own, and with so many alien experiences bombarding them every night it was a wonder they found time.

Raziel shifted awkwardly, unsure of what to do with his brother standing in the doorway. Kain said they were brothers, he and Melchiah. He had other brothers, too, but he avoided them all. His brothers made him uneasy. Was it rude to hide from them? He felt nervous with Melchiah looking at him that way, both of them waiting for the other to do something. He took a deep breath. What should brothers say to each other? "Can I help you with something?" he said, sounding out the words as if speaking in a foreign language.

Melchiah licked his thin lips. Conversing with his brothers was a new experience for him, too. The word 'brother' conjured up feelings of familiarity and closeness, yet he felt absolutely certain that he had never met any of these vampires before in his life, what little he could remember, and knew even less about them than he did about himself. "No. I came to escape from the others."

He closed the book, using his thumb to mark the page. "Does that include me?"

The two brothers studied one another from a distance. They found it hard to meet eachother's gaze for any length of time. Their eyes flickered away shyly. "No," Melchiah said at last, tentatively stepping into the library. "Just the others. Dumah and Turel decided it's time to settle the pecking order. I don't like to fight. What are you reading?"

Raziel relaxed slightly. Personally he enjoyed fighting, or imagined he would if given the chance, but he had too much on his mind to be interested and felt relieved to know Melchiah would not be challenging him. "The tale of William the Just. Kain said I should learn it."

"He was here?" Melchiah raised his pencil thin eyebrows. Since the night of their awakening he usually only saw Kain in the presence of the others. Raziel nodded.

"He brought me here. I was asking questions so..."

Intrigued by this new information, Melchiah unconsciously moved a few steps closer. When he noticed Raziel tense he stopped immediately. He had no desire to make his new brother uncomfortable. "What kind of questions?" he asked gently.

Raziel wandered along the bookshelves, pretending to look for something. He walked as if greatly burdened. Though fatigue lined his face, he carried himself with a kind of dignity that seemed without effort. "What are we doing here. Why were we made. Pertinent questions."

He had been wondering the same thing. For the past few days, he feared he was the only one troubled by them and felt an immediate kinship toward Raziel for relieving him of his intellectual solitude. "Did he give you an answer?"

"Not so much." He stopped, turning to Melchiah and trying to read his expression. "He said we would write the next chapter in Nosgoth's history. We're going to be gods. Does that mean anything to you?"

Melchiah lowered his eyes sorrowfully. "I'm afraid I'm as lost as you are." He hesitated, afraid he might be on the verge of making a costly mistake in trust. "The truth is, I'm not even sure who I am. Do you feel that way?"

They lapsed into silence as they studied one another. This time Melchiah did not retreat from Raziel's bold stares, which were not as severe as he once believed; nor did Raziel feel compelled to turn away from Melchiah, for he now recognized the kind intentions in his brother's eyes. Raziel softly sighed. He stepped away from the shelves like a virgin ship leaving its moorings. "I know that feeling all too well. Is this normal?"

"I wish I could tell you," Melchiah replied with a sense of relief, meeting his brother in the middle of the room. Raziel looked to be slightly taller than him. Or was that only because Raziel had hair and he did not? No, he could not meet Raziel's jasmine eyes without tilting his head. Inwardly, he felt a little envious of Raziel's appearance. Melchiah was far from ugly himself. He had a soft, round face and feminine features, whereas Raziel's features were prominent and commanding. Standing with his brothers in front of Kain, Melchiah often felt unworthy, the weakest member of the group and certainly the least intimidating. In his heart he knew he must have something to offer.

"What are all these books?" Melchiah asked, eager to change the subject and put aside his envy. Raziel glanced over his shoulder.

"They're books about Nosgoth's history. Kain said we're welcome to them." He stopped suddenly, unsure of himself. "Well, that is, he said I'm welcome to them. I assumed he meant all of us. Surely he did. We are brothers after all..."

Melchiah stood beside him and scanned the shelves, reading the titles on a few of the books. None of them looked familiar. His skin prickled at the wonder of the mysteries these pages beheld. He felt as though he could spend hours, even days pouring over these texts without rest, meditating on them and slowly coaxing the meaning from their pages. Absently, he commented, "I've been thinking about that. We don't look much alike for brothers. Brothers should look alike, shouldn't they?"

Raziel painfully scrunched his brow. His head had been throbbing with questions ever since the night of his awakening. "I don't think we're those kind of brothers. Kain made us together, so we're brothers."

"That makes sense," he said thoughtfully. Somehow he never thought of it that way before. Another idea came to him. He mentioned it offhandedly, not expecting an answer. "Or we're like brothers in arms."

"In arms...?"

"Fighting for a common cause."

"What gives you that idea?"

"I don't know," he said honestly, beginning to feel guilty for thinking out loud in front of Raziel. He seemed easily troubled. Melchiah made a point to speak slowly, in the hope hearing a soothing voice would encourage Raziel to settle. "You said Kain wants us to... what was it... write the next chapter in Nosgoth's history, become gods. That sounds like it involves fighting to me."

"Who would we fight? It's just us here."

His brother made a good point. Other than the humans in the dungeon, Kain, and a few other vampires milling about Kain's mansion, they appeared to be alone in the world - except, of course, for these books. Surely they were not all written by Kain. As a matter of fact, based on his first impression, he would have felt surprised if their maker wrote anything longer than a telegram. Melchiah opened one of the books and scanned its pages. This one detailed the legend of a creature that terrorized a town called Uschtenheim. Some of the pages were missing. "Maybe we're going to fight the people in these books. That could be why he wanted you to read them. This one talks about a place called Oooh... Uschtenheim. It's in the mountains."

Raziel blinked hard as if in pain. "My head is spinning. Here, take a look at this. See if you can make sense of it."

Melchiah put his book away and opened the one Raziel handed him. The pages were beautifully detailed with woodcarvings and calligraphy. At first he barely recognized the words from the artwork. "This is an epic poem."

"Yes," Raziel said, as if he already knew. He gawked at Melchiah. "How do we know that?"

He smiled at the dizzied look on his brother's face. "No wonder your head is spinning."

"It's a legitimate question," Raziel replied curtly.

Melchiah's smile turned apologetic. "Pardon, I only meant to suggest that, given the incomprehensible nature of our situation, we should face these questions one at a time. You can't expect to have all the answers at once."

He fell silent a moment. Yes, that seemed logical. Taking a deep breath, he said with forced calm, "Perhaps you're right..." Having Melchiah here gave him a small sense of comfort. From nowhere, his brain mused, Misery loves company. He gestured at one of the chairs by the table. "Sit. Please. Let's figure this out."

They sat at a corner of the table and Melchiah opened the book between them. While Melchiah grasped the creative prose with ease Raziel needed to have metaphors and iambic pentameter explained to him, though he too soon caught on to the idea of poetry, even started to enjoy it, like re-mastering a long forgotten skill.

The Soul Reaver featured prominently in this tale. Strangely, the sword was wielded both by William and by a villainous vampire, whom Raziel and Melchiah deduced must have been Kain himself. The presence of the identical swords confused and discouraged them. Strangest of all, the Soul Reaver wielded by William shattered when Kain struck it with his, apparently identical version of the blade. They re-read this passage at least five times to make certain that they were not mistaking a metaphor for literal fact. Frustrated, Raziel finally dismissed the matter, hopeful that Kain would clear it up for them later.

There were also many allusions to something called The Pillars of Nosgoth and Pillar Guardians, particularly the Time Guardian, a character called Moebius. Melchiah cleared up the confusion by locating another book on the subject. Apparently, the Pillars were of great importance to the stability of Nosgoth. Their Guardians also possessed great power.

As the hours passed the atmosphere at the table grew unexpectedly informal and lively. Melchiah discovered he had a talent for reciting poetry and Raziel smiled gratifyingly at his dramatic flare. Their attention soon turned from their books to each other. Feeling comfortable enough to speak freely, Melchiah said somberly, "The more I learn about myself the more I feel as though I don't belong here. If we are meant to be brothers in arms, I doubt my adeptness at reading poetry will do us any good."

Raziel's expression became unreadable. Finally, he said, "I think intelligence is a valuable skill in any situation. You've been more helpful to me than Kain."

"I only talked to you," he said modestly, shrugging.

"You say the right things." Melchiah's presence made him feel at peace somehow. Perhaps it was his serenity. Whereas Raziel reacted to their strange circumstances with a furious hunger for answers, Melchiah, though equally curious, conducted himself with meditative patience, as if he could spend all night slowly turning the gears in his head while the stars whirred above, and there was a simplicity to him which Raziel found charming and reassuring.

Melchiah felt flattered and more than a little embarrassed. He reached for the book on the Pillars and opened it in his lap. Raziel sighed at him. "Listen, you're the first sensible person I've met in this place. If you ever need anything, see me first. For whatever reason Kain seems to favor me more than the others."

"I wouldn't want to impose on you," he said politely, privately offended by Raziel's pity. It was one thing for Melchiah to speculate about Kain's opinion of him. When someone else said it, his vanity was gravely wounded.

"Hardly. These books may be the key to understanding our role here. You're much quicker at deciphering them than I am."

"So you want me to help you learn Nosgoth's history."

"It may give us an advantage. Kain did say it was important."

Pretending to be absorbed in his reading, Melchiah's eyes slowly softened. Having Raziel as a friend might come in handy. Besides, he did genuinely like him. Raziel seemed to feel the same way. He glanced up at him, half-expecting to see the same callousness he saw when they first stood before Kain, but his jasmine eyes were clear. Perhaps Raziel was more complicated than he first realized. There was a spark of compassion in him somewhere. Of all of Kain's children, they two were the only ones who seemed to possess it.

1,000 years later
Melchiah's Lair deep in the Necropolis

Time changes everything. Sometimes we hold onto things long after we should. Whether or not he should have withdrawn from Melchiah, Raziel could not forget an old friend.

Melchiah's inner sanctum sweltered in rank perfumes. Rather than cover up the stench of decay, they coupled with it, siring a unique and terrible fetor. Raziel instinctively held his breath as he descended the gloomy stairs. Fortunately, he could do this indefinitely. Still, his sense of smell was so strong that even holding his breath provided only partial relief. Going into Melchiah's den required an effort of will of which only he and Melchiah's offspring seemed capable.

At the gate, one of Melchiah's guards gestured for him to hold. Raziel stopped and nodded genially. Standing back from the gate, he averted his eyes from the guards and eyed the books under his arm pensively, wondering what piece of him Melchicah needed sewing back together this time. Melchiah's decomposition happened so gradually that none of them noticed it until patches of skin started falling off of him. His eyes darkened, he put on weight, which was actually bloat, and over the centuries acquired a personal stench that eventually became overpowering. Whenever he came to the Sanctuary of the Clans the other lieutenants sneered at him behind his back and did their best to avoid looking at him. No wonder he secluded himself deep in the earth. Although his fledglings seemed unaffected at first, even they began to show signs of decay as they aged. His captains looked almost as rotten as he, if not more-so. It saddened Raziel to remember him in their youth.

Centuries ago, Melchiah would still visit Razielim territory on occasion. Even then he preferred to come only at the darkest part of night, never meeting Raziel in the unflattering light. Now he was so self-conscious that Kain's command was the only force on Nosgoth strong enough to drag him from his black chamber.

The rusty gate opened like a shrieking mouth. Raziel bowed his head as he stepped through, the crimson flag of his clan fluttering over his shoulder as he entered the vast, circular chamber. While the rest of the room flickered in dim candle light, almost fading away, Melchiah's throne was shrouded in darkness deeper than the grave. Only the contrast between dark and semi-dark prevented Raziel's vampire eyes from penetrating into the shadows. He sensed Melchiah was there, surrounded by his fledgling concubines, who still retained much of their former beauty. Why Melchicah chose to surround himself with such lovely creatures he could only guess. If it made him happy, that would be very strange indeed.

"Welcome, Raziel," Melchiah gurgled. His voice, too, had changed profoundly. It chilled Raziel to hear him speak.

"Thank you, brother," he gracefully replied. "I left your new slaves with Caiaphas. It was difficult to convince my slave master to part with them, they are so beautiful." They might have made good fledglings, too. If they might help his youngest brother in some small way, they would be worth the sacrifice. He feared that if Melchiah's condition deteriorated further he might withdraw from the Sanctuary all together. Raziel did not want to lose his brother.

Melchiah released a heavy, putrid sigh. "Thank you, Raziel. You're the only one who hasn't forgotten me."

But Melchiah sensed the revulsion in his elder brother's heart when he stood before him in his chamber. Sometimes he thought he saw a twinge of resentment in Raziel's eyes, as though he blamed Melchiah for forcing him to endure this wretched place out of pity.

Raziel did not visit as much as he used to; unfortunate, for he now counted Raziel as his only friend outside of his clan, although he hesitated to call his children friends. They listened to him because they feared him. Fear gave him no pleasure. He preferred to be revered. Being a god suited his vanity well. At least he no longer needed to dirty his hands with blood. His children were content to do that for him at his command. Although, it still brought him no happiness. He had been unhappy for so long he doubted he would recognize happiness if he felt it. Torture and violence, at the very least, were acceptable hobbies among the clan leaders. It kept him from feeling bored and allowed him to see his suffering in the shadow of someone else's, which was oddly comforting in its own way.

"I have something else for you," Raziel said in his still handsome voice, nodding to the books under his arm. "They're from my personal library. I thought you might enjoy them."

His throne creaked as he leaned forward. Sitting back, he tapped one of his concubines on the shoulder and sent her to fetch the books from Raziel. She returned to him holding the books to her voluptuous chest. He slowly turned the pages with his claws without reading the words, a heavy frown pulling at the stitches in his face. "This is thoughtful."

Something in Melchiah's tone made Raziel ill. Maybe he had read these books before? It was possible; they lived a long time. Melchiah rarely said an unkind word. He simply found ways to make kind words barbed.

A detached silence fell between them. Sensing that he was being dismissed, Raziel bowed his head. "I must return to my clan. May the night protect you, brother."

"The same," Melchiah replied dismissively. Lately Melchiah's moodiness seemed to be growing significantly worse. Though he felt offended at being pushed away so quickly, he regretted that there was nothing he could have done to amend his brother's sorry situation. He found it more and more difficult to convince himself that these trips were worth his time.

The rusty gate slammed shut. When Raziel's footsteps faded from earshot, Melchiah methodically tore a page from his book, listening to the fibers rip one by one like strips of flesh and sinew tearing from bone. He balled the crackling page up in his fist and tossed over the stairs leading up to his throne. It bounced once and rolled around in the filth that covered his floor. He then moved on to the next page.

500 years later
Melchiah's Lair

He had watched his oldest brother die at the Lake of the Dead. That was centuries ago. On quiet nights, he could still hear Raziel's scream. Strange the things one remembers about a lost friend.

One year ago, give or take a week or two, Kain had visited him for the first time in centuries with a strange message. Melchiah had not been pleased to see his old master. If Kain had come unarmed, he would have certainly tried to kill him; only the sight of the Soul Reaver mounted on his master's shoulder stayed his massive paw. Instead he kept to the shadows, as he always had since the destruction of Raziel's clan, hoping in spite of his monstrous stature that Kain would fail to notice how repulsive he had become in the intervening centuries. The message Kain delivered needed no reply.

In one year, Kain said, Raziel would return. He would murder all of his former brothers, Kain said. There would be no escape. The Time Streamer Moebius's devices had foretold all.

So Melchiah waited.

Ruby saliva dripped from his dagger-filled mouth. More than two weeks passed since his children delivered him a pack of humans to feed upon. He needed several humans at a time to maintain his strength, but with his killer so near he happily went without. Hunger gave him something to focus on. He preferred it to the other thoughts squirming through his rotten brain.

As he so often did, he remembered the look of agonized horror on Raziel's face as he lay, face down in a pool of his own blood on the floor of the Sanctuary of the Clans after Kain ripped the bones from his wings as if he was no more than a fly. He had never before seen Raziel's proud eyes so fearful. Like the others, Melchiah did nothing. He merely averted his eyes. For an instant he almost felt satisfied that cruel humiliation had finally visited his prideful brother. Only when Kain ordered Raziel thrown into the Lake of the Dead did the reality of the situation sink in, but by then it was too late to make amends.

He did try to redeem himself. When the time of change came upon Raziel's oldest and strongest children he offered them sanctuary in the Necropolis so that they could evolve without risking their lives, even went so far as to put his own life at risk helping to defend Raziel's territory when the Zephonim attacked. The disfigurements he suffered from that battle embittered him greatly. He would have rather died a martyr for Raziel's clan than endure further torment. If only he knew then that his suffering had only just begun.

Nothing outward of his original body remained, only his cancerous, horn-like bones and what passed for functioning organs held together by a carapace of human flesh. He piled them on layer upon layer, pound by pound, but no amount of ivory skin could hide the phantasmagoria beneath. His breath sounded like the sigh of an opened sepulchre.

Melchiah lifted his massive head, air escaping through his horrid nostrils, welcomed by the voice of an old friend. He purred, gargling fluid in the back of his gaping throat. So good to hear that voice again. The chamber shuddered as he crawled from the lonely ruins of his lonely throne, his wretched abdomen dragging along the vile ground. His bloated tongue flopped slowly, unaccustomed to speech.

"Do yooou not recogniiize me, brottther? Am I ssso chaaanged?"