How did it all begin? Ah, yes. His voice. It was, to attempt to describe the indescribable, astonishing. The purest I have ever heard, and filled with the raw power of a sun going supernova. Vincent d'Angelis sang of the pain of loss, and I wept, griefstricken; he sang of the joy of discovering new love, and I was reborn, filled with hope and wonder as child on a perfect morning, and I was not alone. Vincent affected nearly everyone in this way, to one degree or another; one who could listen to him, through an entire concert, unaffected, was often, I found, a worthy candidate for the Good Death, for such a one was already dead, inside.
Correct, I am of the Chakravanti. Or, I was. Kai Albrieght, bani Euthanatos. Not that it matters now, and not that I care. I barely can find the strength of will to sit here, transcribe these words, that it may be known; that this is the last act for which I will need any fortitude is, I suppose, comfort enough to get me through it.
When Dark Angel first hit the charts, an indie band bound for the top, I barely noticed; it was merely part of the soundtrack of existence, that first song, something I might hear in a club some night, until, one evening, I was driving home, and had the radio a bit louder than I usually would have, and then, his voice. The music, and the song, that first song, and I heard the words that my Vincent was singing, singing, just to me, oh, I was certain of that, and I heard the aching loneliness in his lovely voice, and I nearly wrecked into the back of a log-laden semi, driving as I was entirely blinded by tears. I pulled over to the side of the road, until I was fit to drive again some minutes later, and then, though I had been too tired just before to think of anything but collapsing in my bed, I drove straight to the nearest mall, and bought Dark Angel's debut C.D. I listened to it, over and over, for the next six hours.
Finally, I fell asleep, on my couch, the songs, his voice, my lullaby, and I dreamed of him; I have the gift, or the curse, of dreaming truly, and I saw it all. That Dark Angel would become the biggest selling group of all time; that their music, specifically, Vincent's voice, would inspire hundreds of millions, and have the power to save or shatter lives, that by Vincent's side would be a tall man with hair the flame red of my own, and that, in that man's hands would rest the fate of... And then I jerked awake, sweating, heart pounding, the horror of whatever had been revealed to me too overwhelming to recall.
I was a fanboy, I admit it, hell, why not? If I was an ordinary, sleeper, fan, no matter how passionate, I would have had to be contented, like them all, with the glimpses offered by concerts and music tv and the countless articles, maybe a rare and precious autograph, but then, what's a willworker for, if not to work his will? I was on a plane for L.A. by the end of the week, and backstage, waiting for him, after his performance live on VoiceBox. Oh, and then he walked down the hall toward me.
d'Angelis was much smaller than his stage presence suggested, a short, slight figure, vibrant with an energy that crackled round him like an electric corona, and he was far more beautiful, as well, the face of an angel surrounded by that waterfall of hair darker than moonless midnight, and his eyes; Vincent's eyes met mine, then, as he passed me in the hallway, twin jewels the radiant, unearthly blue of a gas flame, and in that one glance, I was lost. My heart belonged to him, entirely; later I would learn how completely he possessed me even deeper than that, and I almost forgot how to work the magic that would capture his attention, but then, it simply flowed, natural as breath, wrapping around him, insinuating into his brainwaves with my words, "Mr. d'Angelis, I'd like a word with you."
His aura was hidden as well I mask my own, revealing nothing of his true nature, and I was surprised, to say the least, to find my mental magic turned aside almost effortlessly on his part; he laughed softly, and then smiled, moving a step closer to me, as we studied each other then, and he simply nodded, "All right, follow me."
And that is where it began, truly. We connected, my Vincent and I, on a level deeper than I had ever imagined possible, and from that moment on, we were all but inseparable. My soul, he was, understand that; my lover, and how inadequate that word is, because it can never tell how one kiss, the softest touch, a whispered word, can hold more power than any other force of the universe. My failure was most of all that I refused to risk even a glimpse of what Destiny held for us- I could not bear to know, and I blinded myself, deliberately, in contradiction to all I knew to be right, but, then, it did not matter. I was there to see him receive the Grammies, backstage or in the front row at every concert, I was there when the psychotic with the .45 shoved through the crowd intent on robbing the world, and me, of my Vincent- it was my body that stopped the slug, and my magic that stopped his assailant's heart so violently that the coroner later commented it was as if it had imploded.
Even that, though, was wonderful to me, even the pain, and the need to endure the ridiculous snail's pace of medical science rather than attracting the attention that simply healing myself and walking away would have. All that mattered was my Vincent, my world and my soul. And then, the fatal error- I was called away to the Atlanta marabout to meet with my former mentor and several colleagues, concerned over my total devotion to the rock star, at the expense of my magic and mission, and, though I hated to abandon my Vincent even for the week, while he continued the European tour for the third album, I went.
It was ridiculous, needless to say. I had done nothing truly wrong, and all they could do, was express futile concerns, and yet they kept at it for nearly a week past the first we'd arranged for, two weeks that I was away from Vincent, two weeks, during which he met Mehira. We had shared other lovers of the moment, monogamy not being really relevant to our love, which went far deeper than such things, but her seduction went far deeper than the pleasures of the flesh, and she was of the Barabbi, one of the infernal evil that corrupt all which they touch, not that I knew, even this, until far too late.
My return was celebrated with a day of almost nonstop lovemaking and sufficient exhaustion afterwards to warrant canceling that night's sold out show, but the very next concert was the first at which Dark Angel performed Vincent's two new songs, 'Seduction' and 'Promised' and, the new influence became apparent. The suicides. The murders and the growing sadism among the fans of Dark Angel. And, worst of all, especially after the release of the fourth album, and the number one selling singles, 'Hour of Darkness', and 'LoveDeath', the despair and the hopelessness. Oh, I ignored it, I admit it, as long as I could, and when those nights came, with increasing frequency, when my Vincent would tell me he needed "time to himself", I left him alone, and I did not spy, did not attempt to discover what he did with those hours, for the simple reason that I did not wish to know. Perhaps, even then, I knew, in the dim reaches of my psyche, what I would discover.
I would have chosen to remain willfully blind, even still, had I been permitted, even as the incidents of violence and hatred became an almost global epidemic, but of course, the other Chakravanti were not laying down on the job as I was, and it was one of these, a lovely and gracious scholar assassin, Dahlia Ahmet, who approached me, insisting on knowing why, I, who was not corrupt except by association, was tolerating this instead of taking the appropriate action. I refused to listen at first, until she shared the magic, and the knowledge, and then, denial was no longer an option, so I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances- I killed her, to buy myself and Vincent the time we would need, that I would need.
I am, whatever else, no laggard at magic, and, when I had explained to Vincent that I knew, what he was, now, and that his life was no doubt numbered in hours or at the most, days, we, he, I, and his infernal associates, devised and cast the magic that would ward and guard him against almost any conceivable threat. I verified, afterwards, the thread of Vincent's fate, and found what I had expected- my beloved Nephandus had been granted virtual immortality in which to work his evil upon the captive world.
Once we had recovered somewhat from the ardors of that working, following twenty four straight hours of sleep, Vincent and I found ourselves back in our beds, and as he held me, and we made love, I could not tell that he was in any way different, outwardly, from the man I first fell so deeply in love with; afterwards, he rested in my arms, and he explained to me how it would be. Must be. I, too, said my beautiful love, would divide the Caul and become one with the Abyss. I would join him most truly, and my corruption would be the wedding vows binding Vincent, and myself. I told him, that I needed time to think, and he, gracious being that he is, granted me an hour in which to decide; the price of refusal would be simple, and absolute- he would leave me.
And so I am writing this testimony, that you read, as I will, momentarily, have aported it to you of the Council and the Albiero, that you may take what action you deem appropriate. My last act as a free willworker of the tradition Euthanatos. After I have delivered this to you, I will sit, by the window here in the most luxuriously appointed hotel suite, and wait for my Vincent, my love, to return, and when he does, I will give him my decision, that I have agreed to sunder myself to the infernal as he wishes, that I will join him in the darkness unending, because to lose him, to never see his smile, or kiss his lips, would be a darkness greater still, and unendurable.

Most Sincerely,
Kai Aidan Albrieght, Barabbas, Bani Euthanatos